Practice Makes Perfect

Through the darkness, J.D. spoke. Still sounding troubled. "It's just—I thought you were insulting me, Payton."

"But now you know I wasn't. So what's the big deal?"

Silence.

"Wait a second . . ."

The light came back on.

Payton stared down at him. "Please don't tell me that's how this whole fight between us started."

J.D. sheepishly made an attempt to smile. "Um . . . the next day, I kind of gave you a hard time when you made your presentation at the group meeting about the new amendments to the federal discovery rules."

"I remember that!" Payton poked him in the chest. "You were a total ass**le to me, asking all these questions about whether I had bothered to read the Advisory Committee notes and other bullshit like that." She poked him in the chest again, harder this time. "That was why? Because I said you looked like Clark Kent?"

"Um . . . yes?"

Payton climbed off him. "I don't believe this—that is the stupidest thing I've ever heard!" She grabbed her dress and shoes off the floor. "Eight years, J.D.! Eight years! At least I assumed we've been fighting for some legitimate reason, like politics, or socioeconomic issues, or at the very, very least because you're rich and my family is from the wrong side of the tracks."

J.D. laughed out loud at that. "Wrong side of the tracks? What is this, 1985 and we live in a John Hughes movie? I don't give a shit whether your family has money. That's almost as stupid as fighting over the Clark Kent comment."

Payton slipped on her dress. "Almost, J.D., but not quite. Definitely not quite." She stormed off into the living room.

J.D. followed her. "Where are you going?"

"I don't know. I need to cool down. I might say something I'll regret."

She was sliding one of her heels on when J.D. walked over, grabbed her hand, and pulled her away from the door.

"You're not going anywhere," he said firmly. He led her out onto the balcony. "If you need to cool off, you can do it out here."

"It's eighty-two degrees out here. Jerk. Ninety with the heat index."

"Well, then, the fresh air will do you some good." He shut the balcony door behind him and blocked her way.

Payton folded her arms across her chest and waited.

Payton softened a little at his directness. She knew how hard it was for him to apologize, especially to her. And he was right—regardless of how it started, once their fighting had begun she'd hardly been an innocent bystander.

"It's just that . . ." she bit her lip nervously. "I liked you from the start, J.D. I really wish things had been different, that's all."

J.D. stared her straight in the eyes. "You have no idea how much I wish that, too, Payton."

He looked so serious right then that it was impossible for her to stay mad at him. Plus he was still in his boxers and that was becoming a definite distraction. With a smile of acquiescence, Payton pointed. "Are you planning on blocking that door all night?"

J.D. relinquished his post at the sliding door and joined her at the balcony rail. "Not if you promise that you're not going to leave." He slid his arms around her.

"I'm not going to leave," she said, leaning back against his chest.

They watched the waves crash against the beach, and Payton laced her fingers through J.D.'s. "You know, I think that was the fastest, most rational way we've ever resolved a fight. We're so much better here."

"It's because we're away from the office," J.D. said. He sounded firmly convinced about that.

Payton closed her eyes. "The office . . . don't remind me." She hadn't thought about the partnership competition between them for the past several hours and wanted to keep it that way.

J.D. spoke softly near her ear. "I've been thinking—tomorrow is Saturday. Why don't we spend an extra night here? Frankly, if one of us doesn't go into the office tomorrow, then the other one doesn't have to, either."

Payton turned around to face him. "Stay here together?"

J.D. shrugged. Nonchalance or feigned nonchalance? It was hard to say.

"I figured you could move your things into my room in the morning," he said casually.

Payton thought for a moment. Or rather, she pretended to think for a moment. She shrugged as well. "Sure. Why not? I like it here."

"Fine. That's settled then," he nodded.

"Fine."

"Good."

"Okay."

Payton held up her finger. "But I pay for half of the room."

J.D. grinned. "You know what, Payton—you go right ahead. At fifteen hundred bucks a night, you won't get any argument from me."

Her eyes widened in shock. "Good god—that's how much you're paying?" She paused. "Hmm."

"Hmm, what?"

"Hmm, since the room costs that much, it's a good thing I didn't plan to do much sleeping."

