Page 24 of Overruled

Thirteen

Dani

“Have we already looked into her spending?”

I hear Nate hum absently from the speaker on my phone that lies a foot away on my bedspread, listening to him rifling through a stack of papers. “Pretty standard mistress stuff, if you ask me. Christ, the amount of money this woman spends on La Perla. How many pairs of underwear do you women need?”

“I’d say it’s preferable to wearing the same four pairs until holes form,” Vera remarks dryly from our three-way call.

Nate laughs. “Been going through my underwear drawer, have you?”

“Not without a hazmat suit and thick gloves,” Vera deadpans.

I rub my temples. “Guys, I’m meeting with Bianca tomorrow to prep her for trial. I need some good news for her.”

“Right,” Vera snorts. “You could just ask her if she has any other bombshells tucked up her sleeve. Maybe Lorenzo has a secret dogfighting ring she can drop at the last second.”

“Yeah, what’s up with that?” Nate asks. “Have you talked to her about all the cloak-and-dagger shit she’s pulled?”

“As much as she’ll let me,” I grumble. “She’s not making any of this easy.”

Vera makes a disgruntled noise. “I get the feeling that all of this is just Bianca having her public revenge against Lorenzo. Does she even care if she wins?”

“Let’s hope so,” I sigh. “Since my career is literally riding on it.”

“Just keep looking,” Nate encourages.

“I can’t believe they’re really going with ‘sick relative,’?” Vera chimes in.

I roll my eyes. “I mean, can’t you? It sounds exactly like something Ezra would say.”

My gut clenches at the thought of him; I haven’t seen him since the party, and the conversation between us has been…

different. Since that night, his stupid texts seem to irritate me less than before.

Even if only a little. There are even times when they’ve made me smile—not that I will ever admit that to Ezra.

And complaining about him now feels less…

scathing than it might have a few weeks ago.

Almost like my heart isn’t quite as in it now.

“This could be something,” Nate cuts in, drawing me out of my thoughts. “She’s paying two mortgages.”

I perk up. “The mistress?”

“No,” Vera says flatly. “My hairdresser.”

“Shut up,” I huff. “Where are you seeing the second mortgage?”

“Page seven,” Nate says.

I start backtracking to see what he’s seeing, noticing multiple mortgage payments being made to the same bank.

“That’s strange,” I note. “Do we know of a separate property?”

“Haven’t gotten word back on the subpoena we filed for her financials. All we have is Lorenzo’s shit.”

“Hmm.” I highlight the page. “Well, make a note of it. It could be their own little honeycomb hideout. It’s worth looking into.”

“Okay, but,” Vera says. “Why would they need two houses to fuck in?”

“I mean, he has already decided he needs two women,” Nate scoffs. “Maybe he just likes to do everything in twos?”

“How neat of him,” I remark dryly. “I can ask Bianca tomorrow if she has any ideas on this. How is it coming with Lorenzo’s emails?”

“Wonderfully,” Vera answers with a quickly following sound of disgust. “If you like to imagine cyber-sexting in emails like we’re back in 2008.”

“You were sixteen in 2008,” Nate points out. “Who were you cyber-sexting?”

Vera hmph s. “None of your business.”

“Guys,” I practically growl. “I swear to God, if you two don’t just fuck already, I’m going to—”

A knock sounds outside my bedroom at the same time that Vera and Nate both start talking over each other about how ridiculous the idea of them fucking would be, and I sit up straighter and peer through the open door into the living room.

Another knock sounds at my front door, more insistent this time, and I frown at the time on my phone. Who the hell is coming by after nine?

“Hold on,” I tell Vera and Nate on the other line, who are still arguing about how ridiculous the idea of them fucking is. “Someone’s at my door.”

“—rather fuck a sentient sea cucumber than touch him—”

“—hate to ruin her expectations for all other men—”

Yeah. They’re not listening.

I carry their still-arguing voices into my living room, opening the peephole and peering out into the hall to see who in the hell could be coming by this late.

I almost drop my phone when I see who’s on the other side. I’m so surprised that I forget I’m actively on a call, wrenching the door open with entirely more force than necessary.

“What are you doing here?”

Ezra leans against my door, one arm propped against the frame as his long body fills the open space.

He’s still dressed for work—fitted, navy blue slacks that hug him in all the right places and a matching jacket that’s tailored just right over a white button-down with the collar undone—and it’s really unfair that he could look so good in his work clothes.

