Page 8 of Legal Desire
She wasn’t so certain about that. But she nodded as if she agreed with him. “Then I don’t understand.”
“Somebody forged those documents they claimed were from Ronan’s case files—”
“No,” she interrupted him. She didn’t want to talk about his partners. “If you’re not losing your license, why won’t you be a lawyer much longer?”
He chuckled. “I’m not losing my license,” he assured her. “I’ve decided to give up law in order to run for public office.”
Now it made sense the comments she’d overheard his partners making to him as they’d exited the office, all some version of wishing him luck. For a second she’d thought those comments might have been in regard to her. But until he’d kissed her, she hadn’t been able to imagine why he might have needed luck with her.
Unless he’d planned to seduce her.
He hadn’t. He had probably only kissed her because she’d stung his pride. She shouldn’t have goaded him. But there was something about Trevor Sinclair, something that caused her usual guard to slip.
She fought now to put her guard back up as he studied her face. She wasn’t certain if he was looking for her reaction to his kiss or to his news. She hid them both under a mask of mild curiosity as she asked, “What does your running for public office have to do with me?”
“I want you to help me,” he said. “I want you to run my campaign.”
That proposition was nearly as ridiculous as his wanting to have sex with her. Hell, she would have preferred that proposition to this one. She laughed again.
“I’m serious,” he told her.
And as was the case with him, her professionalism slipped again and she admitted, “There’s one thing I hate more than lawyers,” she said. “Politicians.”
“I don’t need you to love me,” he said. “I just need you to help me win.”
She laughed again. She wasn’t certain what was funnier. The thought of her falling in love with him or the thought of her helping him win an election. But her laughter sounded a bit hollow as it echoed inside his big office. And she forced herself to stop before it passed from hollow to hysterical.
She shook her head. “I’m a publicist,” she reminded him. “I’m not a campaign manager.”
“I know what you are, Allison,” he said. And for a second something cold and determined passed through his deep green eyes.
She shivered.
Then he blinked and replaced the look with a twinkle of amusement. “And you’re all I need right now,” he said. “You’re who I want.”
She wanted him, too, but not like this, not as a client. She shook her head. “I’m sorry, Mr. Sinclair. I can’t help you.”
“You don’t think I could actually win an election?” he asked.
She sighed. “No, I think you could.” And that was the problem.
But he obviously couldn’t see it. His brow furrowed again as he said, “Then what’s the problem?”
“I don’t play politics,” she said. Not anymore.
“You’re a publicist,” he said, throwing her words back at her. “That’s all you do is play politics.”
No. She didn’t have to play politics. Not ever again.
“I’m not interested in this assignment,” she said. And she stepped back, heading toward the door. “I’m sure you can find someone else.”
“I don’t want someone else,” he said. “I want you.”
If only he’d really meant that personally and hadn’t kissed her just out of wounded pride.
She laughed again—at herself—because her pride was wounded. And once again her guard slipped and she found herself admitting, “You would have had a better shot at me agreeing to a proposition for sex than playing politics.”
