Anyhow, asshole or not, the vibe is working, because I can’t help picturing us roleplaying a scenario in which he is an uptight jerk and I spend an evening making him pay for his assholery by undoing him completely: shirt unbuttoned and rumpled, hair mussed and on end, and my discount drugstore lipstick smeared across his expensively cologned jaw.

Yikes, Brain. Not helpful. This man was all set to marry someone less than two weeks ago; he’s absolutely off-limits—and so not your type.

I crack my neck in an effort to clear my head. Lina says it’s a disgusting habit, but it’s what I do when I need to regroup, and it isn’t hurting anybody. “So, what did you want to talk to me about?”

Dean draws in a deep breath and releases it slowly. “I think I may need your help after all.”

“I’m listening.”

He dives into a long and convoluted explanation of a career crisis; with each new wrinkle in the saga, my jaw drops a fraction, until it finally hits the floor. When he’s done, I stare at him.

“Hello?” he asks as he leans over and waves a hand in front of my face. “Blink once if you’re still with me. Blink twice if you’re in distress.”

I widen my eyes and blink them so furiously that I’m experiencing a strobe light effect behind my lids. This is bananas. And there’s no way we can pull this off. “What the hell were you thinking?”

He sighs and runs a hand down his face. “Nothing smart, that’s for sure. And look, I’m not going to sit here and try to convince you that my plan isn’t wild. It is. But I’ve been working my ass off for eight years so I can make partner. Recruiting this person is the kind of major coup that could seal the deal. I need this chance.”

“Don’t you think that’s a problem? Shouldn’t working your ass off for eight years suffice?”

He pauses, as if my point had never occurred to him, then says, “In an ideal world, sure. But this is the law firm world. You’re only as valuable as your last big client or lucrative case. This has the potential to accomplish both and—”

The barista appears again. “Would you like another cup?”

Dean gestures to his mug. “Still working on this one, thanks. Solange?”

“Nope, still good sipping on my coffee with twenty pumps of nothing.”

After the barista leaves, Dean rolls his eyes at me.

“Do you do that often?”

“Do what?” he asks, tilting his head.

“Roll your eyes. It’s charming.”

“My coffee order really upset you, didn’t it?”

“It did,” I say, unable to keep the grin off my face.

“Can we get back to the matter at hand?” he asks.