Page 42 of Overruled

Twenty-Three

Dani

I’ve had more than twenty-four hours to prepare myself for what will surely be a full-on onslaught when I arrive at the firm on Monday, but I should have known it wouldn’t be enough. Something that is made evident to me within five seconds of stepping down the hall.

“Danica Joan Pierce!”

I wince at the use of my middle name. My mother has been and always will be a die-hard fan of the Runaways. I suppose there are worse things to be named after than the queen of rock and roll.

“Lots of work to do,” I call over my shoulder as I start an awkward maneuver toward my office that is somewhere between skipping and trotting.

I can hear twin sets of footprints hot on my tail. “Dani!”

I actually try to slam the door on the pair of them, but Nate shoves his foot in the space to stop me. “Ow! Really? What are we, seven?”

“Seven would be a step up for you,” Vera snarks.

Nate’s hand grips the edge of the door. “You’ve been ignoring our texts. Do you have no respect for our group chat?”

“I haven’t been ignoring you,” I lie weakly.

Vera shoves her shoulder against Nate’s hand and peeks around the door. “We haven’t heard from you since you abandoned us in the less-fun version of the Boddy Estate.”

“Are you implying that murder makes a place more fun?” I ask with an arched brow, finally easing the door open wider.

“Well,” Vera huffs, following Nate into my office. “A murder investigation would have been a hell of a lot more fun than the string quartet.”

Nate scowls, pointing a finger at Vera. “Stop making references I don’t understand.” He turns to aim that finger at me. “Tell us what happened between you and Ezra or else.”

“Or else?” I cross my arms. “Really?”

“I’ll make Vera rough you up,” he warns.

Vera rounds on him. “I’m not your muscle.”

“She listens to you!” he huffs, throwing up his arms.

“Guys,” I sigh, sinking down to the edge of my desk, resting my hands on the edge. “Shut up.”

“Come on ,” Nate practically whines, like he isn’t a thirty-five-year-old man. “You know how I get when nobody will let me in on the gossip. Do you want that for us? Do you want to subject all of us to that?”

“Because it would be my fault,” I muse.

Nate throws up his hands. “Well, obviously.”

“He’s not wrong,” Vera chimes in.

I tilt my head back, puffing out a long breath between my lips. “You two are the worst gossips I have ever met.”

“Don’t lump me in with him,” Vera tuts.

“Oh shut up,” Nate says with a cluck of his tongue. “You’ve been champing at the bit just as much as I have.”

“ Fine ,” I sigh. “I went home with him.”

“Obviously,” Nate snorts. “Did you…?”

“I think that much is also obvious,” I respond dryly.

“You’re being infuriatingly vague,” he quips.

I roll my eyes. “How dare I be vague with my own business.”

“Oh, for fuck’s sake, you tease,” Vera scoffs. “Are you guys a thing or not?”

My eyes go round at her cross tone, and I realize she is definitely just as invested in this as Nate is. They really are more alike than they give themselves credit for.

“We’re not… not a thing,” I offer. “Maybe.” I tilt forward, slipping off my desk just to start pacing. “I don’t know. I don’t know what the fuck we are.”

“Oh God,” Nate groans. “She’s going to marry him. We’re all going to end up working for Ezra Hart. They’ll call her the Heartbreak Princess. Or will it be queen? What happens when you marry a prince?”

“Shut up, Nate,” Vera and I both say in unison.

Vera tilts her head at me. “Seriously, are you okay?”

“Of course I’m okay,” I say too quickly.

Vera’s look is imperious, and I cave.

“Okay,” I try again. “I’m freaking out a little.”

Vera nods. “There it is.”

“I just…” I stop pacing, running my fingers through my hair. “I hated him, you know? Or at least, I thought I did. I mean, the sex was always good, but spending time with him was never at the top of my to-do list.”

Nate leans in like I’m telling his favorite bedtime story. “But…?”

“ But , I…I don’t know. He’s…I just…” I shake my head. “I’ve realized I haven’t been fair to him.”

“A duchess,” Vera says.

I cock an eyebrow. “What?”

“That’s what happens when you marry a prince,” she clarifies. “You become a duchess.”

“Duchess Dani,” Nate croons.

“I hate both of you,” I grumble.

“You hated Ezra too,” Nate teases. “Does that mean we’ll all be a…would it be a quadruple?”

“Okay.” I nod heavily. “Out. Both of you. I have work to do.”

“You have court this afternoon,” Vera points out.

“I’m well aware.”

“What are you going to do?”

“I’m going to do what I always do.”

