Page 89 of A Dead End Wedding

I rolled my eyes. "Some guy called me at home last night. Well, on my cell phone, but he knew I was at home. He made some lame threats and mentioned my curtains. But after the allergies stuff, it was hard to take him seriously."

Jake stopped dead. "What the hell are you talking about? Curtains? Allergies?"

I walked past him on the sidewalk, intent on getting inside the restaurant, where there had to be air conditioning. "Oh, he said, if you can believe it, 'this town isn't big enough for both of us.' Then I asked him if he had allergies, but he said 'or else' and I asked 'or else what?' and that made him mad, and—" I pushed open the door and,yes! Cool air washed over my overheated face.

I walked inside and said "Two," to the questioning expression on the hostess's face, then turned back to Jake, who looked really confused. "Where was I? Oh, right. There was no 'or else,' or at least it was just 'or else you'll get hurt really bad,' which is totally lame, but then he knew I didn't have curtains up and accused me of being a bad lawyer. Which, you know, creeped me out and honked me off all at the same time."

"This way, please," said the hostess. I followed her through the small, dim restaurant, which had about a dozen tables scattered about with traditional red-and-white-checked tablecloths. The air smelled incredible, though, like grilled steak with all the trimmings. I took a deep breath and realized I was starving. And the place was quiet enough. I could be incognito. Nobody even glanced up at me.

The hostess handed me my menu, and I sat down and opened it, then suddenly realized Jake hadn't said a word. He was staring at me with his mouth hanging open a little.

I watched the hostess amble away, then snapped my menu shut. "What?"

He shook his head slowly, but at least he shut his mouth. Then he started laughing.

And he kept laughing.

Frankly, it was annoying.

Finally, he calmed down and sucked in a big breath. "You – you – are you even sane? Why do I feel you're speaking in a foreign language?" He looked around and lowered his voice. "Is it the drugs? Are you in withdrawal or something?"

"It is NOT the drugs! I. Do. Not. Do. Drugs!" I shouted.

All the noise in the restaurant stopped, and I realized twenty-some people were all staring at me. "Way to be incognito, Vaughn," I muttered.

Brody clutched at his head. "Okay, okay, I was just kidding. Will you please explain what the hell you were talking about?"

I sighed. "Fine. As soon as we order. All this drama is making me hungry." I discreetly unbuttoned the button on the waistband of my skirt while he studied the menu. I was planning on eating a big steak. With dessert, even.

After the server took our order and spent a good five minutes flirting with Jake (not that it annoyed me), I told him the whole story. He didn't laugh it off as I'd hoped, and his mouth settled into a grim line.

"This bothers me a lot. Not so much the cheesy threats, but that somebody was surveilling your house. This may be a stupid question, given your general pushy nature, but have you pissed anybody off lately?"

"Hey! Who are you calling pushy? I'm a trial lawyer, not a . . . a . . . florist. I do what I do to help my clients," I huffed out, tired beyond belief of hearing the same old song out of a brand-new singer.

"Right. I'm sure you're a terrific advocate, Counselor. I was talking about your prickly attitude around innocent bystanders. Like me, for instance," he said.

"I don't—" I started out snapping at him, but then had to flash a sheepish grin. "I don't know. Something about you rubs me the wrong way, Brody."

He leaned forward. "I'll have to work on the right way, Vaughn."

My face flamed as red as the checks in the tablecloth, but I was saved from answering by the server returning with our drinks and salads. I dug in, famished. Being horny always makes me hungry.

If I spend much time with Jake, I'm going to need to buy pants with elastic waistbands.

"What isthat?" I asked, as Mr. Ellison dumped a giant metal monstrosity on my desk.

He looked wounded. "It's a toaster, of course. For you to borrow until your stuff gets here. I went home at lunch and picked it up for you."

I looked down at the most enormous toaster that I'd ever seen. It covered half of my desk. "What do you eat, dinosaur bread? Why is it so huge?"

"That's good old American engineering, girlie. Had it since nineteen forty-seven, and it's still going strong." He stuck his hands in his pockets and rocked back on his heels, smug in the knowledge of American superiority over sliced bread.

I gingerly picked it up and watched a shower of toast crumbs rain down on my desk. "Er, not that I'm ungrateful, but have you ever cleaned it out in the past sixty years?"

He flashed a big grin. "I knew you'd ask that. I clean it out once in every year that ends with a three, whether it needs it or not."

Trial lawyer or no, I had no response for that, so I left it alone.

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