Seeing him again for the first time since the party is like an actual blow; I can feel the air rushing out of me just as my heart starts to race.

“Hey,” he says casually, as if it’s completely normal for him to be standing outside my door. “Can I come in?”

“What are you doing here?”

He arches one golden brow, his lips twitching. “You already asked me that.”

“Normally, when someone asks a question, the other person answers them the first time.”

He sighs, running his fingers through his hair. “I’d be perfectly happy to talk about it.” He looks down the hall on either side of him. “Maybe just not out here.”

Before this past weekend, I would have shut the door on him. We don’t do things like this—surprising each other at home. Or at least, we didn’t. I don’t really know what we do now. It leaves me slightly addled. Maybe that’s why I move to the side to let him in.

“Thanks,” he mumbles, stepping past me as I close the door behind him.

I remember much too late what I’d been doing before he knocked.

“Shit,” I mutter, bringing my attention to my now suspiciously quiet cell. “Guys, I need to call you back.”

“Is that Ezra?”

“Is he at your place ?”

“I thought you were done fucking him?”

“Does this mean you—”

I can’t even tell who’s asking what, with the way they’re talking over each other. I know I’m going to have a lot of questions to answer when I see them again. That’s a problem for tomorrow’s Dani.

“Okay, talk soon,” I say loudly into the phone, hanging up on both of them mid–barrage of questions.

Ezra has already made himself at home on my couch, his head leaned back against the cushions and his eyes closed. I walk around the couch in a daze, watching him trace idle patterns into the microfiber material.

“You still haven’t answered me,” I say finally.

His eyes open lazily, and I notice how tired he looks. There are dark circles under his eyes, and his usual frustrating air of playfulness is nowhere to be found.

“Would you believe me if I said I just wanted to see you?”

My heart does a strange flip-flop maneuver in my chest. I open my mouth, then close it, then open it again—realizing I look like a goldfish as my neck heats. “Why?”

“You know,” he chuckles, “I honestly couldn’t tell you. I had a shitty day, and for some reason, the idea of coming over here so you could most likely lay into me about whatever asshole thing I’ve done today sounded like a nice change of pace.”

There’s a flash of guilt that passes through me at his casual admission, one I brush away just as quickly as it comes. It isn’t my fault Ezra is such an insufferable ass almost one hundred percent of the time.

I stare at him for a moment, his bronze skin practically glowing in the soft light of the lamp on my end table, all too aware of the fact that the last time he was on my couch, he was inside me.

I cross my arms over my chest, my nipples pebbling under the faded University of Texas T-shirt I like to sleep in.

His eyes sweep down the length of me—goose bumps erupting over every bit of skin they pass over.

Something about the haunted look in his eyes makes it impossible for me to resort to my usual tactics of keeping him at arm’s length.

Add that to the confusing encounter at my parents’ party last weekend that I still haven’t sorted through completely, and maybe it could almost explain why I sink down onto the couch only a foot away from him. Still trying to keep my distance.

“Why did you have a shitty day?”

He looks as surprised by the question as I am to have asked it. His eyes widen a fraction, his lips parting, and he studies my face for a beat before answering, “The same reason for all my shitty days.”

It’s a cryptic answer, one I can tell he doesn’t want to elaborate on. Weirdly, that makes me want to push him. To force the answers out of him. Whether that’s because of the desire he sets off in me to win or genuine concern, I can’t be sure.

“Gonna have to give me more than that.”

His lips purse as he turns his head to scrub his hand down his face, his palm lingering on his jaw as he considers. “Family drama. I promise it’s nothing you want to hear about.”

“What, are we not getting along with dear old daddy Alexander?”

His laugh is humorless. Dark, even. “There’s nothing dear about Alexander Hart.”

That gives me pause. Sure, I’ve never heard Ezra mentioning his dad, but I mean, they work together. There’s nothing to suggest there’s bad blood between them.

“You’d think he’d be over the moon with all the cases you’re always winning for him.”

Ezra’s lips twitch. “So you are acknowledging my win rate now?”

“Abstractly,” I answer flatly. “Without any interest whatsoever.”

“Of course not,” Ezra murmurs with actual humor now. He eyes me from the side, the amused look fading over the course of the next few seconds, his eyes losing focus as he seems to get lost in his thoughts. “Do you ever feel like…” He shakes his head. “Forget it. I don’t even know why I’m here.”

For reasons I can’t fathom, I am infinitely curious about whatever he was about to ask me.

“No,” I urge. “What? Do I ever feel what?”