Total D*ck (Bad Bitch #3)

by Christina Saunders

  I couldn’t let her get to Pendleton or anyone else on that list. I ripped the door open and hurried down the steps. She watched me approach through her car window, her head cocked in amusement, as if already certain this was exactly how it would play out.

  When she’d walked into my office with her superior attitude, I couldn’t wait to send her running back to her firm complaining about me. Stone & Porter never condescended to contact me unless I had one of their clients over a barrel.

  She seemed different from the usual big firm dipshits, though. Her light blue eyes shone with intelligence even though she’d worn a polished poker face. Despite her modest clothes and makeup, her youth and femininity were evident in her face, her bearing. She would have been a target for me if it wasn’t immediately clear that she thought I was a piece of gum stuck to the bottom of her shoe. Her haughty tone had sealed it, and I’d resolved to continue on my roll of dickish behavior for her benefit. In fact, I’d doubled down, pretending I thought she was a secretary. Now I realized I’d fucked myself out of the biggest case of my career.

  I strode up to her window. She didn’t roll it down. I didn’t realize how stupid that simple act—or failure to act—could make someone feel. The corners of her plump lips hinted at a smile, and I wondered what she’d look like when she followed through.

  “Ms. Carmichael?” I stuffed my hands in my pockets and tilted my head down, looking up at her through my lashes. It was the contrite look I used often with women who wanted to scratch my eyes out. I had at least a fifty-fifty chance. Surely.

  She rolled her window down and glared at me, her lips pressed into a thin line, any chance of a smile gone. “Yes, Mr. Granade?”

  “Please, call me Kennedy.” I raised my face, though she didn’t smile. My odds weren’t holding up. “About earlier—”

  “Which part? The part where you said I could suck on certain parts of your anatomy? The part where you assumed I was a secretary? Perhaps the part where the older men at my firm are, naturally, having sexual relations with me since I’m a female associate? Please be specific.”

  “When you put it that way, I sound like a total dick.” I gave her the self-effacing smile that even worked on Faye on a couple of occasions. It was just that fucking good.

  Nothing—no smile, definitely no laugh, and perhaps even more of a scowl than before. Tough crowd. “We’re finally in agreement on something.” She pushed the ignition button and her car purred to life.

  I dropped all pretense and met her gaze. “I’m sorry. Really, Ms. Carmichael. I was raised better than that. Please accept my sincere apology.”

  She narrowed her eyes, her pupils somehow boring into mine. “I assume you’re still interested in the cocounsel appointment?”

  “Yes. Please.” The sound of cash registers ca-chinging played through my mind like a cartoon.

  She sighed, but her look of disdain didn’t soften. “Fine, Mr. Granade. I’ll expect you at my office at one p.m., unless you have plans.”

  “No plans.” I wasn’t sure if I had appointments or not. Either way, it didn’t matter—none of them had the potential payout this case offered. Faye could reschedule.

  “Good.” She turned her head toward the street, preparing to pull into traffic. “And, Mr. Granade?”

  “Yes?”

  She cut her light blue eyes back to mine before letting them drift down my wrinkled shirt. “Please shower and shave before coming to Stone and Porter. As you stated earlier, we have a reputation. One we’d like to keep intact.”

  She glanced over her shoulder again and pulled into the street.

  I wanted to collapse onto the sidewalk, my heart beating fast enough to make a dent in my ribs. Had I really almost pissed away millions?

  “Did you get her?” Faye called from the porch.

  I gave her a thumbs-up as I stared at Ms. Carmichael’s taillights. Ms. Carmichael. Just from our few moments together, she was easily one of the stiffest, primmest, most uptight people I’d ever met. I closed my eyes and, as I often did with attractive women, tried to imagine fucking her. She was on her back, her eyes clenched shut, fake moaning, and she kept asking me if it was over yet. I opened my eyes and laughed. Definitely not worth it.

  I strolled back up the walk toward Faye. “What did she say her first name was?”

  “Scarlett.”

  I took Faye in my arms and danced her around on the porch to her surprised guffaw. The boards creaked beneath our feet, but all I could feel between my toes was the sand on my own private beach.

