by Lola Darling
“Oh I don’t. But in your case, the evidence is rather overwhelming.” Her lips twist into a moue of distaste.
Fucking hell, she’s hot when she’s angry. It makes me want to piss her off more often. It also makes me take a deep breath. Any more of that death glaring from her and I’ll get hard right here.
“Whatever happened to innocent until proven guilty?” I ask.
Before she can reply, Paul finally withdraws the papers he’s been looking for and slides them across the table to us.
“I’ve put together some basic details on the case,” he says.
Chloe pulls herself together enough to stop glaring daggers at me and picks up her copy of the file instead. I page through mine, though truth be told, I already have the details. Anthony gave me a heads-up in our catch-up this morning, about an hour before he sent me over here.
This should be an interesting one.
“The client is Suzie Steel.”
Chloe’s eyes go wide. “The Suzie Steel? From the exercise videos.”
“That’s her.” Paul nods. “The one with all the catch phrases. You know, shake it out and—”
“Rub it in,” Chloe supplies with a sarcastic smirk.
I can’t help it. I bark out a low laugh at that one. It only earns me an even narrower glare from Chloe this time.
“Actually, that’s what the lawsuit is about,” Paul says, interrupting what was shaping up to be a pretty interesting staring contest. I think it’s the glasses. Even when she’s scowling Chloe looks hotter than anyone I’ve ever laid eyes on.
Or maybe I just think of hot librarians when she scowls at me. Please, Chloe, tell me what you want me to do to you.
“Suzie trademarked that saying when she first launched her videos back in ’95. But now there’s a new company that’s just started up, selling, ah, what’s it
called …” Paul rifles through his copy of the case document.
“The Rotator,” I supply without a glance at my own files. After all, I spent the last hour researching it. “Not the most creative name ever. It’s basically just a chair with a weight system attached. It’s supposed to work out your hip flexors and your obliques when you, well …” I cast a sideways glance at Chloe before I rock my hips around the office chair to demonstrate. “Rub it in.”
Her eye-roll is so strong it practically registers on the Richter scale. “Figures you’d be familiar with that.”
“Hey, these washboard abs won’t maintain themselves.” I pat my stomach.
Even Paul laughs at that, though I notice he quickly tries to hide it by taking another gulp from his coffee cup.
“Calm down, Gym Tan Laundry,” Chloe mutters. “Okay, so they’re using a saying that’s too similar to hers, is that the problem?” Her eyes flash back to Paul, to the case at hand.
She’s no fun.
“Part of the problem, yes. They released a commercial with a voiceover using that line, read by an older woman, smoky voice—she sounds an awful lot like Suzie, to be honest. But Suzie insists it’s not her. She never gave the company permission to use her tagline, either.”
Chloe purses her lips thoughtfully. “So this new company is trying to play off of her brand. Make it look like she endorsed them.”
“Precisely.”
“It doesn’t help that the machine doesn’t look all that safe, either,” I add. “I watched a couple videos of it this morning. I can see what Ms. Steel means, when she said she wouldn’t suggest her followers use something like that. Just a little too much weight, and you could really strain your lower back muscles if you don’t know what you’re doing.”
Chloe’s eyes flash at me again, like she’s annoyed. I can’t imagine about what this time. She pushes the glasses farther up her nose, and I fight sudden urges to tear them off her face.
No. Actually. Leave the glasses on. Just tear everything else off of her …
“So, what do you think, Chloe?” Paul asks, and she snaps to attention.
I raise an eyebrow. Anthony doesn’t talk to me like that. Of course, Anthony has a very different management … ah, style, shall we say, than Paul does. He’s more of the Here’s what you’re doing, if you don’t like it, get the hell out of my firm type of boss.
Chloe scans the case file in front of her. A single lock of her long, curly hair falls over her shoulder as she does, brushing across the page. I have to fight a sudden, inexplicable urge to brush it out of her way. Actually, more than that, I want to catch all her long hair in my fist, turn her toward me again, see that glare on her perfectly sculpted face as I lean over her and …
Shit. What the hell, Davis? You don’t have time for this right now.
