Dear Jane Page 3

  Well, that was a relief. He relaxed a bit, but remained positioned to keep an eye out in case the cat launched from one of the hidey-holes at face level.

  “Animals are like people,” she said. “The ones that are the loudest are often the most harmless. It’s the quiet ones that are full of surprises.”

  The cat stuck its flat, furry face out of the highest hole in the sculpture and gave another hiss.

  “How long have you had him?”

  “Only a year. He’s seven or eight years old, though. I got him from the rescue shelter. I’m his fifth home.”

  No mystery there.

  She flipped her hair over her shoulder. Eric had never seen Jane with her hair down. It was longer than he’d imagined—and he’d imagined it on more than one occasion as she’d walked by his office in her business suits. It hung almost to her waist and looked like spun gold. He wanted to touch it to see how it felt. Instead, he sat back and tried to look casual. That only lasted until the hell cat hissed again and then made a sound like something out of a scary movie.

  She popped to her feet. “I’m so rude. You want a beer or soda or something? I’m gonna have another beer.”

  “Sure. Beer is great.” He marveled at the way her lacy dress looked like it had been sewn together on her body, hugging every dip and curve. How did she even get into that thing? He shifted and bit back a groan. Thank God she didn’t dress like this at the office, or he’d do nothing but stare at his door all day, hoping for a glimpse of her.

  Two huge gold eyes narrowed at him from inside the box thing. He returned the glare.

  When Jane strode back with two bottles of Corona, he decided she looked as good coming as she had going. He was so screwed. “So, why the maydays?” Alastair had better not have overstepped.

  “Well, actually, my original communication was via smoke signal.” She took a swallow of beer, and he found himself riveted by the movements of her throat.

  When she didn’t continue, he dragged his gaze from her neck to her face.

  “Yeah.” She set the beer down on the scratched oak coffee table. “I told you I never get a second date. Tonight was no exception.”

  The cat stuck its flat face all the way out of the hole in the highest carpeted box and hissed. Eric leaned forward and growled low in his throat, and it retreated, sputtering with feline indignation.

  Jane laughed. “Well done. I’ve never thought to do that.”

  It took a scaredy-cat to know one. “So tell me about dinner tonight.”

  “I set the table on fire.”

  He had no clue what to say, so he just sat, one eye on the cat, who stared back.

  “Not even kidding. Full-blown, all-out inferno.”

  “No way.”

  “Oh yeah. And poor Alastair’s suit is ruined forever. It was a holy-shit-get-the-fire-extinguisher-and-spray-down-the-entire-table-including-the-lobster-dinner-and-hot-Aussie-guy kind of fire.”

  He knew he shouldn’t laugh. It was rude. He did it anyway.

  “I told you. If it can be screwed up, I’ll screw it.”

  His body caught the inadvertent pun even if she didn’t.

  She covered her mouth. “Oops. Awkward. Sorry.” She lifted her beer. “Not counting the half glass of wine before I incinerated the table, I’m one up on you.”

  He upended his bottle and chugged the remaining beer. “Not anymore.”

  A perfectly formed eyebrow arched. “Like I said. It’s the quiet ones.”

  If she only knew how loud he wanted to be. Right now. With her. He pushed the thought away. “You really set the table on fire? How is that even possible?”

  “Crazy, nervous hand gesture meets candle, meets table, meets flames, meets waiter with fire extinguisher who sprays white powdery stuff on everything including date’s suit.”

  “But the candles at MacLandon’s are short stubby things in glass globes.”

  She took another chug of beer. “Yeah, but if launched into the air at just the right trajectory, the little votive becomes a missile of doom. And whatever the “special of the day” menu is made of goes up like flash paper. Whoosh!”

  This time, he didn’t even try to hold his laugh in, and it felt good. Really good. How could a woman like this have trouble finding dates? She was a blast. Brilliant, beautiful, and funny. The whole package. If only they’d met another way.

  Their laughter died out, and for a moment, they stared at each other and he found himself holding his breath.

  “Another beer?” she asked, pushing to her feet.

  “Sure.”

