Shawn laughs. “I’d ask what the hell you were thinking, renting a kitchen at this place, but I know your situation. Soon though, you’ll be out of here and soaring.”
“Your lips to God’s ears, my friend.” I walk into my office. “Have you seen a UPS box anywhere? I’m expecting a new roll of stickers.”
I glance over and see I left my bra hanging on the side of the futon from when I took it off last night. It’s lacy and black and definitely not something you want your employee to see. I quickly pick it up and tuck it in my suitcase, which doubles as a closet.
“Yep, it came while you were out. I placed it on your desk,” Shawn calls. “It’s across from that sexy-ass bra you have lying around in there.”
Damn it, of course he saw it.
I lean out my door to eye him, and he holds his hands up in defense.
“I’m a hot-blooded American male. I saw lingerie, so of course, I was going to look. Sue me.”
The words sue me ring in my ears. Hearing him mentioning a legal action puts unease in my stomach.
I turn around and head toward my desk and start up my laptop, trying not to think about this debacle I’m in. Spreadsheet and invoices will certainly do the trick. Every day, we fulfill anywhere between twenty to thirty orders, and seeing our numbers standing steady always fills me with pride.
A loud bang on the alleyway door gets my attention.
As Shawn walks over to open it, he calls out, “Your girl is here.”
I laugh at how he knows without having to look at the security camera. Only my best friend, Charity, bangs on the door with her fist like she’s making a drug bust. She says it’s the sketchy path you have to walk to get to the alleyway door that makes it feel like she’s here on illegal business.
“What’s up, Charity?” Shawn says, letting her in. “Did you have a hot date last night?”
Charity pulls up a stool that we have dubbed Charity’s Spot because she stops by so often. The kitchen is on her way to the Garden Room, a lounge where she works as a server a few days a week. “Nah, had to work, and no cute prospects came in. You?”
The two of them are constantly comparing dating notes. I find it hilarious because Charity is searching for a guy who has a great work ethic, doesn’t take himself too seriously, and loves to dance, which is Shawn to a T. Shawn always finds the kind of girls who are exactly like Charity—beautiful, smart, spontaneous, and wants more out of a relationship than a few dates.
I keep pointing out the irony of it all, but they blow me off.
I stand from my desk, grab the order list from the printer, and walk out to the main kitchen area, where Shawn is finishing the last of the boxes so we can package an order that’s going out tomorrow morning.
“Met this hot chick named Ryanne online and took her out last night.”
“Rain, like the weather?” Charity asks.
“I think he meant Rae Anne,” I explain.
“No. I said Ryanne,” he dictates with emphasis before annunciating out the entire name. “Like rye bread. Rye-Anne.”
“Ohh,” Charity elongates the O sound. “Figures she has a Y in her name.”
“Shawn, what is it with you and girls who spell their names in the unconventional way?” I ponder.
“It’s like you look for it on those swiping dating apps,” she adds.
“No, I don’t.”
“Yeah, you do,” we say in unison.
His mouth twists as he leans back and crosses his arms, daring us to explain.
I start, “Alyson, Londyn, Caryn,” counting them off on my fingers.
“Don’t forget about Jasmyn. That girl was cray. Actually, all the women you’ve dated with a Y in their name have been nothing but trouble.”
Shawn looks at us, bemused. “How do you know so much about the women I date?”
“You overshare,” she deadpans.
“It’s your best and worst quality.” I pat him on the shoulder as I place the order form on the counter in front of him.
His brows rise, and his head nods. “Huh. Never realized that before. What can I say? I have a type. When their name is unique, so are they.”
“You just watch out for Ryanne. If your track record is any indication, she’ll be going through your cell or combing your carpet for other women’s hair.” Charity sits up on her stool with a raised finger and excited expression. “Remember the girl who was always convinced you were cheating?”
He nods as he recalls. “Mylie. Shit. She had a Y in her name too. I do have a type.” The look of revelation on his face is comical. “I’m gonna do some research on this. You might say they’re crazy, but someone named Donna or Samantha is not going to be a freak in the sheets. I’ll have to put this to the test—in the name of science, of course.”
