Page 68 of Wicked Takeover
“I did, though.”
More than she could have imagined. Even though she’d been dead wrong about him, her words had stung. He’d tried to let it pass. With anyone else, he would have, not caring what that person thought.
He couldn’t do that with Lauren. Not only did he want her respect, he couldn’t deny her importance to him. This last week had been god-awful. He’d wondered if what they’d found in each other was already over because she couldn’t see past meaningless stuff to who he really was. He could have argued his case—he was fucking good at that—but he hadn’t wanted to convince her. He needed her to accept him as he was, as he had with her.
His hope for that kept fading until she’d worn a skirt again. It was nuts for him to put any credence in a woman’s fashion choice, but Lauren’s small gesture meant more to him than an apology ever could.
“You didn’t know about me.” He glanced at the house, a reminder of his old life. “You didn’t know about this.”
“I still don’t. Will you tell me? I want us to talk. I’ve missed that so much these last days that I felt like I was dying.”
Her confession stirred something deep within him that he couldn’t fight. “Me, too. Are you hungry?”
She looked puzzled at his change in subject. “Ah…”
“I’ll take that as a yes.” He locked the front door and captured her hand to lead her to the kitchen.
She held back. “If you don’t own this place anymore, how come you have a key?”
“I sold it to Scott, a friend of mine. He travels for his job. Lets me use the place whenever he’s gone.”
That didn’t get her to budge. “You come here often?”
“Are you asking do I miss it?”
“Yeah.” She took in what she could, awe in her eyes. “Who wouldn’t?”
“It’s not what I want anymore. The last time I was here was almost a year ago. Scott’s girlfriend threw him a surprise birthday party. Damnedest thing, they broke up that night.”
“Wow, bummer. Did you guys work together at one time?”
It had been so long since he had talked about himself and what had happened, he felt the old reluctance creeping back. “No.” He pulled Lauren down the hall toward the kitchen. “He was an attorney on the other side.”
She stared at the monstrous flat-screen as they passed the TV room. Beyond the windowed wall, the Intracoastal Waterway sparkled. “Other side of what?”
“He was opposing counsel during my last case.”
She stopped again.
Dante pulled her forward. At this pace, they’d never reach the food. “There should be steaks in the freezer. Probably a lot of other stuff in the fridge. Scott likes to eat. Don’t worry, he won’t be back until tomorrow morning.”
“Wait. You’re an attorney?”
“Was.”
She gasped. “You were disbarred?”
He stopped and frowned. “No.”
“Hey, hey, hey. Don’t blame me if I jump to the wrong conclusion after your cryptic comments. You keep making me guess. Don’t you ever spit things out like the rest of us?”
Not since he became an attorney. Sharing as little information as possible was so ingrained in him, Dante hadn’t realized he was still in lawyer mode. “I quit my job as lead counsel for one of the largest civil litigation firms in Palm Beach. My department handled product liability. Most of the time I was able to get out-of-court settlements. When I went to trial, I always won. I was fucking good at what I did. Too good.”
They’d reached the kitchen. Its square footage was just a shade less than the building that housed Wicked Brand. Dante turned on recessed bulbs in the ceiling and a wrought iron chandelier. Its amber shades glowed softly above the mahogany island in the center. Wood cabinets, copper utensils, and black granite counters provided a masculine feel.
Lauren regarded the refrigerator. It had an engraved wooden door. “What do you mean you were too good? How is that possible?”
“I won when I shouldn’t have.” He pulled china and a silver serving tray from the cabinets and handed them to her.
