Page 5 of Miss Understood

Luce straightens up and shifts into focus mode. “Here’s my plan of attack.” She slides each of us a folder containing a bullet-point list.

She might drive me to the brink of insanity, but at least she has the ability to go full-steam in business mode. She doesn’t let personal shit bleed into her work, and she’s on top of everything.

“We need to redo the initial interviews. Marcus only asked half the questions he should have, and it leaves our defense feeling a little light. Plus, I want to circle back around to Valentina, because I feel like there’s more she’s not telling us.”

“I’ve already arranged for you two to take a trip to discuss that with her,” Brad says, patting the paper in front of him.

“Trip? I thought she lived in Seattle?” Luce pauses. Her eyes meet mine, and there’s an unusual nervousness behind them.

“She’s currently in Las Vegas for a family wedding. She won’t be back until next month, right before we go to trial. You’ll have to take her interviews down there.”

“Wonderful.” I don’t realize I’ve said it out loud until Brad shoots me a glare.

“When do we leave?” Luce asks.

To the untrained observer, she might seem genuinely excited. There’s a smile ticked up on her lips and an airiness to her tone. But her grin doesn’t reach her eyes, and her shoulders are rolled back and stiff. Clearly, I’m not the only one who’s not thrilled with Brad’s inconvenient proposal.

“Tomorrow,” Brad says. “It’s last minute, I know. But we need to dive into this headfirst, so a quick weekend there and back is necessary. I want the full report by Monday.”

Luce opens her mouth like she’s about to say something, but then she snaps it shut. For a woman who usually has something to say about everything, she lets this one go. It’s the one time I wish she wouldn’t.

Figures.

Luce is allowed to be difficult. Fuck, in Brad’s eyes, Luce can do any damn thing she wants and get away with it. Me, on the other hand? He might as well be halfway done scratching my name off the door.

“It’s settled, then,” Brad says. “Bring me back a souvenir.”

He thinks he’s hilarious, and it’s annoying as fuck.

By the time we finally end the meeting, the building is nearly empty—not unusual when we get knee-deep in a case. I look at the clock and realize my stomach isn’t just growling for fun, I’ve skipped dinner and it’s already seven.

Times like this remind me why I don’t have a wife or a family. Last thing I need is someone nagging me about chicken going cold when I’ve got more important shit to get done.

And nothing is more important than my job, which right now is this case. We’ve got six weeks until we go to court against Tony Marchetto, and from the sound of it, Luce and I are going to be spending a lot of time together. I can’t risk fucking this up just because she gets in my head. I’m not losing this case, even if it means gritting my teeth and ignoring the infuriating woman next to me.

Brad follows us out of the office, going over the to-do list one more time. For someone who leaves the heavy lifting to everyone else, he loves micromanaging the smallest details just to piss me off.

“Have fun in Vegas. I’ll see you Monday.” Brad waves us off as Luce and I walk into the elevator. “And don’t do anything I wouldn’t do.”

Doesn’t leave much.

The elevator doors shut, and I’m struck by the smell of flowers. Luce brushes her hair off her shoulder, and a hint of her shampoo or perfume kicks me in the nostrils. How is it that this woman can spend an entire day frustrated and sweating over a case and still look and smell like that?

Guess that’s what you get when you make a deal with the devil.

“Hot date?” I ask, noticing her smile as she types into her phone.

“Haven’t decided yet.” She shrugs. “Why, feeling lonely? Don’t tell me you’ve already run through all the women insecure enough to date you.”

“Funny.” I say flatly. “But no, I’m meeting my date at the restaurant, if you must know.”

“Of course you are.” Luce thumbs over the buttons a minute longer before putting her phone away. She taps her fingers on the strap of her purse as we both stare at the numbers counting down.

“I’m surprised you weren’t more enthusiastic about the trip,” she says, breaking the silence. “Isn’t Vegas playboy paradise? Figured a guy like you would be clawing at the opportunity.”

“A guy like me?” I lift an eyebrow and catch a grin from the corner of my eye. “You mean brilliant, generous, ridiculously attractive?”

“I meant overhyped and vomit-inducing.” She rolls her eyes. “Like alcohol.”

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