by Lainey Davis
Sorry, T-dog. Can't find anyone desperate enough. You know, Timber, there's this thing called Tinder…
Yeah, yeah. Thanks for nothing.
Little Bro says you've got a new lady lawyer on your staff. Maybe I should test drive her for you?
Stay the fuck away from my employees, Thatcher. That goes double for Ty.
I start to walk to the kitchen, even more pissed off that I can't find a fucking date for myself. Then I start to wonder why this suddenly bothers me so much, since I have never really sought a woman for…I don't know if I'm looking for comfort or if I just want to get laid. The whole situation has me unnerved. I keep walking, and I hear something very unsettling.
Why the hell are there children in my office? Lying on the floor over some sort of tablet device, a pair of tow-headed boys laughs at some animated show with burping slugs.
"What is the meaning of this?" My voice is loud and stern. The kids gasp and look up at me like they might cry. I've put on my courtroom voice before thinking twice. "This is absolutely unacceptable. Who brought these children here?"
Alice Peterson's head appears behind a stack of food trays. "Oh, gosh, Mr. Stag, you scared me. Are they in your way?"
"What they are is in my office," I reply. I can feel a vein starting to bulge in my neck. "What if a client were to come in here? And they're lying on the floor. This is utterly inappropriate. Are these your children?" Before I can stop myself, I'm laying into her about her inconsiderate choice to burden us in our professional workplace. By the time I finish, my hands are clenched into fists and Alice Peterson looks like she's going to either cry or murder me.
Juniper Jones, my new associate, steps into the break room, frowning. "What's the commotion?"
I hold up a hand to her. "This doesn't concern you, Ms. Jones. I was discussing Miss Peterson's decision to bring children into our place of business without consulting me."
"Excuse me, but I talked to Donna about it--"
"Donna? Is Donna your boss? Does Donna sign your paychecks?"
Juniper steps in between Alice and me, as the kids run behind the counter toward Alice. "Woah. Tim. Enough. You're out of line here with your tone." She's right, of course. My chest is heaving, I'm so worked up over this, and the worst part is that I can't quite put a finger on why this is so upsetting for me.
Juniper walks toward Alice and draws her in for a hug. "You ok, Al?" I see Alice nod and hear them murmuring together. I hear Alice mutter the word "asshole" and I know she's right.
I take a few deep breaths and say, "I apologize that my tone got heated. Miss Peterson, may I see you in my office after you serve lunch?"
She nods, and I add, "Please see that the children find somewhere else to spend the afternoon." I stride toward the new, glass-front coolers and grab two random containers from inside and storm back to my office.
I pull up the folder of notes on Alice Peterson. I read her resume and quickly determine that she's about 24 years old. As I gulp down an amazing--of course it's amazing, Alice made it--fruit smoothie with some sort of zesty aftertaste, I realize what enrages me about this situation. Alice has a family, I think. Some man has been inside her and she has carried his children. She belongs to someone else, and that means she can't ever be mine.
This won't do at all. I do not respond very well to limits. I buzz Donna and ask her to come into my office.
She glides into the space she helped me design. The corner office with two sides of vast windows, lush carpet. I might be the fire and the brain behind this organization, but Donna is the thread that ties it together. "Hey, Donna," I ask. "Did you give Miss Peterson permission to bring children into the office today?"
She nods. "I did. Alice asked me about it on Wednesday, told me she had been working all week to get the renovation to a stopping place and map out all the menus and ordering. She seemed to have a handle on things, and I said I didn't see the harm if they stayed in her office, especially since we hired her on such short notice. Did something happen?"
I exhale and put my hands behind my head, staring out my window at the confluence of the rivers below. I can see families walking around in the park on this warm summer day, and I wonder whether Alice has called the children's father--her man, I think, bitterly--to come fetch the boys. "No, nothing like that. I just came upon them and wasn't expecting to see them. I might have lost my temper. You know I don't like surprises, Donna."
Donna sucks in air through her teeth. "Did you raise your voice at that sweet girl, Timber Stag? The poor dear has only been here a week. You know, she doesn't realize you're actually a big softie."
