by Vivian Wood
“You’re fucking on.”
Chapter Eight
VIOLET
Monday morning
Don’t spill the coffee in his lap. Don’t spill the coffee in his lap. Do. Not. Spill the coffee in his lap.
They’re the only words I can think off while my hands shake on an already strange Monday morning. My legs are shaking even worse, and as I set the steaming cup of coffee in front of my boss, David King, it’s the only thing I can focus on.
Well, that…and the huge bulge lying limp in his crotch. I can’t help it. I can’t help but notice.
He’s freaking hot. He’s also the closest thing I’ve had to a mentor in a long time, and the more I look at him, the more I wish I didn’t.
Why can’t I lose myself in a David? Granted there’s only the one and the teeny tiny crush I have on my boss is probably nothing more than the product of too much male testosterone in the room—a combination of cologne and raw masculinity with a hint of musk.
And the suits. Holy shit. The suits. The midnight blue stunner on David’s sculpted shoulders is worth more than my first year of law school, and as I lean in to lay the java in front of his paper and pen, he smiles, making me fumble the large mug in my right hand. My cup spills, splashing some cold coffee on my right hand, and as I shake the liquid away, I feel my knees do the same, nearly knocking as they try to carry me through the rest of the oval-shaped circle that borders the boardroom.
I manage to make it all the way around without spilling another drop. I grin, feeling triumphant, but nobody notices me. They’re too busy in the middle of some senior partner meeting that I probably shouldn’t even be listening to. I sneak out of the well-lit walls with my hands clasped gently around the porcelain mug held to my navel, my head down, strawberry-colored strands of my hair falling over my face.
I tuck a few behind my ear when I feel a sudden touch on my back.
“Holy shit.” I jump.
Karina backs up. “Sorry.”
I close the boardroom doors. “Think you might want to give me a heads-up before you scare me shitless? There’s a really important deposition going down and I don’t want to interrupt.”
My newest colleague crosses her arms. “Of course you don’t. All that delicious-looking David…and one Violet. Must be tough…being around such a fuckable man.”
I shrug, walking past her. “You act like it’s my fault the firm hired a good-looking guy.”
“Just because he’s good-looking doesn’t mean you have to get his coffee. You’re a junior partner, for crying out loud.”
“Key word: junior. And I’d like to be senior someday.”
“You won’t. If David sees you as his coffee girl.”
I groan, leaning my head back. “I’m just trying to be nice. Any other advice you want to throw to the tired junior partner, two inches from diving out the window?”
“Yeah,” she says, standing. “Stop ogling the man and get your own.” She points at the boardroom’s floor-to-ceiling windows. “I can see through glass, you know.” She grins. She grabs a brown paper bag I hadn’t seen until just now, sneaking into another boardroom without making a sound.
My fingertips are running hot and cold from the drinks, and so are my emotions. I stalk into the main floor’s kitchenette where I find myself leaning against the counter.
It’s been a hell of a day. Made more hell-ish by the office shipments that never arrived and my faulty computer keyboard. Not to mention the night classes that have been wreaking havoc on my nerves or the fact that my job has made any sort of dating life almost impossible.
I stood up another Internet date again last night.
And even after my several attempts at apologies, he practically shrugged off my texts, giving me the virtual cold shoulder.
I sigh, stirring up my own cup of now-cold coffee.
Yup. I was going to be sex-less for another year.
I tap the stirring spoon against the edge of my coffee cup when I feel a tap on my lower back. Actually, less like a tap. More like a caress.
I turn.
“Well, hello, Violet.”
Fuck, I hate the way he says my name, as it were a dirty word. Every time Steven Randall comes around, I feel the need to fall out of my skin and replace it with a new one. Anything to get his touch off me. Our local delivery man is a creep if I ever saw one, and the last person I want to see so early in the morning. I step away from his touch.
“And goodbye, Steven.” I grab my coffee.
