Page 49 of Dial L for Lawyer
The waiter approaches, oblivious to the treaty negotiation he’s just interrupted. “Are you ready to order?”
Caleb doesn’t even glance at him. “Give us a minute,” he says, dismissing the man without breaking our gaze. He turns my hand over, lacing his fingers through mine. The possessive grip sends a jolt straight to my core, and I stare at our joined hands.
"You know, my therapist has theories about my dating history. Turns out when you spend years thinking you're lucky if someone remembers your name, the bar gets pretty low."
His jaw tightens. "Serena."
"I'm not trying to trauma dump," I say quickly. "I just... watching Layla and Bennett, seeing what it looks like when someone actually chooses you, fights for you..." I take another sip. "It made me realize I'd been accepting crumbs and calling it a feast."
"And I'm not crumbs?"
"You're a five-course meal when I've been living on vending machine dinners." The metaphor makes him smile slightly. "Youterrify me because you're real. Because if this goes wrong, I can't just shrug and pretend I never expected better."
His thumb strokes over my knuckles, and the simple touch sends heat straight through me. I press my thighs together under the table, grateful for the tablecloth.
"You want to know what terrifies me?" he asks quietly.
I nod.
"That you'll realize you can do better than a workaholic lawyer who's been borderline obsessed with you for six months. That you'll figure out I'm just as fucked up as everyone else, just with better suits and a higher credit score."
"Your suits are very nice," I manage.
“Tell that to Dominic.”
"Dominic has terrible taste in everything but friends," I say, and the joke feels like a safety raft in this sea of raw emotion. He squeezes my hand, his thumb tracing the line of my wrist where my pulse hammers.
"Serena." His voice drops. "I need you to hear something. Whatever assholes made you think you were disposable? They were idiots. And if you give me the chance, I'll spend however long it takes proving that to you."
The intensity makes my chest tight. "That's a big promise."
"I'm a lawyer. I don't make promises I can't keep."
I have to look away for a moment. "Did you…really wait here for two hours that night?"
"Two and a half." No hesitation. "The waiter kept looking at me with increasing pity. I consumed so much bread I couldn't button my jacket."
"I'm so sorry."
"I'm not. If you'd shown up that night, we might have had dinner, maybe fooled around, probably fucked it up because neither of us was ready."
"And now we're ready?"
"I don't know about ready. But I know I've spent six months comparing every woman to you. I know I scheduled a client meeting at the Palmer House bar last month just because Layla mentioned you had a marketing conference in the same hotel."
"You did?"
"Nursed one drink for three hours while my client talked about real estate and his theories about Amelia Earhart. Everything from alien abduction to witness protection. I kept staring at the door, hoping you’d walk by the entire time."
My heart nearly cracks open. "You sat there for three hours?"
"I did." His thumb traces circles on my palm. "I was looking for you. I'm always looking for you. Every day since the gala. Maybe even before—since that rooftop bar opening when you were with Layla and we made Audrey choke after I told you my prize possession is a first edition of Myra Bradwell's legal briefs.”
“The woman who fought the Supreme Court for a woman's right to practice law." I smile at the memory.
“I wouldn't have pegged you as a champion of women's rights, Counselor.”
“I'm not one for 'pegging,' Ms. Morgan,” he replied, holding my gaze a beat longer than necessary.
