I don’t wait for her to answer before continuing on my path. She’s right on my heels, though, and I hear the door click shut before I even reach my desk. We both take our respective seats, and I take a minute to study her. She looks striking in a black sleeveless top, white pants made of a flowy material, and strappy black heels. Her hair is pulled away from her face with silver barrettes that match the bangle bracelets on her left wrist. Addison is always the picture of perfection, whether at the office or at the night club.
Shit, my brain does not need to bring up memories of a dark purple dress and fuck-me boots. I clear my throat and try to regather my thoughts while she stares at me expectantly, poised at the ready, with pen hovering over the legal pad resting on her crossed legs. Leaning forward, I fold my hands on my desk and notice the blue file folder—Addison prefers them to the “hideously boring” manila variety—placed neatly in the center.
“What’s this?” I ask as I open it.
“Oh, that’s the case research for the Anderson case you requested.”
I arch a brow at her. “Addison, I told you on our way out last night that you could work on it today.”
“I know, but there’s a good chance you’ll need me to follow up with things for the Meyer trial after we get back from court, so I figured it was best I take care of that right away.”
“You figured wrong.”
She frowns, a crease marring her smooth forehead. “Excuse me?”
I almost growl in frustration at her polite professionalism. It’s better that she has it, but sometimes I wish she’d drop the veil and reveal the wildcat I know her to be. Every so often I can see her holding back the sarcastic remark or biting comment that comes natural to her, and instead she offers me a diluted version that a church girl would use. Drives me fucking crazy, and not in the good way.
I’ve never met a woman I wanted to either fuck or strangle so much in my entire life.
Working with Addison has been an exercise in torture and has stretched my willpower so thin I’m afraid it’ll snap. Weekends are my time to get my shit together and shore up my defenses before enduring another five days of wanting to pin her against the ten-foot windows of my office and fuck her in full view of the entire city.
“This is why I called you in here.” Closing the file, I jab a finger at it. “This is the kind of thing I don’t want you doing.”
“You don’t want me doing my job? I don’t understand. I’m working really hard—”
“Exactly,” I interrupt. “But you’re working too hard. You’re here late, in early, and if I were a betting man, I’d say you’re also working at home.” She blushes and drops her gaze to the legal pad in her lap. “That’s what I thought.”
I stand, round my desk, and lean back against it in front of her. Crossing my arms, I give her my stern “I’m your boss so listen up” look. “I need you to work less hard.” Christ, I really need to stop using that word before I end up demonstrating it. “If you keep going like you are, you’re going to burn out, and then you’ll be no damn good to me.”
“I have a hard time believing I’m doing anything you haven’t done. It’s not like you’re packing your stuff up at five o’clock every night, and you can’t tell me you don’t check your email from home.”
“Yes, I work late most nights, but when I go home at seven or eight, I don’t start working again from my couch. Do I check emails? Of course. I want to make sure I’m not missing anything urgent. But again, I’m not taking my caseloads home with me if I can help it, and on the weekends, I make sure I get plenty of downtime. Whether that’s going out with friends, hitting the gym, or indulging in Netflix marathons, it doesn’t matter, as long as it’s not work. So from now on, I need you to have a better balance between your work and personal life. Understand?”
I watch her struggle not to argue. Addison is probably the most ambitious young attorney I’ve ever known. She’s driven like the hounds of hell are nipping at her heels, and I’m not exaggerating when I say she’ll burn herself out. It might take six months, a year, or even longer, but if she keeps this up, it’s inevitable. And I can’t let that happen. It won’t be good for the firm. It sure as shit won’t be good for her. As her superior—and friend—it’s my job to protect her from herself.
Her eyes spark with blue fire, a clear sign she’d like to tell me I can go fuck myself, but she refrains from voicing that suggestion. Instead, she gives me a stiff nod and says, “Yes, sir.”
