by Cindi Madsen
When she reminded him that she’d only been following his instructions, Moody Overlord claimed he never would’ve said that, and Addie wanted to scream and shout that she quit, because she couldn’t deal with him anymore.
Instead she’d practiced self-control and flipped him off in her head.
Then she’d gone home, applied to the few nearby places she could find, and sent an email to one of her former professors, asking if he’d heard of any positions—he always seemed to have the scoop.
Right after she’d finished her certifications, he’d asked if she wanted to interview for a position at Bama, since he knew the coach. She’d balked for the obvious reasons and told him she couldn’t be that far from her family.
Addie set down the tray with the coffees she’d brought in for the receptionist and PT assistant and did another sweep of the area.
“Here’s the chart for your first patient.” Sylvie extended it to her. “He’s a regular asshole.”
“Oh man. I was hoping for irregular asshole this morning.”
“Irregular asshole isn’t in yet,” the PT assistant said, glancing toward Mr. Watkins’s office, and they shared a giggle.
The seniority thing was so frustrating, especially in a small town like Uncertainty. It wasn’t who was best at their job, but who’d been in the position the longest, and it only added insult to injury that she often saw several more patients a day and was still paid less.
But—as he often pointed out—it was his name on the office door.
It could be my name if I ordered lettering and put it on the glass.
It would almost be worth it just to see the look on Mr. Watkins’s face.
Addie pushed into the office, glancing at the file last minute, because the caffeine clearly hadn’t kicked in. “Good morning, Mr. Matthews.”
Ah. The asshole lawyer.
In a town as tiny as theirs, it was hard not to know someone, but he spent the majority of his time in the office, and she’d only seen him at the Old Firehouse once.
Add in his reputation, and she hadn’t gone out of her way to welcome him to the neighborhood.
“Whatever,” he said, his attention on his phone screen. “Just get me out of here as soon as possible. I’m literally losing hundreds of dollars sitting here.”
“Oh, I don’t know. If you calculate losing the use of your”—she glanced at the file again—“shoulder for a month because you didn’t take the time to let it heal, you might find taking an hour leaves you ahead of the game.”
He finally glanced up, a scowl on his admittedly handsome face.
Too bad the uptight, perma-annoyed vibe ruined it.
“I’m Addison Murphy. You probably know my parents, or if not, my nonna Lucia—everyone knows her.”
“You’re Addison Murphy?”
The way he said it made her nerves stand on edge. “Yes.”
“That one nosy lady who runs the craft store told me I should ask you out.” He frowned as he assessed her. “You’re not what I imagined when she told me you were the only single and available woman near my age in town.”
“Wow. You’re a real sweet talker. Lift your arm as high as you can. Stop when it catches.”
He did as she asked, and she gripped his wrist, moving his arm through a series of movements as she peppered him with questions about the injury and his pain levels.
“It must be nice to dress down for work,” he said.
“I’m assuming that the level of condescension you put into that sentence means you want my foot up your ass.”
He cleared his throat, his eyebrows arching. “Touché. What I mean is, I guess I should take you out for dinner sometime. Seeing as you’re the only available woman in town.” Just when she was considering pushing his arm back and testing his pain tolerance, he added, “And that you’re prettier than expected, and the feisty adds extra points.”
“Well, as flattering as that is, I’m afraid I’ll have to pass. I’m not as available as everyone thinks I am.”
“What does that mean? That you’re someone’s dirty little secret?”
That time, she couldn’t resist twisting—really, she needed to know what muscle needed the most work, and he could use some joint manipulation.
He let out a yelp and an “It was just a joke,” and she gave him a syrupy smile.
“I’m gonna place a few dry needles around the area to help relieve the pain and tightness, then I’ll send you home with some exercises to help repair and strengthen your shoulder. And if you want to prevent either of us from wasting time here, you’ll take them home and do them. After all…”
She thought of her friends’ teasing her about how much this hurt her dating odds, but luckily she had a guy who didn’t back down so easily—halfway had a guy, anyway.
“It’s somethin’ my grandma could do.”
Once she’d completed his treatment and paperwork and finished a quick session with one of her regulars, she stepped into the hallway and ran into her boss. Dammit.
“Were you nice to the lawyer?” he asked. “He, unlike most of the people in this town, actually has money to come in on a regular basis.”
“I worked out his shoulder and gave him exercises so he can get to healing, which I think is pretty nice of me. It’s also my job, so put a gold star on that.”
Moody Overlord frowned at her, and the frown deepened when he ran his gaze down her. “I’ve been thinking that we should revisit the dress code for the office. We need to be viewed as professionals.”
He was literally wearing jeans and a collared shirt that she guaranteed he only had on so he could hit the golf course later.
Factor in that he often made inappropriate comments about the receptionist, from what she was wearing to her body, and he was the last person who should be in charge of a dress code.
“I think doing our job, by definition, makes us professionals, so people should view us that way based on that.”
