Lorena watched me as I sat, her lips curling into a slow, knowing smile. "And what occasion is this, Jack?" she asked, her voice a dark purr.
I leaned back slightly, my fingers steepling in front of me. "The occasion of a beautiful woman agreeing to dine with me," I said, my tone dripping with charm. "I’d be a fool not to rise to it."
Her laugh was low, rich, the kind that made my pulse kick up. "Flattery will get you everywhere," she murmured, picking up the menu.
I didn’t even glance at mine. "Order for me," I said, my voice casual but firm. "Whatever you’re having, I’ll have the same."
She raised an eyebrow, her gaze flicking up to mine. "You trust my taste?"
I met her eyes, my smirk deepening. "Implicitly," I said, my voice dropping into something darker, more intimate. "I have a feeling you know exactly what you like, Lorena. And I’m eager to find out."
Her lips parted slightly, her breath hitching just enough to betray the flicker of heat in her eyes. She didn’t look away. Didn’t back down. Instead, she held my gaze for a long moment before turning her attention back to the menu, her fingers tracing the embossed lettering. "Then I won’t disappoint," she murmured, her voice smooth as aged whiskey.
I watched her as she ordered—first in rapid, fluent Spanish with the waiter, then translating for me with a smirk. "We’re starting with ceviche—fresh, citrusy, a little dangerous." Her eyes flicked to mine.
"Followed by arrachera—grilled skirt steak, tender enough to cut with a fork. And to drink..." She paused, her tongue darting out to wet her lower lip, "a bottle of Clase Azul Reposado. Unless you’d prefer something... softer?"
I grinned, my voice rough with amusement. "I don’t do soft, Lorena," I said, my gaze locked onto hers.
She didn’t miss a beat. "Good," she said, her voice a dark purr. "Because I don’t either."
The waiter slipped away, leaving us alone in the dimly lit room, the air between us thick with something unspoken.
I reached for my glass of water, my fingers brushing the condensation, my eyes never leaving hers. "You know," I said, my voice dropping into a lower, more intimate tone, "I have to admit, I didn’t expect this."
"What?" she asked, her voice teasing, "That I’d agree to dinner with a man who admits to being a killer?"
I chuckled, shaking my head. "No," I said, my smirk softening, "that I’d find myself genuinely intrigued by the lawyer assigned to my case." I leaned forward slightly, my voice dropping to a murmur. "You’re full of surprises, Lorena Hernández."
Lorena’s laughter was rich and warm, the kind that made the air between us feel alive. "You are full of surprises," she admitted, her dark eyes glinting with something between amusement and fascination.
"I didn’t expect anyone would actually admit to being a murderer—even if I asked them to." She leaned forward slightly, her voice dropping to a low, intrigued murmur. "It feels like you’re confident you can get away with it all by yourself."
I met her gaze, my smirk unapologetic. "Yeah," I said, my voice smooth, "I am confident in my own ability." I studied her for a moment, the way her fingers traced the rim of her glass, the way her mind worked behind those sharp, calculating eyes. Then, without hesitation, I asked, "Have you ever thought about changing jobs? Working for me?"
Lorena didn’t even hesitate. She shook her head, her lips curling into a knowing smile. "Thank you for the offer," she said, her voice firm but polite, "but I think I’m doing quite well on my own."
I didn’t push it. Instead, I leaned back in my chair, my gaze never leaving hers. "I know you’re not after money," I said, my voice dropping into a more serious tone. "But still... what’s your end goal? What is it you really want? Power?"
Lorena’s expression shifted, her eyes narrowing slightly as she considered my question. "Who doesn’t want power?" she said, her voice low, almost philosophical.
"You should know better than anyone that even with money, many things are... inconvenient." She took a slow sip of her drink, her gaze never wavering. "But with power? One can be free."
I tilted my head, my curiosity piqued. "So what position would satisfy you?" I asked, my voice smooth, probing. "What’s your end goal here? With your father being Chief Justice, there’s nothing that can limit you. So what are you worried about?"
Lorena’s eyes widened slightly, her brows lifting in surprise. "How did you find out?" she asked, her voice tinged with genuine shock. "I never told you—and this is the first time we’ve met."
I gave her a slow, knowing smile, my voice dropping into a darker, more mysterious tone. "I know far more than you think," I said, my gaze locked onto hers.
Lorena leaned back in her chair, her eyes studying me with a newfound intensity. After a moment, she exhaled, her voice steady, almost resigned. "It’s okay to tell you," she said, her fingers tracing the stem of her glass.
"There’s nothing to hide." She paused, her expression turning thoughtful. "I want to be a senior member in the judiciary community," she admitted, her voice carrying the weight of ambition.
"Once I take the exam for judge—and pass it—through my reputation and goodwill, I’ll be assigned high-level cases. I’ll be in the limelight... and get promoted easily."
Lorena’s voice was steady, her ambition clear as she outlined her path—judge, high-level cases, the limelight—and I listened, my mind already piecing together the advantages she had. With her father as Chief Justice, the doors would open for her like red carpets at a premiere.
"I can’t wait to see you in a judge’s robe," I said, my voice dropping into a smoother, more playful tone, my smirk turning wicked. "I’m sure you’ll look absolutely stunning in them."
The image flashed in my mind—Lorena presiding over a courtroom, that authority in her voice, the way the robe would hug her curves—fuck. I shifted slightly in my seat, my gaze lingering on her for a second too long.
Lorena chuckled, the sound rich and warm, her eyes glinting with amusement. "You’re impossible, Jack," she said, shaking her head, but I could see the flicker of pride in her expression.