by Anna Durand
"Holy cow. I had no idea. I heard somebody say he 'went off the deep end,' but I figured it was an exaggeration."
I shake my head. "Unfortunately, it's not. Raisa contacted a judge she knows well to get permission for me to take over Miller's cases."
"Now I feel kind of bad for thinking Raisa drives me crazy. I meant it as a metaphor, not the actual truth." Elena slides back in her chair and crosses her legs. "Raisa is a lot older than you, isn't she?"
"Yes, she's forty-eight. I imagine you read the New Yorker piece on her last year."
Elena nods. "The article described her as a powerhouse player on the New York legal scene. I already knew about her, though, about how she built her own firm from the ground up and became the queen of divorce court. That's why I wanted to become a lawyer, and it's why I wanted to work here. She's amazing." Elena twists her mouth into the most disarming expression of frustration. "The journalist who wrote that piece neglected to mention Raisa is a raging bitch."
"She wasn't like that until recently." I hesitate, wondering how much I should reveal to Elena, but if I want to see more of her, outside of work, I suppose I ought to share more with her. "Our divorce was finalized two months ago. Raisa has always been tough, sometimes rude, but she didn't become a raging bitch until the final decree came through. It's my fault she's been terrorizing the staff."
"Uh-huh," Elena says with a touch of suspicion. "Freshly divorced sounds like big-time trouble to me. Maybe you shouldn't screw other women until you and Raisa get over each other."
"I am over her. Have been for a long time. Our divorce might've been finalized two months ago, but we were separated for more than a year before that."
"Still don't want to get in the middle of your marital problems."
And I can't blame her for not wanting to get in the middle of it, but I've never met a woman who intrigues me the way Elena does. Or one who gets me randy the way she does. I want to know her better, but she won't let me. Working with Elena every day might kill me. At the very least, it will leave me with blue balls.
We watch each other for a moment, Elena seeming to size me up while I catalog all the things I love about her body. Full breasts, the kind that make me dream about all the things I can do to them with my mouth, my hands, and even my cock. Creamy skin with the faintest freckles on her face. Strong legs. I know that because she'd gripped me with one of those legs while I drove into her like a maniac. Her elegant fingers had clutched my head while I devoured her nipple. Her face is more than lovely, it's like a masterpiece of beauty sculpted by Michelangelo himself.
My curiosity gets the better of me, not for the first time, and I ask, "Why didn't you go to law school?"
"None of your damn business." She stands up and squares her shoulders. "What can I do for you this morning, Mr. Dixon? I'm sure you need to get up to speed with Lucas Miller's active cases."
I do, but that's the last thing I want to think about right now. Still, I rub my neck and say, "Yes, please pull all the files and bring them to me. I'll get started on the five hundred and thirty-two emails clogging my inbox."
"That's my job. I sort through them, delete the spam and other useless stuff, and let you know when it's safe to open your inbox."
"I appreciate that, Elena. Thank you."
"You're welcome." She turns toward the door, then hesitates. "Would you like coffee? I get Raisa's every morning."
"No, thank you. But I'd love a cuppa."
"A cup of what? You said no to coffee."
"Tea. That's what cuppa means."
Elena almost smiles. "I'm guessing that's the British way to say it. Sorry, but you are the first British person I've ever met. I don't think watching Henry Cavill movies counts."
"Probably not." I relax, really relax, for the first time since I arrived in New York. "I would love that cuppa, though. If it's not too much trouble."
"Of course not." Her cheeks dimple again. "I'm your slave, after all."
And fuck, just like that I'm imagining every possible scenario for making her my slave.
"Should I close the door or leave it open?" she asks.
"Leave it open."
Elena walks out the door, giving me a clear view of her luscious arse.
My desk phone rings.
The second I pick up the receiver, before I can speak one syllable, Raisa says, "I want you, Chance. Come to my office and take me on the desk."
My thoughts rewind to a few minutes ago, when I'd fantasized about doing exactly that with Elena.
