Chapter Eight
Brie sank into her chair, exhaustion dripping from every limb—not that she’d let it show. Not at work. A glance at the clock indicated it was closing in on six. The desks around hers had started to empty, but over half of them were still filled with diligent employees, much like herself.
There was no rest for those determined to climb the ladder. Every dedicated hour was put in with the hopes that their work would be recognized and rewarded. A word of praise, a bonus, a raise, a shot at partner for those who could earn it—all and any of those things were markers of success.
Ones defined by society and ingrained in each of them before they’d taken their first job.
Understanding and seeing the artificial designations didn’t stop her from striving to achieve every one of them—except partner. She wasn’t an attorney, much to her mother’s disappointment.
She snatched up her office phone after one ring, voice set on competent before she spoke. “Brighton Wakeford speaking.”
“Brighton. This is Carla.” Her mind did a quick shuffle to place the woman. “Mr. Burns would like to meet with you regarding the case briefing you compiled about the...” The pause was brief, but dragged on Brie’s tired nerves. “... Palmaro case.”
Brie swallowed hard before she responded brightly. “Of course. When would he like to meet?”
“Now?”
Was that a question? She almost laughed aloud at that. “No problem. I’ll be right there.” Mr. Cummings would’ve strangled his assistant if she’d posed the request as a question.
She disconnected the call and paused for one brief moment to rub at the ache growing in her temple.
Two weeks later and she was still cycling through the emotional remains of her night of passion. Sleepless nights, coupled with long days put in with the hopes of inducing dreamless slumber only added to her annoying sense of disconnect.
It was beyond time she got over herself and moved on. The night hadn’t been that amazing or life-changing. Not really.
If only she could stop thinking about it...
She brushed the wrinkles from her blouse, straightened her skirt when she stood. She didn’t have time to lament about her own faults and unsettled thoughts. Not when Mr. Burns was waiting for her.
She grabbed her copy of the briefing, tucked her notepad beneath, popped a mint into her mouth and headed to his office.
Ryan Burns was the dark shark of the firm. Precise, dedicated and over two decades younger than the other partners. He had a trail of admirers that spanned both sexes. Brie had no problem admitting she was one of them.
He was drop-dead gorgeous in that well-mannered, collected way her mother would flutter over. That alone should’ve repelled her, but it didn’t. The icy chill that surrounded him added an air of...not bad boy, but assassin or spy—007 style—that placed him miles from the country club airs.
And this was the first time he’d ever called her to his office.
She primarily worked for Mr. Cummings. The other paralegals shifted between the attorneys based on need, but she’d been tucked under Mr. Cummings’s authority within weeks of her employment. He was good to work for and treated her with respect even as he passed more and more of his duties to her. She took each new task as a compliment to her skills and then added ten hours to her work week.
Her stomach did a small flip when she reached Mr. Burns’s outer office. Her chest tightened with a flash of nerves she didn’t want.
He was just a man. One of her bosses. There’d been zero reports of him actually biting anyone’s head off, although his quiet reprimands were said to be far more painful.
“He’s waiting for you,” Carla said when she looked up. “I have to leave, but he usually works pretty late.”
Brie smiled at the inane statement. The entire office knew that Mr. Burns was the first to arrive and the last to leave every single day. There’d been young blowhards determined to outdo him, only to fail in less than a month.
“Thank you,” she said. “Have a good night.”
“You too.” The sincerity in Carla’s voice stole a bit of Brie’s annoyance, which was mostly focused on herself anyway.
Carla draped her coat over her arm and picked up her purse as she stepped around her desk. Lodged somewhere in her sixties, if her gray hair and wrinkles were any indication, Carla had the intentions of a saint and the absentmindedness of a scattered artist. The juxtaposition baffled Brie, who made it her job to never forget a detail.
One mistake on a briefing could cost the company thousands in legal fees.
Brie hesitated, unsure if she should speak up, but company policy raged in her head when the other woman started to walk away.
“Ah, Carla,” she called, mystified and amused at once. “Shouldn’t you shut down your computer before you leave?”
“Oh. Yes.” Carla spun around, her expression focused as she returned to her desk. “Thank you. I must’ve forgotten when you walked up.”
Brie frowned. Had the dig been intentional or another distracted mistake? Whichever it was, she didn’t have time to stress over it.
Mr. Burns was waiting.
She stepped up to the doorway, heart fluttering with nervous energy. Her soft knock rippled through the room to drag his attention from his computer. The dark-framed glasses he wore shifted his appearance from sleuth to professor. A very handsome professor.
“Mr. Burns?” She stepped through the doorway, chin lifted. “You asked to see me?”
“Yes.” He removed his glasses as he shifted his chair around. “Please. Come in.”
Her feet stalled for some foreign reason as her brain hitched over the subtle drop in his tone. A sexy baritone note that pinged at a night she couldn’t seem to forget.
No. Way.
