He frowned when he saw that the caller was his publicist, Marty. He had expected it to be his manager, with Ms. Donovan’s feigned reluctant (but secretly delighted) acceptance of his proposal. And he frowned because he was fully aware of the belief shared by his agent, manager, and lawyer that only Marty knew how to “handle” him when bearing bad news.

Jason answered his phone on the second ring.

“Yeah, Marty. What’s up?”

SITTING NEXT TO Jason, Jeremy glanced over and watched as his friend’s publicist delivered what apparently was some unexpected news. Jeremy could’ve laughed out loud when he heard Jason’s reply.

“What do you mean, she ‘regretfully declines’ my invitation?” he said, stunned. “Well—did she say anything else?”

Although Jeremy typically had little interest in Jason’s various escapades, he listened with curiosity to this particular exchange. He had overheard the message Jason had sent this Taylor Donovan person, and noted—with quite a bit of surprise—that it had bordered on being an apology. And as far as Jeremy knew, Jason Andrews hadn’t apologized to a woman other than his mother in fifteen years.

Jeremy watched as Jason’s expression turned to one of amusement as Marty conveyed whatever was the rest of Taylor Donovan’s message.

“That’s what she said?” Jason leaned back in his seat and chuckled. “Well, tell her that I saw her ass as she stormed out of the courtroom, and I might be tempted to do just that.”

Jason listened to his publicist talk for another moment, then pointed at the phone with emphasis. “Listen to me, Marty, I don’t want to work with anyone else. I want her. The one who thinks she can walk out on me. Make sure her firm understands that. And then I need you to focus on the London thing.”

He waved his hand impatiently at his publicist’s next words. “I told you, the whole thing was a misunderstanding. I only asked her to go to London. I never said she’d be coming back with me. Tell her manager that I don’t want to see her name next to mine in one more gossip rag. The publicity ride is over.”

With that, he firmly slammed his phone shut.

Jeremy glanced over. “The supermodel again?”

Jason frowned. “Trust me, if you had to listen to that inane babble for three days, you’d have left her in London, too. I don’t care how she looks in a swimsuit—or out of it.”

Hearing Jason’s terse tone, Jeremy said nothing and decided to let the game distract them for a while. He knew full well how much it annoyed Jason when the women he got involved with courted the media’s attention. Actresses, singers, models—it never failed: one phone call from Jason Andrews and they had a table booked at the Ivy and Ted Casablanca on their speed dial.

Jeremy glanced over as two guys in their midtwenties took the empty seats in the row behind them. He vaguely recognized one of the guys as Rob Something-or-Other, an actor on one of those CW shows, who Jeremy had met at a party being thrown by the director attached to his latest script. If he remembered correctly, Rob had been hanging around as part of Scott Casey’s entourage.

As Jeremy nodded in greeting at Rob Whoever, he noticed one of the Laker girls on the sidelines, jumping up and waving frantically at them.

“I think someone’s trying to get your attention.” Jeremy pointed the cheerleader out to Jason. She waved giddily when Jason glanced over. He flashed her a polite half smile, then turned away disinterestedly. He rolled his eyes at Jeremy.

“Been there. Done that.” Then he grinned slyly, unable to resist, and proudly pointed out several other Lakers girls. “And that. Oh, and that and that, too.” He winked deviously. “Together.”

“And amazingly, combined they total one brain.” Jeremy replied dryly.

Jason shook his head regretfully at this.

“Unfortunately, not quite.”

LATER THAT THURSDAY afternoon, when Taylor was well into her second grande skim latte of the day, she finally managed to finagle a few free moments to sit in her office and review Derek’s third draft of their proposed jury instructions.

Time, she realized, had not been on her side in the three days since her encounter with Jason Andrews. Ever since Frank of the EEOC had gone on the warpath and begun viciously bashing her client, in the media, that is.

She had immediately recognized the tactic for what it was: a blatant attempt to prejudice the defendant in the eyes of potential jurors. So in return, she had personally served Frank with an emergency motion for sanctions. And after her impassioned oral argument, the judge issued a gag order in the case and severely admonished that any lawyer seen or heard speaking to the media “better bring his or her toothbrush to court” (a colloquial way to threaten lawyers with being jailed for contempt). It had been the second time that week that Frank had stormed out of the courtroom refusing to speak to her.

Now, having been sidelined for the last three days with the emergency motion, Taylor was feeling behind the ball in her trial preparations. She had just barely sat down at her desk and started her review of Derek’s draft when her phone rang.

As soon as she saw the familiar 312 area code on the caller ID, Taylor picked up the handset and copped an immediate guilty plea.

“I know, I know. I’m a horrible friend.”

On the other end of the line, Kate laughed. She too worked at one of Chicago’s top law firms and knew full well how crazy things could get.

“You get a free pass since you’re preparing for trial. They made you partner yet?”