Chapter One

 

Anya

“Would you like to explain where my copy of the monthly status report is, Miss Sims?

I stiffened as Devlin Fitzpatrick, better known as the overbearing asshole who signed my paychecks, stopped next to my desk. I ached to tell him to go pound sand but fortunately found the will to hold the impulse in check. Again.

I’d made sure to be in the copy room when he arrived to avoid seeing him but clearly, my luck had just run out. Damn. For the last six weeks, I’d been averaging forty-two minutes of Devlin free time each morning before there was a face-to-face. Leave it to him to ruin the streak.

“Good morning, Mr. Fitzpatrick. I sent out the usual email to all of the other attorneys and put the hard copy on your desk,” I said in my most cheerful voice.

“Do you honestly think if I had the report I’d be wasting my time out here asking you where it is?”

His caustic attitude made it nearly impossible not to mouth off. “I couldn’t say if you’d be out here or not,” I answered, “since I’m positive that the report is right on your desk. Perhaps you missed it?”

I heard Devlin’s teeth grind together as his umber-colored eyes narrowed. “I assure you I didn’t miss it. Since you’re positive you placed it there,” he said in a biting tone, “come show me where it is.”

I exhaled a sigh of defeat as I pushed back from my desk, got up, and walked past Devlin to get to his office. Damn the stupid, gorgeous jerk for smelling so bloody appealing. Six foot three with jet-black hair, perfectly kissable lips, a chiseled jawline probably carved out by God himself and a body that didn’t quit; the man was H. O. T. hot. Too bad his attitude was cold.

Striding confidently toward his large mahogany desk, I frowned when I realized the report wasn’t sitting smack dab in the center. I knew, with absolute certainty, that I’d placed it there three minutes before he arrived.

“I’m positive I put it on your desk,” I muttered, mostly to myself.

“So I guess a thief came and stole the report? Or perhaps a paper fairy collected it for recycling?”

I bit down on the inside of my cheek as I clenched and unclenched my fists. I should quit this stupid job, I thought. The daily hit to my blood pressure wasn’t worth the money. The only reason I stayed was that I owed my mom’s best friend, my Aunt Betsy, for getting me the job. Stomping out in a huff would mean I’d let her down, and that wasn’t going to happen.

“I didn’t suggest either of those things,” I said through gritted teeth.

“Do I really need to remind you again that your attitude is abysmal?”

I closed my eyes and visualized him being hit by a trash truck. Opening my eyes, I walked around the back of his desk. The wood top gleamed from the light coming in through the floor to ceiling windows. As I’d noted on my way over, the report was not there. Looking to the left, I saw that his trashcan was empty. A glance to the right didn’t produce the report, either. When I glanced down at his chair, however, I saw a hint of white against the black leather. Pulling the chair out I picked up the report and held it up with a grin.

“I told you it was here,” I said triumphantly.

Devlin folded his arms across his chest and glared at me imperiously. “No, you told me it was on my desk. Unless that chair is suddenly being called a desk, you were wrong.”

Demise by trash truck wasn’t enough for him. I changed up my visualization to a pack of wild dogs in an ice storm on an uninhabited planet.

“My apologies,” I said in a saccharine sweet voice. My eyes, however, told him to go fuck himself. His narrowed, his nostrils flaring as he stared at me for countless seconds in silence as if he was planning where to hide my body. I briefly considered being helpful and telling him one or two of the dozen places I had in mind for his, should it come down to it. Instead, I held my tongue and waited for him to do something.

Mumbling a curse, he stalked around the desk, pulled out his chair, and sat down with a huff. “Get out,” he growled.

I bit back a grin, knowing I’d ruffled his feathers. The jerk treated me like I had a raging case of something he wanted no part of. I wasn’t sure what I detested more—the fact that he was such a prick or the fact that he was the star of my nightly fantasies. Determined to leave with the upper hand, I beamed a fake smile at him.

“Be sure to let me know if you need anything, Mr. Fitzpatrick. I live to serve.”

He grimaced before he dropped his forehead into his hand. “I said get out,” he snapped.

“Okey dokey,” I said cheerfully. Heading for the door, I made sure to exaggerate the sway of the hips God gave me. Devlin hated my high heels (something about the way they made me walk), hated when I wore skirts instead of pants, and had even complained about my perfume and the color lipstick I used. I knew this because he’d criticized all of the above, multiple times. My response was to go one whole inch higher with my heels, one shade deeper with my lipstick and I no longer wore anything but skirts to work. I’d also very kindly told him that his opinions were pointless since I adhered to the company dress code to the letter. No matter how badly he wanted to, he couldn’t write me up for my appearance. He was a lawyer, after all. He knew if he opened that can of worms there would be trouble.

When I got to the door, I stopped and turned, not surprised to find him watching me. “When you boot up your computer you’ll see I scheduled a block for us at the end of the day to go over the agenda for next week.”

He clenched his jaw and pointed to the door. “One more word, Sims, and I’ll fire you.”

I snickered as I turned and pulled the door open. “I’d like to see you try,” I said—just loud enough for him to hear.