J.D. laughed and pulled her close. "I really, really like . . . the way you think."

Payton smiled. She suspected there might have been a little slip and cover-up there. And the truth of the matter was, she really, really liked . . . the way he thought, too.

So she took the hand J.D. held out to her and followed him inside.

THEY SLEPT IN the next morning.

Payton couldn't remember the last time she had slept past seven—she woke up with a start sometime after eight and nearly panicked when she saw the alarm clock on the nightstand. But then she saw J.D. sleeping next to her.

He stirred—he'd had his arm wrapped around her and she had thrown it off when she sat up after seeing the clock. Payton quickly nestled back in, hoping not to wake him. She wanted him to sleep. He needed the sleep—hell, they both did. And not just because it had been a very late night—although that probably didn't help—not that she was complaining one bit—but more because they'd both been through an exhausting couple of weeks.

And it wasn't over. True, by agreeing to stay in Palm Beach until Sunday, they now had only one more actual workday to get through. But the hard part would come on Tuesday, Decision Day, the day the firm chose one of them over the other. Decided who was better, in essence.

She and J.D. hadn't spoken much about the firm's impending decision since they'd arrived in Florida. But it was a constant nag in the back of Payton's mind and she suspected he felt the same way.

It was kind of funny, the thought of spending the entire day and night with J.D. Not funny in a bad way, just new. A month ago, Payton never would've believed she'd be here, in an oceanfront suite at the Ritz-Carlton, sleeping next to the man who had been her sworn enemy for the past eight years. But now, it felt . . . right.

That was perhaps the scariest part of all—just how right it felt being with J.D. Because, whether they talked about it or not, they had a big, big problem facing them on Tuesday.

Payton snuggled into the crook of J.D.'s arm. These were things she didn't want to think about, at least not yet. For now, the most serious issue she wanted to tackle was whether the two of them were going to straggle downstairs for breakfast on the hotel's oceanfront terrace or simply order room service.

As Payton closed her eyes and began to let sleep retake her, she couldn't help but think: normally, it would've gone against all her principles and better judgment to spend fifteen hundred dollars a night on a hotel room, or even half that. On the other hand—and this was her justification and she was sticking to it—she'd barely touched any of the three weeks' vacation the firm gave her each year and she thought—What the hell?—she was allowed to have a little fun for one weekend.

Fun. Payton opened her eyes again and glanced at J.D. Was that all this was between them? Fun?

She knew, for her own good, that she probably should run right out of that hotel room, head straight for the airport, and get on the first plane back to Chicago. There was a definite danger in extending things.

But then she watched as J.D.'s eyes fluttered lightly, then relaxed again, deep in sleep. She'd never seen him look so calm.

Payton curled up closer to J.D. and yawned sleepily. Ah, screw it—she was staying.

If for no other reason, she was curious to see how the whole oceanfront-terrace-breakfast-versus-room-service dilemma turned out.

"SO WHAT WOULD you think about trying your hand at a round of golf this afternoon?"

Payton finished her sip of freshly squeezed orange juice, set the glass down, and looked across the table at J.D.

"I think that's not very likely to happen," she told him. But she sweetened it with a smile.

Room service had won out for breakfast. Actually, it had turned out to be the only viable option—while the hotel provided every toiletry imaginable for guests staying in their suites, the only clothing currently available to Payton was a black dress with a ripped zipper and a Ritz-Carlton bathrobe. And while the robe was perfectly acceptable for breakfast on the balcony with J.D., a more interesting question was what the hell she was going to wear to walk back to her own room to get her things.

Maybe she could borrow J.D.'s jacket or a T-shirt to throw over her dress when she headed down to her room. Sure, and maybe she could also just tack a sign to her ass that said, Hello, rich people, I just spent all night in someone else's room getting fu—

"But I was thinking," J.D. cut into Payton's thoughts, still on the golf thing, "that it could be fun if I showed you how to play."

Payton grinned as she buttered her blueberry muffin. "I'm sure that would be fun. For you."

"Come on, Payton," he baited her, "don't you want to broaden your horizons? Try something new? Get a little insight into 'my world' as you like to call it?"