Chris
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“What do you want to know?” I’m trying hard not to laugh—she’ll probably deck me if I do. I raise my eyebrows in question instead as I bite my lip from inside. “You said this lunch was about getting to know me better as your lawyer. What do you want to know? I got my bachelors at Penn State, my law degree from Harvard. I started at this firm as soon as I graduated. I’ve been here ever since. What else is there to know?”
Yeah, I’m an asshole. I’m enjoying watching Amelia Bishop fight against her attraction to me. I’m sure it’s a part of her appeal. For years, I haven’t had to so much as ask twice if a woman was down to fuck.
I’ve had women undo my jeans in the club and try to climb on my cock. Amelia fighting her attraction has nothing to do with me being her client. No, there’s something else to the lady doth protesting too much. I’ll find out why, then find out just how hot the fire in her burns. “I know all that. Tell me something I can’t find online.”
Rolling her eyes, she tilts her head. “My favorite food is sushi, I like to read, I like coffee but not that pumpkin spice latte crap. I like sunsets, long walks on the beach, my favorite color is clear, and mean people suck.”
I couldn’t contain my laughter if I wanted to, I can’t believe she’s quoting mock centerfold answers to a questionnaire. I’m glad I didn’t as I watch her go still as she stares at me. I swear if she weren’t so damn responsive and as hungry for me as I am for her, I’d walk away. Fuck, I’m such a liar. “You really can’t be such a brat, then stare at me as if you want to know what I taste like.” She blushes—bingo. “Sugar, I’m thinking the same thing as you. It’s like I said, though, this is just lunch. I want to know more about the woman who will be handling my very expensive business for the next few weeks.”
She runs a hand through her long hair; obviously she flat irons it every day. I wonder what it will look like wild and free. “I’m unclear how knowing what I binge watch on Netflix, or the books I like to read, is relevant in me being the right person to handle your case. If you trust in Ethan, if Ethan trusts me to handle your needs, that should be enough.”
“I trust Ethan, I’ve never doubted his skill. I do have a right to make sure there isn’t any nepotism at play.” I bite my lip, hard, to keep from laughing at the outrage on her beautiful face.
“I’ve worked my ass off for Ethan to treat me as an equal. If anything he was harder on me than on others in the firm. I come in early, I stay late, I read case files at lunch, after work, and on the weekends. I don’t have a life so I could be on his level, if you think I—” She stops when she realizes what she’s said. Her eyes fall, but not before I see them swim for a moment before she blinks.
“Ethan is what? Ten years older than you?” She nods, refusing to look up from her glass of sparkling water. “You two didn’t really grow up together, did you?”
“No, he was mainly in boarding school. When I was five he got kicked out. He was home for about a year and half before...things changed.” There’s a story there for sure. “One day he was there, then he was gone. I didn’t see or hear from him again until I was thirteen, when I went to boarding school. I was able to find him online.”
I want to yell at the waitress for interrupting when she comes to take our order. I’m right, Amelia goes back on the defensive the minute we’re alone again. “I don’t really care to discuss my personal life with a client, which is what you are. Even when Ethan gets back it won’t change my mind in regards to getting involved with you, Mr. Baldwin. You’re wasting your time flashing your dimples and trying to sweet-talk me.”
Ah, I smile. I knew she liked my dimples. “Favorite author.”
Her sigh is loud. “That’s like asking a mother her favorite child. I don’t know. It depends on the day, the mood, or if it’s sunny or overcast. Shakespeare, Jane Austen, Dickens, Twain, Virginia Woolf, Agatha Christie, Toni Morrison, Angelou, Rowling, Stephen King, Elmore Leonard, I don’t know. All of them are authors I like to read more than once.”
“You’re leaving a few out, aren’t you?”
She blushes. “It’s none of your damned business what I read. As long as it’s not how to build bombs and overthrow governments in your spare time, it’s completely irrelevant.”