Fucking hell and damnation. The reluctant delivery doesn’t matter, my dick literally jumps to hear such sublime capitulation slide from the wildcat’s lips. I only wish it were in answer to any number of commands I’ve imagined giving her, each more carnal than the last.
I want to whisper that she’s a good girl, knowing she’ll love it as much as she resents it. I want to praise her, reward her. With my tongue, my hands, and eventually, my cock. But those things are never going to happen. The sooner my cock gets that through his thick head, the better. “Good,” I say, sounding like I swallowed gravel. “I have some last minute prep to do before we head to the courthouse. I’ll let you know if I need you for anything.”
Addison stands and walks in the direction of the door. My gaze instantly locks onto her ass. The material of her pants is thin and molds to her globes perfectly before the wide legs drop in straight lines to swish around her ankles. No panty lines. Not even the hint of a whale tail at the top that would give away the presence of a thong. The woman is walking around commando. Getting her aroused would make an obvious wet spot in the juncture of her thighs, letting other men know her pussy already belongs to another. Me.
“Jesus, Reeves, stare any harder and you might actually melt the woman’s pants off.”
My office door closing—with my partner on this side of it—cuts off my line of sight and yanks me back from the rabbit hole my depraved mind was falling into. Cursing under my breath, I round my desk once again and drop into my chair as I scrub my hands over my face.
Coop sits in one of the guest chairs and crosses an ankle over the opposite knee, relaxed and more than a little amused. “It’s a good thing she’s not my type or you might be tempted to actually piss on her.”
“I have no intentions of marking Addison as mine, literally or metaphorically.”
“Could have fooled me. What’s the real story with you two, anyway? And don’t give me that ‘we have mutual friends’ bullshit. There’s more to it than that.”
Blowing out a breath, I pick up my pen and start clicking the top to give my agitation an outlet. Outside of the office, I’d use a hard run or a few rounds with a heavy bag at the gym. But here, my civilized options are few. “She’s Jane’s best friend.” Coop raises an interested eyebrow. He’s not part of the P4H crew, but he’s on the periphery of our circle of friends and has met Jane. “We met a couple of months ago when Chance and Jane wanted to bring everyone together. It was at that club, Fever, and we hooked up. The next time I had any contact with her was when I walked into the conference room to meet the new hires.”
“I thought you have a rule about that sort of thing.”
“I did. Fuck. I mean, I do,” I say, frustration riding me. “The woman is infuriating. She got under my skin and fucking pushed my buttons.”
“Wait, are you saying you…lost control?” He gives me an incredulous look, one I answer with a glare of annoyance.
“Believe me, I had plenty of control where it counted.”
Coop holds his hands up in mock surrender. “Sure, sure, whatever you say, big man. No need to go all Ruthless on me.” I flip him off then rub between my eyebrows with the same middle finger to ease the tension building there. “So, what are things like between you now?”
“It’s fine. Addison is completely professional. It’s like it never happened.”
“Bullshit,” he counters. “Sometimes I swear the temperature shoots up when you two are in the same room together.”
Yeah, along with my blood pr
essure and my dick. “Just because having our very own office soap opera would make you happier than a neighborhood busybody doesn’t mean it’s actually happening. You’re reading into things.”
Coop stands with a smirk as he smooths his tie down with one hand. “Okay, buddy, if that’s how you want to play it.” He crosses to the door, grabs the handle, and pauses to look back. “I’m not going to counsel you one way or the other, man, but you know the risks if you get involved and things go south. CYA, brother.”
Cover Your Ass. “Always.”
He closes the door behind him, and I exhale heavily as I drop my head back on my chair. It doesn’t matter how much I want her. Addison Paige is off-limits, and doubly so. She was off-limits in the beginning because of a personal preference, simply for being Jane’s best friend. Now it’s so much more than that. Not only does she work with me, but for me. Fucking her now would be morally and ethically wrong, not to mention reckless. Because as John pointed out, if things go south—and the possible ways that might happen are varied and numerous—it could complicate things for our young firm, and I can’t let that happen.
