Practice Makes Perfect (16 page)

J.D. AND TYLER waited outside the bar, trying to catch a cab. In addition to being unseasonably cool that evening, it had begun to rain, and finding an available taxi was proving to be a challenge.

Tyler hadn’t brought up the subject of Payton since their conversation with Chase and for that, J.D. was grateful. He wasn’t sure he wanted to talk about her right then. He needed to sort through his thoughts, to process this new development that she was dating someone, and figure out exactly what that meant.
If
it meant anything.

An open cab finally pulled around the corner, and J.D. and Tyler agreed to share it. As the cab pulled away from the curb, J.D. glanced out the window and saw everyone running in the rain with their collars turned up and purses over their heads. The weatherman had predicted a cool and clear evening, so now people were scrambling.

“In answer to your earlier question, no, I don’t think it would be completely crazy.”

J.D. glanced over at Tyler. All joking aside, they had been best friends since grade school and normally he put more weight in Tyler’s opinions than pretty much anyone else’s. But things had changed in the past couple of hours.

“It’s not that simple anymore,” he said. “Actually, it wasn’t simple before, and now it’s even less so.”

“Why? Because of Chase?” Tyler asked.

“In part because of Chase. It certainly suggests I misinterpreted things.”

“You don’t know jack-shit about their relationship. Who knows how long they’ve been dating? Or whether she’s even into him? Chase might be nice, but I don’t see Payton with him for the long haul.”

“It’s also quite possible she still detests me.”

Tyler dismissed this with a wave. “You’re going to let a thing like that stop you?”

“I was thinking intense despisement might be an obstacle in pursuing her, yes.”

“No, see, that’s what makes it all the more interesting,” Tyler said. He adopted a grandly dramatic tone. “ ‘Does our fair Ms. Kendall truly loathe the arrogant Mr. Jameson as she so ardently proclaims, or is it all just a charade to cover more amorous feelings for a man she reluctantly admires? ’ ”

Up front, the cabdriver snorted loudly. He appeared to be enjoying the show.

“Psych 101 again?” J.D. asked.

Tyler shook his head. “Lit 305: Eighteenth-Century Women’s Fiction.” He caught J.D.’s look and quickly defended himself. “What? I took it because of the girls in the class. Anyway, I see a bit of a
P and P
dynamic going on between you and Payton.”

J.D. didn’t think he wanted to know. Really. But he asked anyway. “
P and P
?”

Tyler shot him a look, appalled. “Uh, hello—
Pride and Prejudice
?” His tone said only a cretin wouldn’t know this.

“Oh right,
P and P
,” J.D. said. “You know, Tyler, you might want to pick up your balls—I think they just fell right off when you said that.”

Up front, the cabdriver let out a good snicker.

Tyler shook his head. “Laugh if you want, but let me tell you something: women go crazy for that book. And even crazier for men who have read it. If I plan to bring a girl back to my place, I might just so happen to leave a copy of it sitting out on my coffee table and, let’s just say, hijinks frequently ensue. And you know what? It’s not a bad bit of storytelling. I like to put on a nice pot of Earl Grey tea, maybe a slice of almond biscotti, and—yeah, that’s fine, keep right on laughing, buddy, but I bet I’ve gotten laid more recently than you.”

“Hey—not that I’m not thoroughly amused at the thought of your little tea cozy and you wrapped up in a blanket reading your book—”

“I didn’t say there was a blanket.” Tyler paused. “Fine. Sometimes there may be a blanket.”

“—but my question is, were you going anywhere with this, or is it just some sort of weird sharing moment?”

Tyler had to think. “Where
was
I going with this . . . ?” He snapped his fingers. “Oh, yeah—
Pride and Prejudice
. Women and the whole Darcy complex. For Payton, that’s you.”

“I thought Darcy was the asshole.”

Tyler smiled fondly. “You know, he really kind of is.”

“Great pep talk, Tyler. Thanks.”

“But he doesn’t
stay
the asshole,” Tyler said. “See, you just don’t understand women the way I do, J.D. They want it all: a career, apple martinis, financial independence, great shoes; but at the same time—and
this
they’ll never admit—they are drawn to patriarchal men who are dominant and controlling. That’s the essence of the Darcy complex. He may be an asshole, but he’s an asshole that gets the girl in the end.”

J.D. rolled his eyes. This entire conversation was just so ridiculous.

But still.

“And how does he accomplish that?” he asked.

“Oh, it gets a little complicated,” Tyler said. “See, Lizzie has this troublesome younger sister who runs off with the guy she originally
thought
she liked—wait, back up—to really understand, I should start with the visit to Pemberley, because it actually starts with the aunt and uncle, see—her uncle loves to fish and Darcy asks—”

J.D. held up his hand, very, very sorry he asked. “The short version please. We’re already at your stop.”

