She hesitated, and a glimmer of something passed over his face. Nervousness?
His eyes were hazel with a greenish glint, and her proximity allowed even closer inspection. She discovered on the bottom quarter of his left iris a patch of muted cerulean, swirled with white speckles. Her gaze zeroed in on that patch of color like she was searching the glitter in a chunk of pyrite.
“It’s okay, everyone stares at it.”
Perdie’s eyes snapped into focus. Caught staring? Embarrassing.
Time to adopt a new course of action. Maybe leaning into the flirting was a more winning strategy. Call his bluff, as it were.
“Like you needed something to make you look even more like an international pop star.” She patted him on the arm, his biceps rock-hard against her hand. Of course it would feel like that. “Don’t worry about the ride, Leplan, blackmail’s off the table anyway. I could never stand to see any harm done to a pretty face like yours.”
She’d meant it in good fun—after all, he’d started the alleged flirting. So why did the crests of his cheekbones flush at her words?
Carter’s phone lit up in his hand. “Come now. No sense in two cars going to the same place.” He reached for her, gently removing the folded coat from her grasp and holding it up behind her, prompting her to push her arms through the sleeves. “Wouldn’t be very environmentally prudent, would it? We care about that kind of thing where I’m from.”
Rude. Her eyes narrowed. “That’s rich considering your fracking-happy client. And if you’re implying Charlestonians don’t care about the environment, that’s good old-fashioned slander. You shouldn’t prejudge because we’re Southern.”
They walked to the glass doors to leave the building, and Perdie’s muscles vibrated at the feel of Carter’s hand hovering around her lower black.
He spoke distractedly as he ushered her out. “Well, you know how it goes. Everyone’s entitled to fair representation under the law.”
The car rolled close to the curb, and Carter hastily stowed their luggage in the trunk. Welp, there went her chance at changing shoes. Her toes ground against the trap of the ungiving leather triangle. With gritted teeth, she ducked into the compact backseat. She’d persevere through the pain. She’d made it all day, she could take a few more minutes.
Carter nestled in, his long legs surpassing the cushion edge, the side of his hip and shoulder pressed against hers. Suddenly, Perdie grew hyperaware of every inch of her skin. She was worried that her cobalt pencil skirt was riding up on her thighs and grateful for the cover of her long winter coat. She also welcomed the blast of cold when they’d stepped outside, otherwise she’d be sweating again.
The driver’s eyes appeared in the rearview mirror. “Airport?”
When they confirmed, he shook his head. “If you say so...this is my last lift for the night.”
Perdie didn’t like the sound of that. The weather was bad, yes, but this was North Dakota. Weren’t they used to this kind of thing?
She grabbed her phone from her purse and checked her flight status. Delayed but only by thirty minutes.
To avoid further conversation, she flicked through her messages. She took the time to answer a few from one of her dating apps. Hookups were fun—feelings left at the door, underwear in a handbag.
She bit back a laugh at a message from her best friend and roommate, Lucille.
Ruth Bananas Ginsberg read the caption of a picture of their black pug, Bananas, of whom Lucille and Perdie shared joint custody. Bananas was dressed in a makeshift judge’s robe and necklace posed next to Perdie’s copy of Black’s Law Dictionary. A small snort escaped Perdie’s lips.
“Can I ask you a personal question?”
Perdie’s head snapped up to find Carter watching her intently. Hastily, she locked her phone screen. “You can try.”
“How old are you?”
If she were in a sitcom, this is when she would’ve done a spit take. “Seventy-eight. But I have an excellent skin-care routine.” Not true, in reality she had a mediocre skin care routine. One she often neglected.
“You’re thirty-nine.”
“Okay?”
“I googled you and did the math.”
She tilted her head. “Then why ask the question?”
His brows drew together. “This might be out of line, but I’m surprised given your time at the firm that you aren’t a partner. Especially since I’ve seen your work. Competent to say the least.”
If he’d googled her then he also knew about her shitty local law school and pathetic career history, and the implications still embarrassed her. She was more than her mediocre credentials, but it often didn’t feel that way.
“We can’t all make it big in record time. Some of us come from more humble beginnings.” She hoped to sound lighthearted, but inside she bristled.
“Ah. So, you googled me too.”
She blushed. “Please, you know we all do that shit. Lawyers are a nosy bunch. We’ll take any ammunition we can dig up on one another.”
“Find anything good?” He leaned back against his seat and stretched out his arms on either side. Then he propped up on one elbow, tugging at his hair, his head angled towards hers.
A thrill ran up Perdie’s spine at the somehow intimate gesture, but she tamped it down. Still, perhaps she could push professional boundaries a touch in the name of a little fun. “Yeah, search results were enlightening but strange because every link with your name led to the same page with only one single line of text.”
He gave an expectant smile. “And what did that single line of text say?”
She leaned in. “It said you’re a giant fucking douchebag.”
He let out a crack of laughter. Perdie smothered a smile. At least he had a sense of humor about himself, even if the whole thing was wildly unprofessional.
“Google said that?”
“Yep.” She nodded. “Page one and everything. Super weird. A sponsored ad even.” She held her hands up, expanding like a marquee. “Carter Leplan is a giant fucking douchebag. You should hire a professional to purge those results.”