"No, Raisa," I say. "We've been through this before, ad nauseam. I don't want you anymore."
"Oh come on," she purrs, "we both know that's not true."
"It is."
And I'm not lying. Part of me will always care about Raisa, as a friend, but I stopped feeling any attraction to her a long time ago. Maybe I'd been so desperate to shag Elena on Friday night because I hadn't been with anyone since the last time Raisa and I had sex.
"I'm doing you a favor here," I tell Raisa. "Don't make me regret it."
"Please tell me you're not doing a barista or, heaven forbid, a call girl."
"None of the above." True, since Elena is neither of those things. Besides, I'm not technically doing her, not anymore. Maybe soon, I hope, but not yet. "This is strictly business, Raisa. Now, let me get to work on solving your unfortunate problem. Enjoy your black coffee."
I hang up on my ex-wife.
Earlier today, Elena had told me our relationship is strictly business, but the difference is that I meant it when I said those words to Raisa. Elena doesn't mean it. She can't. Not after what we did the other night. I scratch under my collar but can't eradicate the itch. How can I ever start something with Elena with Raisa down the hall, a few doors away? I need to get Elena alone, outside of the office, but she isn't having any of it.
As if on cue, Elena sashays into my office again, this time carrying a plastic tray. It holds a mug, packets of sugar, a small carton of milk, and a plastic spoon. While she comes closer, I notice the tray also holds a cookie lying on a white napkin.
Elena sets the tray on my desk, careful to keep that bloody piece of furniture between us. "Your tea, Mr. Dixon. I know this probably isn't how you Brits do teatime, but it's the best we've got here in the good old US of A."
"It's wonderful, thank you." I pick up the mug, reading the words painted on it. "The law is hot. Am I meant to read between the lines?"
"No, it's a novelty mug, nothing more. You're lucky I didn't give you the one that says 'you can bang my gavel anytime.' I think an intern left that one here."
I set down the mug and pick up the cookie.
"Brits like tea and biscuits, right?" she asks. "And biscuits are cookies, aren't they? If not, then I've been seriously misled by all those BBC shows I watched."
"This is perfect." I take a bite of the cookie. Uh, biscuit. Maybe I've been in America too long. The distinctive flavor fills my mouth, and I lift one brow. "Peanut butter?"
"Sorry, that's all I could find." She tilts forward a touch, peering down at my mug. "I hope the tea is okay, because all we have is Earl Grey or eggnog flavor. I'm sure that one's been lying around since Christmas. So I figured you'd prefer Earl Grey."
I pour milk into my tea and take a sip. "Just right. Thank you."
She wrinkles her nose, making her upper lip pucker. "No sugar?"
"No."
"Yech," she says, her nose twitching like the thought of unsweetened tea is about to make her sneeze.
I chuckle. "You really are the most adorable creature."
"Better get those files," she says, and marches out the door.
To hell with Raisa. I want Elena. Now.
But the phone rings, and I need to take the call. It's a client, after all.
Somehow, I will convince Elena to have dinner with me. I have to, or else I'll be the next attorney at Raisa Volkov & Associates who leaps off the deep end.
; Chapter Four
Elena
When I take an armload of files to Chance's office, he's on the phone, so I drop them off and leave. Thank goodness he's busy. If I hear his voice anymore, I will go insane. The way he says my name gives me hot shivers. His accent makes my knees weak. When he smirks at me, I go instantly wet and hot between my thighs. But if he looks at me again, with that smoldering intensity, I will lose it. I might just hump him right there on his desk.
Shit. What is wrong with me?
I'm an adult. A strong, independent woman with career goals. I finally landed my dream job, and I won't screw that up by screwing the boss's ex-husband. Resistance would be easier if he weren't so nice, so charming, so... British.
He'd called me adorable. Twice.
And both times, hearing those words tumble from his nibble-worthy lips made me long to do anything he wanted. I had done that Friday night, but things are different today.
