A Creed in Stone Creek - Linda Lael Miller [78]
Andrea nodded, then gave a little giggle. “Sorry,” she said, after a moment, clearly insincere.
Melissa heaved out a sigh. “Okay,” she said. “That’s everything, then?”
“That’s everything,” Andrea said.
Melissa practically dove into her office.
Concentrating on her work proved to be a challenge for the rest of the morning—she kept thinking about Steven, and the things they’d done together the night before, juxtaposed against the cold, hard reality of their separate philosophies concerning the practice of law.
She was a prosecutor.
He was a defense attorney.
There were similarities between them, of course, but just then, the differences looked a whole lot bigger.
CHAPTER TWELVE
JUST BEFORE NOON, Melissa saved a computer document to the file labeled “to be reviewed” and noticed for the first time that she was hungry. That morning’s after-jog smoothie had definitely worn off.
Too bad the residual effects of Steven Creed’s lovemaking hadn’t—or those of the confrontation outside of Tom’s office after Nathan Carter’s release from jail. The occasional faint aftershock still rocked her—at once delicious and annoying.
Melissa decided to remain in the office over her lunch hour, although the day was lovely and it would have been a lot more fun to munch away on a half sandwich and a fruit cup from the little market down on the corner.
So, silently telling herself to get over it all the while, she had strawberry yogurt from her stash in the break-room fridge instead.
And she waited.
When she couldn’t sit still for another moment, she stood up and walked out of her private office, past Andrea and into the corridor.
Tom was sitting at his desk when she walked in, scribbling away at some form on a clipboard. Seeing her, he pushed the paperwork away and got to his feet. His desk chair creaked in the process.
She didn’t speak right away, so he spread his hands wide and said, “What?”
“Do you have any idea what kind of problems you’ve opened yourself up to?” Melissa demanded. “Maybe it was all right to throw someone into jail just to get them off the street back in the day, but it isn’t anymore!”
Tom’s eyes twinkled, though he looked weary, too. “Tell it to Pete Ferguson,” he said, slowly sinking back into his chair. “He made the arrest.”
“You tell him,” Melissa snapped in response. “You’re his boss.”
Tom arched an eyebrow. “Are you through?” he asked, with a grin he couldn’t quite suppress, though he did make a visible attempt.
Melissa began to pace. “Carter could sue the county for false arrest,” she reminded her friend. “And even if Steven Creed didn’t take the case, some ambulance chaser from Flagstaff or Phoenix would be thrilled to do it!”
Tom nodded toward the chair facing his desk. “Sit down,” he said. “You’re making me nervous.”
She plunked herself onto the seat, arms folded.
“Speaking of Creed,” Tom said, when she didn’t speak, “what’s going on between you two?”
“Who says anything is ‘going on’?” Melissa countered, perhaps too quickly.
“Oh, come on,” Tom said. “The air was flammable in here this morning. Good thing nobody smokes in public buildings anymore, because the whole crowd of us might have gone up in a blast if anybody had flicked a lighter or struck a match.”
Melissa folded her arms. “I’m not discussing Steven Creed with you,” she said. She wanted to discuss Steven with someone—Ashley and Olivia were both likely candidates—but not Tom. Definitely not Tom, because he’d tease her to death if she admitted anything.
Tom chuckled. “All right,” he said, spreading his hands in a gesture of affable acquiescence. “But don’t think you’re fooling anybody, because you’re not.”
Melissa took a step toward him. Let her arms fall to her sides. “Speaking of not fooling anyone,” she said, “remember our bet? You were supposed to ask Tessa Quinn out for dinner or a movie—or have you forgotten?”
He reddened slightly, under the jaw.
Elvis made a rhythmic thumping sound against the floor as he scratched under his chin with one hind leg.
“You said the bet was off,” Tom told her.
“No, I didn