by R. C. Martin
“I’m impressed,” I admit, causing her eyes to find their focus again.
She drops her arms to her sides and smiles, the expression a clear depiction of her sense of accomplishment. “Thank you. I’ve still got a lot to get through. I feel like I’m just getting started.”
“Well, it’s after six. You can call it quits for the day.”
“Actually, I was going to stay for a while. Would that be okay?”
Given what I’ve come to know about the woman, I shouldn’t be surprised by her reply, but I am. More than that, I’m pleased. Not just because she’s offering to put in a few more hours of work, which is well beyond the scope of her responsibilities, but also because it’s refreshing to have someone around willing to invest in something that’s not going to have any sort of capital return. I find her determination and her excitement exhilarating. It reminds me of when I was a new associate, eager to do anything and everything to move myself forward.
“Are you hungry?” I ask, my mind made up.
If she stays, I stay.
“Um,” she hums, reaching up to sweep another lose strand of hair behind her ear. “I hadn’t really thought about it. I suppose I should stop and grab something to eat.”
“I’ll take care of it.”
A small smile tugs at the corners of my mouth in remembrance of all the late nights I used to spend here, eating cheap pies delivered from Capitol Pizza, and drinking a beer or two picked up from the liquor store around the corner. I know exactly how we’ll be spending the evening.
Backing my way out of the room, I ask, “You like pizza?”
“Doesn’t everybody?” she shoots back with a giggle.
“I won’t be gone long,” I assure her, pulling the door open, my gaze now directed over my shoulder. “We’ll go through some boxes together.”
She tries to fight her grin, pressing her lips together as she nods in reply—but I see it in her eyes. Fuck me, I’m still not ready for those stunning green eyes.
DANE IS GONE FOR a half an hour before he returns with a large pepperoni blowout pizza and a six pack of New Belgium beer—Ranger, one of their IPAs. Instead of joining me in the conference room, he shows me the goods before tilting his head to the side, signaling for me to follow him to his office. Obediently, I trail behind him, entering his space just in time to see him setting everything down on the coffee table opposite his leather couch. He instructs me to sit, so I do, and then I watch him exit the room. When he returns, he’s got a box in his hands, the colored paper and scissors I found earlier placed on top.
“If we’re going to stay after hours, we might as well be comfortable, right?”
“I won’t argue with you there,” I reply, my heart beating wildly in my chest.
I’ve been a bit anxious since he offered to grab me dinner and help me with these files. Now, as he walks across the room and slides out one of his records, I can’t fight the giddy feeling that fills my chest. When music starts to play, I admire him in awe. For reasons I’m not sure anyone else would understand, this feels personal—intimate, somehow. It’s like the night he took me to dinner at The Wild Rover. He’s giving me a piece of himself that I didn’t have before.
I don’t know if I enjoy my bottle of beer so much because it’s delicious, or because Dane went out of his way to get a local brew he knew I’d like. Either way, my stomach clenches every time I take a sip. Also, the pizza is amazing. We enjoy our meal on his couch, eating right out of the box as we peruse Rollin Mammoth’s company records. Sad and pathetic as it might be, I’m sure it’s the most fun I’ve ever had with a man.
Seriously. Working alongside Dane is better than sex. Or at least, any sex I’ve ever had.
We’re finished eating when he leaves to grab a second box of documents, and I can’t stop myself from kicking off my heels. The second my feet make contact with his lambskin rug, I decide that sitting on the floor is my best option—the soft texture brushing up against my bare calves making me feel even more comfortable. When he returns to the room, spotting me in my new position, he stares at me intently for a few seconds before joining me. The giggle that bubbles out of my mouth won’t be silenced. He does no more than smirk as he opens the new box, and we dive into another collection of files.
Two records and another box later, it’s nearly ten when Dane announces he’s making me stop for the night. Except, instead of standing up, he simply moves the box that’s between us and sets it on the other side of him before reaching for his second beer. I watch as he takes a long pull, not feeling the slightest inclination that he wants me to leave—so I don’t.