Tyler looked out the window and saw that the cab had indeed pulled up in front of his building. He turned back to J.D. “Okay. The short version, the very short version: he gets the girl by being nice to her.”

J.D. waited. “That’s it? He’s
nice
to her? That’s so . . . lame.”

“Look, if you want to win Payton over—”

J.D. stopped him right there. “Hey, we’re only speaking in hypotheticals, okay? I haven’t decided that I want to win anyone over.”

“Oh. Then my advice is that you should start there. Figure out what you want.” With that, Tyler got out of the cab and darted through the rain into his building.

Great. Thanks for the help
. J.D. gave the cabdriver his address. He stared out the window as the taxi made its way the six blocks to his building. When they arrived, J.D. reached through the divider and handed the cabdriver a twenty and told him to keep the change.

The driver turned around. “Hey—your friend back there was giving you some pretty strange advice.” Around fortyish and wearing a ragged flannel shirt and a Sox cap that had seen far better days, the guy had one of the thickest Chicago accents J.D. had ever heard. “He seemed a little off the wall, if you know what I mean. I don’t think I’d listen to him if I were you.”

J.D. grinned. “I’ll take that under advisement.” He opened the door to the cab and stepped out.

“Because everybody knows that Darcy doesn’t win Lizzie over just by being nice.”

J.D. stopped. He looked back over his shoulder.

The driver rested his arm on the divider. His rolled-up sleeve revealed a tattoo of a black scorpion that covered his entire forearm. “See, it’s all about the Grand Gesture. That’s how you get the girl.”

“Thank you,” J.D. managed to say.

The driver shrugged. “No prob-lem. Frankly, it sounded like you could use all the help you can get.”

He put the cab into gear.

“And listen—tell your friend to try English Breakfast next time. It’s a little more robust. Earl Grey is really more of a
Sense and Sensibility
kind of tea.”

AT HOME LATER that night, after J.D. had done the final checks for the evening of his email and work voice mail and cell phone voice mail and home voice mail and was satisfied that there were no work matters that required his immediate attention, he thought about Tyler’s advice.
Figure out what you want.
And it was then that J.D. realized.

He didn’t know.

As he had told Tyler, things weren’t that simple. Chase
did
complicate things. Of course he did. Maybe Payton really liked him. J.D. could see the two of them together—with all they had in common, they just seemed to make sense.

Tyler had been dismissive of this, and maybe to him Chase and every other obstacle just made the whole Payton issue a better intrigue, but then again, Tyler wasn’t up for partner that year. Tyler also wasn’t competing with Payton for only one partnership spot. And Tyler certainly didn’t have the history he had with Payton.
Eight years
of history.

It was a long time. It struck J.D. then, that he had become so swept up in beating Payton that he hadn’t directed his anger where he should have: at the firm.
They
were the ones who had put him and Payton in this position. Making partner was never a guarantee, but after all his hard work he deserved better. She deserved better.

But what bothered J.D. most was not the unfairness of the firm’s decision. Rather, it was the fact that when he looked back on the past eight years, he wasn’t necessarily proud of his own behavior. He had regrets, and there were things he wished he could go back and do differently. There was that one thing in particular that even Tyler didn’t know about . . .

Figure out what you want
.

J.D. knew that he wanted to scrap the past. To start over. For the next fourteen days at least, he wanted to do things right. If he couldn’t change the fact that things had to come to an end with Payton, he could at least change the
way
they ended.

It wasn’t much, J.D. realized, and it certainly didn’t answer all the lingering questions.

But it was a start.

EARLY THE NEXT morning, Payton rushed around her office, packing up her trial briefcase. Yes,
now
she wished she had packed it the night before, but her mother had taken a late flight out and Payton hadn’t seen the need to make a special trip into the office at midnight. A good trial attorney should be prepared for anything, she knew, and that’s why she always built in extra time, particularly since she took the “L” to work. Ah, those little tricksters at the Chicago Transit Authority, she could always count on them to keep things spicy. Because, really, who didn’t want to spend an extra fifty-five minutes in the packed, hot, smelly car of a train that inexplicably moved only three miles an hour the entire trip downtown? That was
fun stuff
.

Payton grabbed the case files she had reviewed over the weekend and stuffed them into the large, boxy trial briefcase that weighed nearly a ton. She hoped Brandon would show up soon so she could pawn the thing off onto him—after all, wasn’t that what junior associates, and men, were for?