“Let me guess...you have first editions of Jane Austen and Dickens you simply stare at and fondle from time to time, but leather-bound ones you reread so often they’re falling apart. You have two or three different espresso makers at home for the weekend, but you’ve found the perfect little coffee shop for during the week, and while you say you love sushi you get the same two or three rolls every time from the same place.”
Her eyes go big, then narrow. “So, what? Are you going to tell me my future now too?”
“I have a future for you, you sure you want to hear it?”
“No, thank you. I don’t need you ruining my appetite.”
Our plates arrive. She opens her mouth to no doubt take another swipe at me. I shake my head as I point to her plate with my fork. “Eat, you can go back to insulting me when you’re done. It’ll give you some time to think up better comebacks then you have so far.”
With a glare she cuts into her steak furiously. I’m sure she’s picturing me on the plate. Damn, she’s adorable when she’s pissed.
The waitress comes to check on us with one of those invitations in her smile as she asks if I want anything else. With a smile I decline. “If you want her, don’t let me being here cramp your style. Are you going to get her number, or do you just need five minutes in the restroom?”
I count to three, but it doesn’t work; it’s not until I get to ten before I trust myself not to roast her pretty soft skin with a verbal lashing. It helps that her jealousy is clear in those bright eyes of hers; she’s also picking up on my anger as she goes docile. “Five minutes? If that’s what you’re used to, no wonder you’re so damn cranky. I like to take my time—five minutes isn’t even a quickie in my book.”
Her tongue comes out to wet her lips, and I want it on my cock. Shaking her head. “Is this enough? I have to get back to work.”
Not nearly enough, but then again, we’re just getting started. “For now.” I toss some cash on the table.
Once we’re in the cab she’s doing her best to put distance between us. Pulling out her phone, her eyes barely raise from it. I let it go. I’ve gotten more than she thinks she’s let on.
At the last minute I decide against seeing her back up to her office. When the cab stops, the building is on her side. I don’t bother to look up from my cell phone as she gets out. As the cab gets back into traffic, though, I see her standing on the sidewalk, staring forlornly after the cab. Tension eases inside me. A little more time and patience and she’ll be mine.
***
Chris
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My cell phone buzzing as it dances across my hardwood floor pulls me out of sleep. I roll off the large chair in my office slowly. Blinking a few times to clear my vision, I swipe my phone off the floor to see it’s a little after eight o’clock. Six hours, nice, it almost makes up for only three hours this morning. The phone vibrates again. It’s Trent, a teammate, asking if I want to hit the clubs. He’s back in town after spending Christmas in Florida. I decline. He responds back to let him know when I am up for hitting the clubs. I’m not about to tell him the clubs are out for me until I’m done with Amelia. I have no doubt she’ll take a strip of skin off me if she finds out I was in a club. With a chuckle I imagine her angry, and I can’t wait. It won’t be about me going out to the clubs though.
I’m starving, so I head into the kitchen. I cook in batches to keep healthy, home-cooked meals in the fridge. The turkey chili is appealing as the wind moans around the house. I give in to grabbing some oyster crackers with the chili. Body satisfied, I clean the dish then set it to dry.
The house feels empty, which is weird. This is the first time since I moved I thought it. I like being alone, I’m not someone who needs noise or people around all the time. Going to into my office and library I imagine Amelia in here reading the day away with a big mug of coffee. An antique mahogany and leather desk sits in the left half of the large room, behind the desk are some sports memorabilia, a few vintage balls, a few pictures of wins, the picture from my last visit to the White House. It feels weird to put my trophies up here, so they’re downstairs where I work out.
In the middle of the large room are two large chairs, one overstuffed, the other a wingback far more comfortable than it appears. Instead of a coffee table I use a leather ottoman. The two walls on the right are covered in books. With a smile I go to the wall of my first and second editions and other rare books, behind glass. Then right beside them are the leather-bound, gilt-edged books, copies of the rare and first editions. The leather-bound books are worn and falling apart.