  He slumped back against the sofa cushions as she disappeared into the kitchen. What the hell was that? It was as if the air between them had ignited like the MacLandon’s menu. The cat leaped from the structure in the corner to the floor, never taking his eyes off of Eric, and Eric stared right back.

  Jane returned and sank into the chair farthest away. All three of them sat in silence for what felt like forever.

  “Sooooo, are you in a staring contest with my cat?”

  “Yep.”

  “Gandalf’s going to win.”

  “Not a chance.”

  The cat’s eye twitched, but its unnerving vertical pupils stayed fixed on Eric.

  “So, you said you know lots of guys who’d want to go out with me.”

  “Uh-huh.” The cat showed no sign of backing down.

  “I’m free every Friday.”

  Shit. The last thing he wanted to do was set her up with another one of his friends. To imagine her laughing with them. Kissing them. Hell, if he’d been on that date with her tonight, a lot more than that menu would have caught fire. It was all he could do to keep his hands off of her now. But it couldn’t be him. Could never be him. He needed to keep his eye on the prize: junior partner at Dixon, Rosenbaum & Schoot. “Uh-huh. Fridays.”

  He narrowed his eyes, but the cat didn’t even blink. Jane cleared her throat and shifted in her seat. Eric leaned forward, refusing to pull his gaze from the gold cat eyes. No way would he look away first.

  “Seriously?” She let out a half-hearted laugh. “You’re in a staring contest with a cat.”

  “I can’t lose.”

  “Why?”

  Because he never lost. His dad had been a loser, but he wasn’t. “It’s a status thing. Like alpha with a dog.”

  “So, you’re the cat whisperer or something?”

  “Nope. Just competitive.”

  The hackles rose on Gandalf’s back and his tail puffed out even bushier. A low growl rose from his chest. Eric growled right back, never breaking eye contact.

  “Oh, for goodness sake!”

  “Shh. I’m winning.”

  She slammed her bottle down and the cat flinched, but didn’t look away. “This is ridiculous. Go on, Gandalf. Beat it!” A perfectly aimed decorative pillow sent the cat running to the kitchen.

  “Interference from the audience. Rematch!” Eric called after him.

  “Great. You guys can have a do-over next Friday after my date with another one of your friends.”

  A lump clogged his throat. He hated this. If she hit it off with someone he set her up with, he’d have to hear about what he was missing firsthand from that friend, and it would kill him. “Maybe one of those online match-up services would be better.”

  She picked up the remote from the side table and turned on the TV. “Oh, hell no. Been there, done that. I go back and forth online with some guy who seems perfect, and when we meet up, he turns out to be two decades older than his picture and his “platonic roomie” turns out to be his mother, whose picture he carries in his wallet next to a condom of questionable vintage.”

  Eric chuckled as she surfed two more channels, settling on an old James Bond movie.

  “Popcorn?” She stood. “I’m starving. My lobster was extinguished.”

  “Sure.” He followed her to the small, tidy kitchen where the cat gave him the evil eye from under a breakfast table for two. Again he was struck by th
e coziness he didn’t expect from Mr. Dixon’s daughter. “I’m surprised MacLandon’s didn’t offer you a replacement meal.”

  She placed the bag of popcorn in the microwave. “Well, Alastair had a rugby match or something to go to. He invited me along, but it was awkward, you know?”

  Oh yeah. He knew all about awkward. At that moment, he was debating whether or not to tell her she’d put the bag in upside down. It didn’t pop right that way. He’d found that out the hard way himself. “Um…”

  She followed his gaze to the microwave. “Oh God. Did I leave the plastic on again?”

  “No. Just put the wrong side up.”

  “Oh.” She popped the door open and flipped the bag over. “I left the outer cellophane bag on once. Not pretty.” She closed the microwave door and restarted it. Her shoulders rose and fell with a sigh. “You probably think I’m the flakiest person on earth.”

  He’d seen her give a briefing of the significant cases the Family Law Division was running at a multi-department meeting last year. She wasn’t flaky. She was brilliant. “I think you’re distracted.”