Payton heard a knock on her door and looked up. Instead of Brandon, she saw J.D. standing in the doorway. He was armed with a Starbucks cup.

Blimey.

“I noticed that you seem to be running late,” he said. “I didn’t think you’d have time to grab this on your way to court. Grande sugar-free vanilla latte, right?” he asked, gesturing to the coffee. “I’ve heard you say it to Irma a few times,” he added quickly.

He held the cup out to her.

Payton looked at it, then back at J.D. It was a trap, it had to be. She remained where she stood.

The corners of J.D.’s mouth curled up. “
No
, I don’t plan to throw it at you.”

Payton smiled. Ha-ha. Throw it at her? As if that had ever crossed her mind.

“That’s not what I was thinking,” she assured him as she walked over and took the cup. He certainly was taking their truce seriously, she thought. How sweet.

She subtly sniffed the coffee for poison.

J.D. smiled again. “And
no
, I didn’t put anything in it.”

Payton took a sip of the latte.

J.D. winked. “Nothing that can be detected by its smell, anyway.”

Payton stopped, mid-swallow, and held the liquid in her mouth. He was kidding, of course. Payton smiled and shook a finger to let him know she was in on the joke.
Ah, J.D. you funny guy, you.
She looked around her office. Seriously, why was there never a spittoon around when you needed one?

“I’m kidding, Payton,” J.D. said. “You don’t have to act so shocked. I’m just trying to be . . .” He hesitated. “Nice?”

Payton swallowed. “Nice?”

J.D. nodded. “Sure. Call this, you know, a
gesture
.” He looked around her office. “So how’s your trial coming along? From the little I saw the day your shoe, uh . . . and then you . . . well, you were there, you know what happened—it looked like the jury’s on your side. What do you think?”

Payton stared at him. “Seriously. What are you doing?”

J.D. blinked innocently at her. “What do you mean, what am I doing?”

“First the coffee, and now you’re—what—making idle chitchat? Is that what this is?”

J.D. shrugged. “Sure.”

“Another gesture, I suppose?” she asked.

“Exactly—another
gesture
.” J.D. smiled. “So now there’s been two
gestures
.”

Payton carefully looked him over. “Are you sure you’re okay?” He was acting so bizarre right then. Maybe he was ill.

“I’m fine,” he said. “You were going to tell me about your trial?”

“Well . . . things are going good, I guess. Assuming there aren’t any surprises, we should start closing arguments in two days. Thank you for asking.”

“Of course.”

Payton waited as J.D. continued to linger in her doorway. Was there . . . something else? “I really should get going to court.”

“You really should,” he agreed.

Still, with the lingering.

Payton gestured to her coffee cup. “Thank you for the Starbucks?” Maybe he was waiting for a tip.

J.D. seemed pleased with this response. “You’re welcome.” He straightened up. “Well, then. Good luck in court, Payton.” With a nod, he turned and left.

Payton shook her head as she watched him leave. Whatever the hell that was, she had no clue.

In eight years—all their fights, coffee-stained suits, peeky-cheeks, and everything else considered—
that
had to be the oddest interaction she’d ever had with J. D. Jameson.

Eighteen

“I THINK WE need to talk.”

Six such simple words, but Payton hated hearing them. Everyone hated hearing them.

It was part of a voice mail message Chase had left her, one she’d first heard when she’d got back to the office after finishing up in court. It had been a long day—the judge had dismissed them later than usual; he was trying to make sure the trial ended as scheduled in two days. Payton was wiped out, vaporized, as she was during every trial on the days her witnesses were cross-examined by opposing counsel. She personally found it to be the most exhausting thing a lawyer had to do: protect her own witnesses during cross-examination and pray, pray, pray they didn’t say anything stupid.

So, needless to say, when she first heard Chase’s message in which, in addition to wanting to “talk,” he suggested they meet at some coffee bar called the Fixx, she hesitated and yes, the terrible person she was, Payton thought about not calling him back. But then guilt set in (he’s such a nice guy, he’s Laney and Nate’s friend), followed by rationalization (she would only stay for a half hour, then come back to the office to work), and one short cab ride later, here she was, about to start her third latte of the day, as she smiled apologetically at Chase because, of course, she had been fifteen minutes late.

“I’m sorry,” she told him for the second time. She was frazzled with everything going on at work and, P.S., a little wired from all the caffeine.

They grabbed a table near the front of the coffee shop, by the windows. As Payton had quickly learned when she had mistakenly ordered a “grande,” the Fixx was one of those indie, we-piss-on-Starbucks kind of coffeehouses that catered to an eclectic mix from the multi-tattooed/ pierced grunge and Goth type to the scarf-and-turtleneck-wearing literati crowd. The kind of place her mother would love.