“Good luck with that. I swear, it’s a carousel of dud after dud in this city. Go to work, drinks at the bar, watch sports. That’s all guys in Philadelphia want to do because there is always a game on.” Charity rolls her eyes as she pops a chocolate morsel in her mouth.
He nods. “We do live in the best city for sports fans. Phillies, 76ers, Flyers, Eagles—”
“I can’t stand that fight song—‘Fly, Eagles Fly,’ ” she drones on. “I blame the sports. Men here think everything is a game.”
He leans over the counter. “Don’t hate the player—”
She throws a piece of chocolate at his nose, cutting him off. “Ugh. Why can’t men be smooth and sophisticated, like they are in the movies?”
The two continue their diatribe while my mind instantly roams to thoughts of a man who seems smooth and sophisticated. There was something about his hands and the way he touched his face as he spoke. It brought attention to his features as he moved them about, like a conductor eliciting a melody from an orchestra—fluid and soulful. An unexpected smile crosses my lips as I think about Sebastian. That handsome stranger certainly came into my world at the right time. It’s been days since we met for coffee, and I’ve thought about him more than once. His chivalry, the way he listened, his smile …
“What are you thinking about? You have this dreamy-schoolgirl stare,” Charity observes.
I clear my throat and grab a pen. “I was just thinking about a new recipe I want to try, using unsweetened Dutch-processed cocoa powder and espresso beans,” I say nonchalantly as I scroll down the printout of today’s web orders.
When I glance up at her from the paper, she’s eyeing me to see if I’m telling the truth. Thankfully, she knows new recipes to me are like sexy men to her, so I know I’ll get away with this one.
Yes, most would jump all over the chance to tell their best friend that the attorney who is assisting them is quite handsome, but I have to be careful with Charity. She’s a true romantic, always looking for the one, and any mention of meeting someone new instantly turns into a million questions, like: Is he single? Does he have children? Where does he live?
Questions I have zero answers for since he’s a stranger I met in the most peculiar way. Most importantly, he’s my lawyer. I shouldn’t be thinking of him and smiling like a goof. It’s unprofessional. Unethical.
I set my cup and my phone on the counter and grab an apron. The three of us chat about our weekend plans. Shawn cracks the funniest jokes, and Charity tells the best stories. I hum along as I listen to my friends.
I’m lifting a pot to heat heavy cream when my cell phone ringer goes off.
Charity picks it up, looking at the screen, and hands it to me as she questions, “Who’s Sebastian Blake?”
“My lawyer.” I feel my face flush as she pulls the phone back into her, keeping it from me.
“You’re blushing.”
“I’m not blushing.”
She holds my phone up and away. “You totally are. Did you see that, Shawn?”
My employee does nothing to help me dodge Charity’s inquisition.
I lean forward and grab it from her hand rather viciously. “He’s the attorney I told you about. The man who
’s going to get my stuff back from Hardin.” My voice is a little bit of a huff when I swipe the call to answer. “Hello? This is Amy.”
“This is Amy,” they both singsong my words back, taunting me.
I hold my hand up to the mouthpiece to block them out as I jolt away from the counter, getting away from the two of them.
“Miss Morgana, it’s Sebastian. I hope this isn’t a bad time.”
Charity rushes over to my side. “Is he cute?” she whispers rather loudly.
I shush her away and scurry toward my office, closing my office door in her face and resting my back against it. “Yeah. Now’s great. What’s up?”
“I’m looking over the file you gave me, and I’m going to do some digging. I have a cancellation tomorrow and want to set up a meeting with you before I book it up with something else.”
“You want to meet in person again?” I raise my hand to my heart and wonder why the heck it’s beating so fast. It must be his voice. It’s warm and inviting, spoken from his chest.
“We could do it over the phone if you can’t—”
“No. In person is fine. What time?”
