“I know who Jim Jones is.”

She glances at her well-manicured nails. “Well, then, you’ll also know how precarious Jay’s influence is on all those young people who follow him. I’m sure that if he told them to jump off a cliff, they’d all do it.”

Jesus, this woman is deluded. “He’s a performer. He’s not trying to start up his own religion.”

“Yeah, and the only one who’s been drinking Kool-Aid around here is you, Una. Your own. What in the fuck do you think you’re doing?” asks Jay, stalking angrily into the office. There’s something in his gait that puts me in mind of a panther that’s about to attack.

“Why, Mr Fields, what a pleasant surprise,” she purrs, and struts over to him, running a long, sharp fingernail down the front of his shirt. His eyes are stormy when he takes a measured step back, recoiling from her touch.

“Get. Out,” he fumes. “You have no business being here.”

“I was just having a little chitchat with the lovely receptionist. You know how it is with us girls — we love to gossip.” Her emerging smile denotes how pleased she is with Jay’s anger. He needs to calm down and not allow her to get to him. I make an effort to defuse the situation with humour.

“Yeah, Miss Harris offered to give me the number of her plastic surgeon. I’m thinking of going up a few cup sizes. You know, get myself a nice pair of beach ball boobs.”

Jay’s mouth twitches, his eyes gleaming with affection when they land on me for a second. Unfortunately, it doesn’t last long.

“You don’t need a boob job,” says Una, her disinterested gaze on my chest before moving to my neck. “It’s that god-awful scar that’s the problem.” She says it like she’s telling me she enjoys sugar in her tea, the barb barely registering on her radar, but Jay’s reaction to her words is the exact opposite.

He takes two strides toward her. “Oh, you really need to get going, Una. I’ll never hit a lady, but I’ll slap a bitch.”

Her pouty mouth falls open as a huff of outrage escapes her. “Is that a threat?”

Jay rolls his eyes. “Just get the fuck out.”

“Fine,” she hisses. “I’m leaving, but just know that this little case of yours is never going to get to trial. Mr Scott will offer you a sum of money during mediation, and you, Mr Fields, will take it.”

“Yeah, we’ll see about that.”

She slams the office door shut behind her, and I let out the breath I’d been holding. Jay’s eyes connect with mine, and I can’t help it — I burst out laughing.

“Did you just use the phrase, I’ll never hit a lady, but I’ll slap a bitch? Oh, my God, Jason, that was classic! You are officially my new hero.”

He rubs at his neck and walks over to sit on the edge of my desk, grabbing my hand and placing it on his chest. He rubs my palm over the fabric of his shirt. “Sorry. I need your touch to erase the fact that she had her demon claws on me. And I was only trying to piss her off by saying that. I don’t hit women, not even thoroughbred bitches like Una Harris. And don’t listen to her, by the way. There’s nothing about you that needs changing.”

The sincerity in his eyes makes me catch my breath, but I can’t address the compliment. It makes me feel too much. “I can’t believe she came here. What is she on?”

“A whole medley of uppers and downers, if my detective work is anything to go by,” Jay deadpans. “Anyway, let’s forget about her. I came to take you to lunch in the park. This day is a sight for sore eyes.” He goes out to the hallway, and retrieves a brown bag with sandwiches and two takeaway coffee cups.

“Oh, you really do know the way to a woman’s heart. The double-C: caffeine and carbs.”

“Yes, yes, I do. Now get your cute ass out of that chair and come with me.”

“Is this…what do you call those things that you don’t do, but for me you’ll make an exception? Oh, yes, a date. Is this a date, Jason?” I love teasing him.

His mouth curves in an almost smile as he brings his hand to my neck and gently squeezes. “It might be.”

He offers his arm, and I take it. Instead of driving, we walk to the park, finding a clean picnic table to sit down and eat at.

“Who’s Mr Scott?” I ask as I sip on my coffee.

Jay gives me a sideways glance. “Say again?”

“Una Harris said that Mr. Scott will offer you a sum of money to drop the case. Who is that?”

“Right, yeah. Brian Scott. He owns the newspaper.”

“I’ve heard that name before. He’s like Ireland’s answer to Rupert Murdoch or something, isn’t he?”

“Or something.”

“Is there any amount of money they could offer you that you’d take? Just out of curiosity.”

His mouth draws into a thin line, his answer immediate and final. “Nope.”

“There’s probably no point in bothering with mediation, then.”

“Probably not. But we’ve got to go through the entire process, Watson. Let them think they can take us. You know, like in a freak fight when some little rangy guy gets into the ring with a big hunk of muscle. Everyone thinks the muscle will win, but then the little guy turns into a fucking tornado and surprises the shit out of everyone.”

I smile at his analogy. “So, are you the little guy?”

His arm slides around my shoulder, tucking me into the side of his body. “In comparison to The Daily Post, yes, I am.”

I melt at his closeness and take a slow bite out of my sandwich before glancing up at him. “You know what, Jay, I can’t wait to see you turn into a tornado. I think you might have it in you to surprise us all.”

His only response is a small, knowing smile, and we eat the rest of our lunch in companionable silence. On the way back to the office, Jay gets recognised by a couple of women as they pass us by.

“Disgraceful what he did to that poor man,” one of them tuts, her snooty nose raised high into the air.

“He should have been arrested,” another one adds.

I lace my fingers with his, running my thumb along the inside of his wrist. “Ignore them.”

“I am.”

“Everyone thinks their opinion is the most important, even when they have no clue about a situation.”

“I know.”

As the women go by us, I pull him into an alcove by the shop next to our offices. His eyes are on the retreating women for a minute before he focuses on me, his pupils dilating. I remember him telling Michelle that was a sign of arousal. Hmm, I think I like that.

“Hey,” I whisper.

He runs his fingertips over my collarbone. “Hey, Watson. What’s up?”

“Can I have a kiss before I go back to work?” I ask shyly, licking my lips.

He grins and bends his head to me. “That depends.”

“On?”

“What are you making for dinner?”

I wrack my brains for ideas on what he might find appealing, settling on the most obvious man food. “Steak.”

“Good answer. Okay, you can have a kiss. Just one, though.” His licks a line from my jaw to my earlobe, sending my pulse hammering. Then he grips my chin and sinks his tongue into my mouth. My breathing accelerates as I clutch at his shirt. His tongue moves in and out, and it’s a little lewd for a daytime outdoor kiss, but in the moment I don’t care. I moan, and his other hand grabs hold of my hip. Drawing away too soon, he nips at my mouth, and I whimper.

“What’s wrong?”

“I shouldn’t have asked for a kiss.”

“Why not?”

“Because now I’m not going to be able to focus on working, and I have a lot to get done.”

He laughs and slides his arm around my waist, guiding me inside and up the stairs. “You should let go in case Dad’s around,” I say quietly.

“Am I your dirty little secret, Watson?” he whispers deviously in my ear.

I use one of his own comebacks against him. “You love it.”

His response is adamant. “Yeah, I do.”

Inside, I settle back into my desk, and Jay goes to use the bathroom before he leaves. His jacket rests on the edge of my desk, and I only become aware of it because his phone starts vibrating in his pocket. Without thinking, I slide my hand in and retrieve the phone. A text message runs across the screen from an anonymous sender.