"I am certainly not a 'softie,' Donna," I retort, turning back around in my chair to face her. "But yes. As I said, my tone was out of line. Thankfully, Ms. Jones witnessed my behavior and put a stop to my tirade before I went into closing-argument-mode." I pause, remembering my new associate standing up to me, which was the right call in the moment. "Remind me later to give Juniper Jones my compliments." Donna nods. "How would you recommend I proceed with Ms. Peterson?"
I raise an eyebrow at her, anticipating. I almost never ask for her advice. She generally offers it before I need to. If only all of my employees took the initiative she takes. Juniper Jones takes initiative. She and Donna are the employees I'd take with me anywhere.
"Mr. Stag. Tim. You need to apologize to Alice for losing your temper. And you need to make it count. Sir." Donna raises her eyebrows and nods to me with finality before leaving me alone in my office.
I unwrap the package I grabbed from the cooler with the smoothie. Some sort of nut bar that tastes lightly sweet and chewy. It's miraculously not sticky or crumbly. The perfect texture. From down the hall, I hear the gentle chime of a dinner bell. It sounds almost exactly like the ship's bell my mother had at our house in Highland Park. Before my mother died and my father fell into despair, before my grandmother moved in to save us from becoming destitute as my father drank away his career and my parents' savings. Before I had to manage my brothers and keep us all in school earning top grades to ensure we could all move on to university. That chiming bell takes me back to when I was a different person, and the pain that threatens to surface at these memories is too great. Too much risk here right now.
I dump the wrapper into the trash and grab my bag. Stopping by Donna's desk, I tell her, "I'm going over to the hockey arena to meet with my brother and some of the other players. I'll be gone the rest of the day. Please clear my calendar and reschedule my appointments."
She gives me a disappointed look, but nods. "Will we see you on Sunday?"
"Wouldn't miss it, Donna. See you in the suite."
Six
TIM
S unday mornings at the office are my sanctuary. Nobody comes in on Sunday, and I'm totally alone. Granted, I could be working alone from my apartment, but I do my best work in this space I've carved for myself. Something about the view combined with the desk. It opens my thoughts, lets me unpack the depositions, find the key to winning my clients the funds they deserve.
I spent the weekend helping my grandmother around the house. Manual labor helps me work through my frustrations even more than sex. I brushed aside Gran's remarks that she pays people to mow her lawn and change the light bulbs. I remembered my days in high school, mowing lawns around our neighborhood for extra cash toward Ty's hockey fees. Friday night I'd written an email to Alice, apologizing for the way I'd spoken to her and asking her to please make me aware of any future unorthodox arrangements for the office. I thought I'd done a pretty good job, making sure to praise her work so far and reminding her that I valued her contributions to my staff. She really is remarkable. She's done so much in the short time she's been with Stag Law.
Now, after an entire week of distracted work, I feel like I can prepare to crush the coming week. Sundays are a constant promise of a fresh start. A new week. A new chance to seize order. Or something like that. I went for a six-mile run this morning and now I feel really good as I spread out my wor
k along the smooth grain of my desk.
I look at my watch and see I have a few hours of blissful peace before I need to head over to the arena to meet Donna and the rest of the staff in the luxury suite. I dive into the Hawkins file--a contract renegotiation for one of my NFL players--and prepare the entire brief myself. I make a note to take Dawson off this case. It feels good to get my hands dirty with this one. These days, I generally tried to pass off the cut-and-dry cases to my junior associates, but I feel like getting my hands dirty with this one. It might help me regain focus.
I work until I realize I feel ravenous. I forgot to eat after my run. Shit. I wonder if Alice left anything around the break room or if she got rid of all the uneaten food for the weekend. As I walk toward the construction zone, I hear a sound that halts me in my tracks.
Alice Peterson is here.
I can hear her singing to herself again. Her voice is clear and strong as she belts out an old Madonna song. I stop in the entrance to the break room, peering around the construction plastic. The contractors had demo-ed the wall and the hall appears transformed just by adding more natural light. There, behind a gleaming stainless steel counter, is Alice. Her wild curls are totally free, splayed around her head like springs. Gone are the shapeless chef whites and clogs she normally wears to work.