While I’ve never stuck around this late at the office before, it doesn’t escape me how comfortable Dane was with agreeing to stay well past quitting time. Sure, many of the lawyers stay late every now and again, but Dane has never left the office before or even at the same time as me. He’s also here before anyone else—every morning. It goes without saying that he’s a dedicated and hard working guy, but the Bridgewater case is different. No one is paying him to stay here until ten o’clock on a Monday. I know Ava told me the rumors behind why he takes on pro bono cases. Even so, now that I have him here alone, I want him to tell me what drives him to do this.
“Can I ask you a question?” I inquire, turning to lean my shoulder against the couch as I face him directly.
Setting his beer down, he turns to look at me and replies, “Go for it.”
“Why do you do it? Pro bono cases? I mean, corporate and commercial law? It doesn’t seem to add up.”
“Truth?” he asks, running the back of his knuckles against the underside of his jaw.
I simply nod my reply.
“It irks my father. I want to assume it’s because of his greed, but I don’t actually know. I’ve never bothered to ask. Sounds childish, I know, but therein lies some of the truth.”
“And the rest of it?” I press, wishing for any breadcrumb he’s willing to spare about himself.
He doesn’t answer me right away. In fact, he’s silent for so long—his striking blue eyes staring at me with an intensity that makes my palms sweat—I’m not sure he’ll answer me at all.
Then the feeling in the room shifts. My lips part open as I suck in a quiet breath, his hand suddenly curled around the side of my neck. He runs his thumb back and forth across my jaw, his skin rough against mine, and I can’t think.
“You’re smart.” Shaking his head, he amends his statement and murmurs, “That’s an understatement, I’m sure. Your intelligence is an aspect of you I seem to keep peeling back, layer after layer.”
“Dane?” I breathe.
His eyes flick down to my lips and then quickly return to connect with mine. In that one instant, all I want is for him to kiss me. I blink, forcing myself to shove that ridiculous thought out of my head, and try my best to focus on what he’s saying.
“You have the mind and the education to understand the law and put it into practice, as do I. My mother always instilled in me that everything I have, everything I am, it’s a privilege. My money, my title, it’s all a privilege—one that many aren’t granted. It’s not often I have the time or the opportunity to genuinely help someone in need. The pro bono cases I take on are chosen carefully. It is my way of giving back to those who aren’t equipped to fight their own battle.”
“That’s—that’s amazing,” I manage on a whisper, still finding it difficult to catch my breath.
“And you are—unbearably beautiful.”
My stomach flutters with an intensity I’ve never felt before as he gently pulls me toward him. Meeting me halfway, he brushes his lips against mine, and I can’t help but to lean into him a little further. Somewhere, in the back of my mind, this seems like a really stupid idea—but his lips feel nice. Really nice.
Lickably nice.
I’m about to do just that, stupidly longing to see what he tastes like, but he pulls away before I can conjure up the courage. Even worse, he lets go of my neck, dropping his
head with his hand.
“Fuck. I’m sorry.”
“It’s okay,” I murmur right away, meaning the words even if I shouldn’t.
“It’s late,” he says, looking at me with a scowl.
My heart aches a little. Not because he’s hurt my feelings by pulling away and apologizing, but because the expression he’s currently wearing is like an insurmountable wall. He’s hiding again. I had him here with me for a few precious moments, and now he’s gone.
“It is,” I finally mumble in reply.
“I’ll clean up,” he says, standing to his feet. “Let me walk you to your car.”
I shake my head and tell him, “You don’t have to if you don’t—”
“It’s late. I’m walking you to your car.”
His tone leaves no room for argument, so I don’t bother. Rather, I rise from my place on the floor, slip my feet into my heels, and walk around the coffee table. I can’t bring myself to look at him as I head to my desk to gather my purse and my jacket. Not the least bit cold after what just happened, I don’t worry about putting it on. I power off my computer and turn to find Dane already waiting for me. Without a word, we make our way toward the elevators. The silence stretches on between us when we step into the lift car and continues to last until we’ve reached the tenth floor.
