Payton hoped she had accomplished that task this morning. J.D. had been right when he’d told Jasper that she had quite a bit of trial experience under her belt, and with that she liked to think she was fairly skilled at reading jurors’ body language. She had started her opening statement by gesturing to Exhibit A, the six-foot half-mast penis photo, that plaintiff’s counsel had displayed front and center during his opening statement.

“Wow,” Payton had said, eyeing the photo as she turned to the jury to begin. “If the courthouse coffee wasn’t enough to wake you up, seeing that at nine a.m. sure will.”

The jury had laughed.

Now, any day that a person delivers an opening statement while standing in front of a six-foot billboard of semierect male genitalia is clearly a bit of an unusual day. But that was just the tip of the iceberg of events that spiraled out of control over the next forty-eight hours.

Payton returned to the office during her lunch break; she and Brandon planned to use the time to review the cross-examinations of the plaintiff’s witnesses that would begin that afternoon. When she got to the office, however, she found Irma in a frantic state, digging through the files on Payton’s desk.

“Thank god you’re here,” Irma said as soon as she saw Payton walk through the door. “Marie called—she’s been looking everywhere for the receipt for your dinner at Japonais with the Gibson’s reps. She needs to submit it before the close of the billing cycle—Accounts Payable won’t process any of the expenditures for your pitch until they have all the receipts in hand.”

Payton frowned. “J.D. paid for the dinner, not me. He should have the receipt.”

Irma looked at her helplessly. “I know, and I told that to his secretary, but she couldn’t find it in his office.”

“So tell her to simply ask J.D. where it is.”

“He’s in a conference room upstairs, preparing for a court hearing he has this afternoon. He told Kathy he’d look for the receipt later.” Irma sighed apologetically. “I’m sorry, Payton, I know you’re busy, too—I don’t mean to bother you with this. It’s just that Ben is on Marie’s back about this, which means that she’s on mine.”

Payton checked her watch. She wanted Irma to type up the trial notes Brandon had taken that morning before she headed back to court at one thirty. The faster she could resolve this business over the receipt, the better.

She handed Irma the notes. “Here—take these and start typing them up. I’ll look in J.D.’s office and see if I can find the receipt.”

Irma nodded and hurried off. Payton headed across the hall and let herself into J.D.’s office.

How very unlike J.D., she thought, to overlook something as basic as submitting a receipt. If anything, it was an indication of the pressure he’d been under since Ben had dropped his bombshell that only one of them would make partner.

Good. She was glad to see she wasn’t the only one who was on edge these days.

Payton looked first on top of the credenza that ran along the wall of J.D.’s office, searching for the receipt or any sort of file related to the Gibson’s matter. Finding nothing there, she moved on to his desk.

At first she saw nothing. Then—almost having overlooked it—she saw the edge of a smallish piece of paper peeking out from under the desk calendar that sat on top of J.D.’s desk. Wondering if that could be it, Payton hastily reached over to lift up the calendar and—

Shit!—somehow managed to knock over a Starbucks cup perched near the edge of J.D.’s desk. Coffee poured out the lid. Payton immediately reacted, she grabbed the cup, but not fast enough as coffee spilled over the edge of J.D.’s desk and onto his chair—

And right onto his suit jacket, which he presumably had nicely set out over the arm of the chair to prevent wrinkles.

Payton swore under her breath as she scrambled; she looked around for a napkin, Kleenex, anything to wipe up the coffee, which was quickly setting into J.D.’s suit. Not seeing anything, she grabbed the jacket—maybe she could run it under cold water or something—in doing so she happened to notice the label, it had been tailor-made in London. She smirked; of course it had been. She remembered back to their fight in the library and the smug way J.D. had said—

“What the hell are you doing?”

Payton froze at the sound of his voice.

She immediately knew how it must’ve looked, her holding a coffee cup in one hand, his stained suit in the other. And a smirk on her face.

Payton looked and saw J.D. standing in the doorway with a very pissed-off expression. He held his briefcase, as if he was prepared to leave for court, and of course he was impeccably dressed in a tailored shirt and pants that fit him perfectly.

She had no idea why she just noticed that.

Moving on.

She turned to J.D. to explain. “I was looking for the receipt for the Gibson’s dinner.”

J.D. ignored her. He pointed. “Is that coffee on my jacket?”

“Yeeee . . . s.”

He folded his arms across his chest. “Oh, I see. Maybe you thought I stashed the Gibson’s receipt in a Starbucks cup?”

Payton went for a joke. “It’s not my way of filing things, but . . .” she trailed off.

He was not amused.

J.D. took her in with a mocking tilt of his head. “That’s awfully passive-aggressive for you, isn’t it?”

Payton stared at him. Of course he thought she did this on purpose.