Hating the Heartthrob

The oak-paneled amphitheater of Hawthorne University's Langdell Hall was so quiet you could hear the soft hum of the brass chandelier sconces. Two hundred law students sat perched on tiered mahogany benches, holding their breath as the two top-ranked seniors in the university squared off beneath the painted ceiling of the mock courtroom.

"Counsel has exceeded her time by fourteen seconds, and her argument relies on a gross mischaracterization of the Fourth Amendment exception established in *Terry v. Ohio*," a deep, velvety baritone cut through the silence.

Rory Callahan did not flinch. She stood behind the defense podium, her five-foot-six frame radiating pure, concentrated fury. Her fiery auburn curls were pulled back into a no-nonsense bun, her amber eyes blazing like molten whiskey behind dark tortoiseshell spectacles. She adjusted the lapel of her thrifted black blazer, leveled a piercing glare across the three feet of polished parquet separating the podiums, and met the smug, devastatingly handsome hazel eyes of Jaxson Montgomery.

"If opposing counsel spent as much time reading federal case law as he does admiring his own reflection in the varsity locker room mirrors," Rory replied in a voice as crisp as fresh parchment, "he would recognize that the appellate decision in *State v. Henderson* explicitly narrowed that exception three months ago. But please, Mr. Montgomery, do continue lecturing the court on statutes you skimmed between frat parties."

A chorus of stifled chuckles and low murmurs broke out across the gallery.

Jaxson didn't blink. He leaned his broad, six-foot-two frame casually against the prosecution lectern, a lethal, infuriating smirk curling his sculpted lips. At twenty-three, Jaxson Montgomery was Hawthorne University's undisputed campus deity—starting quarterback who had led the team to three Ivy championships, heir to the multi-billion-dollar Montgomery Capital dynasty, and possessed of cheekbones that looked as if they had been chiseled by a renaissance sculptor out of sun-warmed marble. He was effortless, entitled, and everything Rory had spent four grueling years despising since their freshman pre-law days.