When he finally speaks, his hands are shoved deep into his pockets and his eyes are staring down at my feet. “I didn’t stay late so that I could—”
“I know,” I interrupt abruptly, not wishing for him to finish.
I have a good guess as to what he was going to say. I don’t need to hear it to know that whatever happened upstairs, it wasn’t him taking advantage of any sort of situation. I might not know him well, but I know him well enough to know that. Except, in the same vein, it occurs to me that without my own apology, my actions could be equally misconstrued.
Glancing up at him as the elevator doors open to the second level parking garage, I confess, “Me neither.”
His eyes finally meeting mine, his scowl still firmly in place, he softly replies, “I know.”
I nod and then step out of the lift, headed toward my car. Given the late hour, it’s not difficult to find. The sound of both of our footsteps echoes in my ears, our silence making me anxious. While I didn’t initiate the kiss, I certainly didn’t stop it. We’re both guilty—and I’m afraid of what that means for us moving forward. I’m afraid that all of the progress we’ve made in getting to know each other professionally will now be ruined.
I free a sigh when I arrive at my vehicle. Clicking the driver’s side door unlocked, I open it and lean inside to set my purse and my jacket in the passenger seat. As awkward as it may be, I know I can’t leave without making sure we’re really okay. Straightening once more, I pull in another deep breath before I turn to face him. Except, the instant I do, I forget every last word I was going to say.
SHE BENDS OVER, and the sight of her ass and the back of those legs does me in. I fist my hands in my pockets, willing myself to forget how soft her skin feels, or how delicate her perfume is, or how fucking perfect her plump lips are. Then she straightens and takes a deep breath. Instantly, I know she’s just as affected by me as I am by her. Upstairs, when I kissed her, she kissed me back.
Goddammit.
When she turns around, I no longer have a single shit to give. I yank my hands out of my pockets and wrap my arms around her—one about her waist, the other across her back—and I pull her against me. She gasps, giving me the opening I need, and I close my mouth around hers. Her moan slips between my lips when my tongue finds hers, and my dick presses against the zipper of my pants in seconds. I pull her to me even tighter, eliciting another gasp as she reaches up to hold the back of my neck. Her small, warm hands against my skin feel good—too fucking good—and I kiss her deeper.
She tastes like pizza, beer, and Sigourney. She tastes like nothing I’ve ever had before, and all I want is more. Needing her closer, I shift her over and press her against the side of her vehicle. Molding my body around hers, I sink my fingers into her hair, no longer a fan of her damn ponytail. I don’t think on it long, distracted by the way she circles her arms around my shoulders, pushing herself up on her tiptoes as she kisses me fervently in return.
My hard length against her belly is no secret. If I were a man of less class, I’d take her in the backseat of her car right now. Unfortunately, that’s not an option. Not tonight.
Fuck me, not tonight.
Certain that if I don’t pull away abruptly I won’t pull away at all, I sever our mouths. With my eyes still closed, I press my forehead to hers, enjoying the feel of her quick, hot breaths as they fan across my face.
“Don’t apologize again,” she pants.
Chuckling, I press my hips forward, reminding her of what she’s done to me. “Wasn’t going to.”
Her arms still wrapped around my shoulders, she asks, “What was that? What’s happening?”
Shaking my head against hers, I admit, “I don’t know. We’ll have to find out.”
“Find out?” Her voice lifts hopefully, and I smile as I run my nose alongside hers.
“Yeah, babe.”
She shivers in my arms, making my smile stretch into a grin before she whispers, “Okay.”
I press a kiss against the corner of her mouth and then step away from her. Her eyes pop open as her arms fall to her sides, her back still leaning against the side of her car.
“You should go,” I instruct, already wishing I still had her pressed against me.
She nods, running her teeth across her bottom lip. It takes everything I have not to free the growl that claws at my throat, or to pull her back into my arms. Her plump lips are swollen and pink from our kiss, and there’s only so much self-restraint of which I am capable.