Nate makes a face. “But…you’re up against your boyfriend now.”

“He’s not my—” I close my eyes, taking a breath. “Listen, when I know something, you guys will be the first to know.”

“Somehow I doubt that,” Nate tuts, turning on his heel and muttering the whole way out of my office. “No respect for the group chat, I swear.”

“Go on now,” I urge.

“Just be careful,” Vera says before she steps out. “I don’t want to see this blow up in your face.”

“I’m always careful,” I assure her.

Her lips curl in a grin. “I know.”

Her words stay with me even as she shuts the door behind her; the truth is, my head is full of worry.

There are a thousand things that could go wrong, a million ways that pursuing anything deeper with Ezra could blow up in my face.

But after last night…I’m just not sure I have it in me to pretend anymore that I don’t want him anyway.

···

I would like to say that I did exactly as I told Vera I would, that I was perfectly normal and on my game during court today.

But I hadn’t expected to be so much more…

aware of Ezra than I already was. Before, his authoritative confidence in the courtroom was a point of annoyance for me, and maybe it still is, to a degree, but also…

now it also sort of turns me on. Something I definitely didn’t expect.

More than once today, there were moments when I didn’t respond as succinctly as I should have, that I caught myself watching him work with an intensity that had me forgetting myself.

Definitely not good for business.

Now, I’m browsing my notes on my couch hours after court ended—my faded University of Texas T-shirt and a very large glass of wine providing comfort after a long day.

We’re still waiting on a subpoena for Lorenzo’s mistress to be approved, Ezra’s team blocking it at every turn, but I’m confident that it will happen.

I feel it in my gut that none of Ezra’s silly defenses will work this time.

That gives me pause, remembering that they are more than likely not Ezra’s silly defenses.

That there is a good chance that every lowball tactic he’s used has come straight from his father—or, well, Alexander.

It’s all so much to wrap my head around.

I catch myself thinking about his mother, something I have been doing a lot since that night at his place when he confessed everything, and there is a panging sense of regret that rings through me when I think of the quiet, lonely-looking woman I spoke with in Alexander’s library.

When I think about how much she’s been through, how much Ezra has been through.

I know that the chances of helping her when Ezra has most likely exhausted all possible avenues already are slim, but it doesn’t stop me from wishing I could anyway.

My phone buzzes on the coffee table by my couch, pulling me out of my thoughts, and I lean to snatch it up, my pulse quickening when I read the recently changed name.

Ezra: Are you busy right now?

I glance at my notes and my glass of wine, knowing it’s probably better that I say yes. That I should probably put a little space between Ezra and me while we’re still figuring this out. Except…I don’t want to.

Me: Not overwhelmingly. Just going over some notes.

His reply comes through immediately.

Ezra: Can I come over?

I bite my lip. It’s strange, the way my entire body perks up at the idea of seeing him, and if I analyze it for too long, I know that I will have to face the fact that it’s always reacted this way to Ezra. That it’s just the rest of me that’s finally catching up.

Me: Sure.

Ezra: Good. I’m outside your door.

I sit up straight to eye my closed apartment door, gaping at it for only a second before scrambling off my couch and rushing across the room to wrench it open.

And he’s there, just like he said, dressed in jeans and a heathered Yankees T-shirt and leaning on my doorframe with his phone still in his hand.

“What if I’d said I was busy?”

He shrugs one shoulder, his mouth quirking. “Then I would have left.”

“This is all very Joe from You .”

“I don’t need to stalk you,” he teases, his eyes glinting. “You like having me around too much.”

I roll my eyes, but I can’t help the flicker of a grin that forms. “Whatever. Come in then.”

He steps past me as I close and lock the door behind him; he moves in my space as if it belongs to him. He plops down on my couch with a sigh, turning his head to look at me from over the back and patting the cushion beside him. “Come on. I won’t bite.”

I move to join him slowly, sinking down into the couch cushion a good distance away from where he gestured, only for him to reach and pull me into his side.

“Nope,” he says. “None of that. We’re cuddling tonight.”

I frown even as I surreptitiously breathe in the scent of his cologne, which clings to his shirt. “Are we?”

“Yep.” His arm curls around my shoulders. “You’re going to tell me about your day.”

“You know about my day. I saw you five hours ago.”

“Well, tell me everything else.”

Seems like a silly exercise to me, but his thumb that has begun to trace the soft skin of my upper arm is distracting, and I find myself leaning further into him, getting comfortable.

“Nate and Vera cornered me in my office this morning,” I tell him.

“And how did that go?”

“About as well as I expected,” I snort. “Nate is already planning the wedding.”