McIver's Mission

“You need a date?” Her voice was filled with skepticism.

He nodded. “For the Criminal Lawyers’ Association Annual Ball.”

“Are you asking for a recommendation?”

“No. I want you to go with me.”

She raised an eyebrow, and he wondered if she had any idea how sexy she looked, how his blood heated when he thought about that kiss—and about kissing her again. It didn’t matter that she wasn’t his type, that he wasn’t in the market for a romance right now.

He was concerned about her. He knew there was something going on in her life, something that worried her, and he figured if he spent some time with Arden, it might encourage her to confide in him. And if they engaged in a little flirting or shared a few kisses along the way, well, there was no harm in that.

“I don’t date lawyers,” she reminded him.

He’d heard her the first time, but her insistence only made him all the more determined to break through her barriers. Because he was concerned about her, he reminded himself again.

“It wouldn’t really be a date,” he said.

“I’m not agreeing to be your pretend date,” she said, sounding miffed. “And I don’t believe you’re so desperate you’d need to take me. The ball isn’t until sometime in December. I’m sure you’ll be able to find a date before then.”

“I want a date who won’t have any expectations.”

“How do you know I won’t?” she challenged.

“Because you’ve already stated—twice—that you don’t date lawyers, and you’re about as interested as I am in a romantic relationship.”

“That’s not a very flattering invitation.”

“I could try flattery,” he admitted. “But you’d see right through me.”

“I might have appreciated the effort, though.”

Shaun grinned. “I thought you’d appreciate a more honest approach.”

“The answer’s still no.”

“I haven’t finished outlining the terms of the proposed contract.”

“Contract?” Her lips twitched in the beginnings of a smile. “And what kind of consideration would I get for entering into this contract?”

She sounded so sexy when she was in lawyer mode; the combination of that smoky voice and cool attitude went straight to his loins. “Other than the pleasure of my company?”

“Other than that,” she agreed dryly.

Now he smiled. “Tickets to the opening night performance of Rosencrantz and Guildenstern are Dead next month.” He’d learned, again courtesy of Greta Dempsey, that Arden loved the theater. It was a happy coincidence that he had season tickets to the Fairweather Players’ Theater.

Arden’s eyes narrowed. “That’s an interesting offer.”

She was practically salivating, but he wasn’t above sweetening the deal. “Box seats.”

“Damn,” she swore under her breath, but she was smiling. “I really don’t want to go to the ball. All those lawyers, talking shop.” He didn’t think her shudder was feigned.

“But you really want to see that play,” he guessed.

“How did you know?”

He didn’t think it necessary to tip his hand just yet. He had a feeling that Mrs. Dempsey might be an invaluable ally, but not if Arden knew he was tapping her for information. “Is it a deal?”

“I’ll check my calendar.” She came back into the kitchen with her appointment book in hand. “When is the ball?”

“Saturday, December fourth.”

She flipped through the book. “I have appointments that day.”

“In the evening?”

“Well…no,” she admitted.

“Then pencil me in,” he told her.

She did so, but with obvious reluctance. Her calendar, he could tell even from a distance, was quite full.

“Is it hard dealing with marital disputes day after day?” he asked.

“No harder than dealing with career criminals, I imagine.”

Shaun grinned at the jibe. “Did you ever consider anything but family law?”

“No.”

“Why not?”

She shrugged. “I just felt that it was the one field in which I could make a difference for people.”

He hesitated, certain she wouldn’t appreciate his prying. Still, he felt compelled to ask, “But at what cost to yourself?”

“What do you mean?”

“You were a wreck yesterday, Arden.” His words were gentle but firm.

“Yesterday was the first time I buried a client. I think I was entitled to a few tears.”

“Nobody’s suggesting otherwise,” he agreed.

She folded her arms over her chest, a clearly defensive stance. He decided to back off—at least a little.

“Do you believe that happily-ever-afters can happen?” he asked.

“I like to think so,” she admitted. “But it’s hard to imagine, when I spend so much time dealing with the aftermath of relationships that fall apart.”