No nibbling on my boss's ex. Check.
Ten minutes before one---the time when Raisa and I both take our lunch breaks, separately---she calls me into her office. I take a seat on the peasant side of the desk, while Raisa sits regally upright on the queen side.
"You are very capable," she says. "I've been impressed with your work so far."
She paid me a compliment. Wow. "Thank you, Raisa."
"I feel I can trust you with a special assignment. It requires total confidentiality. I'm relying on you, Elena, so don't disappoint me."
No pressure there. None at all.
My stomach is twisting into knots, but so what?
"I appreciate that," I say. "I won't let you down."
Could she be about to let me in on the Hazelton case? It's the biggest divorce in New York in a decade, maybe longer.
"Here's what I need you to do," Raisa says. "Convince Chance to come back to me."
For a couple seconds that feels like an hour, I gape at her---on the inside. A good paralegal never shows her true horror. "I don't quite understand what you're asking."
I understand, but I can't believe it. Maybe I hallucinated it.
"Chance and I belong together," she says. "Letting him go was a terrible mistake, and I know I can get him back. With your help."
"Um, what exactly do you want me to do?"
"First, find out if he's dating or sleeping with anyone. If so, I need all the details you can wheedle out of him." She eyes me like I'm a cow being auctioned off for meat. "You're passably pretty. Use your feminine wiles to get him to open up to you. Honestly, I don't care what you do as long as you find out what I need to know. Then we can move on to step two."
As much as I really, really don't want to know, I ask, "What's step two?"
"You talk me up to Chance and convince him he belongs with me."
Fabulous. This is exactly the career move I need, becoming pimp and marriage counselor for my boss.
Who also happens to be the ex-wife of the guy I let bang my gavel Friday night.
Yep, I'm cursed.
"What do you think?" Raisa asks, looking at me expectantly, almost excited.
Jeez, what can I say? She's my boss, and getting fired after three days will not improve my resume. "Sure, I'll do it. Anything to help."
"Thank you, Elena." She leans forward, her tone and expression turning conspiratorial. "This is strictly between us. Confidential."
"Of course." I make a zipper motion across my mouth. "My lips are sealed."
While I push myself up out of the chair, Raisa rushes around her desk to where I stand.
And she throws her arms around me.
"I knew you were the kind of woman who would understand," she says while clinching me tighter. "I'm so grateful, Elena. You're an angel."
Yeah, I feel like total crap inside. Like I'm the scum that grows in a toilet that's been ripped out and tossed into a garbage dump in a swamp. That's me, Elena the green, slimy scum. What kind of "angel" agrees to help her boss win back her ex-husband, when that "angel" has done the deed with her ex-husband?
Cursed. Damned. Nauseous. I'm all those things.
I'm so getting fired.
Raisa lets go of me, and I swear her eyes are shimmering with almost-tears. She retreats behind her desk, swiveling her chair to face the window, to face away from me.
After about thirty seconds of silence, I decide she's dismissed me, and I leave.
Since I brown-bagged lunch today, I walk a few blocks to a little park where I can sit and eat in solitude. When I get back to the office, Raisa is eating Chinese takeout in her office. I almost go in there to ask if she needs anything, but Raisa reassigned me to be Chance's slave. I don't work for her, not for the time being. I belong to the sexy Brit.
Every time I think about that, my entire body tingles.
No sex with Chance. Get that out of your head, woman.
Right. No sex. No fondling. No kissing.
Ogling is allowed, though. Right? I mean, what harm can come from me drooling over him, as long as nobody sees me doing it? If a tree falls in the forest and no one hears it, the tree never fell, right? And yes, in this ridiculous metaphor, Chance Dixon is a tree. Well, his dick certainly gets stiff enough to pass for a tree. And it's thick like a big, hard oak, and---
Stop that this instant.
I tiptoe up to Chance's office door, hoping to see he's not back from lunch yet. At least then I'll have a brief reprieve from needing to fight my lustful urges. Jeez, it's barely been half a day. How am I going to survive weeks? Maybe months?