All I have to do is get my dick on board with the plan. But that’s a hell of a lot easier said than done.
Chapter Nine
Roman
“I don’t want this to go to your head or anything,” Addison says as she busies herself with placing the cloth napkin in her lap, “but you were kind of brilliant today.”
My hand pauses halfway to my lips, my need to down the entire glass of ice water after a long session in court all but forgotten as I stare across the small table at her, arching a dubious brow.
While in the office or the courthouse, Addison is all business. She does a remarkable job of acting like we’re nothing more than coworkers and keeps everything on a professional level, which is exactly how it needs to be. It’s her eyes that give her away, though. Occasionally I catch her staring at various parts of my anatomy—lips, hands, and even my crotch—like she’s remembering all the wicked things they did to her. It’s those fleeting moments that spare my ego and my sanity, assuring me that I’m not the only one suffering from too-vivid memories of our scorching time together.
But over the last week, I’ve also realized that even if it’s still technically the work day, as long as we’re outside of the office—like out to lunch as we are now—she lets a little more of that wildcat shine through. She definitely still pulls her punches, but she’s more candid and open, more likely to tease me or make jokes, usually at my expense. I don’t mind, though, because she takes it when I give it right back.
She’s good at taking what I give her. Every last inch.
Fuck. That line of thinking is going to give my napkin another reason to be in my lap other than for etiquette purposes. Reining in my wayward thoughts, I finally take a drink of water and address her rare compliment. “Are you running a fever? I could ask the waiter for some Tylenol.”
“Whatever,” she says, rolling her eyes. “It’s not like I’ve never said anything about your courtroom prowess before. Though, I may have gotten a little carried away in using the word ‘brilliant.’ I’m still on an adrenaline high after hearing the judge rule in our favor.”
I smile. “Adrenaline-fueled word choice aside, I appreciate the compliment. Especially coming from one so difficult to impress.”
She lowers her menu and leans back in her chair, scrutinizing me for a few seconds. “What makes you say that?”
Interesting. Sounds like my offhand remark isn’t so offhand after all. I wonder if I can draw her out. Get her to reveal a piece of the real woman behind all her bravado. I make a show of perusing my own menu, feigning disinterest, and give a slight shrug. “Just a hunch.”
“Hunch, my ass, Reeves.” She leans in with her arms folded in front of her on the table, so I let her draw my gaze. Pinning me with a curious look, she says, “You don’t deal in hunches. You deal in facts. So tell me, why do you think I’m difficult to impress?”
I set my menu down and mimic her, leaning in as though I’m about to reveal a secret. Our faces are less than a foot apart, but it feels too damn far because what I really want is her sweet mouth on mine. All it would take is a firm hand on the back of her neck to pull her the rest of the way in to receive my demanding kiss. But instead, I keep my hands to myself and my voice low.
“For the same reason I am. We’re perfectionists, you and I. We strive to be the best at everything we do, and we hold ourselves to higher standards than society sets for us. Therefore, it’s not easy to impress us. If something does, it’s because it damn well deserves it.”
Speaking so softly it’s almost to herself, she says, “Perfection isn’t something you’re born with, it’s something you achieve.” When I don’t say anything at first, she sits up straight, and a wan smile crosses her face. “My mother’s favorite daily affirmation for me.”
Well, damn. She’s revealed that piece I was looking for, but it’s not exactly what I’d been expecting. Narrowing my eyes slightly to study her, I try to figure out if she truly believes that shit her mom spewed. “Constantly trying to achieve perfection is a good way to be really fucking unhappy in life.”
Her brow furrows, but before she can respond, our waiter arrives to take our orders. While we give him our selections, I can tell Addison is still mulling over our conversation. As soon as we’re alone again, she picks up right where we left off. “So then, are you saying you’re unhappy?”
“Not at all. There’s no such thing as perfection, so I don’t expect to achieve it. But that doesn’t mean I won’t strive to get as close to it as I can.” I finish my water and immediately regret not asking for a pitcher to be brought to the table.