Almost like she heard that thought, Chloe steals a peek in my direction. “It’s interesting, that’s for sure. And I can see why you want us to keep a close eye on it,” she says. “Suzie’s still a pretty big public figure. She’s been on a couple of talk shows lately, and there’s some buzz about her releasing a new training regimen for older women this year, too. This case could attract a lot of media coverage.”
“My thoughts exactly.” Paul nods. “But I’m confident that the two of you can handle this one. After all, two heads are better than one, no?” He flashes me a wide, friendly smile. It’s weird—I’m used to seeing him act all aggressive and temperamental in meetings. Chloe must bring out his softer side.
“I’ve managed dozens of big name clients,” I reply, grinning, even as I can sense Chloe’s eyes rolling once more. “Suzie Steel is in safe hands with me.”
“With us,” Chloe interjects.
“Right. That’s what I meant.” I wink at her, and her cheeks flush. Angry, blushing librarian, even better.
“Great.” Paul claps his hands. “Well, I’ve got to be off to my next meeting—I’ll leave you two to get acquainted with the case for now. And each other, of course.”
The moment the door to Paul’s office clicks shut behind him, Chloe levels her gaze on me again. Ouch. If looks could maim. “So you had time to watch those videos first,” she says, her voice low and sarcastic. “It’s good to know you come prepared.”
Ah, I see. She’s irritated that I’ve got a head start on her already. “Don’t worry. I always come prepared for anything.”
“I’m sure you do when it comes to, say, avoiding contracting gonorrhea. But this case is huge for me, so you’re going to let me do the preparation from here on out, got it?”
Fat chance, sweetheart. “That’s not really how I roll, Chloe. I’m very hands on.”
“Yes, well I’d prefer that you keep your hands off, in this case.” She glances down at my hands where they’re resting on the table, as if they’ve personally offended her.
I fold my hands in an exaggerated move, drawing them back off the table as though to say, See, don’t worry, I won’t touch you. Even though there’s nothing in the world I want to do more right now.
“Look, we’re going to have to work together whether you like it or not, Chloe. You might as well enjoy it.”
She raises an eyebrow. “Is that what you tell all the ladies?”
“Only the shy ones. I’d promise you I’ll be gentle, but you don’t seem like the shy type, to be honest … .”
Chloe’s gaze narrows even farther, accentuated by the sharp, dark frames of her glasses. “Thanks, but I prefer to drive rather than riding the company bike.”
I smirk. “You know, I hear slut-shaming is out of style these days.”
“Funny, I heard the same thing about hooking up with your secretary.”
It takes an effort not to crack a grin at that one. Touché. I shake my head a little. “Rumors are like cockroaches. Where you see one, there’s at least a thousand more lurking right behind it.”
“So what you’re saying is, for every one I’ve heard, there’s thousands more I haven’t? Good to know.” She peers over the top of her glasses at me almost thoughtfully. “Let me just mentally do the math on how much worse you look right now,
hang on …”
“If you’re done discussing my personal life, could we get back to work here? I thought I was meant to be the bad influence, y’know?”
Her eyes dart to the clock on the wall. “I have a meeting with a previous client in ten minutes. I’ll need to meet with them, then find Rich to brief him on us swapping projects, and go through handover notes with him this afternoon …” She trails off and snatches up her Blackberry to swipe through it. I try not to focus too much on the way she gets this little pout of concentration on her lower lip as she’s reading, or the way that piece of hair falls across her face again.
Pull your shit together, Davis. For all the rumors about me, I’m really not an STD-riddled pickup artist. I just happen to be very popular around the office, that’s all. Mostly with my female colleagues. It’s not like I encourage the attention.
Much.
Besides, it’s harmless fun.
But Chloe … I’m not sure if it’s the way she so obviously, openly despises me, or the fact that I’ve seen her speak in court and I know how smart she is, or if it’s just those fucking librarian glasses. For some reason, she affects me differently.
She makes me want to prove all the rumors true.
