Attractive Nuisance (Legally in Love Book 1) by Jennifer Griffith

hesitate to sustain an “irrelevant” objection by the defense. She’d have to school Zane in that fact sometime before the case went to trial.
    Zane elbowed her, which alerted her to the fact she was still sitting by him. Quite close to him, in fact. His upper arm was flush with hers. Noticing the contact sent a ripple through her. She shook it off when he spoke. “I think our buddy Veldon Twiss might have just tied his own knot in his noose. Check out this post. Guess who he refers to and extols?”
    “Who?”
    “Seriously. Guess.”
    Ugh. She hated guessing.
    “Come on. I’ll give you three chances. If you get it, we eat cheesecake, which I know is your favorite.”
    “And if I don’t?”
    “Then we have cannoli.”
    Ugh. Cannoli. Too much ricotta cheese. Cheese was her favorite thing in the world, but did it belong in dessert? No. “That’s quite an incentive.” She still didn’t want to guess, but even more, she didn’t want to be a bad sport. After all, he’d brought her all the way here for this incredible prime rib. “Okay, fine. He’s blogging about Jimmy Hoffa. He knows where the body is buried.”
    “Nope. But that’s a good guess. It’s important to guess Jimmy Hoffa in every guessing game, and so maybe I shouldn’t count it. It’s a gimme.”
    “So I get three more tries? Fine.” She almost said Elvis, but she remembered cheesecake was on the line. Wait. Cheesecake had cheese in it. And it was dessert. What kind of hypocrite was she? Ugh. Quick, she had to guess someone good. Was Veldon a conspiracy theorist? Was he a political nut job? Was he obsessed with DIY shows on TV? The choices were too broad. “Oh, I don’t know. The Beemer Bandit.”
    “Bingo! You are good.” He thrust an arm around her shoulders, squeezed and shook her. “Well played.” He clapped his hands loudly. “ Garçon! Yo. Wyatt. Bring the lady her cheesecake.”
    Wyatt’s head popped up from behind a window into the kitchen. “Sure thing, boss.” He used a New Jersey accent.
    “What does Mr. Twiss have to say about the Beemer Bandit? Does it sound like veiled self-promotion?” Was it like those people who got a dummy account on social media, gathered friends and followers, and then spent the whole time promoting their real identity as a fake fan? Veldon Twiss was the Beemer Bandit, and so of course he’d be praising the Beemer Bandit.
    “Let’s see.” Zane scrolled through the post. “Here. It says this.”
    Camilla read it.
    A guy that keeps cropping up in the news nowadays I see is a fella I’d like to get to know. He’s over in Colorado, he’s up in Nevada. He gets around. And what’s he doing hither and yon? He’s playing his own version of Robin Hood. A Sir Robin of Locksley, but with a thirst for speed. And not the kind you get on horseback through Sherwood Forest.
    No, he’s got to have a fast car from Bavaria. The Beemer Bandit. He takes from the rich. That’ll show them. Then he gives to the poor. Or at least to the poor-er. Because it takes a lot of cash to get you one of those Beemers. Or Bimmers. Or whatchamaycallem. They cost more than what I’m driving, I can tell you that. But this guy is smart. He don’t steal from his lessers. He takes from thems who can afford to lose it.
    For that, I salute him. But I hope he isn’t doing foolish stuff with the proceeds. He’d oughta better be doing the right thing and making the world a better place.
    Huh. That didn’t sound too extolling, not per se. She took a bite of cheesecake. Wow. She could extol this—all the livelong day. It melted against her tongue with the perfect fluffy texture and just the right amount of sweetness. A chocolate layer was swirled into the cake, and it had hardened when the cake cooled, creating the perfect melting ribbon of cocoa deliciousness.
    “I don’t know if we can use this. I’m not sure it’s conclusive enough.”
    Zane put down his fork. His face became more serious than she’d ever seen it.