by Lex Martin
I like that she’s taken a good look at my photos, studied them even, if she noticed the mole.
The thing is, the flush in her cheeks? Makes her even more beautiful. Dark hair, light eyes, and red cheeks? She looks like Snow White with a curvy body made for a man to explore.
I tuck my shirt back into my suit pants and pull out my wallet. After fishing out my driver’s license, I hand it to her. “Here you go, lovely. It’s all me.”
And again, I hear something under her breath that sounds an awful lot like, “It certainly is all you.”
I realize, too late, that I shouldn’t have used an endearment for her. “Sorry, I don’t mean to be pushy. I just want you to know I am who I say I am. That I’m not bullshitting you.” I look into her eyes, now asking her to help me. Asking her to watch out for my interests and keep my secrets safe.
With an easy smile, she nods. “I believe you.”
For some reason, her saying that eases a pressure that’s been building in my chest since I started this whole escapade. Finally, the fact that I am anonymous, yet famous, is no longer just my secret.
She knows.
Someone can see me and know who I am, besides Drew, who doesn’t really count. I feel so relieved I smile and continue. “Great. So it sounds like you had a chance to review the website?”
“Thoroughly.” She blushes again. It’s cute.
“Is there anything else you need from me to pitch to the partners?”
“No, I have a lot to work with.” She shakes her head with an awkward laugh, most likely realizing the double-entendre.
There is a lot to work with.
She brushes away her long bangs, and a few freckles high on her cheekbones catch my attention. It’s a focal point on a pretty face, which makes her seem innocent and very girl-next-door.
What a difference from the women I’m normally around. Her hair isn’t overdone. It’s simple and attractive, tucked behind one ear. Her skin isn’t airbrushed so that it looks good on camera. As far as I can tell, she doesn’t even wear makeup, but her skin glows—especially when she’s embarrassed. She has a manner about her that is confident, but a little unsure at the same time, which I’m finding I like. Unlike the women in my social circles who have a stylist telling them what to wear and a PR person telling them what to say and how to say it.
I take a sip of my coffee and push up my glasses, leaning back in the booth and gazing at her. “So what next, Counselor?”
“Josh, I’m comfortable moving forward. Can you tell me more about the type of work that you’ll be needing from my firm?”
She chews on her bottom lip, and I remind myself to focus. Having a gorgeous attorney might test me.
But I’m always up for a good challenge.
5
Evie
Does this guy ever take a bad photo?
Image after image on Google seems to indicate that Josh Cartwright is, in fact, perfection. I’m talking with his clothes on.
And he’s not just a pretty face.
I skim the Wikipedia article at record speed.
He’s twenty-eight, attended Harvard for undergrad and Yale for grad school, and then returned to his hometown to start an insanely successful sustainable architecture firm.
Be still, my nerdy-girl heart.
I click on a few more images until my vision clouds with lust. You usually hear how a photo never does a person justice. Nope. Not in this case. I can personally testify that he is just as hot in a pic as he is in person. Add the images he posts on his blog, and I can barely keep from squeezing my thighs together.
Although in person he’s practically combustible.
When we shook hands, I got a whiff of his cologne, which was crisp and clean and a little dizzying. And then he ran his hands through his thick, black hair, leaving it stylishly finger-fucked. I made the mistake of taking a long look into those hazel eyes and realized they were the color of whiskey, the kind you want to slam back until you’re drunk.
I’m not sure how long I stared, quite honestly.
Until I heard that voice.
Deep. Commanding. Confident.
How I managed to have coffee with him this morning and not drool all over the table is still a mystery.
Remembering his drop-dead-gorgeous smile sends goosebumps across my skin. He wore the sexiest suit, which probably cost more than my mortgage payment, but it fit him like a glove with long, hard lines that drew my eyes across the expanse of his broad chest and left me momentarily stunned.
But as sexy as he looked—like my own superhero in disguise—the clothes only hinted at the deliciousness underneath.
