Practice Makes Perfect

  Table of Contents

  Title Page

  Copyright Page

  Dedication

  Acknowledgements

  Epigraph

  One

  Two

  Three

  Four

  Five

  Six

  Seven

  Eight

  Nine

  Ten

  Eleven

  Twelve

  Thirteen

  Fourteen

  Fifteen

  Sixteen

  Seventeen

  Eighteen

  Nineteen

  Twenty

  Twenty-one

  Twenty-two

  Twenty-three

  Twenty-four

  Twenty-five

  Twenty-six

  Twenty-seven

  Twenty-eight

  Special Excerpt from LOVE IRRESISTIBLY

  Praise for Julie James’s debut romance

  Just the Sexiest Man Alive

  “Witty banter and amazing chemistry between Taylor and Jason bring this delightful story to life.”—Chicago Sun-Times

  “Fantastic, frolicking fun . . . Read Just the Sexiest Man Alive, and you will be adding Julie James to your automatic buy list!”

  —New York Times bestselling author Janet Chapman

  “In her debut novel, James shakes up the world of lawyers and celebrity romance, producing a captivating, beautifully written story. The fireworks between the characters fuel the plot and will keep readers flipping the pages at a dizzying pace.”

  —Romantic Times

  “James’s familiarity with both the law and the film industry lends credibility to this fast-moving, contemporary romantic comedy between two strong-willed characters.”—Booklist

  “Witty and romantic.”—Publishers Weekly

  “Just the Sexiest Man Alive by Julie James is a laugh-out-loud funny read . . . It is nice to see such a down-to-earth heroine and a hero that has to work to get what he wants. Ms. James writes very human characters that, like we do, have communication problems . . . This is my first book by Ms. James, but it will definitely not be my last!”—Fallen Angel Reviews

  “[A] smartly written contemporary.”—All About Romance

  “The sparks fly between the [hero and heroine] in this engaging romance . . . The supporting cast is great as well . . . Author Julie James has done an excellent job, giving us characters we really care about and an unlikely but realistic romance.”

  —The Romance Studio

  “Is anyone able to resist the sexiest man alive? You might be surprised in this funny story . . . Even in the improbable world of Hollywood’s top actors, Julie James introduces believable characters with real motivations behind their actions. With two witty and charming main characters, the dialogue is sure to keep the reader entertained.”—Fresh Fiction

  “If you’ve ever wondered what it is like having the Hollywood spotlight on you, this is the book to read. Each word and situation is lovingly crafted and is, happy to say, perfection . . . Just the Sexiest Man Alive is a spectacular beginning of what I hope is a stellar career of debut author Julie James . . . My heart beat faster and I felt as though I were interrupting the sexiest couple I ever read about. I’m jumping up and down here asking you not to miss this awesome novel that rightly deserves my Perfect 10 award.”—Romance Reviews Today

  “Is there any woman alive who hasn’t dreamed of landing the absolute sexiest Hollywood star? . . . In Just the Sexiest Man Alive Julie James spins a tale of that dream come true . . . A larger-than-life hero and an unlikely heroine whose lives would normally never intersect and yet they turn out to be perfect for each other . . . If you’re looking for a feel-good romance, you can’t go wrong with this story.”—Queue My Review

  “The sparks fly, hilarity is plentiful with all of the one-liners in the story, and underneath it all is a touching look at fame and fortune and how it can become the only reason people get close to a person. Just the Sexiest Man Alive is now residing on my ‘keeper’ shelf. Once you read the exploits of Taylor and Jason, you will feel the same way. Bravo, Ms. James.”

  —Affaire de Coeur

  “I had almost given up on romantic comedies. Except for the occasional writer (Susan Elizabeth Phillips being the only one who immediately comes to mind), I find myself cringing at what passes for humor these days . . . Then, I received debut author Julie James’s first book to review, and hope sprung anew. Just the Sexiest Man Alive is a witty, competent, and thoroughly charming escapist fantasy!”—The Romance Reader

  THE BERKLEY PUBLISHING GROUP

  Published by the Penguin Group

  Penguin Group (USA) Inc.

  375 Hudson Street, New York, New York 10014, USA

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  Penguin Books Ltd., Registered Offices: 80 Strand, London WC2R 0RL, England

  For more information about the Penguin Group visit penguin.com

  PRACTICE MAKES PERFECT

  A Berkley Sensation Book / published by arrangement with the author

  Copyright © 2009 by Julie Koca.

  Excerpt from Love Irresistibly by Julie James copyright © 2013 by Julie James.

  All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced, scanned, or distributed in any printed or electronic form without permission. Please do not participate in or encourage piracy of copyrighted materials in violation of the author’s rights. Purchase only authorized editions.

  Berkley Sensation Books are published by The Berkley Publishing Group.

  BERKLEY SENSATION® is a registered trademark of Penguin Group (USA) Inc.

  The “B” design is a trademark of Penguin Group (USA) Inc.