  She shook her head as she watched the bag go around in the microwave. “Yeah. Distracted twenty-four/seven. My brothers used to call me Spacy Janie when I was in high school. I shut that down, though.”

  Her sly smile evoked a returned one. “How did you manage that? From my experience watching my female friends who have brothers, the teasing can be pretty relentless.”

  “Not when you get them where it hurts. In the Dixon family, academic success is a point of pride. So I crushed their pride.” The microwave dinged and she pulled out the bag, then dropped it on the counter, steam puffing from the end.

  He waited for her to elaborate while she pulled down a bowl from the cabinet over the coffeemaker. The cat crossed the room to rub against her ankles in a figure eight. It paused long enough to glare at him with narrowed eyes and growl.

  “Cut it out, Gandy. He’s not a threat to you.”

  Yeah. Clearly not. Even the crossword knew he was inert. “So how did you shut down your brothers’ teasing?”

  She pulled on the corners of the bag and dumped the popcorn into the bowl. “I beat them at their own game. I graduated valedictorian from high school and undergrad, which none of them had done, and I got acceptance letters to three Ivy League law schools.”

  He covered his mouth in mock outrage. “No summa cum laude from law school?”

  She popped a piece of popcorn in her mouth and headed back toward the TV room. “Nope. I lightened up a bit in law school. My point had been made. They saw me as one of them, not a flaky outcast.”

  She passed him the bowl once they were seated on the sofa again. Eric found it hard to believe anyone could look at this woman and consider her an outcast of any kind. She was amazing. Brilliant. One of the smartest people he’d ever met. And hot—especially in that dress that was cut super low in the front, exposing her cleavage, which never happened in her business suits. It was hard to tear his eyes away, but getting caught checking her out would be awkward, and he’d had plenty of that today. On the TV, James Bond was skiing down a snowy mountain being pursued by multiple bad guys with guns. “You said you have three brothers. I know one is in the litigation section at DR&S. Are the other two lawyers, too?”

  “Oh yeah. We all work at the firm. That’s what Dixons do… Multiply and litigate. Nothing else for three generations now.” She shoved a handful of popcorn in her mouth.

  No pressure there. “You don’t sound happy about that.”

  “You’re a shrink, too?” she said around a mouthful of popcorn.

  Yeah, in addition to flower delivery boy and dating service… “Just an observation.”

  She swallowed and washed it down with a chug of beer. “You’re very observant, Eric Blackwell. I guess that’s why my dad likes you.”

  “Your dad likes me?” Shit. He’d blurted that out without thinking first. He’d told himself that her dad was a taboo topic.

  “He thinks you’re the best new hire we’ve had in a long time.” Her face remained unreadable. “Better than everyone…me included.”

  While he was glad he had the man’s favor, his chest tightened for Jane, who was in a tough spot. God, it must suck for her to work for her dad. Especially a dad like George Dixon, who never seemed pleased with anyone or anything. The non-fraternization clause seemed silly in light of the fact all four Dixon kids worked at their dad’s law firm. Clearly they didn’t have a problem with nepotism. Talk about a conflict of interest.

  On the TV, Bond evaded the bad guys much more effectively than Eric was evading awkwardness. He and Jane sat in silence for a while, munching popcorn and staring at the TV screen.

  “People think I was hired because of who I am,” she said finally.

  “You were.”

  Only her eyebrow arched in response.

  He cleared his throat and searched for the right words. “You were hired because of who you are: a successful lawyer.”

  The eyebrow winged higher.

  “Being a Dixon is irrelevant,” he added. “Any firm would have hired you based on your credentials and ability.”

  “You don’t know me. Could have been a total inside deal.”

  “I know you killed it in high school and undergrad and probably went to a super prestigious law school. I also know you are co-head of the Family Law Division after only two years. That’s impressive, as was your presentation at the last multi-department meeting. And you work ridiculously long hours.”

  The cat jumped up on the sofa next to Jane and she ran her hand down his hairy back. “How would you know how many hours I work?”

  Busted. “Your office is down the hall from mine. I work long hours and sometimes am out before you.”