And when he showed me his beauty mark? You could’ve stuck a fork in me ‘cause I was done.
By the time he called me “lovely,” I was ready to send out our wedding invitations.
Generally, when clients call me “hon” or “sweetheart,” I want to smack them in the face. I suppose it has everything to do with who calls you a term of endearment. And I did not mind Josh’s nickname for me one bit. Although I clearly need to stop crushing on this guy.
Get a grip, Evelyn. He’s your freaking client, not a potential boyfriend.
I shake my head, needing to rein it in.
Except… I wonder if he’s single. I mean, as his attorney, I think I should know who I’m getting involved with. Due diligence and all that.
Half an hour later, all I can say is I’m not sure about his relationship status.
Until late last fall, he was consistently photographed with a petite blonde woman, some heiress named Tiffany. Always arm-in-arm at one fundraiser or another looking epically cool and perfectly styled.
But then about six months ago, several columns speculated that he and Tiffany broke up, and women should stay on the lookout for “Portland’s most eligible bachelor.”
Wrinkling my nose, I quit the browser. I’d hate to have my romances splashed across gossip blogs like this. Not that there’ve been many.
Guilt tugs at my conscience for delving too deeply into this guy’s business.
Closing the file I’ve prepared for him, I decide right here and now this is the only time I’ll indulge in lusting over this guy. It helps that he’s out of my league. Like, different planet out of my league.
I can represent this man and keep a safe distance. This morning, though, I felt blindsided. I didn’t expect the hot guy on the blog to be an actual hot guy. Because, come on, the internet lies. I’ve heard enough about online dating to know no one is as attractive in person as they are in cyberspace. Unless you’re Josh Cartwright.
Swear to God, I’ve never had the hots for a client before. They’re usually paunchy old guys with halitosis and coffee stains on their lapels.
Now that I know this guy is a walking, talking GQ ad, I’ll be better prepared.
Besides, I’m sure he has plenty of fangirls. What he needs is a great attorney. I can help him with that, even though I might die of embarrassment when I pitch this to my boss.
I keep reminding myself of the bottom line—the firm wants more “top-tier” clients, and I need to make partner. Because I’m tired of doing everyone else’s grunt work and getting the cases no one else wants. And since the one female partner is out on maternity leave, I know the old farts here really need to promote a woman.
My phone buzzes, and I answer on speakerphone when I see it’s Penny.
“You wanted to know when Malcolm had some time?” She lowers her voice to a whisper. “He’s having lunch with Cruella de Vil. You might be able to sneak in before. He’s leaving in twenty.”
“Thanks, Penny. You’re the best.” I click off speakerphone, chuckling at her nickname for Angela, who is another reason for my do-or-die attitude.
Angela has been nothing but condescending and dismissive of me since we both started here three years ago. Seeing her make partner before me would be crushing, to say the least. No doubt she’d gloat every chance she got.
It’s May, and the firm w
ill be promoting the new partners by the end of the summer, which means no matter how awkward it might be talking to Malcolm about Josh’s blog, I have to do it.
And it’s game time.
I grab the copies I just made and trot over to his office. On my way, I rifle through the printouts showing the number of cases we have with any Cartwrights. Zero. Perfect.
As I near Penny’s desk, I mouth, “Thank you,” and straighten my pencil skirt, which is way too snug—thank you, Kendall. She said I needed to “add more definition to my body,” which made me queasy, but the girl was so persuasive that I gave in. It wasn’t until I raced down the street this morning on my way to meet Josh that I realized how form-fitting my clothes were.
Taking a deep breath, I poke my head into Malcolm’s office. “Hey, boss man. Do you have a few minutes?”
He chuckles and pushes back his hair. “Of course. What’s up, kiddo?”
Every fucking time with that nickname.