“Wait, wait,” he says, blocking my path. “Leaving so soon? You just got here.”
“I’ve been here since five o’clock this morning. And I’m no good to anybody until my tenth fix of caffeine so if you’ll excuse me…”
He steps in front of me again, and I want to splash my cold drink in his face. If I didn’t want the coffee so bad, I would have faked tripping, just to toss it into his lap.
But I wasn’t lying. I need the caffeine. If I’m going to survive another day of that high-stress position that sometimes I think I would only wish on the bitterest of bimbos that went to high school with me.
Being one of the few female lawyers at my firm is no easy feat. And neither is keeping my cool while Steven tries to stop my escape.
Why was it always the shitty guys who liked to pretend they had the biggest balls?
From the way he swaggered through the halls, you’d think Steven owned the place. Contrary to what I’d seen earlier with David, Steven’s lack of bulge in his too-tight overalls is a tell-tale sign that he’s not the boss of anything, and I consider commenting about it when he pipes up again.
“There are other pick-me-ups besides caffeine, you know…” He smiles knowingly.
“None that I care to talk about.” I reach back for a second tray of filled coffee cups. “Now if you’ll excuse me.”
I can see the word “No” forming on his lips, but then someone grabs me. A female someone. Cold brown liquid goes splashing sideways, and I curse as a wave of caramel macchiato goes flying out of my hands and towards the table. “Shit!” I scream out loud. “Dammit, Emily.”
“Sorry,” she yelps quickly, though she looks anything but. “We’ve got an emergency on our hands.”
“What?” I snap. “Did David or someone else not receive enough whipped cream on their frappe-whatever or something?”
She shakes her head. “No. We have a visitor. Boy, do we have a visitor.”
From the way she spits out the words, I can tell she’s in shock. Her eyes widen with nervousness…or maybe it’s excitement. I can’t tell.
I take a deep breath, my chest literally heaving. “And?”
“Problem is,” she interrupts, “he has no identification, no appointment. He wants to come on the floor. But I can’t let him. Not without ID. Not dressed so casually, in an outfit tight enough to make my tongue twist ten different ways.”
I sigh, setting the rest of the coffee cups down. “Why don’t you just tell him ‘no’?
She gapes as if I asked her to strip naked and do the Hokey-Pokey. “Are you nuts?” She glances over her shoulder, lowering her voice. “He is way too fucking hot for me to make out my name, let alone the word ‘no’ to.” She grabs for me again. “Come on. You need to see this for yourself.”
And just like that, I was stolen from Steven’s grasp. Saved…by the scatterbrained secretary. But I have to admit: I am curious.
Emily’s fingers are still wrapped around my wrist, and as she pulls me into the front lobby to meet the strange man, I turn the corner, feeling as if I’ve walked smack-dab into a wall. The stranger that stands there, suited in a white button-down shirt and black slacks, is debonair, despite the flakes of snow on his broad shoulders, and though he looks annoyingly heavenly, his brown hair slightly mussed, I know better than most…that the man standing before us both is the devil.
I place my hands behind my back, holding them there, my fingers interlocked…and every single one of them shaking. He glances
over at me, ignoring Emily completely, his smile wicked and wide—showing everything I hate about him.
Heath Sparrow.
My heart almost stops at the sight of him, and suddenly I’m forgetting all about my hot-as-hell boss, all of my focus going to him. I swallow.
“Hi, Violet,” he says quietly to me, his voice smoother than silk. “Bet you never thought you’d see me so soon.”
Dammit. I rotate towards Emily, trying to prevent my heart from beating out my chest. I take a deep breath. “It’s okay, Emily. He’s a…friend of the firm.” I swallow. “Unfortunately, for us, this isn’t fiction, and unwelcome blood-suckers can come in without an invitation after all.”
Chapter Nine
VIOLET
“What’s that slice of beef doing in a place like this?”
It’s a question I can’t even answer.