“Here,” she says and offers me her half-full glass.
“Thanks,” I say, not thinking twice about taking a long drink. Next we’ll be picking from each other’s plates like an actual couple. Giving my head a mental shake, I set the glass down between us and continue. “One of my favorite quotes is by Vince Lombardi. In his first team meeting as the Green Bay Packers’ head coach he said, ‘Perfection is not attainable, but if we chase perfection we can catch excellence.’ That’s what your mother should have been telling you.”
“Yeah, well, my mother isn’t as enlightened as Mr. Lombardi. She’s a former beauty queen and pageant mom whose daughter veered from the dream of becoming Miss America in favor of being”—she uses air quotes—“a smarty-pants spin doctor.”
I hiss in a breath and wince dramatically. “Ouch. She doesn’t hold a very high opinion of lawyers, does she?”
She gives me a crooked grin with a saucy hitch of a single brow. “Does anyone?”
“Touché,” I say with a chuckle. “Well, if it’s any consolation, I think making your life’s ambition to become a brilliant attorney like myself is admirable.”
Addison huffs and rolls her eyes in mock disgust. “I knew I shouldn’t have said anything. You need to let that go already. Arrogance doesn’t suit you.”
There’s a fine line between the confident arrogance I exude and the sort that cocky fuck-boys give off. Theirs is nothing but posturing. Mine is deserved, earned. I know damn well that it does suit me. And so does Addison.
I pin her with a heated gaze and call her out with a single, gruff word. “Liar.”
Her glossy pink lips part slightly, and I’m instantly assaulted with the image of what they’d look like wrapped around my cock. A fantasy I’ve had no less than a thousand times since meeting her.
Thankfully our meals arrive, and we fall back into idle conversation about safe things like work, food, and oddly enough, the status of couples around us. Addison likes to play a game where she looks at people and tries to guess their story. Sometimes she tries for accuracy, and sometimes she makes up the most outlandish scenarios.
After lunch, we walk down Michigan Avenue on our way back to the office. I notice a guy with slicked-back hair wearing a leather jacket, knock-off Rolex, and ta
n slacks. He’s dining alfresco, eating what looks like a meatball sub, and talking on his phone rather animatedly. I nod in his direction. “So, what’s his deal?”
She takes him in as we pass. He gets distracted by her legs, and sauce drips from his sandwich onto his pants. He swears and wipes furiously with his napkin as we continue on. “That’s Marty ‘Marinara’ Maldonado. He’s a lackey for the mob and got his nickname when he tried to pass off the marinara stain on his pants as blood from a guy he supposedly ‘took care of.’”
I laugh out loud at that one. I love how fast her mind weaves such crazy explanations. Quick thinking is a good trait to have as a lawyer. You never know what the opposition is going to throw at you. “Okay, what about them?” I ask as we walk toward a man and woman standing under a tree. He’s got his head bent, saying something in her ear that causes her to smile shyly as she watches his hand twine with hers.
“Ah,” she says wistfully. “They’ve been friends for years, and last night he finally found the courage to tell her that he’s in love with her. They shared a night of passionate lovemaking, and today is their first outing in public as an official couple.”
“How very romantic, Ms. Paige. I didn’t know you had it in you,” I say as we walk on.
“I might be a honey badger, Mr. Reeves, but I’m still a girl at heart.”
“Honey badger?” I quirk a brow at her. “Like from that YouTube video?”
“You got it,” she says with a smile. “It’s my spirit animal. Vicious and it just don’t—”
“Give a shit,” I finish, chuckling.
It’s amusing that we both liken her to a wild animal, and it reveals how each of us views her. She sees herself as a badass creature without concern for anything other than its own preservation. I see her as a powerful, gracefully beautiful creature. One that starts off swiping and hissing, but can be coaxed into purring in my lap with just the right touch.
“How about you?” she asks, sparing me from falling too deep into yet another fantasy.
Ruthless (Playboys in Love) Page 5