  For information, address: The Berkley Publishing Group,

  a division of Penguin Group (USA) Inc.,

  375 Hudson Street, New York, New York 10014.

  ISBN: 978-1-101-01968-9

  PUBLISHING HISTORY

  Berkley Sensation mass-market paperback edition / March 2009

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, events, or locales is entirely coincidental. The publisher does not have any control over and does not assume any responsibility for author or third-party websites or their content.

  For Jackson

  Acknowledgments

  I would like to thank my literary agent, Susan Craw-ford, for this wonderful journey, and for all her guidance and enthusiasm. I also want to express my continuing appreciation to Dick Shepherd, for taking a chance on a lawyer from Chicago who said she had a good idea for a romantic comedy.

  I want to thank my fantastic editor, Wendy McCurdy, and the entire team at Berkley, including Allison Brandau, Kathryn Tumen, Crissie Johnson, and Emma Stockton.

  Special thanks to Chris Ernst, golf technical consultant; to Brian Kavanaugh, class action expert and web designer extraordinaire; and to Darren for vaguely, loosely, inspiring the idea behind this book.

  I am forever grateful to my family for their love and support, and am also very lucky to have a great group of girlfriends who continually inspire me—the smartest, strongest, and funniest women I know.

  Lastly, and most important, I want to express my deepest gratitude to my husband, Brian, for his endless encouragement, and to the newest—and cutest—little hero in my life, my son, Jackson.

  Is not general incivility the very essence of love?

  —JANE AUSTEN, PRIDE AND PREJUDICE

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; One

  THE ALARM CLOCK went off at 5:30 a.m.

  Payton Kendall lifted a sleepy hand to her nightstand and fumbled around to silence the god-awful beeping. She lay there, snuggled in amongst her cozy down pillows, blinking, rousing. Allowing herself these first, and last, few seconds of the day that she could call her own. Then—suddenly remembering—she jumped out of bed.

  Today was the day.

  Payton had a plan for this morning—she had set her alarm to wake her a half hour earlier than usual. There was a purpose for this: she had observed his daily routine and guessed that he got to the office every morning by 7:00 a.m. He liked being the first one in the office, she knew. On this morning, however, she would be there when he got in. Waiting.

  In her mind she had it all worked out—she would act casual. She would be in her office, and when she heard him walk in, she would just “happen” to stroll by to get something from the printer. “Good morning,” she would say with a smile. And without her having to say anything else, he would know exactly what that smile meant.

  He’d be wearing one of his designer suits, the ones Payton knew he had hand-tailored to fit him just so. “The man knows how to wear a suit,” she had overheard one of the secretaries say while gossiping by the coffeemaker in the fifty-third-floor break room. Payton had resisted the urge to follow up the secretary’s comment with one of her own, lest she reveal the feelings about him that she had fought to keep so carefully hidden.

  Moving with purpose, Payton sped through her morning routine. How much easier it must be to be a man, she reflected not for the first time. No makeup to apply, no hair to straighten, no legs to shave. They didn’t even have to sit to pee, the lazy bastards. Just shower, shave, wham-bam, out the door in ten minutes. Although, Payton suspected, he put a little more effort into it. That perfectly imperfect, mussed-just-right hair of his certainly required product of some sort. And, from what she had personally observed, he never wore the same shirt/tie combo twice in the same month.

  Not that Payton didn’t put some effort into her appearance as well. A jury consultant she had worked with during a particularly tricky gender discrimination trial had told her that jurors—both men and women—responded more favorably to female lawyers who were attractive. While Payton found this to be sadly sexist, she accepted it as a fact nonetheless and thus made it a general rule to always put her best face forward, literally, at work. Besides, she’d rather hang herself by a pinky toe than ever let him see her looking anything but her best.

  The “L” ride into the office was quiet, with far fewer passengers riding this early in the morning. The city seemed to be just waking up as Payton walked along the Chicago River the three blocks to her law firm’s offices. The early morning sun glinted off the river, casting it in a soft golden glow. Payton smiled to herself as she cut through the lobby of her building; she was in that good of a mood.

  Her excitement grew as the elevator rose to the fifty-third floor. Her floor. His floor. The door opened, revealing a dark office hallway. The secretaries wouldn’t be in for at least two hours, which was good. If all went as planned, she had a few things to say to him and now she would be able to speak freely, without fear of the two of them being overheard.

  Payton strode with confidence down the corridor, her briefcase swinging at her side. His office was closer to the elevator bank; she would pass it en route to hers. Eight years it had been since they had moved into their respective offices across the floor from each other. She could picture perfectly the letters on the nameplate outside his office.

  J. D. JAMESON.

  My, how the mere mention of that name made her pulse quicken . . .

  Payton rounded the corner, grinning in anticipation as she thought about what he would say when—

  She stopped cold.

  His office light was on.

  But—how? This couldn’t be. She had gotten up at this ridiculous hour to get in first. What about her plans, her big plans? The casual stroll by the printer, the way she was supposed to smile knowingly and say, Good morning, J.D.?