“Now, Sigourney.”
The smile that plays at her lips is a knowing one, but it’s gorgeous, just the same.
“Thank you for dinner. Again.”
“You’re welcome,” I mutter, shoving my hands into my pockets.
She takes a step toward her vehicle’s open door and then stops, resting her hands on top of it. She then turns and murmurs, “And for the kiss.”
I don’t have a chance to respond before she’s folded herself into her seat, shutting herself inside.
Two Weeks Later…
I WAKE BEFORE my alarm clock, feeling more tired today than I did yesterday. I haven’t been sleeping well for the last couple of weeks, and my restless night will do little to help get me over the middle-of-the-week hump. I need coffee. Stat.
I think about pulling out my French press, but soon abandon the idea. I know if I have a cup before I leave for the office, I won’t want anything from The Grind. I need any excuse I can get to maneuver my way into Dane’s presence. If my only option is coffee—which has been the case for almost two and a half weeks—then a trip to The Grind is a must.
Like it has every day since that night in the parking garage, the memory of my kiss with Dane replays in my mind’s eye. It was, by far, the best kiss I’ve ever had in my whole life. He was so adamant, so confident, so lickable. For a moment in time, I felt like I was his. He held me close and kissed me hard, like he couldn’t get enough of me—and I felt everything he was giving me in return. My stomach clenches now even thinking about it. While I was in his arms, I wasn’t worried about our professional relationship. I was too consumed by all that is him. Though, as it happens, I didn’t have to worry myself about that in the slightest.
The next morning, and every morning since, Dane has been all business. It’s like he never kissed me at all. For a few days, I wondered if he had regretted it; but as usual, I haven’t been able to get a read on him. It doesn’t help that it seems as though he’s hardly been at the office. His calendar has been stacked with client meetings and appointments. When he is at his desk, he’s so busy that I can’t bring myself to bother him. He was in court a few days last week, and this past Monday another
trial he’s a part of began. If I was being smart, I’d realize he’s given me a perfect out.
I’ve never wanted to be that woman—that woman who sleeps with her boss. I know Dane has already begun to show me preferential treatment, especially in regards to the Bridgewater case. While I truly believe that has nothing to do with his attraction to me, I don’t want things to get twisted. I don’t want my body to earn me anymore favors from him. Except, that’s the logical side of my brain talking. The emotional side of me can’t let go of that kiss. I left that night wanting more, and I thought he did, too.
I blow out a huff as I shove my covers aside and climb out of bed. Settling myself at my desk, I power on my computer and decide to spend a couple of this morning’s extra minutes writing Ellery. I didn’t tell her about kissing Dane. I wanted to wait and see what might come of it. At this point, I’m not sure anything will, so it seems better left unsaid.
from: Sigourney Salenger
to: Ellery Reinhart
date: Wed, Oct 2, 2019 at 5:36 am
subject: Re: Sally, Sally, Mo-Mally
Elle-my-belle…
Sorry it’s been more than a few days. Things around here have been weird. Good. Busy. And weird. I’m not really ready to get into all the weird, but the busy? I’ve been working on this case. I mean, not officially, but sort of unofficially. I’m trying to be helpful, which has led to long days that leave me wanting to come home and just crash. I haven’t even been studying for the bar like I’m supposed to be. I will, though. I’ll pick it up again soon.
I’ve been out with Ava a couple of times. You would love her, Elle. Seriously. She’s funny and, oh my gosh, you should hear her talk about the dating scene around here. I couldn’t stop laughing. I might have even spit out a little wine when she told me about one of her failed dates. It makes me think I should consider asking my neighbor, Otto, out on a date. (Not really. Gosh, that was a bad joke! Except, he is super sweet. You’d love him, too. I know we never got to meet either of our grandfathers before they passed, but I imagine having him in my life is kind of like getting a glimpse of what it might have been like to have a cheery old man in my corner.)