The frost-colored fabric across his broad chest glows with a single flash of light but then he disappears just as quickly, passing through our intersecting hallway and around the corner into another.
I watch him leave, resisting the urge to let my eyes drift below the black belt at his tapered waist.
Slice of beef?
Try “pig-headed with a side of prick.”
The irony doesn’t escape me that the most gorgeous man in the office shouldn’t be this close to my office, but what does escape me is how nobody seems to notice that he’s also the biggest asshole to walk this firm’s long hallways.
Was I the only woman in the world whose brain cells weren’t fried by Heath Sparrow the minute he passed?
I roll my eyes at the empty corner where Heath has just turned, and I find Emily—all breasts and long hair—practically licking her chops in the same direction.
Guess I just answered my own question.
“That man is fine in ways I didn’t even know existed,” Emily declares, staring absently after him. “I’d have him for breakfast and dinner, if he’d let me. Hell, maybe even lunch, despite the fact that I’m on this obscene diet.”
I turn back to my wristwatch, counting the few minutes left on my break. Heath’s the last thing I want to talk about during my precious half-hour, especially since he was escorted out of the offices shortly thereafter, but Emily seems determined—like all of the women and even some of the men I’ve met—to use all of her available time to think and talk about Heath Sparrow.
Her gushing is pushing dangerously at my gag reflex.
“Have him for lunch, Em. Just please don’t make me lose mine.”
“Oh, come on,” the tall brunette scoffs, flicking a wave of hair off her shoulder. “He’s fucking hot, and you know it.”
My thoughts skim over the recent memory of the dark-haired Adonis in his white button-down and black slacks. I let my mind run a brief playback of the heart-stopping image.
But then I discard it before my brain cells find their way between my legs as well.
“He’s…attractive,” I manage with a semi-flippant shrug. “I’m not saying that he’s not. It’s just that…”
“That what?” Emily demands. “That he’s not David?”
The mention of David’s name causes a quick flutter in my stomach, and just like that, I am instantly over this conversation.
“Em, I love you,” I say, kissing the beautiful brunette’s cheek. “But I need a break.”
“You just took one,” Em gapes. “For a whole two weeks in another state. Wasn’t that enough?”
I shake my head, emotion clogging my throat at the thought of what I’ve just returned from. I cough. “Not when you’re dealing with what I had to.” I avoid her gaze. “Family shit. You know how that is.”
“Sure.” Emily nods, clearly not understanding. She shrugs. “That’s fine.” Her voice lowers. “Be sure to tell Mr. Hot-Cock that just came in that Emily says ‘Hello.’”
I scoff. “You’ll be able to tell him yourself soon enough.”
I turn away from the secretary, leaving the receptionist area without a second glance. I blow a breath out as soon as I hit the break room.
Time seems to have stopped with Heath in the office. I’m feeling trapped. Out of breath. And the more I look at my surroundings, the more caged I feel inside the firm’s brick walls. Like, everybody is looking at me.
Like everyone can tell what I’ve done. With Mr. Hot-Cock, no less.
My pulse starts to pick up, paranoia working its way under my skin. The paranoia solidifies into poison when I hear a loud ping. It’s only after a few seconds that I realize the ping is coming from me.
I slip my hand into my dangling purse, fishing out my phone.
A news notification is waiting for me with the headline:
Financier accused of fraud Dumps Entire Legal Team. What will Chris Jackson do next?
I head into my office, wondering what this might mean for the infamous businessman—AKA Brett’s dad’s—case when Emily practically bounces into my office behind me, her hands wringing as she follows.
“He’s done for. Chris Jackson’s case for innocence is going to go up in flames.”
I sit down, starting to write notes for my client. “Uh huh. And that means something because…?”
“We can seal his fate. Hit that bastard where it hurts.”
“Hit him? You mean, our firm?” I look up at my colleague, and she nods.
She blinks—disbelieving. “Didn’t you have a client that came in, wanting to sue Chris Jackson for embezzlement?”
I return her gesture with a nod. “Yup. And King & Sparrow suggested I turn him away.”
“Even though it was more money than has ever been sought for a private civil case in history?”
“It was.” I lean back in my leather chair.
“And we’d turn down money because…?”
“Apparently, we want no part of this God-awful press.”
Emily leans against the edge of my desk, crossing her arms under her chest, and I take a deep breath, my temples starting to beat from all the tension this case has already put on my shoulders. I inhale slowly.
“You mean one of the most famous law firms in the world is going to turn its back on a record-breaking case because, I don’t know, some reporters and press are sticking their nose in it?”
“No,” I answer, shutting the ledger on top of my desk. I gaze at the bubbly brunette. “I’m saying they’re going to turn their back on a freakin’ press sideshow with more half-baked theories and stories than the law should allow.” I place my eyes back on my desk.
“You mean our firm isn’t going to nail his dick to the wall?” Emily leans closer. “Even after all the evidence you gathered against Chris. All your research and findings.”
I sigh, still writing. “It was probably for the best. For God’s sake, I know the defendant’s son.”
“Even more reason why you’d want to put a pin in this guy’s penis and tack it to some dry-wall.” The eager secretary grins.
“Yeah, well, it’s not enough for the firm. They won’t even let me close to the case. In case you hadn’t noticed, Em?” I glance up, meeting her hazel-amber eyes. I return to writing. “These days? I’m nothing but a glorified paper-pusher at this company.” I scoff. “And I’m probably not helping with my eagerness to take on coffee duty.”
The feisty brunette grabs my pen. “Then you must not be seeing what I see.”
I sigh.
I don’t have to see. I know enough. Enough to know that I might never see Senior Partner status.
Enough to know…that my ex-husband might have been right. About me.
And to see the civil and criminal case of a cruel man like Chris Jackson tossed so casually to the side was like a knife in the heart, a reaffirmation that moneyed scumbags like Brett’s dad were glorified instead of persecuted.
No matter how many people—offspring, included—they set to hurt.
I can’t bear the thought of a camera crew here, hovering around these offices…until I look at the list of my afternoon appointments—a list that Emily so thoughtfully circles in red just below the note about the Box Office TV documentary. I glance up at her, squinting.