He shakes his head.
“Never, Daddy,” Jade confirms.
Pete digs into his pocket. “Here.” He pulls out a bottle of sand with ocean water floating at the top. “It’s sand and water from the Pacific Ocean.”
Henry takes it and stares at it for a long moment. “Thanks,” he says, with wide, awestruck eyes.
The horn honks again and Henry turns. “I gotta go.”
“Bye, Henry,” Jade says.
“Bye.” He glances back to me and I wave.
“Where’s mine?” Jade asks.
Pete pretends to forget her and Jade pouts. “Would I ever forget my girl?” he asks, pulling another bottle out of his jacket.
In that moment, Pete has won every person in that courtyard over. Here, he’s the charming dad who loves his daughter so much it brings him to tears. Hell, for a second, I was right there with them. There’s a reason why he’s the best defense attorney in Los Angeles.
Chapter Twenty-Eight
On the taxi ride over to Reed’s, the melancholy of not having Jade all weekend while she visits Pete’s parents with him sets in. Not knowing where she is, or what those poisoned people Pete calls family will say to her. I try to push it out of my mind. Pete only wants the best for his daughter so I have to trust he won’t let them say anything disparaging about me in front of her. The same way I won’t let my mom talk shit about Pete when Jade’s around.
The taxi stops, and I climb out, this time able to get through the revolving door the first time through. #winning
“Hi, Connor,” I say.
He stands, waves and digs through his drawer, holding an envelope in his hand.
“I have something for Mr. Warner, do you mind taking it up with you?” He meets me at the elevator. Pressing the up button and then scanning his card to allow me up to the floor.
“Sure.” We exchange the envelope.
“Nice to see you again, Ms. Clarke.” He tips his head as the doors shut.
“Nice to see me not stumbling and shit-faced,” I say to myself in the silence of the elevator. My face reddens just thinking of the spectacle I made of myself the last time he saw me. Not my finest hour.
Reed’s already leaning against his doorframe when the elevator doors slide open. He’s biting an apple with a grin on his face.
“Hey,” I walk up to him, dropping my overnight bag at our feet.
The sweetness of the apple has me craving more of him as our lips meet and his tongue slides into my mouth.
“Hey,” he says after he ends the kiss. Bending down he picks up the bag. “How are you?”
I nod. “I’m okay.”
On the counter in the kitchen, there’s a bottle of wine with a glass already poured. “Figured you might—”
I glance over.
“Yeah, well, I didn’t know what shape you’d be in.” He chuckles, and sets his apple on the counter then places my bag against the wall in the hallway that leads to his bedroom.
“I’m fine. Really.” I retrieve the glass, toe out of my shoes and sit down on the couch.
He sits down next to me, his arm slung across the back of the couch, wrapping my hair around his fingers. “How’s Pete?”
My head falls back, and I turn his way. “Surprisingly, good.”
He raises his eyebrows. “You told him?”
“I did.”
He leans forward and kisses my lips. “I would’ve handled it.”
“I know.” I kiss him this time, sliding closer into the nook of his arm. “I had to do it.”
“How excited was Jade?”
I lean forward to set the wine glass on the coffee table and then lean back into Reed. My arm stretches across his stomach, his thin sweater smelling of his cologne.
“So excited she cried.”
His lips dip because he’s so aligned with my feelings.
“Am I horrible for moving her here?” My knees come up to my chest and I nuzzle into him more.
His arms tighten around me. “If you hadn’t moved, we wouldn’t have reconnected, so my answer is no.”
I giggle and kiss his jaw, the stubble pricking my skin.
“You’re biased.”
“You did what you had to do. Pete could move here. You don’t have to always be the one to make the sacrifice.” I stare at him with love in my eyes, my hand landing on his cheek and inching up as he inches down until our lips meet.
For a moment, I’m lost in Reed. In his sweetness, his capability to take on my problems with ease, in his feelings for me.
“Okay!” I stand up suddenly with enough enthusiasm to startle Reed. “I am not ruining our first kid-free weekend.”
He chuckles, kissing my stomach. His hands move up the back of my legs until each hand has a chunk of my ass in them.
Using all his force, he pulls me down onto the couch, rolling me to my back. Climbing on top of me, I widen my legs to make room for him. “I have a great idea.” His lips travel up my neck to my jaw until he claims my mouth.
I don’t object to his hands finding their way under my shirt or when they explore down the front of my yoga pants, and I definitely don’t stop him when he reminds me how good we are together on his couch.
He always has the best ideas.
The next night, Reed and I go to dinner and to a late show. We’re standing by the bar, me drinking wine and him a whiskey on the rocks waiting for the Broadway show to begin when someone calls out his name.
Lost in our own world, Reed doesn’t hear it right away, so I tap him on the arm. “That guy,” I say, pointing to a man in a suit approaching us.
He’s probably Reed’s age, dressed in a nice suit with a woman trailing along behind him.
“Reed,” he says, putting his hand out.
“Hey, George.” Reed shakes his hand.
The woman smiles at me and I smile back. Reed pulls me into his side, his hand protectively on my hip.
George drops the woman’s hand and since they’re both wearing wedding rings, my guess is it’s his wife. She looks around at the people surrounding us like she’d rather be talking to one of them, apparently not at all interested in the conversation that’s about to commence.
“I haven’t seen you since you were handed the Weinstein case. Is it still expected to go to jury next week?” George looks like an eager puppy whose master just said treat.
Reed stands straighter, but still, his hand hasn’t left my hip. “It is.”
“You know what’ll happen if you win, right?”
Reed shrugs and takes a big gulp of his drink. “There’s no if. I have to win. That slimeball deserves what’s coming to him.”
“You will. That’s why they picked you.” George’s excited voice has a few people turning their heads.
“George MacIlroy, this is Victoria Clarke. George used to work with me until he went on his own in the defense sector.”
I hold my hand out. “Nice to meet you.”
He shakes my hand, staring at me and a moment of fear grips me, wondering if he knew Pete. Then he turns around. “This is my wife, Cassie.”
The blonde smiles, shaking our hands with no real enthusiasm.