  “Millions, Faye. Millions.” I twirled her, but she wouldn’t return to me for the final flourish.

  She smirked and crossed her age-spotted arms over her chest. “You need a bath. You smell like a bar.”

  “I know. I know.” I bowed. “Only the best for Scarlett Carmichael. I have to be at Stone and Porter at one p.m. for more of her sparkling wit and Victorian fashion choices. Clear my appointments this afternoon.”

  “You have no appointments.” She walked back inside.

  “She wants me. You know?” I closed the door behind us and almost tap-danced down the hallway to my office.

  Faye followed at my heels. “She might want you maimed. Possibly dead. Even dismembered. But I can assure you she does not want you, Kennedy. She’s way out of your league.”

  “We’ll see about that. She won’t be my first debutante, and I hope and pray to all that is holy she won’t be my last.” I grabbed my keys and the contracts from my desk and headed toward the back door.

  “Careful, Kennedy. Keep it in your pants or you may as well forget the millions.”

  If Faye starred in her own comic book, it would be called The Chider. She excelled at it, and despite the fact her scoldings fell on deaf ears, she kept on trying.

  “Don’t worry.” I pecked her on the cheek. “I’ll invite you to my beach house in the Bahamas at least once a year. Maybe for a day or two. But don’t get greedy.”

  Chapter Three

  Scarlett

  “How was he?” Graham, my paralegal, asked.

  “The worst. A nightmare. A venereal disease. A green scab that oozes and you can’t figure out why it’s still attached to your body.” I tossed my bag on my desk.

  He wrinkled his nose at my scab reference and watched as I sat down in a huff. “That bad, huh?”

  “And worse.” I spun so I could see the river shining two blocks away. Stone & Porter wasn’t much for firm culture, but you couldn’t beat the view.

  “But you hired him?” He took a swig of his coffee and sank into one of my visitors’ chairs.

  “Yes.” I took a deep breath and spun back to my desk. “He’ll be here at one. Or, more likely, he’ll be late and throw everything off.”

  I put my head down on my desk. Why did he have to be such a prick? I’d gotten a taste of his reputation—skirt chaser and showboat—when Mr. Porter told me we needed a real asshole plaintiff’s attorney on this case. Even with the advance warning, I wasn’t prepared for the man I’d met this morning.

  “Everything’s going to be okay.” Graham shifted in his seat. “To be perfectly honest, I don’t think I’ve ever seen you this . . . upset.”

  God, was I coming apart in front of the staff? I raised my head and Graham gave me a kind smile. He was a good twenty years older than me, thin wrinkles lining the brown skin around his eyes. He’d probably seen more than his fair share of frazzled associates.

  I straightened, determined to prevent Kennedy Granade from ruining my day. “Call Mr. Rhone. Tell him Mr. Granade and I will arrive at his corporate headquarters no later than two o’clock and that we’ll need to speak with Eric.”

  “Sure thing, boss. Anything else?” Graham stood and walked toward my door. One thing about him, he was never in a hurry. Even though his work was quick, smart, and impeccably done, he was still type B to the core. I envied him sometimes.

  “No, that’s all for now. I may have more later, but I’ll buzz you.”


  “All right. Just let me know.” He walked into the hall at a soothing pace and turned right toward his cubicle. I opened my desk drawer. Pulling out my mirror, I smoothed my hair, making sure my bun was tight. Then I powdered my nose. Little things like that always made me feel that I had some semblance of control, that the world wasn’t a series of small disasters like Kennedy Granade.

  I spent the rest of the morning organizing the evidence we’d collected so far and working with IT to get two laptops with special access to Rhone’s mainframe set up. The misappropriation of trade secrets by Greenwood seemed to have gone deeper than simple theft. They’d hacked into the securest parts of Rhone’s system, downloading numerous proprietary items of a very sensitive nature—algorithms that took years and the work of the foremost mathematicians in the world.

  The morning passed as I worked, the tasks helping me feel in control again. Kennedy had thrown me off for a moment, but nothing more. That moment was over, and I would bring him to heel in short order.

