She’d spent the past two years working for Judge Doris Monroe of the Fifth Circuit Court of Appeals, and she’d recently accepted a position in the prestigious appellate law section of Thatcher and Dain. The job was bittersweet, actually, because she couldn’t imagine a better boss than Judge Monroe. The woman was not only a brilliant lawyer, she was a savvy woman, and Claire respected the hell out of her. Hard to believe that in July, she’d be leaving the judge and entering the private sector.
Her father, a Texas state senator, had wanted her to join the firm that he’d helped found before he’d entered politics back when she was a little girl, but Claire was determined to make her mark on her own. If she joined a firm where her name was already on the door, it would be after she’d argued cases in front of the Supreme Court, been profiled in the American Bar Journal and the Dallas Morning News, and could walk through the front door knowing that she deserved to be there for what she’d accomplished, not because of who her dad was.
All in all, Claire was settled in her world. She just wanted someone to share it with. Joe, however, wasn’t that guy, no matter how much she’d tried to pretend otherwise.
Still, hearth and home was nice, but right then—on New Year’s Eve—she’d be happy with a slow dance and a hot kiss. And she’d be even happier with more.
She sighed and swallowed the rest of the champagne in her flute. “Where’s Chris?” she asked Alyssa, referring to Alyssa’s best-friend-turned-boyfriend-turned-man-of-her-dreams.
“He bumped into a friend. I should probably go find him, though. Only fifteen minutes to midnight.”
Claire frowned. “I think I’ll just go.”
“Don’t you dare. Just have fun. Kiss the bartender. Dance. Drink champagne.”
“Oh, believe me,” Claire said. “I’m all over that champagne plan.” She didn’t usually drink much, but between boredom and nerves, she’d drunk at least three glasses—not counting the tasty Jell-O shots—and she was feeling it, too.
“I shouldn’t even be here,” Claire continued. “My mother begged me to drive down to Austin and go to the celebration at the Governor’s Mansion. I could be mingling with judges. Making contacts. Networking.” She sighed. “Seriously. I should just go home.”
“What about our pact? You need to step to it, girl. Go after what you want.”
“Maybe what I want is to get in bed with a glass of wine and watch When Harry Met Sally.”
Alyssa’s expression turned stern. “For one thing,” she said, with a nod to the champagne flute, “you do not need to be driving right now. For another, it’s New Year’s Eve!”
“Hello? Midnight on New Year’s without a date is no fun. Neither was Christmas,” she added, though she wasn’t bitter. Really she wasn’t. She was thrilled Alyssa and Chris had finally gotten together. Claire just wished their pre-Christmas take-control-of-your-love-life holiday pact had worked out as well for herself.
“I’d let you kiss Chris, but I’d just end up being jealous,” Alyssa said with a wink. “Can’t have that.”
Claire gave her friend a small shove in the direction of the bar. “Go. Find him. I’ll be fine. Maybe I’ll accost some poor, helpless man and make him be my sex slave for the evening,” she added, thinking of Mr. Texas Royalty, aka The One That Got Away.
“There you go. That’s the spirit.” She gave Claire a quick hug, then disappeared into the throng, leaving Claire feeling like a bit of an idiot standing there all alone with the clock about ready to start counting down.
“Damn,” Claire said, wondering if Alyssa would notice if she went out and sat in her car. She could pretend like she needed something, wait in the car while the clock tolled midnight, then come back in after the kissing was over. That, at least, would save her from the intense depression associated with chronic datelessness.
Armed with a plan, she stepped out of a nearby door and found herself not in front of the club but on a flagstone back patio. Moreover, the inside music was not pumped outside. Instead, there was a nice classical thing going on that gave the little oasis a “kick back and regroup” kind of feel that Claire appreciated.
As far as she could tell, though, there was no way to move from the patio to the parking lot, and she was about to turn and go back inside when she caught another glimpse of Mr. Sin-and-Sex. This time, though, he was chatting with a cluster of gorgeous women. Figures. She sighed, and was debating whether she should go over and count herself among the groupies, when the cluster of women broke apart and started moving off in various directions, their parting creating a straight line of sight between her and Texas—and he was staring right at her, the heat in his eyes positively unmistakeable.
Whoa.
She drew in a breath, then snagged another flute of champagne from a passing waiter. She turned away, not wanting Texas to see the big gulp she took for courage, realizing as she did that she was desperately out of practice on the flirting front. She’d dated Joe, yes, but she’d met him through a friend of a friend, no cold-meet in a crowded bar. And before that…well, she’d always been the girl who studied, not the girl who partied.
Now she was regretting that deficit in her education, because somehow she was going to have to find the know-how to walk right over there and talk to the man. Go after what she wanted, right? Wasn’t that what she and Alyssa had agreed?
And at the moment, there was no denying that if there was anyone she wanted by her side at midnight, it was Mr. Decadant.
When she turned back around she was invigorated, self-confident…and completely alone.
Or not entirely alone, as there were several dozen people out on the patio with her, but the man she was aiming for was gone.
Well, damn.
“Not a good time to lose your date.”
Claire whipped around, which set her head to spinning from the champagne, and found herself facing an absolutely gorgeous blond girl holding yet another tray, this one with both champagne and Jell-O shots. “I’m sorry? My date?”
“You have that ‘where the heck did he go now?’ look in your eye.”
“Oh!” Claire glanced around, positively mortified that she’d had anything remotely resembling a date-look on her face with regard to a perfect stranger—even if she had been thinking about some very datish activities. “No, see, I was just—”
“The countdown’s starting soon,” the waitress said. “Find him quick.”
And before Claire could explain to this woman who undoubtedly didn’t care that the hunka hunka burning decadence was not her date, the waitress pressed a flute into her hand and flitted off to foist celebratory beverages on the rest of the unsuspecting guests.
Claire sighed. And, since she had it, she took another drink. Then she looked around the patio some more. No luck.
Of course, that really didn’t mean anything. The patio was starting to get incredibly crowded, and when Claire tilted her head back like some of the other club-goers, she realized why: the full moon hung in the sky, showering the guests in moonlight.
And then she realized that the music from inside the club had stopped, as had the orchestral music that had been playing on the patio, all replaced instead by the warm voice of Fred, who introduced himself as Decadent’s manager. “From me and every one of us here at Decadent, we want to wish you all a happy New Year. Now,