“Well, I have to do all of my pro bono stuff after work hours. But we can still meet at my office.” He’s quick to say, which makes me smile. “Can you meet me at six? Here, at my office? I can text you the address.”
“Tomorrow at six is perfect. Thank you.”
“No problem. See you then.”
He hangs up, and I let out a huge puff. When I open the door, Shawn and Charity are as close to the threshold as possible, obviously eavesdropping, and they stare at me with smirks on their faces.
“What?” I ask.
“Oh, nothing. You don’t have to say anything. Your complexion says it all.” Charity points at my face, circling her finger as if it proves her point. “You said a lawyer was helping you. You didn’t say you had the hots for him.”
“I don’t!” I declare. “I just want to come off as professional as possible, and having my friends ask if he’s cute is not putting my best foot forward. Now, can we get back to work?” I point at Shawn with a stern expression.
He grins as he walks back to the workstation.
“And don’t you have a shift that starts soon?” I ask Charity, moving my eyes to the clock and back to her.
“Is it that time already?” She pouts as she grabs her bag. “This isn’t the end of this conversation. Shawn, see what you can find out from this one. Remember, she says nothing, but those cheeks of hers reveal everything. If anything with this attorney turns romantic, I want to be the first to know.” She blows air kisses to the two of us as she closes the door behind her, shouting, “Happy chocolatiering!”
I’m filling the pot with cream as Shawn changes the music to play jazz. Not only does it relax me, but it’s also the only music I’ll cook to. The fact that it’s the best way to get my mind steady before I meet with Mr. Blake tomorrow is a plus as well.
Chapter Four
As I enter the high-rise where the law offices of Blake, Fields, and Moore are located, I get this overwhelming sensation of wealth and power. In a city that is mostly historic buildings, the tiered skyscraper that’s distinctly hued in red granite stands out like a modern marvel.
I step inside and immediately look up and around. Large glass windows let the rays of the setting sun into the lobby of sandstone porcelain and gold accents. There’s a glass elevator that overlooks the vast lobby.
I’m staring in awe of the mosaic design on the far wall when a woman behind the front desk asks, “Who are you delivering to?”
Walking up to the desk, I smile. “I’m here to see Sebastian Blake.”
“You can leave the food here.” She nods to the bag of Chinese food in my hand that I picked up on the spur of the moment.
I glance down at my clothes. I wore jeans with a silk top and blazer. The outfit is moderately casual, but I didn’t think I looked like a messenger. Between the impressiveness of the building and this woman’s assumption, I’m feeling way out of my league.
“I have an appointment with him. I’m Amy Morgana.”
Her eyes widen as she flips her hands up to the keyboard and starts typing. Then, she picks up the phone. “My apologies, Ms. Morgana. I saw the bag and thought you were the delivery driver. One moment. I’ll ring Miles.”
“I’m here to see Sebastian,” I correct.
“Miles is his assistant,” she answers before speaking into the phone after someone appears to have picked up the other end. As she hangs up, she says, “He’ll be right down.”
I smile to myself at how different Sebastian’s office and mine are. Where he has a rotunda, I have a back alley and a sweaty gym. There are security guards here while I have a Ring doorbell. Sebastian’s assistant comes down to escort guests. I’m lucky if Shawn, who is the closest thing I have to an assistant, answers the back door when Charity knocks.
“You must be Amy.” A gentleman, who I assume is Miles, walks up to me. He has on khakis, a white button-down, and black-framed glasses. “If you’ll follow me, I’ll bring you up to Mr. Blake.”
I adjust the tote bag on my shoulder and grip the plastic takeout handles with both hands in front of me as I follow him to the glass elevator.
We step in, and he hits the third floor before standing to the side and waiting patiently. I fidget with the bag, hating the awkwardness of being enclosed with a stranger in an elevator.
“You’re Sebastian’s assistant,” I muse.
He nods in a professional manner. “I’ve worked for Mr. Blake for five years.”
Glancing at my watch, I take in the time. “You must put in some late hours.”
