As he spoke, he suddenly glanced across the table at Niamh.
“Don’t tell me you’re interested in my client?”
Jonathan didn’t answer directly. With a calm, almost indifferent look, he replied, “You’ve taken her case already?”
“Not yet…”
“Then she’s not your client.”
Flynn opened his mouth, but couldn’t come up with a retort.
An awkward silence settled over the table. Jonathan, unfazed, broke it with an easy tone. “Don’t mind me. You two go ahead.”
Niamh: …
Flynn: …
The three of them sat in uncomfortable silence until Flynn’s phone rang.
“Yeah, yeah… I’ll be there soon.”
After hanging up, Flynn glanced back and forth between Niamh and Jonathan. “I’ve got something to deal with for a client, so I’ll head out first. I already took care of the bill–enjoy the rest of your evening.”
As he left, he bent down and whispered into Niamh’s ear, “Let’s catch up later.”
And with that, Flynn made his exit. But Niamh had the distinct feeling he’d just used any excuse to leave–his phone hadn’t rung, not even a buzz. Unless Flynn had developed telepathy with his clients, she wasn’t buying it.
It was obvious Flynn was starting to suspect there was something between her and Jonathan. Otherwise, he wouldn’t have stared at Jonathan while whispering right
next to her ear.
With Flynn gone, the silence between Niamh and Jonathan only grew heavier.
She’d had a few drinks and couldn’t drive herself home, so she pulled out her phone
to order a ride.
But just as she dialed, Jonathan snatched the phone out of her hand.
“What do you think you’re doing?” Niamh snapped, irritated.
1/2
19:52
Jonathan hung up the call and handed the phone back. “Nothing. I’ll drive you home. In your car.”
“No need, Mr. Thomas. I can get a ride.”
“Rideshare’s expensive. Aren’t you planning to hire Flynn for your divorce? That’ll cost a fortune. I’m just helping you save some money.”
Niamh let out a dry laugh. “Rideshare is expensive, and you’re cheap?”
“Very cheap. Two hundred a ride.”
The number made Niamh pause. She knew she wasn’t being
oversensitive–Jonathan still hadn’t forgiven her for tossing two hundred bucks at him last time, as if he were some gigolo.
She couldn’t be bothered to argue. If Jonathan wanted to play chauffeur, she’d let
him.
So Jonathan drove her white BMW, Niamh in the passenger seat.
“Did you modify this car?” Jonathan asked, eyes on the road.
Niamh didn’t answer.
He didn’t press, just switched topics. “So, you’re going to Flynn because you don’t think you’ll win, is that it?”
Silence again. Jonathan gave a low, ambiguous chuckle.
The car pulled up to her building. Niamh’s hand tightened on her seatbelt. She felt a little nervous.
Anytime she was alone with Jonathan–in cars, in rooms, any closed space–she tensed up. She knew Jonathan never lacked for female company, but when he wanted to blow off steam, he always came to her. And she was never in a position to say no–not in status, not in strength.
“Not inviting me up for a nightcap?” Jonathan asked as he parked, turning to look
at her.
“Why would I invite my driver upstairs?” Niamh shot back, sending him a digital tip.
Jonathan accepted it. Two hundred dollars.
“I’m not just your driver–I’m also your husband. If you’ve forgotten, I can show you the marriage license.”