Instead, Alice wears black running tights that end just below her knee. Her perfect, round ass is accentuated by the blue light of the open refrigerator as she bends at the waist, taking notes on the contents. I see the white cords of her headphones contrasted against the sheer material of a baggy tank top, the arm holes of which hang open nearly to her trim waist. I suck in my breath at the sight of Alice's sports bra, realizing that the black spandex material is all that keeps Alice's breasts from spilling into my sight. Her pale skin appears nearly white in contrast to the dark material. I long to slide my fingers along the lines of her tiny body, to feel her curves pressed against me.
The room feels devoid of oxygen as I struggle to breathe. She is magnificent. She is every fantasy I've ever had and more and it takes all that I have not to sprint across the room and plunge my cock into her depths. Jesus, she's fucking gorgeous, I think. I watch her as she takes inventory. She spins, singing, taking notes, checking everything. She's preparing to crush the week ahead, too. God, she's somehow able to organize everything and manage a thousand little details but still keep this lighthearted attitude about her. I smile as I watch her examine new appliances. This is her realm and, given complete control over it, she has pulled it into order. I like this very, very much.
I'm not sure how long I watch her from the doorway, but suddenly, she stops mid-song and sees me. Alice screams, dropping her clipboard with a clatter. She knocks over a stack of takeout cartons in her haste to pick it up. I dash across the room to help her as her hair tangles with the cord of her headphones.
"I'm so sorry, sir," she mutters. "I didn't realize anyone else was here. Donna gave me a key." At the sound of her mouth calling me "sir," my cock springs to life in my jeans. Holy fuck I think. Instead of saying anything, I reach around Alice to gather the food containers. Brushing against her, I feel the smooth skin of her arm begging to be stroked.
I shake my head. She smells lightly of sweat, but also like the earth and sunshine. I smell a thousand different herbs and spices wafting from her and I want so badly to taste her, to dip my tongue into her mouth and sample the flavor of Alice Peterson. "You didn't do anything wrong," I say, standing and putting the containers back on the counter. "I shouldn't have stood spying in the doorway."
She bites her bottom lip and looks away. She finally succeeds at untangling the headphones from her hair and she sets her phone on the counter with her rescued clipboard. I cough uncomfortably and fiddle with the stack of containers, straightening them. "I hope you received my email of apology, Alice."
She snorts, and I'm taken aback. Was it not a good enough apology? I try to recall what exactly I'd said to her when I saw her children here in the break room. "Yes, well, I did mean it. I'm truly sorry for the way I spoke to you." I cough again as she nods and doesn't meet my eye.
"Ok, well, I think everything here is set, so I'll see you Monday, Mr. Stag." She grabs her shoulder bag and moves to walk past me. I'm not ready to be away from her just yet. Panicked, I reach for her.
"Wait," I say, trying to keep my voice calm. "Who is with your children today?"
"My children?" She raises an eyebrow and then begins to laugh. I could listen to the sound of her laughter for hours, even if it's at my expense. "You know those are my sister's kids, right? Well, Donna knows that. Because I cleared it with her before I brought them in." She pauses and laughs a bit more. "Woo, that's funny. My children. I'll have to tell Amy."
"Your sister's children." I've behaved deplorably. Jumped to conclusions. Badgered the witness. What the fuck is happening to me? I rake my hands through my hair and along my jaw. "Look, Alice, I think we got off on the wrong foot. I want to tell you how impressed I am with what you've done here so far." I gesture around and begin to explain how she's altered the atmosphere at work in just one week. "You're very driven and you're good at what you do," I finish. "We need you here."
She laughs again. "Did you think I was going to quit just because you had a temper tantrum?" She puts her hands on her hips and her violet eyes darken. She's not nervous around me--quite the contrary. "Did you upset me on Friday? Yes. Was I pissed off? Definitely. But this is a good job and I'd be a fool to walk away just because my boss is a blow hard." She claps a hand over her mouth. "Shit. I didn't mean to say that to you." Her pale skin flames red, from her chest to the tips of her ears, which poke out from among the nest of curls.
