Page 30 of Gold Rush
She nods. “Years ago. Back in college.”
Jake grins. “I thought so. I spent the summer after 1L in the DA’s office. Saw you in court a few times. Did you end up going to law school?”
“I did. I graduated in May.”
“From where?”
Her smile is modest. “Harvard.”
“Of course. That’s where you and Flynn met?” Jake glances over, finally including me in the conversation.
“Not exactly—”
“We already knew—”
Rory and I start, then stop simultaneously.
“He copied me,” she says. “I’d been talking about becoming a lawyer forever, and then he showed up in Cambridge too.”
“Copied is a strong word,” I state, attempting to hide my surprise that Rory is … teasing me? “But I was definitely influenced.” Just not by her.
I nod at Jake. “See you later.”
“Later, Flynn. Nice to meet you, Rory.”
“You too,” she replies.
We continue walking, in silence, as I attempt to shake off the weirdness of that conversation. I don’t know Jake very well, but he seems like a decent guy. His apparent interest in Rory is something I should be encouraging.
“I can give him your number, if you want.”
Rory glances over, twin lines appearing between her blue eyes. I’d never tell anyone, especially her, but that shade is one I compare other colors to.
“He thinks we’re dating,” she tells me.
“I’m aware,” I drawl. “But we’re not, so I’ll give him your number, if you want me to.”
“Does that mean you changed your mind about pretending? Is that why you didn’t mention it on Tuesday?”
I stop walking, right as a stream of other associates starts to exit the conference room. Several, including Haley, give us curious glances before heading in the opposite direction, back toward the bullpen.
I focus on Rory. “You mean …”
She reaches out and presses the down arrow next to the center elevator. “I mean the crazy suggestion you made on Friday night. Did you change your mind?”
“No.”
I still need a fake fiancée. And Rory being that fake fiancée is a best-case scenario. Not only because of what I already told my parents. I’ve known her since we were kids. There’s a degree of established familiarity that I don’t have with many people.
The elevator doors slide open, the lift empty.
“Where did you go this weekend?”
I lift an eyebrow as I jab at the Lobby button. “I didn’t realize us potentially pretending to be engaged required me providing a daily itinerary.”
“You left early on Saturday and weren’t at the Hastings’ party. I was simply wondering.”
I lean back against the wall, tucking my hands in my pockets. “You mean, you looked for me.”