“When there’s a big case, Mr. Blake has been known to pull all-nighters. The man is incredibly dedicated, and I’ve learned so much from him. He’s one of the best attorneys in Philadelphia,” Miles boasts with a raised chin.
I smash my lips together and giggle. “It’s okay, dude. I’m not a personal friend or anything. I’m not even a paying client. You don’t have to show off for your boss for me.”
Miles swivels his head toward me and stares like I have three eyes. “No, I’m serious. The man is the nicest and most generous guy I’ve ever met.”
My brows furrow. Not because I’m disappointed in that news. I’m actually surprised. Everyone has something negative to say about their boss. Not that I necessarily expected this man to word-vomit about his boss to me, but he didn’t have to go above and beyond to say nice things. His response was natural.
The glass walls of the elevator take us up, and the doors open to a waiting room with the law firm’s name emblazoned on the wall. All of the awards the firm has won line the back wall like they’re gold albums sitting in a record label’s office.
“Give me a second. I’ll let him know you’re here.” Miles picks up a phone at the front desk while I take the opportunity to look at the photos on an adjacent wall.
Sebastian is in many of them, all with various charities around the city. Each photo is labeled with the organization’s name and the amount the firm has donated to them.
Miles hangs up the phone and comes around the desk. “He said I can bring you back.”
I follow him down a long walkway that overlooks the main lobby of the building. It’s funny how it feels so different from this angle. Downstairs, this space felt out of reach, like only the elite belonged up here. And now that I’m here, it still feels as elegant and opulent, but I don’t feel like such an outsider.
“He’s meeting you in conference room number two.” Miles points to a set of double doors and then opens them to escort me inside.
“Thank you,” I say, and he nods with a smile before walking away.
I enter the room and see Sebastian standing by the long mahogany conference table. He’s in suit pants and a button-down that’s rolled up to his elbows.
His face ignites in a huge grin as he splays his hands out to his sides. “You’re going to love me,” he says
.
I stop in my tracks, his enthusiasm catching me off guard, as is the way his impressive physique is on display under the thin white shirt. Sinewy muscle makes him look larger than his over six-foot frame.
“I do.” I pause and then correct myself. “I will.” I try not to smack myself in my head for sounding so dumb. “I mean, I am?”
“Yes. Here, come in.” He motions for me to join him where he has a few different papers laid out on the table.
I place my bags on the table, dying to know why I’m going to love him.
“Do I smell Chinese?” he asks, pointing to the takeout bag.
“Oh. I thought you’d be hungry since it is practically dinnertime. I wanted to thank you for helping me with dinner. I figured you can’t go wrong with General Tso’s chicken, lemon chicken, and chow mein. I hope that’s okay.”
His face morphs from confusion to surprise to wonderment. “Wow, yes. What a great offering. Thank you.”
I open the bag and empty the contents, including paper plates and chopsticks.
“Do you want me to get you real plates, Mr. Blake?” Miles asks from the doorway.
I look up at Sebastian. “These plates are just fine for me unless you want something nicer. Don’t go all formal on my account.”
Sebastian grins. “This is just fine.” He looks up to his assistant. “Miles, I’m all set for tonight. Once Amy and I are finished, I’ll be heading off. You can go home early tonight.”
“Are you sure?” Miles asks.
Sebastian nods. “Take the time now. We have a few long days ahead of us next week. Call your girlfriend and take her out to dinner at Buddakan. Use the company account.”
“Thank you. That’s our favorite restaurant.” His face grows with excitement.
“I know.” He tosses Miles his cell phone. “Place that on my desk, please. I don’t want to be disrupted for the next hour.”
“Will do, sir. Good night. And pleasure meeting you, Amy.”
I smile at Miles. “Likewise.”
Miles walks out and closes the doors behind him. It’s now just Sebastian and me in the room. The outside windows show a night sky, as the sun has now set fully. Out the window is a view of the Ben Franklin Bridge and the lights of Philly.
Loyal Lawyer: A Standalone Novel Page 3