  “I’ll say it again. You’re very observant.”

  Or maybe just very attuned to Jane Dixon. He reached for another handful of popcorn and got a handful of Jane instead. “Sorry, I, uh…” He lost his train of thought as she turned her hand over and laced her fingers through his.

  “Thanks for setting me up with your friend. Sorry I tried to light him on fire.” She squeezed his fingers and then released him.

  He fought the urge to fidget and instead picked up some popcorn. “Well, now Alastair can brag about his scorching hot date.”

  The cat climbed onto the back of the sofa and Eric leaned forward, just in case it decided to make good on its rumbly threats while walking behind him to settle in behind Jane’s head.

  “So, I’ve told you about me. What about you?” she said before tossing some popcorn in her mouth, then washing it down with beer.

  “Not much to tell. I didn’t graduate number one in high school or undergrad. Didn’t get offers from three Ivies, but I did okay. No siblings to outshine. I’m an only child.”

  “Where do your parents live?”

  “It’s only Mom. She’s upstate.”

  The cat butted his head against hers and she reached back to scratch around his ears. “Your parents divorced?”

  “No. Lost my dad in a car wreck when I was little.”

  “I’m so sorry. That must have been horrible.” She scratched Gandalf under his chin. “My dad is a bear sometimes, but I can’t imagine growing up without him.”

  Ordinarily, he kept the sadness and regret over his father’s death tucked deep down, allowing only his resentment to remain because it motivated him to do better, but her sincerity dislodged his grief and it bubbled up unexpectedly.

  He blinked a few times and focused on Bond’s car chase, willing the ache in his chest to loosen. He wondered if the scene was filmed at a normal speed and then sped up to look out of control and crazy reckless—like he felt at that moment. In his mind’s eye, he pictured himself pulling Jane close and kissing her. He imagined how soft her lips would be—and how warm. Warm like her fingers laced through his at that moment.

  “Sorry. I didn’t mean to upset you,” she said, giving his hand a squeeze.
>
  “No. You didn’t. I—”

  The cat jumped off the back of the sofa and landed between them right on top of their hands with his claws out.

  “Ow, shit, Gandalf!” she said, yanking her hand back and shaking it. “I’m really sorry, Eric. He’s the worst.”

  The cat was a nightmare, but not the worst. At least Gandalf took action on his impulses, rather than sit there dreaming about them.

  Chapter Seven

  Jane nudged Gandalf, and he leaped to the floor. It was like he could read her mind and knew she had a full-on fantasy working that involved locking lips with the cute lawyer, which would have been a huge no-no. Like, giant no-no. She’d written lawyers off the day she graduated from law school. They were arrogant, bossy, and way too argumentative. She had a whole family of them, and there was no way she’d date one, much less marry one.

  Marry. Ha. That was a joke. She couldn’t even score a second date.

  “Did he scratch you?” she asked.

  “Nope.” He showed her both sides of his hand. He had good hands. Strong, like he did more than sit at a desk. And until tonight, she’d only seen him in body-hiding business suits. He looked pretty buff in his T-shirt and jeans, which made those earlier images from before Gandy’s ambush come flickering back through her brain. How would his chest feel? His hair? His mouth… Stop!

  “So, do you have a girlfriend?” Aw, shit. That was stupid. His dating status was none of her business because it didn’t affect her. At all. Like, not even a little. Yet, for some reason she found herself holding her breath for his answer.

  He repositioned on the couch to face her a little more. “No.”

  That shouldn’t have been such a relief. It didn’t matter. Lawyers equaled hard no, she reminded herself; this one in particular. They worked at the same firm, for God’s sake.

  “No time for it.”

  “Well, that explains why you were free to drop by on short notice on a Friday night.”

  “It’s a work night for me.”

  “That’s not healthy, you know. Everyone needs time off.” She’d learned that the hard way when she got sick after pulling a string of eighty-plus-hour work weeks that didn’t get her ahead of the game even a little bit. She’d moved to a rigid eight a.m. to eight p.m. weekday schedule—well, sometimes as late as ten p.m. if she had a trial—and she always took weekends off now.