“Starting tomorrow, I want slacks and dressy shirts. Like button down or silky stuff.”
She wanted to ask if he’d be following the policy. People dealt with a lot worse at work, so this was totally a first world problem kind of thing, but for months she’d told herself that at least she could wear whatever she wanted at her job.
And honestly, some of the exercises she did with people meant leaning over them, and she’d rather be able to move without popping buttons off the type of shirts she didn’t even own.
“Do you understand?” Mr. Watkins asked.
She gritted her teeth in an approximation of a smile. “I understand.”
“Good. Push it and I’ll change it to skirts.”
He couldn’t do that, could he? Unless he was wearing a freaking skirt, and people would pay to avoid seeing that.
How could she do her job if she was constantly flashing everyone? Ugh.
“My reputation is the one on the line. In case you haven’t noticed, it’s my name on the door.”
Oh, she’d noticed a lot of things today. The lawyer definitely had a hand in this, too, so as for him? She sure as hell wasn’t going to be nice to him after this.
…
“You’ve gotta be kidding me,” Tucker mumbled when he went to answer the door Monday morning and saw five people lined up on his dock.
The only explanation he could think of was that they thought he was violating some town rule, but unfortunately for them, he knew the boating and housing laws better than any of them could even dream of.
They all started talking at once, and while one conversation merged into the next, he realized it wasn’t about boating laws at all but that each of them had brought their legal woes to him.
“Whoa, whoa, whoa. Do any of you see a sign on my boat? One that says ‘Law Offices of Tucker Crawford and Associates’?”
He wa
sn’t sure who the associates would be. Gators and mosquitos. And Flash, of course.
“Do you need me to make you a sign?” Mrs. Jenson, his third-grade teacher, asked. “I can have my Jimmy print one up at his shop by the end of the afternoon. He does real good work.”
If she hadn’t been part of the crowd, maybe Tucker could’ve kept up the grumpy hermit act. Now he’d never know. “What did you need, Mrs. Jenson?”
“I was in line first,” a lady with a huge folder of papers muttered. She looked vaguely familiar, but he couldn’t place her.
“Just call this international waters—there are no rules.”
Mrs. Jenson stepped forward. She held up a finger, then dug in her purse and pulled out two crisp dollar bills. “There’s your retainer. Now, do I just say what I need, or do we go into your…” Her brow furrowed. “Office?”
As much as he loved Addie’s grandmother, he was going to have to… He struggled for what mental threat to make, even though he’d never act upon it.
Not just because he was nice, either. The woman would somehow sense it and come scold him, and he couldn’t have his very first client in Uncertainty unhappy, or she might send even more clients his way out of spite.
“We’ll head around to the front deck.” He turned to the rest of the people in the group, noticing one couple in the mix. “I’ll be with y’all shortly.”
This probably fell in the if you can’t beat ’em, join ’em category.
“You really should have some chairs if you’re going to make us wait,” the stickler-for-rules lady said, and he blew out an exhale, hoping it’d help his thinning patience.
He settled Mrs. Jenson in a deck chair and sat across from her. “I’ve gotta be upfront and tell you that I don’t have a law firm here in town.”
“So you’re not a lawyer? I thought you just got fired, not… What’s the word?” She snapped her fingers, the same way she’d done when she was teaching them state capitals and lost the name of the city herself. “Disbarred.”
“I didn’t…” While he wanted to metaphorically stomp his foot and say it was no one’s business and he didn’t care what they thought anyhow, he figured it was time to clarify he hadn’t been fired. “I actually quit my old job, and I still have my license. But I’m not the only lawyer in town—just the only one not currently practicing.”
“Those other two…” Mrs. Jenson shook her head. “One’s so old he falls asleep halfway through a meeting, and the other is a…” She glanced around and then leaned in. “He’s an asshole.”
“Mrs. Jenson! I should send you to the principal’s office.”
She appeared mildly reprimanded before cracking a smile. “There’s no other word for him. Some city guy who thinks we’re all gullible idiots. He doesn’t even try to hide he feels that way about us, either.”
Righteous anger immediately surged forward. The thought of some prick moving in and taking advantage of people like Mrs. Jenson grated at him.
One of the reasons he’d gone into law was to see justice served. It wasn’t until so little of it went to those who deserved it that he’d fallen out of love with it.
And as far as the townsfolk went, well, it was sorta like how you could pick on your family and friends, but heaven help anyone else who crossed that line.
Some of them could be right pains in the ass, but they looked out for one another, and Uncertainty held several of the most genuinely nice people he’d ever met. “Let’s hear the case, and I’ll see if I can help.”
She withdrew a file folder with several medical bills and told him that her insurance company claimed they wouldn’t cover the things they previously said they would, and now she was looking at having to sell her home so they wouldn’t have the pleasure of foreclosing it out from underneath her.
That last part hit a nerve. “I won’t let that happen,” he said, despite the fact that the first rule in Legal Club was not making promises. That was promises you might not be able to keep, and he’d be damned if he let Mrs. Jenson lose her home.