I zone back in on her perfect, plump red lips forming words. Sentences. Fuck. Pay attention. Stop thinking about those pert lips wrapped around your cock, man.
“Fifteen-minute window tomorrow afternoon, 4:25. Does that work for you?”
“I really think we’re going to need more than 15 minutes to cover the preliminaries on this one.”
“I’ll book in a longer meeting in a couple of days. For now, fifteen minutes is all you get, so you’d better prove that you were right about your preparation skills.”
“My preparation—and my follow-through, I might add—are just fine.”
She lifts a single eyebrow over the rim of her glasses. “Forgive me if I don’t take your word for it.”
I grin and scoot my chair a little closer to hers. “Well, actions speak louder than words. If you’d like, I’d be happy to prove just how good my follow-through is.”
To my surprise, she leans in too, close enough that I catch a whiff of the perfume she’s wearing. Something delicate, probably expensive as hell. Sweet and a little spicy. It makes me want to taste her, run my tongue over her naked body to see if it matches her flavor.
“Please do,” she purrs, and it takes every ounce of restraint I possess not to close the gap between us and claim her mouth right here and now. She’s leaning closer, I could make a move …
Then she slaps my chest with a file, which I catch belatedly, slow on the uptake after my short, moment of weakness. “In the courtroom, that is.” She’s already pushing away from the desk and standing up. Her tight pencil skirt has ridden up her thighs, and I catch a glimpse of the tops of her stockings, before she yanks the skirt back into place, all the way down to her knees.
Dammit. Cut-off stockings and garters? Who knew our sweet little Chloe had a kinky side? I suppress a smirk as I meet her eye. “I’m going to need more than fifteen minutes eventually, you know.”
She glares at me again, which either means she caught me checking her out, or just that this is her favorite facial expression. “That’s good. If you finished in fifteen minutes every time, I’d have to call that less than impressive.” With that, she sweeps out of the room, leaving me torn between a laugh and a scowl.
This might be an even tougher case than I thought.
Mostly because watching her curvy, luscious ass storm out of the room makes me hard as a rock. I try to force her out of my mind for the rest of the afternoon, but it’s no use. I’m pretty much useless with how distracted she’s made me. To the point where I catch the elevator down to the second floor, lock myself in an empty conference room, and jerk off, leaning against the table, wishing it was her I had pressed against the wood instead.
Fucking hell, I think as I come, my mind still full of images of her—eyes narrowed behind those sexy glasses, full lips pursed in distrust. I haven’t been this turned on at the office since I can’t remember when.
It’s gonna be a long couple of months.
Three
Chloe
I pace across the kitchen floor in my stockings, the ridiculous ones with the garter belt, because everything else I own was out with the laundry people today. I’m still wearing my work shirt, though it’s unbuttoned over my bra, but I tossed my skirt into a heap on my couch the moment I walked through the front door.
Not like there’s anyone here to impress or offend anyway.
“And that’s not even the worst part,” I say into the phone, which I have awkwardly cradled between my ear and my shoulder as I yank open the freezer and dig through it for the pint of Ben and Jerry’s I know I still have somewhere in here. I’d prepped a whole series of meals for the week, which I cook on Sundays and freeze for defrosting other nights. But screw it.
Tonight, I’m having Americone Dream for dinner.
“Worse than being taken off the case you’ve spent like two months straight on?” asks the voice on the other end of the line. Heather Healey, my best friend in the world.
Well, okay. Possibly my only friend right now, since I all but fell out of touch with Sheri, Ang and their squad. But it’s not like I had time to go to all the brunches and soccer games and shopping spree trips they’re into anyway.
I’m not the biggest social person around. And I have to focus on my career right now. Especially with so much happening for me.
“So much worse.” I pull out the Ben and Jerry’s with a triumphant hah, and kick the fridge door shut with one stockinged foot. “You remember that one creep I told you about? The one who’s slept with like, half the office at this point?”
“Ben the slutty intern?”