Emily glances suspiciously between us, and Heath moves on, his white long-sleeved shirt catching a hint of the sun streaming through a nearby window.
The frost-colored fabric across his broad chest glows with a single flash of light but then he disappears just as quickly, passing through our intersecting hallway and around the corner into another.
I watch him leave, resisting the urge to let my eyes drift below the black belt at his tapered waist.
Slice of beef?
Try “pig-headed with a side of prick.”
The irony doesn’t escape me that the most gorgeous man in the office shouldn’t be this close to my office, but what does escape me is how nobody seems to notice that he’s also the biggest asshole to walk this firm’s long hallways.
Was I the only woman in the world whose brain cells weren’t fried by Heath Sparrow the minute he passed?
I roll my eyes at the empty corner where Heath has just turned, and I find Emily—all breasts and long hair—practically licking her chops in the same direction.
Guess I just answered my own question.
“That man is fine in ways I didn’t even know existed,” Emily declares, staring absently after him. “I’d have him for breakfast and dinner, if he’d let me. Hell, maybe even lunch, despite the fact that I’m on this obscene diet.”
I turn back to my wristwatch, counting the few minutes left on my break. Heath’s the last thing I want to talk about during my precious half-hour, especially since he was escorted out of the offices shortly thereafter, but Emily seems determined—like all of the women and even some of the men I’ve met—to use all of her available time to think and talk about Heath Sparrow.
Her gushing is pushing dangerously at my gag reflex.
“Have him for lunch, Em. Just please don’t make me lose mine.”
“Oh, come on,” the tall brunette scoffs, flicking a wave of hair off her shoulder. “He’s fucking hot, and you know it.”
My thoughts skim over the recent memory of the dark-haired Adonis in his white button-down and black slacks. I let my mind run a brief playback of the heart-stopping image.
But then I discard it before my brain cells find their way between my legs as well.
“He’s…attractive,” I manage with a semi-flippant shrug. “I’m not saying that he’s not. It’s just that…”
“That what?” Emily demands. “That he’s not David?”
The mention of David’s name causes a quick flutter in my stomach, and just like that, I am instantly over this conversation.
“Em, I love you,” I say, kissing the beautiful brunette’s cheek. “But I need a break.”
“You just took one,” Em gapes. “For a whole two weeks in another state. Wasn’t that enough?”
I shake my head, emotion clogging my throat at the thought of what I’ve just returned from. I cough. “Not when you’re dealing with what I had to.” I avoid her gaze. “Family shit. You know how that is.”
“Sure.” Emily nods, clearly not understanding. She shrugs. “That’s fine.” Her voice lowers. “Be sure to tell Mr. Hot-Cock that just came in that Emily says ‘Hello.’”
I scoff. “You’ll be able to tell him yourself soon enough.”
I turn away from the secretary, leaving the receptionist area without a second glance. I blow a breath out as soon as I hit the break room.
Time seems to have stopped with Heath in the office. I’m feeling trapped. Out of breath. And the more I look at my surroundings, the more caged I feel inside the firm’s brick walls. Like, everybody is looking at me.
Like everyone can tell what I’ve done. With Mr. Hot-Cock, no less.
My pulse starts to pick up, paranoia working its way under my skin. The paranoia solidifies into poison when I hear a loud ping. It’s only after a few seconds that I realize the ping is coming from me.
I slip my hand into my dangling purse, fishing out my phone.
A news notification is waiting for me with the headline:
Financier accused of fraud Dumps Entire Legal Team. What will Chris Jackson do next?
I head into my office, wondering what this might mean for the infamous businessman—AKA Brett’s dad’s—case when Emily practically bounces into my office behind me, her hands wringing as she follows.
“He’s done for. Chris Jackson’s case for innocence is going to go up in flames.”
I sit down, starting to write notes for my client. “Uh huh. And that means something because…?”
“We can seal his fate. Hit that bastard where it hurts.”
“Hit him? You mean, our firm?” I look up at my colleague, and she nods.