  Right after lunch, the receptionist rang in on my phone. “Ms. Carmichael?”

  “Yes.”

  “Mr. Carey Fellowes is here for you.”

  “All right. I’ll be right up.” I stowed what remained of my half-eaten sandwich and brushed the crumbs from my ruby sweater and black skirt as I stood. My kitten heels completed my outfit. Modest and impeccable.

  I strode through the office, passing secretaries and other attorneys going about their busy days. Entering the foyer, I found a man who looked to be about twenty-one, if that, with visible tattoos and multiple piercings. His jeans were neat, and he wore a plaid button-down shirt with a skinny black tie.

  When I’d called other firms requesting information on the best computer analyst and corporate security expert, Carey Fellowes’s name came up again and again. He wasn’t what I’d expected, but by all accounts, he was brilliant and just what I needed to track down whoever broke into Rhone’s systems.

  The receptionist stole glances at him every few moments, the dragon scales snaking up the right side of his neck a particular draw. I hid my own surprise and walked to him, holding out my hand. He smiled and rose, shaking my hand with a firm grip.

  “Ms. Carmichael?” He grabbed his laptop bag.

  “Yes, but call me Scarlett. Thanks for coming on such short notice.” I dropped his hand and led him through the bright lobby, my heels clicking on the marble floors.

  “Sure. From what little you told me on the phone, it seems like an interesting case.”

  “It’s the first of this sort I’ve had. We’re in here.” I showed him to the glass conference room, one wall just a wide, clear window to downtown with a good river view. The inner walls were also made of glass, with plush curtains that could be drawn for privacy. “I’ve set up everything on this SSD server.” I pointed to what looked like the usual desktop tower, but was actually a high-powered server linked to our network and hooked into Rhone’s. The laptops I’d had prepared sat at the end of the table. “If you need a laptop, let me know.”

  He smiled, his light blue eyes sparkling, and slid his laptop from his bag. I’d never seen anything like it. Covered in stickers for bands I’d never heard of, I couldn’t even tell the brand.

  “This is Barbarella. I made her myself. Don’t worry. I’ll just get her hooked up to the server, check out what your in-house tech did for the laptops, do the same and likely a little more for her. Then we’ll be good to go.” As he spoke, his fingers flew across the keys, and he had the whole thing set up within moments.

  “They said you were good.” I waved my hand at “Barbarella.” “That’s impressive, to say the least.”

  “That’s why you pay me the big bucks.” He leaned back in the leather chair. “So when do we start?”

  “We’re waiting on one more to join.” I glanced to my watch—1:15 p.m. “Kennedy Granade. He’ll be working for me on this matter.”

  “With you, you mean.” Kennedy walked in, confidence in every step. At least he’d showered this time around. He would have been handsome, in a dark gray suit, light blue dress shirt, and navy tie, if I hadn’t already been subjected to his particular brand of charm.

  “Glad you could make it. Carey, this is Kennedy Granade.” The men shook hands. “Carey Fellowes is a corporate security expert.”

  “Nice to meet you.” Kennedy surveyed the river view, the marble-top conference table, and the cushy leather chairs. “Been a while since I’ve been at this office. Still over-the-top as usual.”

  “Were you late that time, too? Or do I get special treatment?” I crossed my arms and glared at him.

  He smiled, his dark brown eyes taunting me. “You want me to give you some special treatment, Ms. Carmichael?”

  Heat crept up my neck, coloring my cheeks. Asshole. I cleared my throat. “Did you bring the engagement letter and fee agreement?”

  He slapped his worn messenger-style briefcase down on the table and flipped it open. “I made a couple of changes to the fee agreement.”

  “What?” I should have known he would try something. He was a two-bit ambulance chaser. Unfortunately, it just so happened he knew how to work a jury from the plaintiff’s perspective.

  “Seeing as how you need me more than I need you, I went ahead and changed the split to sixty–forty. Also, you’ll be covering my expenses.” He slid the papers over to me and pulled a pen from his inner suit pocket before walking around the table and holding it out to me. I caught the scent of his aftershave, clean and masculine. He was much more pleasant on all fronts this time around, except for his personality. It remained the same.

