When the woman seated at the next table threw them a disapproving look over the foam of her jumbo-sized cappuccino, Laney leaned in toward Payton. “Let’s use our inside voices, please, when using the p-word,” she whispered chidingly.

Ignoring this, Payton took another sip of her vanilla latte. “In the business world, what’s the female equivalent of going golfing with a client?”

Laney gave this some thought. Payton fell silent, too, contemplating. After a few moments, neither of them could come up with anything.

How depressing.

Payton sighed, feigning resignation. “Well, that’s it. I guess I’ll just have to sleep with them.”

Laney folded her hands primly on the table. “I think I’m uncomfortable with this conversation.”

Payton laughed. It felt good to laugh—she’d been very cranky since her encounter with J.D.; she couldn’t believe he had managed to exclude her from the golf outing with the Gibson’s reps by taking them to a club that didn’t allow women. Wait, back up: what she really couldn’t believe was that there was actually still a club around that didn’t let women in. Once the existence of said club had been established, however, she had no problem believing that J.D. was its Grand Poobah.

But enough about J.D. already. Payton resolved not to let him ruin another minute of her day. Besides, she saw a prime opportunity to engage Laney in one of their “debates.” The two of them couldn’t have been more opposite on the social/political spectrum. Having herself been raised by an ex-hippie single mother who was as socially radical as one could get while staying inside the boundaries of the law (most of the time, anyway), Payton found Laney’s prim-and-properness fascinating. And strangely refreshing.

“I didn’t mean to make you uncomfortable, Laney. I guess being a conservative means you don’t believe in free speech,” Payton teased.

“Don’t get on your liberal high horse—of course I believe in free speech,” Laney said, toying with the heart locket she wore.

“Then I should be able to say anything I want, right? Even the word ‘penis’?”

Laney sighed. “Do we have to do this right now?”

“You should try saying the word sometime.”

“I’ll pass, thank you.”

Payton shrugged. “Your choice, but I think you’d find it liberating. Everybody could use a good ‘penis’ now and then.”

Laney glanced nervously around the coffee shop. “People are listening.”

“Sorry—you’re right. Good rule of thumb: if you’re gonna throw out a ‘penis’ in a public place, it should be soft. Otherwise it attracts too much attention.”

The woman at the next table gaped at them.

Laney leaned over. “I apologize for my friend. She gets this way sometimes.” She lowered her voice to a whisper. “Tourette’s. So sad.”

The woman nodded sympathetically, then pretended to make a call on her cell phone.

Laney turned back to Payton. “If you’re finished with the First Amendment lesson, I thought maybe we could turn back to the subject of J.D. Because I do have a suggestion as to how you can solve your problem.”

Payton leaned forward eagerly. “Great—let’s hear it. I’m open to anything.”

“Okay. My suggestion is . . .” Laney paused dramatically. “. . . learn how to play golf.” She let this sink in a moment. “Then you’ll never have this problem again.”

Payton sat back in her chair, toying with her coffee mug. “Um, no.” She brushed off the suggestion with a dismissive wave. “Playing golf is just so, I don’t know . . . snooty.”

Laney gave her a pointed look. “You know, when you make partner, you’ll have to get used to being around people who grew up with money.”

“I don’t have any issues with that,” Payton said huffily.

“Oh, sure, right. You don’t think that has anything to do with why you’re so hard on J.D.?”

“I’m hard on J.D. because he’s a jerk.”

“True, true . . .” Laney mused. “You two do seem to bring out the worst in each other.”

In each other? “I hope you aren’t suggesting that I somehow contribute to J.D.’s behavior,” Payton said. “Because if so, we really need to get this conversation headed in a sane direction.”

“It’s just kind of odd, because J.D. has lots of qualities that you normally like in a guy. A guy who maybe isn’t quite so, you know . . .” Laney gestured, trailing off.

“So what?” Payton prompted.

“Rich.”

Payton rolled her eyes. “First of all: please—like I said, I don’t care about that. Second of all: What are these alleged other ‘qualities’ J.D. has?”

Laney considered her answer. “He’s very smart.”

Payton frowned and grumbled under her breath. “I changed my mind—I don’t want to talk about this.” She grabbed the dessert menu sitting next to her and stared at it intently.

Appearing not to hear her, Laney kept going with her list of J.D.’s supposed attributes. “He’s also passionate about the law, interested in politics—albeit on the opposite side of the spectrum. Which, interestingly, doesn’t seem to bother you about me.”

Payton peered over the top of her menu. “You have charm.”

“That’s true, I do.”

“It’s quickly fading.”

Laney went on. “And J.D. works hard, just like you, and he can be funny in that sarcastic kind of way that—”

“I object!” Payton interrupted. “Lack of foundation—when has J.D. ever said anything funny?”

“This isn’t a courtroom.”

Payton folded her arms across her chest. “Fine. Total crap—how about if I just go with that instead?”

“Gee, sorry, Payton—I didn’t mean to make you so uncomfortable,” Laney said with a grin. “I won’t say anything else.” She picked up her menu. “Let’s see . . . now what looks good? That flourless chocolate cake we split last time was divine.” She glanced up at Payton. “Except just one last thing on the subject of J.D.: he’s totally hot.”

Just in time, fighting her smile, Laney put her menu up to block the napkin that came flying at her face.

“Hot?” Payton nearly shouted. “That smarmy, prep-school-attending, pink-Izod-shirt-wearing jerk who’s been handed his career on a silver platter?” She covered her mouth. “Well, look at that—maybe I do have one or two issues with money.”

Laney nodded encouragingly, as if to say they were making progress. “But you’re about to be named partner. I get why you’ve been guarded in the past, but you’ve made it. You don’t have to keep trying so hard to prove that you fit in with these guys.”

Payton was surprised by this. “You think I come across as guarded?”

“At work, you can sometimes . . . have a bit of an edge,” Laney said carefully. “Like this thing with J.D., for example.”

Payton tried to decide whether she should be offended. But as much as she might not want to admit it, a part of her knew that what Laney was saying wasn’t completely off base.

“I suppose this ‘thing’ with J.D. has gotten a little out of hand,” she sniffed reluctantly. “You’re right—I should be the better person in this.” She smirked. “That shouldn’t be too hard in comparison to J.D.”—she caught Laney’s look— “is exactly what Edgy Payton would’ve said. But the New Payton won’t go there.”

Laney tipped her coffee mug approvingly. “Good for you. To the New Payton.”

“The New Payton.”

Payton clinked her mug to Laney’s, wondering what she was getting herself into.

BE THE BALL.

J.D. focused intently. His eyes never left the tee.

Be the ball.

He pulled back, then—swoosh! His swing was effortless. With one hand raised to block the sun’s glare, he watched as the ball landed on the green 240 yards away, within inches of the hole.

J.D. smiled. God, he loved this sport.

Hearing the whistling and clapping coming from behind him, he turned around to face his companions.

“Nice shot,” Jasper called out in his lazy Southern drawl. “A man who bills three thousand hours a year shouldn’t have time for a swing like that.” Their three companions, representatives from Gibson’s legal department, nodded in agreement.