She blinks—disbelieving. “Didn’t you have a client that came in, wanting to sue Chris Jackson for embezzlement?”
I return her gesture with a nod. “Yup. And King & Sparrow suggested I turn him away.”
“Even though it was more money than has ever been sought for a private civil case in history?”
“It was.” I lean back in my leather chair.
“And we’d turn down money because…?”
“Apparently, we want no part of this God-awful press.”
Emily leans against the edge of my desk, crossing her arms under her chest, and I take a deep breath, my temples starting to beat from all the tension this case has already put on my shoulders. I inhale slowly.
“You mean one of the most famous law firms in the world is going to turn its back on a record-breaking case because, I don’t know, some reporters and press are sticking their nose in it?”
“No,” I answer, shutting the ledger on top of my desk. I gaze at the bubbly brunette. “I’m saying they’re going to turn their back on a freakin’ press sideshow with more half-baked theories and stories than the law should allow.” I place my eyes back on my desk.
“You mean our firm isn’t going to nail his dick to the wall?” Emily leans closer. “Even after all the evidence you gathered against Chris. All your research and findings.”
I sigh, still writing. “It was probably for the best. For God’s sake, I know the defendant’s son.”
“Even more reason why you’d want to put a pin in this guy’s penis and tack it to some dry-wall.” The eager secretary grins.
“Yeah, well, it’s not enough for the firm. They won’t even let me close to the case. In case you hadn’t noticed, Em?” I glance up, meeting her hazel-amber eyes. I return to writing. “These days? I’m nothing but a glorified paper-pusher at this company.” I scoff. “And I’m probably not helping with my eagerness to take on coffee duty.”
The feisty brunette grabs my pen. “Then you must not be seeing what I see.”
I sigh.
I don’t have to see. I know enough. Enough to know that I might never see Senior Partner status.
Enough to know…that my ex-husband might have been right. About me.
And to see the civil and criminal case of a cruel man like Chris Jackson tossed so casually to the side was like a knife in the heart, a reaffirmation that moneyed scumbags like Brett’s dad were glorified instead of persecuted.
No matter how many people—offspring, inclu
ded—they set to hurt.
I can’t bear the thought of a camera crew here, hovering around these offices…until I look at the list of my afternoon appointments—a list that Emily so thoughtfully circles in red just below the note about the Box Office TV documentary. I glance up at her, squinting.
“You’re a sadist, you know that?”
“Eh, that’s what all my submissives say.” Emily stands, planting a hand on my desk. Leaning over, she licks her lips, tapping a finger on the edge of my black ledger’s page. Her brownish-gold stare is steady—resolute. “Oh, c’mon… Madame Prude.” She waves her other hand in the air. “You’re not going to tell me that you don’t want to stick it to this Big-Business asshole—Chris Jackson, to give him a taste of his own medicine when you make him pay out of the ass to the people he stole from? With interest?”
I bite my lip. “Umm, no…?”
“Tell me,” she continues, “that you don’t want to give this Jackson guy what’s coming to him, after everyone at the firm ignored witness after witness, after you dug up every dirty detail and shoved them into the Senior Partners’ faces? After you hit the streets to dig up this evidence and damn near put a hole in your Manolos—?”
“Okay, okay!” I yell, grabbing her hands. “Alright…you’ve—you’re right, okay? I…” I take a deep breath. “On some level, I do agree with you.” I exhale. “There. Happy now?”
“Ecstatic,” she stresses. “And you can bet your yoga-shaped ass that a thousand law firms would kill for this kind of coverage. Just…” She leans in. “Talk to David.”
I open my mouth and she stops me.
“He’ll listen to you if you ask him. Showing the world that this firm won’t bow down to a man like Chris Jackson might be awesome for business.” Emily crosses her arms. “And while you’re at it, it might not be a bad idea to make sure David knows all about…”
“That I know all about what?” I hear from the doorway. I nearly drop my jaw on the desk.