  “Changing the fee arrangement isn’t part of the deal.” I made no move to take his proffered pen.

  He stared down at me, his deep brown irises flecked with gold in the warm sunlight pouring through the wide windows. “Then I guess I’ll walk.” Despite his words, he remained still, his eyes boring into mine.

  I chewed my bottom lip, a bad habit, and his eyes darted to the movement. I forced myself to stop, but he drew his eyes back to mine slowly, taking in every aspect of my face as he did so.

  Mr. Porter had made it abundantly clear that Kennedy was far and away his top choice for this assignment. It was all Monopoly money to me anyway; it wasn’t as if I’d see even a dime of the contingency fee were we to recover. I’d make the same salary either way.

  Kennedy studied me as I weighed my options. His gaze verged on insistent, or perhaps I was imagining it. Something about the hungry way he looked at me made the air around me weigh more, pressing down on me until it became hard to breathe.

  I wanted to tell him not to let the door hit him in the ass on the way out, but that wasn’t an option. Allowing him to win this battle stung, but I’d pay him back with interest.

  I snatched the pen from his hand and bent over the paper on the table. I had to escape his gaze. It was like my body wouldn’t behave, my color rising right along with my temperature. I flipped through the pages, making sure the rate was the only change.

  “What? You don’t trust me?”

  “Not a chance.” Once satisfied, I signed my name for the firm and hit a button on the phone in the center of the table.

  “Yeah, boss?” Graham only answered his phone one way.

  “Please come to the conference room and bring my jacket, bag, and a legal pad if you don’t mind.” I pressed the end call button and straightened.

  When I turned around, both Kennedy and Carey stared at opposite corners of the room, even though there was absolutely nothing to look at—verifying they’d been staring at my ass while I was bent over.

  “We going somewhere?” Kennedy ran his hand along the back of one of the conference chairs.

  “Rhone Industries. They’re expecting us. Carey will take point on trying to discern how the breach occurred. We’re there to gather information and get a foothold on how to continue our investigation.”

  “Investigation?” He shook his head, his wavy hair tickling the ridge
of his ear. “When are we filing suit?”

  “When we get the facts. Unlike certain attorneys, we don’t go off half-cocked, sling baseless allegations, and try to shake down defendants to line our own pockets with ill-gotten gains from frivolous lawsuits.”

  Carey whistled and stood, gathering his bag. “Shots fired. Mayday.”

  Kennedy opened his mouth, no doubt with a biting retort, when Graham walked in. “Hey, boss, got your stuff.”

  I stepped around Kennedy and grabbed my coat and bag. “Thanks. Please scan in the contracts and have one mailed to Mr. Granade’s office.”

  “Sure thing. Give me a call if you need anything.” He offered his hand to Kennedy. “I’m Graham, by the way.”

  They shook.

  “Graham is my paralegal. He’s the best there is, so treat him like you would any other professional.” I didn’t tolerate anyone being disrespectful to my staff.

  “I always do. My pleasure, Graham.” Kennedy demonstrated some manners for once.

  “Cool. I’m Carey.”

  “Our hacker extraordinaire?” Graham smiled, his calmness smoothing out the earlier tension in the room. “I can’t wait to see what you find.”

  “Best way to catch a hacker? Hire one yourself.” Carey grinned and packed his laptop. “We rolling?”

  “Yes. We can take my car unless you prefer to drive separate?”

  “I can drive us.” Kennedy walked around the table and opened the door Graham had just walked through.

  “No, that’s okay. I’m perfectly capable of driving all of us.” I didn’t want to ride in whatever beat-down jalopy he called his.

  “Sure, but I know these streets better than anyone.”

  I stiffened, biting back the impulse to take him down a peg or fifty.

  Carey and Graham exchanged a look.

  “Not better than I do.” I pulled my key from my bag and walked past him. “I’m driving. Let’s go.”

  He may have won on the fee agreement, but I’d be damned if I’d let him take control of anything else.