Just the Sexiest Man Alive

Thirty-one

WITH A LOUD pop, someone cracked open the first bottle of champagne. The party officially kicked into high gear.

Taylor stood in a circle of lawyers, all of whom were eager to offer her their congratulations. To celebrate her victory, the firm had reserved one of the private rooms at the Beverly Hills Four Seasons. The party was packed, as lawyers at her firm were generally enthusiastic about any event that provided them both an excuse to cut loose from work at six o’clock and unlimited free alcohol.

Taylor had a sneaking suspicion that, on this particular occasion, there was an additional factor drawing everyone in like months to a flame. For weeks, stories about her alleged fantastic social life had spread throughout the office (she suspected Linda and the cohorts had a hand in this), and she guessed, from the way everyone at the party looked eagerly at the door each time someone walked in, that they all were hoping a certain you-know-who might drop by.

Over and over again, Taylor repeated the story of the EEOC’s capitulation to her colleagues, which (as Frank had predicted) had led to a quick settlement of the case earlier that afternoon. Indeed, the events of the day had happened so fast that Taylor felt a little dizzy standing there at the party. Perhaps she just needed some fresh air.

As she slowly inched closer and closer to the French doors that led to an outdoor terrace, her recap of the day’s events got more and more succinct. Luckily, Derek stood by her side and picked up the slack when she fell quiet. As he entertained the crowd with stories of her trial antics, Taylor smiled along, relieved that no one seemed to notice how distracted she was.

About midway through the evening, she thought she might get a brief reprieve when she heard the pointed clinking of a glass. She looked across the room and saw Sam Blakely rising in toast.

“So I have just a few words I’d like to say in celebration of our firm’s victory today,” he began with a proud glance in Taylor’s direction. “A victory brought about in large part because of the skills and dedication of one associate, the unstoppable Taylor Donovan.” Sam paused as the crowd clapped and cheered. Then he turned to address her personally.

“Taylor, when you first arrived at the Los Angeles office, we had been told you were a rising star. And from what I’ve seen, I wholeheartedly agree with all the praises the Chicago office sang of you.”

She blushed modestly at the compliment.

“We here in the L.A. office have come to think of you as one of our own,” Sam continued, “and you will be greatly missed now that your work here is finished. And since you, of course, will greatly miss all of us”—Sam held for the expected laughter—“let me at least give you something I hope will ease your sadness.”

Everyone in the room watched as Sam strolled over to Taylor. She presumed he was about to hand her some sort of farewell gift.

But what he said next surprised her.

He stuck out his hand.

“I know it’s two years early, Taylor, and that’s a first for this firm, but let me be the first to offer you my congratulations. Because when you get back to Chicago, you’ll find they have a much bigger office waiting for you.” He winked slyly. “A partner’s office, that is.”

The whole room erupted in celebration.

Taylor stood there, stunned.

She felt people patting her on the back. In her daze, she numbly took Sam’s hand and shook it. One at a time, her coworkers came up to offer their congratulations. With each minute that passed, Taylor felt dizzier and dizzier, until she literally thought the walls were spinning. Desperate for some air, after a few moments she excused herself from the crowd and stepped out onto the terrace.

Once outside, she headed to the edge of the balcony. Trying to calm herself down, she took in the view of the hotel’s lush gardens. A warm evening breeze rustled the draped bougainvillea. Pristine white flowers surrounded the marble sculptures and fountains. It was all so . . . California. And so she took it all in, trying to savor every last detail.

Because her time there had come to an end.

Mid-trial settlements were not uncommon, so she should have prepared herself for the possibility that she would be leaving earlier than expected. But blindly, she had not.

There would be no more fancy Hollywood parties. No more dinners at trendy restaurants and drinks at hot L.A. clubs. No more apartment by the beach, sunny California days, or warm, sultry nights.

And there would be no more Jason.

This was the reason Taylor had been walking around in a fog since the moment her case had settled.

Leaning against the balcony for support, she took a deep, steadying breath. She knew she should’ve been back in the party, enjoying every moment of her success. It was a phenomenal achievement, the firm making her partner two years early. It was everything she had worked for since graduating from law school. It was everything she wanted.

Wasn’t it?

Taylor heard soft footsteps behind her. She turned and saw Linda approaching and watched as her secretary pulled up next to her at the balcony.

“Quite an exciting night, huh?”

Taylor nodded. “You can say that again.”

Linda studied her for a moment, then stuck out her hand. “Congratulations, Taylor.”

She smiled. “Thanks, Linda, for everything. It’s been a pleasure working with you.”

“Somehow, I think things around the office are going to be a lot quieter once you’re gone,” Linda said teasingly.

Taylor laughed. “That’s probably true.”

Then the two women fell into a quiet silence as they looked out at the gardens. After a moment, Linda glanced over.

“What are you going to tell him?”

Taylor soberly shook her head. “I have no idea.”

Right then, Sam found them out on the balcony and dragged Taylor back into the party. Although Linda’s question weighed heavily on her mind, Taylor had no chance to give it any further thought as she moved from one group of attorneys to the next, chatting and mingling and doing the rounds as any good soon-to-be-partner would.

After the party, as she drove back to her apartment, her mind was bogged down with the multiple logistical issues that accompanied her return back to Chicago. Her apartment and office needed to be packed, travel arrangements needed to be made, she had to terminate her apartment sublease and car lease (and here the Chrysler people had just been nice enough to replace her wrecked PT Cruiser with another), she needed to call the utility companies and get a refund on the package of classes she had just purchased at the Santa Monica Yoga Center . . . the list was endless.

Needless to say, Taylor’s mind was traveling in a thousand different directions as she pulled her car into the driveway of her apartment building.

Which is probably why she didn’t notice a familiar black Aston Martin parked on the street out front until she got to her front door and saw Jason heading up the walkway toward her.