The Good Fight (Time Served Book 3) Read Online Free PDF Page A

see her jaw tight, brows narrowed in annoyance. The expression smoothes as she visibly shakes off whatever’s bothering her. “Nothing,” she says, waving a dismissive hand. “What do you do, Oscar? You live in Camden but buy watermelons in Chicago?”
    “You know much about Camden?”
    “Only its reputation.”
    We stop and wait for the light to change to cross the street. “We don’t have watermelons.”
    “Do you have Junior Mints?”
    I can’t help but laugh a little. “Yeah, Susan. We have Junior Mints.”
    The light turns green, the walk signal appears, and we approach the restaurant. The three-story building has a tidy brick façade, planters brimming with green and white plants flank the front door, and enormous tinted windows reveal just enough to let us know the restaurant is full.
    “After you,” I say, gesturing for Susan to enter first.
    “I’m underdressed,” she remarks, peering around. It takes a moment for my eyes to adjust to the dim lighting, and I suppose I should have known her jeans would be out of place in a restaurant with a three-month waitlist and a too-handsome-for-his-own-good chef.
    “You look fine,” I tell her, meaning it. Dresses and high heels are nice, but I’ve had more than my share of both. “You look good.”
    She shrugs. “It was just an observation.”
    I nod at the hostess, prepared to tell her we’re here to meet the chef, but the chef himself beats me to it.
    “Oscar Hall!” Rian McConnell emerges from the kitchen, dressed not in his chef whites, but in jeans and a T-shirt, his shaggy dark hair loose instead of tucked under his usual skull bandana. He’s the head chef but he takes Wednesdays off—the restaurant’s “slow” night, believe it or not, given the packed dining room—and tonight he’s dressed to give me a tour of the garden. Or us, rather.
    I peer over at Susan. She’s gazing expectantly at Rian as he nears, hand extended. We shake and exchange greetings, then he turns his megawatt smile on Susan. “Rian McConnell,” he says, leaning in to kiss her cheek.
    “Susan Jones,” she answers.
    “You’re an accountant, Susan?” Rian looks...impressed. And interested. Dammit.
    Susan frowns. “No. Why?”
    “Because Oz here...” Rian gestures to me, and Susan looks up in surprise.
    “You’re an accountant?”
    Now Rian looks cheerfully confused. “Do you two know each other?”
    Trying to , I mouth over Susan’s head. “Let’s see this garden.”
    Rian’s grin turns into something smug and knowing, but he merely spins on his heel, waving for us to follow. I trail behind Susan, trying to figure out how a woman whose dinner consists of a chocolate drink and fistful of candy can fill out a pair of jeans so beautifully.
    The building is old enough that it doesn’t have an elevator, so we enter a dim, narrow stairwell tucked behind a door in the back corner of the restaurant. It’s dank and musty, but that doesn’t stop me from enjoying the sway of Susan’s hips as she climbs in front of me, the faint dip of her waist outlined when her loose shirt shifts from side to side.
    “And here we are,” Rian announces a minute later, using his shoulder to open a heavy metal fire door and exit onto the rooftop. Sunlight streams in and Susan and I wince, hands raising in unison to shield our eyes.
    “You all right?” I ask, stepping onto the rooftop and pausing at her side.
    “Temporarily blind, but otherwise fine,” she replies. “You?”
    “Fine. Why wouldn’t I be?”
    “Because your sexy chef friend kissed me and you haven’t?”
    “I—What?”
    She stares up at me. “What?”
    “Did you just say—”
    “You two want to see the garden or ogle each other?” Rian’s ready to tease us some more, but his phone chooses that moment to ring and he pulls it out of his pocket to answer, holding up a “just a minute” finger before taking a few steps away to talk.
    “Why are we here?” Susan asks, looking around. For a second I