"Tell me how you really feel, Alice," I say, smiling. People don't usually speak frankly to me, outside of my family. I'm used to people measuring their words, either because I intimidate them or because they're speaking to me very carefully in a courtroom. "Maybe we are even now?" I suggest, leaning closer to her and boxing her in against the steel counter.
I'm close enough now that I could lean in and kiss her. I could dip my head in toward her plump lips. I'm barely controlling my urge to do just that when she shakes her head. "Nope. Not even. Your tantrum was in front of my nephews, and I had to explain to them why I work with an angry man who yells."
I'm overcome by this woman. I lean in. She’s not taken, which means she can still be mine. I know I shouldn't kiss her and I don't think I'm going to. My mouth is an inch from her ear, so I whisper, "I'm sorry I yelled, Alice. I find it very hard to be rational when I'm near you."
I see her eyes scan my body. She meets my gaze and I know she is attracted to me, too. I see her pupils dilate and the pink tip of her tongue licks her teeth before she speaks. "Mr. Stag," she says, "I…" She stares into my eyes and I can feel my chest rising with each breath. I watch her chest rise and fall as she stands inches away from me. I know this is wrong; she's my employee, but she's also the most amazing woman I've ever met. Not only is she fucking gorgeous, but she's a breath of fresh air in this place, and I didn't even realize I was choking until she got here. I start to lean closer. I'm so close to kissing her now, I can feel her warm breath on my face. And then my stomach rumbles, audibly. The mood shifts instantly, the tension melting away as Alice smiles at me.
"You're hungry! Awesome. Let me get you something."
Seven
ALICE
H oly mother of god, I think as I turn away from my boss to grab some stuff from the new coolers. I was a few seconds away from jumping into his arms. If his stomach hadn't rumbled just now, I probably would have just peeled myself out of my workout clothes and spread myself open here on the counter.
Shit, he looks even hotter in jeans and a hockey jersey than he does in his designer suits. He's still pretty stiff in his weekend getup. His posture. Maybe his dick, too? I put my knuckle in my mouth, telling myself I can't be thinking about his dick. Ever. Maybe I should get him to yell at me again so I stop thinki
ng with my clit and maintain my professional dignity.
"Let me guess," I say. "You forgot to eat breakfast again."
Tim grins and hops up on the counter, sitting beside me as I lay out ingredients. I like this side of him much more than uptight, yelling Tim. "Guilty," he says. "I'm meeting everyone at the arena at one, but I don't think I can make it until then."
I decide I can whip him up a quick omelet since my dad's guys haven't disconnected the old stove. I set to work quickly chopping up some veggies while the butter melts in the pan. "What's going on at the arena today?"
His eyebrows shoot up and I can tell I've said something off. "Shit. Alice, didn't Donna get you a ticket? Fuck."
I shake my head. "Ticket for what?"
He leans in and plucks a bell pepper from my pile as I dump the veggies into the butter to soften. I watch his long fingers bring the food to his mouth and I have to look away from the sight of his lips wrapping around the pepper. He bites and says, with his mouth full, "Today is the first game of the Stanley Cup playoffs. We have a suite for the staff since we represent the--"
"The players union," I finish for him, nodding. "I knew that. I googled you before my interview. My family doesn't really follow hockey. Hey, will your brother play today?" I ask him about the Fury as I whisk the eggs and begin scrambling them in the pan with the veggies. He says his brother Ty will be starting his first game with the Pittsburgh team. I guess that means Juniper will be at the game.
Tim watches me as I make the omelet and says, "I'm truly sorry that you weren't included in the celebration today, Alice. Do you have plans? Can you join us?"
I slide his eggs onto a plate and frown. "I smell like a gym sock and I'm wearing a tank top. I think I'd be pretty cold in a hockey arena," I say, handing him a fork.
I cross my arms in anticipation as Tim takes a bite. His face seems to melt and he says, "Good God, Alice, this is the best omelet I've ever had. What did you do to these eggs?"