As she and Chase took their seats, Payton felt overdressed in the tailored suit and heels she had worn for court. She glanced around, wondering when exactly it was she had stopped fitting into places like this.

“You said you wanted to talk?” she prompted Chase, not trying to hurry him along, but . . . okay, fine, she was trying to hurry him along.

Chase nodded. “First, I want to start by saying that I understand now what’s going on. With you and J.D., I mean. I ran into him last night and we started talking and, well, I kind of put two and two together.”

Payton had no idea what Chase was talking about. Although she had picked up on one thing. “You talked to J. D. Jameson? You know him?”

“We went to law school together.”

Of course. Payton knew they had both gone to Harvard; she didn’t know why it hadn’t clicked that they would have been in the same class. She was interested to hear what J.D. had been like back in law school, particularly since for years she had viewed him pretty much as a one-dimensional character: the Villain, the Archrival, the Enemy. Doing so had made it easier for her to dismiss all the times he’d been such a jerk to her. But now . . . well, things had changed and she found herself wanting to know more about him, more personal things. For starters, she was
very
curious to know what “J.D.” stood for.

Payton sensed, however, that now was not the time to ask Chase for the behind-the-scenes tour. “So you ran into J.D. last night, and this two and two you put together is, what, exactly?”

“That he’s the one you’re competing against to make partner,” Chase said. “And now I totally get why you’ve been so stressed out these days. I wouldn’t want to go up against J.D., either.”

Payton sat back and crossed her legs defensively. “I’m not afraid to take on J.D. I think I have a pretty decent shot, you know.”

Chase was quick to assure her. “Of course you do, that came out wrong,” he said apologetically. “What I meant to say is that I know how stressful this must be for you, with the way J.D. is.”

“Meaning?”

“Well, honestly, I think he’s kind of an asshole. He’s full of himself, stubborn, and most of all, extremely competitive. He’s one of those I-always-have-to-win, I-always-have-to-be-right types. I hate people like that.”

Payton laughed. “Well, then, we
do
need to talk. Because you just described me.”

Chase grinned affectionately. “You’re not like that.”

“Yes, I am, Chase. I’m exactly like that.”

Chase tried to dismiss this. “But it’s different with you—those qualities are admirable in a woman. That’s how you have to act in order to be successful, particularly in the legal profession.”

“That’s kind of sexist against men, isn’t it?” Payton glanced out the window. Wait—was that a
pig
she just saw go flying by?

Chase shifted uneasily in his chair. “Look—I think we’re getting off track here. All I’m trying to say is that, before, maybe, I thought you were getting a little too worked up about making partner, but now I understand why. I’m sure J.D. has taken the stakes up, like, ten notches.”

Well, yes. But then again, so had she. And on another note, Payton found it very interesting that Chase had thought she was getting “too worked up” about making partner. Who was he to decide the proper level of importance she should place on the advancement of
her
career?

And frankly, while she was thinking about it, she didn’t particularly like the way Chase talked about J.D. Sure, J.D. could definitely come off a little arrogant and perhaps overly confident at times, but he did have his moments. For instance, she begrudgingly had to give him credit for the fact that, after the deposition, he had come to her house to apologize in person. She knew that hadn’t been easy for him. And there were other things, little things, like at dinner with the Gibson’s reps, when he’d kept her company while the other men went off to smoke cigars. Or the way he’d come looking for her in the library after Ben had given them the news that only one of them would make partner. He only had been trying to be nice, she knew, yet in return she had been rude and defensive.

And then there was the thing he’d said to her the other night as he left her house.
I would’ve done it for you in a heartbeat.
Payton had gone over those words a hundred times in her head. She needed to be careful when it came to J.D.—she had to protect herself; she didn’t want to misread him, couldn’t afford to mistakenly attach too much significance to something he’d maybe meant only as a professional courtesy.

Payton realized that Chase was studying her, presumably waiting for her to say something similarly negative about J.D. But oddly, the person she had questionable feelings about as a result of this conversation was Chase. He had been very emphatic in wanting to talk to her, but so far she hadn’t heard anything that merited pulling her out of work and away from the hours of research she still had ahead of her that evening.

“I don’t mean to be rude, Chase, but I really have to get back to the office,” she said. “As a last-ditch effort, the plaintiff moved to strike some of our jury instructions and the judge wants to hear our arguments tomorrow,” she explained. “So is this why you asked me to meet you here? To talk about J.D.?”