I laugh. “No, he’s long gone. The other one. Max Davis. The one who’s Stuyvesant’s chosen favorite, gets first pick on all the best cases usually?”
“Not ringing a bell, sorry Chlo. I can’t always keep your work frenemies straight, you know, when they change every other week.”
I pull open a drawer and fish out a spoon. “No, you remember this one. He asked me out one time, for a beer after work? Right after I heard from Martha that he’s dating Melanie what’s her name from rights management?”
“Ohhhh, God, that guy? Ugh, yes, I remember. There’s dipping your pen in the company ink, and then there’s trying to double dip.”
“Talk about shitting where you eat,” I agree as I stab my spoon heartily into the ice cream container. Screw bowls. Again, it’s not like there’s anyone else here for me to impress or offend. “Anyway, they’re putting me on a new case. Big, high-profile one.”
“That sounds like good news?” Heather says, and I hear the tentative note in her voice as she waits for the But.
“I’m paired with him on it.” I scoop out a healthy serving, and stuff a mouthful onto my tongue as Heather makes all kinds of indignant groaning noises on the other end of the line. The vanilla and fudge flavors melt together on my tongue, somewhat ameliorating my terrible mood. However, I probably took too big a bite, because the cold starts to pool against the roof of my mouth and sends tendrils of pain shooting into my forehead.
Ugh. Brain freeze.
I keep eating the ice cream anyway, wincing as I do.
“How much say are you going to have? I mean … okay, so he’s a manwhore and a bit of a creep. But you said he’s Stuyvesant’s favorite, right? Kind of like how you’re Paul’s fave? So maybe he’s a good lawyer, even if he’s a shitty person. You can stick it out for one case, right?”
Trust Heather to always look on the bright side. She has a point, though. For as notoriously judgmental, aggressive and condescending as Anthony Stuyvesant is, any protégé of his must at least be competent in the courtroom. “True. It’s just … ugh, this is going to be a long one, I can already feel it. I spent all afternoon buried in the files. I’m just not loving the fact that
not only will I have to work overtime and weekends for yet another month, I’ll have to do most of it with someone I don’t like.”
“For a month? Really?” There’s a new note in Heather’s voice now. Hurt.
I blink a few times. Shit. What have I forgotten now? “Yes, probably. I mean, I’m just guessing. I guess it depends on how the case goes. Why?”
Her voice goes small and quiet. “Did you forget about our plans on the twentieth?”
I chew on the corner of my lip, even as I whip my Blackberry from my purse. “Of course I didn’t forget,” I say, speaking slowly to stall for time as I scroll frantically through my calendar.
“I know that voice, Chloe MacIntyre,” Heather snaps. “That’s the I’m double-checking right now voice.”
“It is not!” I protest. Aha. Twentieth to the twenty-first. Shit. Weekend away at the spa Heather found a coupon for. It was supposed to be our impromptu girl retreat. Nails, hair, massages, facials, the works. Plus, they have a Jacuzzi thing with all these salt crystals or something that was supposed to feel like heaven floating around in. “I was really looking forward to the spa weekend. I mean, I am really looking forward to it, assuming I can finish enough of the case by then to—”
“Ugh. Forget it. Why do I even bother, Chlo? Honestly. It’s like being friends with a robot. No, not even a robot—I’m pretty sure even robots power down for a couple hours at a time. Do you even remember the last time we had a conversation in person, face-to-face?”
“Of course I do. We went for drinks at that rooftop bar, and the cute waiter hit on you.”
“That was four months ago, Chloe. Did you know that? Four months. I live less than a twenty-minute drive from you. That’s weird, okay?”
“It’s been a really hectic few months,” I mumble halfheartedly. “As soon as things calm down a little—”
“Things are never going to calm down. Not until you make them. You need to start prioritizing your life, too. Not just your career path.”
I bite back an easy for you to say. Because that’s not fair. Heather doesn’t want the same kinds of things that I do. She’s happy to run her flower shop, spend her days arranging bouquets for weddings, and take as much time off as she wants to travel, explore, eat out, go on dates.