“Does that mean you’ll take the case?”
Honestly, he didn’t know how restoring boats would go, and with the first one done, he found himself antsy.
This case meant defending someone who deserved it. “Yeah. I’ll take the case.”
Her relief was so palpable, and he could hardly handle the flow of gratitude aimed his way.
He showed her off the boat and turned to the next person in line—the woman who’d insisted she was first.
“All right. Come aboard and let’s hear it. But if it has to do with suing a pig, I’m warning you that I’m not the right lawyer.”
“How about taking a cheating pig’s money?”
He scrunched up his eyebrows, wondering if the town would ever have a shortage of weird cases. But the angry glare in her eye helped him put it together. “The cheating pig in this scenario would be…?”
“My ex-husband. He’s trying to get out of paying child support, and I need someone who’s not going to tell me that I should either let it go or find a new man, but that would probably require a makeover.”
The angry heat returned, and he suspected he knew the answer before he even asked the question. “Who told you that?”
“That asshole lawyer who’s moved in to drain the residents in Uncertainty of their money while he insults them.”
“Not on my watch,” Tucker said.
Apparently he’d resorted to cheesy sayings that only grown men in tights and superhero capes uttered on TV shows or movies.
But as he sat back and listened to the woman’s case and what she’d been dealing with over the past three years, the words echoed through his head again.
Not on my watch.
Chapter Twenty-One
Easton and Ford rained dollar bills on Tucker the instant he stepped inside the community center Wednesday night for the dance lessons they’d been instructed to attend “or else.”
“What the hell is this?” he asked.
“We hear you’re working for dollar bills now,” Ford said. “And we are about to witness your dance moves, so…”
Sputtered laughter came from Addie, who covered her mouth with her hand when he pinned her with a look.
It didn’t hide the sparkle of humor in her eyes, though.
“Oh, you think that’s funny? This is your grandma’s fault, and since I don’t have the heart to yell at her for it, I’m gonna make you pay.”
“Jeez, a couple days of havin’ dollar bills thrown at you, and suddenly you need to be constantly showered or you go getting all kinds of grouchy.” Addie pulled a couple of bills out of the pocket of her jeans and smacked them to his chest. “There you go, you diva. But later tonight, I’ll expect a performance.”
He caught her wrist as she moved to withdraw her hand, and her sharp inhale made it hard to not yank her flush to him and whisper in her ear that if anyone would be stripping later tonight, it’d be her.
“Take it off, Murph!”
Tucker turned and glared at Ford, who jerked back and raised his hands. “Dude, it was a joke. Murph wasn’t actually going to strip you of your shirt.”
His blood pressure slowly returned to normal—his friend hadn’t been demanding Addie strip.
Funny how hollering for him to lose his shirt in a crowded room seemed much better.
If Addie was losing her shirt, Tucker wanted it to be at his place, himself as the only witness, where he could also kiss her until they were both gasping for air.
He peered down at her, fighting the urge to haul her against him and relive the sensation of her soft lips opening under his demanding ones.
The image of her lacy bras flickered into the mix and then he was thinking of running his hands over every inch of her, and he should definitely derail that line of thinking before it got him in trouble. Next thin
g he knew, he’d be accused of getting turned on by the idea of stripping for everyone.
Hell, if Addie was the one relieving him of his clothes, he might say go for it, audience be damned.
He released his grip on her, and she let out a shallow exhale. “I don’t think we have enough dollars now that he’s in such high demand,” she said.
Oh, he’d make her pay for all these jokes later.
Ten tongue lashings at least.
He reclined against the wall next to his friends. Several of Lexi’s friends were there as well, and when Brittany waved at him, Addie tensed at his side. He gave her hand a quick, subtle squeeze.
“So, are you gonna tell me whether or not the rumors are true?” Addie shot him a sidelong glance. “Are you, or are you not, practicin’ law from your boat?”
“Guilty as charged.”
“Wow. That was ridiculously easy to get you to admit. I guess I should be a lawyer. After the past few days, I’m beyond ready for a job change, too.”
“Bad day?”
“Make that days—plural. My boss made a dress code edict on Monday. Slacks or skirts.”
Tucker leaned closer. “Is that all it takes? Making an edict? I choose skirts.”
Skirts meant easy access, and he shouldn’t think about that right now, but his thoughts were very one track tonight.
He hadn’t seen Addie in days, and it felt like months since he’d kissed those tempting lips of hers. Since he’d run his hands over her.
She lifted an eyebrow. “Funny, I remember you demanding baggy overalls.”
“And instead you’re wearing those tight, holey jeans.” The knees had gone out of them long ago, and he’d noticed the back pockets were fraying at the corners, one good tug from coming off completely.
Damn did he want to give them a tug.
Her chin hitched a notch higher. “Because I don’t take instructions.”
A loud whistle pierced the air, cutting him off before he could come up with a retort—probably for the best, considering their back and forth was only revving him up more and more.