Courting Justice

“I thought we could spend the afternoon together.”

He gave her a smile that he knew didn’t quite reach his eyes. Then he glanced over to Peyton. “I’m sure Lela somehow forgot her manners, so let me make the introductions. Peyton, this is Lela Stillwell. Lela, this is Peyton Mahoney.” The two women glanced at each other, but neither extended their hands, nor did they exchange pleasantries.

In fact, as if dismissing Peyton altogether, Lela turned her attention back to him and said, “Well, are you ready?”

He lifted a brow. “Ready for what?”

“For us to spend the afternoon together. Didn’t you read the brochure you were given when you checked in?”

He had to remind himself that standing before him was a woman who could take the words spoiled, selfish and narcissistic to a whole new level. “Evidently I didn’t. What did it say?” he asked.

She smiled. “Tonight the resort is hosting the couples’ ball, and it would be best to claim your date early.”

He stared at her for a moment and then just to make sure he understood what she was insinuating, he said, “So you’re claiming me?”

She smiled brightly. “Of course.”

Sometimes people simply amazed him, especially women, and at that moment, particularly Lela. She had been born with a silver spoon in her mouth; had attended some of the best schools; had been introduced to all the finer things in life. But when it came to substance—namely manners and respecting others—she might as well have been raised by a pack of wild dogs. Especially compared to Peyton—who had been raised by her grandmother in a less than desirable part of Chicago, rarely saw her mother growing up, didn’t know her father and had to pay her own way through college and law school but still possessed the kind of class and grace that money couldn’t buy. If the two women were pitted against one another, Peyton was the winner hands down.

He held Lela’s gaze and was about to open his mouth to tell Lela that it would be a cold day in hell before he would allow her to claim him for anything, when he heard Peyton’s soft chuckle.

He glanced across the table in time to hear her say to Lela, “Sorry, Ms. What’s-Your-Name, but you’re a tad too late. Angelo might not have read the brochure, but I did. And he’s already been claimed—by me.”

Chapter 6

The coffee machine in Peyton’s suite was taking too long to brew and the steady slow drip was driving her crazy. It wouldn’t have been so bad if Angelo hadn’t been standing across the room watching her every move.

After putting Lela in her place and watching her stomp away like the spoiled brat she was, Peyton had finished her coffee. Angelo had had the good sense to keep quiet while she did so. Telling him she’d see him later, she’d left the restaurant. To her surprise, when she passed the group of women from the elevator, they smiled and gave her the thumbs-up. Evidently they had witnessed Lela Stillwell’s behavior from across the room and were glad she had been put in her place.

Peyton had met a lot of rude people during her lifetime, but she was convinced Lela took the icing off the cake. It wasn’t what she said, but how she had said it, like she had every right to talk down to people. Who had made her queen? How dare Lela assume that even though Angelo was having lunch with Peyton, that she was insignificant and that Lela could make a play for him right in front of her and show her disrespect. Anger raced through her body.

The nerve of that hussy, she thought.

“I hope that coffee you’re brewing is for drinking and not to throw on me.”

She looked back at Angelo over her shoulder. She had let him in a few moments before, and he was still there standing with his back against the closed door, as if trying to decide whether it was safe to stay. “I don’t know what I plan to do just yet,” she said, still fuming inside.

“Why are you angry at me? It’s not my fault Lela is the way she is.”

He was right, it wasn’t his fault. But still, why was he like a magnet for some of the most ill-mannered, obnoxious women around? Why?

She turned around and glared at him. “I hope you know that I had made up my mind not to get involved with you and that woman. You’re a grown-ass man who should be able to fight off unwanted advances on your own. However, Lela Stillwell takes the damn cake. That heifer had the nerve, the damn audacity, to stand there and act like I wasn’t there, like I was no better than the friggin’ ketchup bottle on the table. Who in the hell gave her the right to ignore me that way? As if I was insignificant!”

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