  She heard a familiar rich baritone voice behind her.

  “Good morning, Payton.”

  Payton’s pulse skyrocketed. She couldn’t help it, merely hearing his voice had that effect on her. She turned around and there he stood.

  J. D. Jameson.

  Payton paused to look him over. He looked so quintessentially J.D. right then, with his suit jacket already off and his classically cut navy pinstripe pants and yes, that perfectly styled rakish light brown hair of his. He looked tan—probably out playing tennis or golf over the weekend—and he gave her one of his perfect-white-teeth smiles as he leaned casually against the credenza behind him.

  “I said, ‘Good morning,’ ” he repeated. And so Payton did what she always did when she saw J. D. Jameson.

  She scowled.

  The shithead had beaten her into work.

  Again.

  “Good morning, J.D.,” she replied with that sarcastic tone she reserved just for him.

  Noting her arrival, he checked his watch, then glanced up and down the hallway with deliberate exaggeration. “Wow—did I miss the lunch cart? Is it noon already?”

  She really hated this guy.

  I hardly get in at noon, Payton nearly retorted, then bit her tongue. No. She wouldn’t stoop to his level and defend herself.

  “Perhaps if you spent a little less time keeping track of my comings and goings, J.D., and a little more time working, it wouldn’t take you fifteen hours to bill ten.”

  She watched with satisfaction as her reply wiped the smirk right off of his face. Touché. With a well-practiced cool and calm demeanor, she turned in her heels and headed across the hall to her own office.

  Such a silly thing, Payton thought. This endless competition J.D. had with her. The man clearly spent far too much time focusing on what she was up to. It had been that way since . . . well, since as long as she could remember. Thank goodness she was above such petty nonsense.

  Payton got to her office and closed her door behind her. She set her briefcase down on top of her desk and took a seat in the well-worn leather chair. How many hours had she logged in that chair? How many all-nighters had she pulled? How many weekends had she sacrificed? All in her quest to show the firm that she was partnership material—that she was the top associate in her class.

  Through the glass on her door, she could see across the hall to J.D.’s office. He was already back at his own desk, in front of his computer, working. Oh, sure, like he had such important matters to tend to.

  Payton pulled her laptop out of her briefcase and turned it on, ready to start her day. After all, she had very important things to focus on, too.

  For starters, like how the hell she was ever going to get up at 4:30 tomorrow morning.

  Two

  “I SEE YOU broke your own record.”

  Payton peered up from her computer as Irma walked into her office, waving the time sheets Payton had given her earlier that morning.

  “I get depressed just logging in these hours,” her secretary continued in an exasperated tone. “Seriously, I need to be assigned to a different associate. Someone whose weekly time sheets aren’t as long as Anna Karenina.”

  Payton raised an eyebrow as she took the stack of time sheets from her secretary. “Let me guess—another recommendation from Oprah?”

  Irma gave Payton a look that said she was treading on seriously dangerous ground. “That sounds like mocking.”

  “No, never,” Payton assured her, trying not to grin. “I’m sure it’s a wonderful book.”

  At least four times a year Irma made the pilgrimage out to the West Loop to sit in the audience at Harpo Studios and be in the presence of Her Holiness the Winfrey. Irma took all recommendations from the TV maven—lifestyle, literary, and otherwise—as gospel. Any comments in the negative by Payton or anyone else were strictly taboo.

  Irma took a seat in front of the desk as she waited for Payton
to sign off on the completed time sheets. “You’d like it. It’s about a woman who’s progressive for her time.”

  “Sounds promising,” Payton said distractedly as she skimmed the printout of the hours her secretary had entered.

  “Then she falls for the wrong man,” Irma continued.

  “That’s a bit cliché, isn’t it? They call this Tolstoy guy a writer?” Payton quickly scrawled her signature across the bottom of the last time sheet and handed them back to Irma.

  “This ‘Tolstoy guy’ knows about relationships. Perhaps you could learn a thing or two from him.”

  Payton pretended not to hear the comment. After years of working with Irma, the two of them had developed a comfortable, familiar relationship, and she had learned that the best way to handle her secretary’s not-so-subtle remarks regarding her personal life was simply to ignore them.

  “You’ve seen the evidence of my lack of free time,” Payton said, gesturing to her time sheets. “Until I’m through with this trial, I’m afraid Tolstoy will have to wait.” She pointed. “But if Oprah happens to know of a book about responding to subpoenas for corporate documents, that I would be interested in.”

  Seeing Irma’s look of warning, Payton held up her hands innocently. “I’m just saying.”

  “I tell you what,” Irma said. “I’ll hold on to the book for you. Because after this month, I suspect you’ll be able to give yourself a bit of a break.” She winked.

  Payton turned back to her computer. Despite Irma’s repeated attempts to engage her on this subject, she didn’t like to talk openly about it. After all, she didn’t want to jinx things. So she waved aside the remark, feigning nonchalance.