Just my luck, he's in his office---and he catches me peeking around the doorjamb at him.
Chance smiles, in that so-damn-sexy way. "There's my slave. Would you care to wash my feet?"
Yes, with my tongue. Not only his feet, but every inch of his body.
"Oh please," I say, rolling my eyes as I step into the office. "I just got back from lunch and wanted to see if you need anything."
"Actually, yes, I do." His gaze roves up and down my body, and his tongue slips out to wet his lips. He clears his throat, swerving his attention down to the papers on his desk. Gathering them up, he offers them to me. "Would you mind going through these depositions and drafting a summary?"
"Sure thing." Hallelujah, work to do that doesn't involve pimping or lying. I snatch the papers from him and make a beeline for the door.
"Elena."
My tummy flutters, and my knees wobble the teeniest bit. Oh God, I wish he'd never say my name again.
And I wish he'd say it every five seconds.
Yeah, I'm flip-flopping like a beached whale.
I paste on my professional smile and face him. "Yes, Mr. Dixon?"
He sighs, tapping his pen on the desktop. "Do I have to order you to call me Chance? I don't like being called mister."
"Sorry. I was trying to be professional and respectful."
"And I appreciate that, but it's not necessary."
I realize I've hurt his feelings, and I feel bad about that. My stupid idea to create distance between us by calling him Mr. Dixon is done. I rewind the conversation and start again. "What do you need, Chance?"
"For you to have dinner with me."
Damn, I want to say yes so badly. "I can't. The firm has a policy about coworkers dating."
"Yes, and it says all that's required is reporting the relationship to Raisa within thirty days. We have plenty of time to worry about that later, if things work out between us."
If things work out. I don't see how that can happen. He's my boss's ex, and she commanded me to help her get him back.
"No, I'm sorry, Chance. I can't get involved with you."
Spinning around, I hurry out of his office. How can I even think about having dinner with him? It was bad enough when he was my boss's ex-husband. Now, not only is he my boss's ex, but I've been tasked with convincing him to go back to her. I've got to stay away from Chance as much as possible.
Luckily, summarizing the
depositions takes the rest of the afternoon.
Unfortunately, that means when I come to work the next morning, I have to venture into Chance's office again to ask what he needs me to do today. Since erotic dreams about him plagued my sleep, I'm in less than top form this morning, so frazzled in fact that I forgot to stop at Starbucks and buy a latte. How can I survive the morning without my coffee? The stuff in the break room is terrible.
Before I even attempt to see Chance, I need caffeine. With a choice between terrible coffee and a cup of tea, I go for the tea. I even brew Chance a cup, then drop my mug off at my desk while I take the other mug into his office.
He's sitting behind his desk, forehead crinkled, staring at a document.
I place his mug on the desk beside the document. "Good morning, Chance. I thought you might need it, so I brought you a cuppa."
And I'm so damn proud of myself for remembering the British word for a cup of tea.
He glances up at me and smiles a little, his forehead smoothing out. Taking a sip of tea, he studies me. "Thank you, Elena. You look incredible this morning. In my dreams last night, we had a very good time."
"You shouldn't say things like that at work. Someone might overhear."
"Yes, and then Raisa might fire me." He says that with a twinkle in his gorgeous blue eyes and an amused slant to his lips. "I'm sure you can console me when that happens. I've already fantasized about you doing that."
I really, really, really need to tell him to stop flirting.
Before I crawl onto his lap and unzip his pants.
Yeah, I know what I should tell him, but my mouth has other ideas. Or maybe it's my hormones talking when I hear myself say, "You look pretty damn incredible too. And in my dreams, we had more than a good time. We rocked."
Chance grins, and every part of me that can melt does. "Why would you say something like that? You keep telling me we shouldn't have sex or even go out to dinner. But you're flirting with me." He sets down his mug and slants toward me. "And I love it."