I close the door and settle into one of the wingback leather chairs that face his desk. Degrees from Georgetown and Stanford lord over his shoulder. Photos of him and his wife with dozens of politicians—from the mayor to the governor—decorate the light gray walls. And on the credenza behind him, an array of awards laud the firm’s philanthropic efforts.
I’ve been in his expansive office more times than I can count, but for some reason, seeing the blue-blood roots of this firm make me realize how much of an uphill battle this pitch might be.
But what’s the old adage? You lose one hundred percent of the chances you don’t take. And there’s no time like the present.
I push my shoulders back. “I have a potential client I need to discuss with you, but we need to maintain the utmost confidentiality.”
Malcolm steeples his fingers and nods. “You have my attention.”
“If I were to say we might have a shot at representing a Cartwright, would we have any conflicts of interest?”
Surprise registers in his face as he leans forward and mulls over the question. “Not as far as I know.” This jives with my research, but I needed to double-check.
He starts to smile, and I shake my head. “Before you get too excited, I have to explain that no one can know it’s this person.”
His bushy brow quirks up. “Say again?”
“He needs to stay anonymous, and that means if we agree to represent him, no one besides the partners can know he’s behind this venture.”
Malcolm waves me on to continue, but I can already see the disappointment register in his expression, so I hustle to maintain his interest. “Just because this one project is a secret, however, doesn’t mean we couldn’t represent him in other affairs if the need arose.” Yes, I’m scrambling here, but it’s not entirely a lie.
And Christ. Why did I use the word “arose”? Because that has me thinking about Josh’s dick waving its erect glory over the New York City skyline.
I motion toward my file. “Having said that, I need to apologize ahead of time for what I’m about to say, in case you find the subject matter offensive.”
Malcolm cants his head and grabs his coffee to take a sip.
Ignoring the deep blush I feel creeping up my neck, I take a breath and rush to give him the details before I wimp out. “One of the Cartwrights runs an extremely popular, anonymous porn blog where he showcases his male anatomy, and he’s getting offers for various sex toys.” His eyes widen as the last words leave my mouth. “Like dildos.”
My boss starts to choke, and coffee dribbles down his chin. Oh shit.
“I’m sorry, sir.” I grab a tissue off the corner of his desk and hand it to him.
He laughs as he wipes his mouth, but it’s out of embarrassment. Malcolm clears his throat, and the humor disappears in his eyes. “You don’t hear that every day.”
“No, you don’t.”
We stare at each other in silence, and I give him an awkward smile. “I realize this isn’t the type of business we typically represent—”
“It certainly isn’t,” he says with an edge to his voice.
“Before you dismiss this client outright, consider that porn is a ninety-seven billion dollar industry. While piracy has taken its toll, adult novelties have seen a boom in recent years, and with books like Fifty Shades of Grey becoming blockbuster phenomena—making not only erotica mainstream but fetishes as well—many expect continued growth in revenue.”
He sits back in his chair, and I know I’ve piqued his interest.
“Consider this, Malcolm. You can now walk into any CVS and purchase not only condoms and lube but also vibrators. Every Walgreens in the country stocks massage oil. You can hop on Amazon and purchase a whole assortment of bondage equipment and BDSM how-to books. In fact, I just read about a private equity firm that started investing in sex toys, which is a fifteen-billion dollar industry and is expected to exceed fifty billion within the next four years. You wanted a big client. I think I have one for you.”
I can’t believe I just said the words “dildo,” “lube,” “bondage,” “BDSM,” and “vibrators” to my boss. My stomach threatens to go up into my throat. But dammit, I want this. And I’ve done my homework. I take a deep breath, hoping I don’t get my ass handed to me.
He clears his throat. “And it’s a Cartwright.”
“Yes, sir, and his blog has almost two million followers.”
The silence is almost unbearable, but then he punches a few buttons on his phone and tells Penny to reschedule his lunch with Angela.
I’m instantly relieved that he wants to hear more.