A hard mental shake had her moving forward despite the churning in her stomach. “You have questions regarding the Palmaro briefing?” Her courteous tone was ingrained in her to the point that she didn’t have to think about using it, thankfully, because her insides had suddenly turned to goo.
“Yes.” He motioned to the visitor’s chair. “Please. Have a seat.”
Thank God. She didn’t know how much longer her legs would’ve kept her upright. This was sheer lunacy. She’d heard his voice hundreds of times before and not once had it ever done this to her.
Flashes of that night blazed into her mind without warning or desire. She could almost feel the hard surface of the table beneath her knees as she lifted herself over him, her head tossed back, his hands digging into her hips as he met each descent with a hard thrust of his own.
“Ms. Wakeford.”
The reprimand in his voice had her head shooting up, spine stiff against the accusation. “I’m sorry,” she quickly said. “You were saying?” That was the second time that day she’d been caught daydreaming about sex.
And that didn’t account for the times she hadn’t been caught.
The edge of his mouth quirked up in what could almost be classified as a smirk. Did he smirk? She’d never witnessed it before. It was devastating, whatever it was.
The hair on her arms lifted in a dance of awareness she didn’t fully comprehend. Her stomach performed a dip and dive that flooded her pussy with desire. Hot, naughty want sizzled to life where it had no business sparking.
No. Just no.
He cleared his throat, the rumble completely innocuous. Yet her nipples tightened to sharp buds that said it was anything but. How?
He snagged a folder from his desk and opened it with a brisk efficiency that should’ve triggered her to do the same, but her eyes remained fixed on his movements. Long fingers graced otherwise normal hands and flipped through the papers with precision. Would his touch be gentle or firm?
Her gaze tracked to his wrists, first one, then the other, in a hunt that held no logic. His shirt cuffs were cinched tight where they peeked out from beneath his black suit jacket. Disappointment whipped in to jerk her back to the moment.
This moment. Not one two weeks ago.
She dropped her head and opened the briefing, pulse pounding in her ears. Her throat ached for liquid she didn’t have.
“Can you clarify the information on page two, item six B one, please?”
Could she? “Certainly.” She had this.
She flipped through the pages and proceeded to answer his question, along with the rest that he fired off as he dug through the document. His concentration forced her own and brought the roaring lust down to a dull simmer.
But it shouldn’t be there at all.
She flicked her gaze up, caught him staring at her. The deep brown of his eyes hypnotized her with their quiet assessment. Her chest contracted around the want raging unchecked.
This was so wrong—on every front.
“Is something wrong, Ms. Wakeford?”
She snapped back, gaze dropping. “No, sir.” Her heart attempted to pound its way out of her chest. Could he see that? Did it show through her shirt? It felt like it should. “Could you clarify your confusion on that last paragraph?” she asked, voice remarkably steady. She owed that to years of dealing with her mother’s expectations.
Emotions aren’t for display.
A long pause forced her to look up, her smile that simple pleasant one she’d worn through most of her life. Be nice. Be good. Don’t rock the boat or lower yourself to someone else’s standards.
She could handle this and any situation thrown at her—as long as her libido didn’t suffer a catastrophic meltdown.
And that was something she’d have to tackle. Soon.
“Is there anything else?” she asked when they reached the last page of the document. Her blouse clung to the sweat that’d accumulated on her back for no obvious reason. The air-conditioning kept the office in an over-chilled state that would’ve been a blessing now, only it didn’t seem to be on.
He flipped the folder closed, clasping his hands on top. Was that a watch poking out beneath his shirt? One with a dark leather band?
“That’s all for now,” he said, jolting her from her illogical thoughts. “But I may have more later.”
“Not a problem,” she answered, standing. “Let me know if I can assist you further.” Did that sound suggestive?
“I will. Thank you.”
She made her exit as smoothly and quickly as possible. Her breath flew from her lungs the second she was down the hall, around the corner and so far from his office there was no chance he’d see her.
Her pulse still raced, and heat radiated from her skin. There was no way she could continue like this. Her mind scattered, her thoughts consumed by lust, desire flaring at totally inappropriate times.
But how did she shake it? Did she really want to?
She dropped the files on her desk and plopped into her chair. The office had emptied out, leaving her free to show every damn emotion blazing within her. She rubbed her hands over her face and tried to collect herself. But how?
She grabbed her phone and dialed up the friend who’d gotten her into this mess.
Lori answered on a cheery “Hey, Brie! What’s up?”
“We need to talk.” There was no preamble or humor in her voice. She could only think of one solution to her problem, and now that she’d locked on to it, her mind was set.
“Okaaay.” The drawn-out word communicated Lori’s caution. “About what?”
She waited a beat, pulse skipping before it sped off again. She’d been denying it to herself since she’d left that room weeks ago, but the truth rang true and clear once she’d set it free.
“I want to go back.”
No. She had to go back.