Unconditionally Mine. Nadine Gonzalez

surprised him by rising to her feet. Even on impressively high heels—the sexiest pumps he’d seen in a while—she only reached his chin. “I can get my own coffee.”

      “Let’s each get our own coffee together,” he proposed. “My treat.”

      She grunted and took the lead. He happily followed, feeling like a winner. In a room full of dull and disgruntled people, she had brought light and something else that he needed: a challenge. Ten minutes in, he didn’t know her name or their shared history. He was going to have to work for it.

      The snack bar offered Cuban coffee, Cuban toast, Cuban breakfast pastries and a Cuban breakfast special priced at $3.99. While they waited in line, he asked her what she’d like.

      “Coffee with lots of milk. But don’t worry. I’ll order.”

      “I’m not worried.”

      The woman at the register took one look at him and made a suggestion. “American coffee?”

      “No,” he said. “Un cortadito y un café con leche bien claro.”

      He paid and stuffed a five-dollar bill in the tip jar. She watched him with an amused smile.

      “What’s the matter?” he asked.

      “Do you really speak Spanish? Or just know how to order coffee?”

      He wanted to stay on topic. “You were about to tell me how we met.”

      “No, I wasn’t,” she said. “If you can’t remember, it’s best to leave it in the past.”

      “Who said that? Aristotle?”

      The cashier tapped on the glass partition to get his attention. Their order was ready. Jon grabbed both cups and held hers up and out of reach. “Here you go...” He gave her a chance to fill in the blank.

      She folded her arms across her chest, her generous chest. “My name is Sofia.”

      The name didn’t ring any bells.

      “Nice to meet you again, Sofia.” He handed over her coffee. “Should we check out the quiet room?”

      “Too much quiet and I’ll start crying,” she said wearily. “Let’s just find a place to sit.”

      Slot machines in Vegas weren’t as loud as those going off in his mind.

      She led him to the far end of the auditorium to an empty row of chairs under a window. Sunlight exposed the dust in the air, like so many microscopic angels. They sat closer this time, shoulders touching, and he wondered what she’d have to cry about. Instead, he asked why she’d filled out a wage reimbursement form.

      She shot him a look. Her brown eyes sparkled in the sunlight. She was very lovely.

      “You are observant,” she said.

      “We’ve established that.” It was no mystery. She’d filled out two forms and he’d filled only one.

      “My time is worth money. That’s why. Not that it’s your business.”

      “We’re talking fifteen dollars for an eight-hour day, right? You’ve got to be worth more than that.”

      He was aware that he sounded like an elitist ass. Fifteen dollars was plenty for anyone who needed it. As the clerk had said, times were hard. But her sunglasses were Tom Ford, and that enormous purse was Louis Vuitton.

      “I’m self-employed,” she said. “And to be honest, I’ve got a couple of toll violations. The state of Florida might as well pay for them.”

      He laughed. She was a hustler. He could fall in love with this girl.

      “You know what?” she snapped. “I hope you get stuck in jury duty all week.”

      “Not going to happen. They won’t pick me.”

      “Why not?” She took a sip of coffee. “Are you a felon? If you tell them, they’ll let you go home. It’s unfortunate, but it’s the law.”

      Jon carefully lifted the lid of his mini Styrofoam cup and blew on the frothy surface. “Do I look like a felon?”

      “Honestly?”

      Jon had no illusions. His bulk intimidated some. His weathered face didn’t hide that he’d been punched more than a few times. An ex once told him that his expensive clothes only sharpened his rough edges. He gestured to the form lying flat on her lap. “Show me yours and I’ll show you mine.”

      A typical jury questionnaire had more information than any online dating profile, and Jon liked to have all the facts up front.

      She brought her cup to her lips to hide a smile. “I haven’t fallen for that since ever.”

      “You can trust me,” he said.

      “Before coffee I don’t trust my own mother,” she said.

      He reached into his breast pocket and pulled out his form, folded in squares. She hesitated, then snatched it from his hands. He took note of the things she chose to read.

      “Jonathan Gunther. Thirty-two. Single. No kids. Attorney, criminal defense...”

      She stopped reading and glanced up at him.

      “They never pick lawyers,” he said with a wink. “We can turn a shoplifting case into a constitutional crisis.”

      “Criminal defense?”

      “Is that going to be a problem?” he asked. “I won’t bring my clients home.”

      “You’re the problem,” she said with a smile.

      That smile could light up the world, Jon thought. “Your turn.”

      She handed over her form, but he didn’t take it. “Why don’t you tell me what’s there?”

      She pressed her lips together. “Let’s see... Sofia Silva. Twenty-nine. Event planner.”

      “A party girl?” he asked.

      “I’m an entrepreneur, an award-winning small business owner.” She frowned. “You have a strange way of making friends.”

      “I thought you had enough friends. I put us on another track.”

      “Don’t. You’re wasting your time.”

      “Why?” he asked. “Married? Kids?”

      She read from the questionnaire as if she’d forgotten what she’d written. He knew it was all to avoid making eye contact. “No kids—yet. One significant other.”

      Jon took another sip of coffee. Normally, this would be his cue to back off. But she’d stirred things up, and there was no quick way to calm those things down.

      The clerk assembled a panel, calling out numbers like lottery picks. One by one, those selected gathered their things and stumbled out of the room. The room fell silent again with Julia Roberts’s laughter for pleasant background noise.

      “Why defend criminals?” she asked.

      “Criminals are just people who’ve made bad choices.”

      “Or they’re selfish and stupid people with complete disregard for others.”

      “Callous disregard,” Jon said. “Sounds better.”

      She moaned. “You really are a lawyer.”

      “One of the best.” He handed her a business card. “Next time a client tries to sue you, you’ll be glad you know me.”

      She laughed at the joke and took the card. Another panel was assembled and time passed. It was easy talking with her. She was sharp; nothing he said went untested. But a pattern was emerging. She’d fire questions at him but carefully avoided revealing anything about herself.

      “You’ve