Chase shook his head. “Actually, I wanted to talk about us. Look—you obviously have a lot going on with work right now, and maybe that’s all it is, but I was thinking about you last night, that I wanted to do something nice for you, something to take your mind off of things. But then it hit me, that I wasn’t sure you actually
wanted
me to take your mind off of things, that maybe all you want is to be focused on your job—and that’s great, Payton, don’t get me wrong—but . . .”

He hesitated, his brown eyes full of questions. “Is that really all it is? Because I can wait out these last few days until your firm makes its partnership decisions, but if it’s more than that, then . . . maybe it just would be better if I backed off now.”

At first, Payton didn’t know what to say. She wasn’t ready to have this conversation, at least not now, anyway. She took a deep breath.

“I blindsided you with this, didn’t I?” Chase asked, grinning sheepishly.

“Yes, you could say that,” Payton said, exhaling with a nervous laugh.

Chase reached across the table and took her hand. “Look, we don’t need to finish this conversation right now. I just thought this was something I needed to say. And I hate talking about these things over the phone.”

Payton nodded. She probably was a fool to not immediately say, no, of course she didn’t want him to back off. But Chase was right: she needed to think before she answered him. Right now, she was confused and—while she hated to admit it—fighting the urge to check her watch. But since he had brought up the subject, she responded as honestly as she could. He deserved that at least.

“This trial is the last thing the firm will judge me on before making its partnership decision,” she told him. “I get that you have questions, but it’s hard for me to focus on anything else right now. But it will be over in two days. If you could just wait until then, I promise that we’ll sit down and really talk.”

Chase smiled and said he understood.

Funny
, Payton thought. Because she personally had no clue what she was doing.

BACK IN THE office.

Again.

Sometimes, she felt like she never left the place. Probably because she rarely did.

It was nearly seven o’clock, which meant the secretaries were gone and the office was quiet. When Payton got to her office, she saw that Brandon had left three stacks of cases on her desk for her review—the results of his research into each of the three jury instructions the plaintiff had challenged. Unfortunately for Payton, each pile was at least two inches thick, which meant her chances of leaving the office anytime soon were nonexistent to none.

She had just barely begun to tackle the first mound of cases when she heard a knock on her door. She glanced up and saw Laney.

“Hey—why are you still here?” Payton asked. She lowered her voice to a near whisper. “I thought tonight was the big night.” Laney—so Payton had learned yesterday in a conversation that included entirely too much information—was ovulating tonight. She had planned to leave early and surprise Nate. Et cetera.

“I’m on my way out,” Laney said. “What time are you leaving for the cocktail hour?”

Payton frowned, confused. “The cocktail hour?” She smacked her forehead, suddenly remembering. “Shit—the cocktail hour!”

Every June, the litigation group hosted a cocktail hour to welcome that year’s crop of summer associates, and all lawyers in the group were “strongly encouraged” to attend. With everything going on, she had completely forgotten that the party was tonight. She had set a reminder on her computer’s daily planner that must’ve gone off while she was at the Fixx with Chase.

Crap.

With a groan, Payton rubbed her forehead. “I’m not going to be able to go to the cocktail hour tonight.” She gestured to the five and a half inches of cases on her desk that she still needed to read. “I’ve got too much work to do.” She sighed. Poor Cinderella. Couldn’t go to the ball because she had to read up on evidentiary limitations of the Ellerth/ Faragher affirmative defense standards.

“But you need to go,” Laney urged her. She nodded subtly in the direction of J.D.’s office. “You know he’s going to be working the crowd, schmoozing with Ben and everyone else on the Partnership Committee. You have to be there, too.”

Payton suddenly felt very tired of the whole ordeal of competing against J.D. If the Partnership Committee’s decision was at all based on who scored more face time at the litigation group cocktail hour, then, frankly, they were a bunch of assholes.

“As much as I really hate to miss out on the opportunity to give a series of peppy, come-work-for-our-firm, of-course-I-never-bill-more-than-two-thousand-hours recruitment speeches to a bunch of summer associates who clearly have no clue that they’re about to sign away their
lives
, I’m going to have to pass tonight.”

Laney stared at Payton, surprised. “I don’t think I’ve ever heard you bad-mouth the firm before. You’re normally so party line.” She nodded approvingly. “Good for you. I’ll tell you what—I’ll stay and help you read through those cases, and maybe you’ll be able to catch the end of the cocktail party.”

Payton smiled in appreciation. “That’s very sweet of you to offer. But don’t worry about me—I’m fine. Go home and enjoy your evening with Nate.”

Laney hesitated. “Are you sure?”

Payton nodded emphatically. “Yes. Go. It’s nice to know at least one person is somehow managing to find the time to have sex while working here.”

She caught Laney’s look.

“Don’t worry, no one’s around to hear me anyway.”