Then he tells me the last thing I expect him to say. “Your father will kill me if he finds out I’ve let his daughter represent a pornographer.”
I hadn’t even considered that my dad could find out it, or that this would be my boss’s first concern, but I refuse to be embarrassed for doing my job.
“My father will be proud when I eventually make partner.” I give him a playful wink, the kind Kendall always gives me, and hope I don’t look like I’m having an aneurysm.
Malcolm laughs and rubs his chin. “Bring me a mainstream Cartwright business and you have a deal. But I know sometimes you have to play the hand you’re dealt.” He opens his leather-bound notebook and clicks a pen. “I’m not saying we’ll accept him as a client, but you’ve made some salient points. Now tell me which of Marjorie’s children is doing the full monty. But humor this old man and don’t get too graphic.”
On the way out of Malcolm’s office, I pinch my lips together to keep from smiling. I don’t want to get ahead of myself. Just because he liked my pitch doesn’t mean this is a done deal, but at least we’re off to a good start. Life in the office might improve if I can control my own client list and workload.
“That must have gone well because you were in his office forever,” Penny whispers conspiratorially.
“As well as could be expected.” While I’m trying my hardest to keep reasonable expectations about the likelihood the partners will give me the go-ahead, I feel great about my presentation, and that has me buoyant. Giddy, actually.
Penny hands me a Tupperware full of cookies.
“What’s this for?” I crack the lid and take a whiff. Mmm. Chocolate chip.
“For saving my ass last week.”
As I snap the lid back on, I shrug and feign innocence. “I’m really not sure what you’re talking about.”
One side of her mouth quirks up in a grin as she tucks her short auburn hair behind her ear. “And that’s another reason why I love you.”
I smile back and thank her for the cookies. Really, this day couldn’t get any better. Until a deep voice breaks through my thoughts.
“Don’t you look beautiful today.”
Nathan leans against Penny’s credenza and smiles. I turn to look behind me, to see who he’s talking about, only to hear him laugh.
“Yes, Evelyn, I mean you.”
Confused, I turn back to him.
I don’t miss the way
his eyes travel over my body, and I resist the urge to wrap my arms around myself.
He tilts his head, studying me. “What’s different? Did you cut your hair?”
I shrug. “Nothing major. A new outfit.”
“Yes, the clothes look great. I approve, but I think it’s something else.” He pauses and rubs his hand over his handsome jaw. “Would it sound weird if I said you looked radiant?”
I know I should play it cool, but before I can get control of my facial muscles, a big toothy grin escapes. Maybe I’m still high from my presentation, although if I’m honest with myself, I’ve been a little euphoric since my meeting with Josh this morning.
“Thanks, I—”
“Nathan,” Angela purrs as she struts up to us and places one of her claws on his shoulder. “Shouldn’t we go over those numbers before you meet with the Fergusons?”
She can probably feel all of his big football muscles under that suit. For some reason, this doesn’t bother me as much as it usually does. Angela wants to bang Nathan. What’s new?
Her eyes narrow on me, but she keeps talking to him. “My lunch plans got derailed. Perhaps we could grab a bite afterward.”
He nods, but motions to me. “Want to join us?”
Nathan has never invited me to lunch before.
Strangely, I’m not desperate to accept. Especially with Angela in tow.
“Thanks for the offer, but I have a ton of work to do.” I tuck my folder under my arm and cradle my Tupperware of cookies.
He gives me one of his patented flirty smiles, the kind that usually makes me want to drop my panties. Except this time, there are no kamikaze butterflies in my stomach. Odd. “Next time.”
In my peripheral vision, Angela rolls her eyes, and the fact that I’ve gotten under her skin fills me with sick glee.
Turning, I head down the hall, and as I open the door to my office, I glance back toward the reception area to find Nathan still watching me. Weird. I smile and wave before I duck into my office.
Maybe Kendall was right about the clothes.
For once, though, Nathan isn’t at the forefront of my mind.
