Page 68 of When You Give a Lawyer a Kiss

Those peaceful moments with him, when it’s just the two of us at his place, make me see that I’m more at risk of falling in love with him than ever before.

The logical side of my brain recognizes that there’s much more at stake than the mutual attraction between two people. My job is on the line, and there’s no guarantee of a happy ending. Yet, my heart isn’t interested in being rational—it only wants Dawson, no matter the cost.

“Look who finally showed up,” Noah says, giving me a teasing smirk as I approach our table.

“I’m only five minutes late,” I say, leaning across the table to hug him.

“Yes, but you’re usually ten minutes early.” He quirks a smug brow. “You look stunning in that dress,” He gestures to my outfit, effectively changing the subject. “Is it new?”

I narrow my eyes at him. He knows full well that my wardrobe consists of six dresses and three skirts I’ve had on rotation since my freshman year of college.

Since we returned from Aspen Grove, Dawson has arranged for a high-end dress or outfit in my size and preferred style to be delivered every morning. He must have guessed I’d decline a shopping spree or an entirely new wardrobe, but I haven’t been able to bring myself to reject his thoughtful gifts, especially not this stunning dress.

It has a flattering A-line cut with buttons running down the front, and I paired it with sneakers that I doodled pink and navy-blue flowers on.

Noah drums his fingers against the table as he watches me. “What’s going on, Reese? What aren’t you telling me?”

“I’m not answering any questions until I’ve had my coffee,” I complain, noticing two cups on his side of the table.

While I try to limit my caffeine intake, I’m not fully functional until I’ve had caffeine. Unfortunately, this morning I didn’t have time to get a cup before I rushed out the door.

“Here you go.” Noah grins, sliding one of the cups toward me. “It’s a pumpkin spice latte, just the way you like it. I also ordered you avocado toast with a side of eggs and fruit.”

“You’re relentless,” I say, lifting the warm cup and savoring my first sip. “But just because you’re bribing me with my favorite brunch doesn’t mean I’ll tell you anything.”

“I’ll take my chances. I’m willing to offer an information exchange, and something tells me you’ll want to hear what I have to share.”

I shoot him a sidelong glance as I take another sip. Noah leans back in his seat, a knowing smirk on his lips. It’s only a matter of time before I give in—he’s well aware of my impatience, and I’m already on the edge of my seat, itching to find out what he has to share.

Before I can reply, a server brings over our food.

“Here you are.” I practically salivate when she places my plate in front of me.

“Thanks. This looks amazing,” Noah tells her.

“My pleasure,” she says before hurrying off.

When Noah reaches for his fork, I lean forward to grab his wrist. “There will be plenty of time to eat later. What did you want to tell me?”

He chuckles as he sets his fork down. “I knew you wouldn’t be able to hold out.”

“Yeah, yeah.” I wave him off. “Spill the beans.”

“The night Mr. Tall, Dark, and Handsome showed up at the club and you were both off doing who knows what, David showed up,” Noah says. “Turns out the bar was running low on tequila, so he dropped off a crateful.”

My eyes widen. “Oh my god. Noah, why didn’t you say anything before?”

David is the general manager at the club and usually works the dayshift. I can’t believe Dawson and I were in that man’s office doing unspeakable things. There’s no question he would have fired me if he’d walked in on us. And Dawson would have made matters worse by trying to defend me.

Not that it matters since I’m no longer working there. The HR department at Thomspon & Tate sent an email to all its paralegals this past week about the substantial bonus we’d be receiving. It’s far more than I expected and while it still feels like charity, it makes me feel better that we’ll all benefit from Dawson’s generosity.

“Don’t worry, babe. The second David started for his office; I intercepted him,” Noah assures me.

“What did you do?” I ask.

He shrugs. “Asked him out.”

I pause mid-sip, my coffee cup hovering in the air. “You what? In case you forgot, he’s your boss.” Technically, our interactions with him are limited to receiving our schedule via text or email, but still.

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