Total pages in book: 179
Estimated words: 173733 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 869(@200wpm)___ 695(@250wpm)___ 579(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 173733 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 869(@200wpm)___ 695(@250wpm)___ 579(@300wpm)
“What? Did you really just say that to me? Have you read my columns at all? There is no proof that the defendant is guilty. You don’t convict an innocent man just to please the public.” I remember Reese’s courtroom statement. “Or to get a book deal. You know what, Liz? I think you need to represent Dan, not me.”
“What? No. I’m just being frank.”
“I’m glad you are. It tells me that we don’t match up. And I’ve learned that when I expect those kinds of relationships to improve, they don’t. They become poison. I’m sorry.” I hang up, and the reality of what I just did hits me hard and fast. I fired my agent. Oh God. I fired my agent. That’s a big deal.
I press my hands on the rail around the window and replay the conversation. My mind races so fast I don’t even hear Reese approach. Suddenly, he’s behind me, his hand on my belly, his body cradling mine. My body warms everywhere he touches and everywhere I instinctively want to be touched by this man. “How long have you been there?”
“I heard the call,” he says. “All the important parts.”
I face him, leaning on the rail around the window. “You’re nosy.”
“Concerned, and you were talking louder than you realized.”
“Oh. I was?”
“Yes. You were. And back to me being concerned.”
“No. Yes. I mean, firing Liz was the right choice. She has different priorities than I do.”
“Are you sure? Or have you made this personal?”
I think about her reprimanding my brother over ignoring my New York Times achievement. “I think she cares about my career, but only when it pays her well. And I get that, too. She needs to get paid. I’m just not willing to get her paid doing what she wants me to do. It’s just one of those decisions that you make, and then you get drunk on ice cream and chocolate afterward and move on.”
“Okay. Then we’ll have chocolate and ice cream for dinner. But you should write the book, just do it your way. It’ll sell.”
And just that easily, he becomes the first man in my life that has told me to do something my way, not his. Especially when it might affect him, and this will. I’d be writing about him to a rather large extent. “Maybe,” I say. “I’ll think about it. Right now, let’s go win your trial.”
“You’re good in there, Cat. Really damn good.”
And he gives compliments. I do like this man. “Thank you.”
He cups my face. “And really damn good with me.”
“Yeah?”
“Yeah.”
“I think you might be good with me, too.”
“Think?”
“That’s all you’re getting right now.”
“Guarded. Understood. Challenge, once again, accepted.” He takes my hand, and we start walking across the room. Mr. Arrogant Asshole is holding my hand. And I have the realization that no one was holding my hand a few days ago. In fact, had they tried, I would have shoved that nonsense aside. Only, it’s not nonsense with Reese, and really, it’s incredible how life changes in a blink of an eye. One minute, you have an agent. The next, you don’t. One minute, you call a man you just met Mr. Arrogant Asshole, and the next, he’s something so much more.
Everything changes, and that thought is what has me trying to pull my hand away from Reese’s. But I can’t. He’s holding on too tight.
Chapter eighteen
Reese
It’s nearly eight when I walk my team to the door, and finally I have Cat to myself, in my house, and soon, in my bed. I return to the den to find her still on the floor beside the coffee table, pecking away at her computer. “You have to be tired, Cat,” I say, crossing to join her.
She glances up at me. “Not yet. I get wired when I work.”
“And when you drink most of a pot of coffee?”
“The pizza made me do it. It was heavy.”
I lie down on my side on the rug next to her, fully intending to have her next to me in the near, anytime now, future. “What are you working so feverishly on?”
“I’m actually writing my column that is due tomorrow night.”
“You could work on it tomorrow. Do it over morning coffee.”
“I know, but—”
“You have a plan and you have to make it happen.”
She twists around to face me, her green eyes lighting. “Since you mention it, I do. My opening statement starts with: Who killed Jennifer and her unborn child? I never name names, but I present investigative angles. I can’t reach the jury. That’s up to you, but I can affect public perception. Get them thinking about options. Get them involved beyond convicting an innocent man. Now, here is why I think this helps you. Or I hope it does. I’m thinking that the real killer gets news of my column and is on edge. That means nervous on the stand. What do you think?”