Total pages in book: 68
Estimated words: 67711 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 339(@200wpm)___ 271(@250wpm)___ 226(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 67711 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 339(@200wpm)___ 271(@250wpm)___ 226(@300wpm)
I started a pot of coffee. Copious amounts of caffeine would be necessary if I was going to wade through the case file.
While the coffee brewed, I opened my laptop and checked my email. It was a damn good thing I did. I had a message from Laura, one of the senior partners, informing me she was passing along a case, one I’d desperately wanted because the client was suing Miles Montgomery. A win against Montgomery Enterprises would essentially guarantee me a promotion. The case I’d planned on reviewing had been reassigned, and I needed to be ready to meet with my new client on Monday.
It looked like I was going to spend the rest of the weekend working.
I logged into our office portal, opened the file Laura had sent, and started to scan through the information. When I saw the name of the opposing counsel, I froze. I should have known who it would be, but I hadn’t thought about it until I saw his name there in black and white.
Ford Wainwright. Moderately good tennis player, wizard-level lawyer with all the time in the world to focus on this case. A case I could not lose.
Facing him in court would be hell. He was articulate, memorized minutiae like it was nothing, and somehow managed to charm every judge he stood in front of. I was damn good, and I had a chance against him, but while I’d never admit it, the chance was slim.
I was going to have to convince him it was in his client’s best interest to settle out of court. That was not going to be easy, considering his client was also his best friend and a man who got everything he wanted handed to him.
Maybe you should just convince your client to drop the lawsuit.
No way. I never lost.
You’re going to end up in court.
Then I’d have to beat Ford. Whatever happened, I wasn’t going to lose, not to someone who’d had it so fucking easy his whole life. I’d busted my ass to get this far, and I wanted the promotion winning this case would guarantee.
There was one way I could get to Ford. I’d fucked with his concentration on the tennis court by flirting with him, giving him a little of what he obviously wanted but was never going to have. I pushed away feelings of shame as I remembered how I’d treated him when he’d asked me if I wanted to go home with him after a tennis match.
I’d pretended to be shocked, but I wasn’t. I’d known he was into me, and I’d deliberately flirted back to throw him off his game. I told him I was straight and had no interest in changing that. When he called me out for flirting with him, I denied it and told him I couldn’t imagine being turned on by a man and certainly not by him. I’d seen the hurt in his eyes before he covered it up. Damn, I’d been such a dick.
I thought he’d try to get me thrown out of the tennis club, but instead, he simply treated me like I was beneath him. He acted aloof and superior most of the time, but I had quickly realized he still wanted me, even after I’d been so callous. All I had to do to have him tongue-tied and blushing was use some innuendos or take off my shirt. Why not use every advantage I had to win this lawsuit? It wasn’t like he wouldn’t do the same.
And as long as I was careful and no one at the office noticed, flirting would be a hell of a lot more fun than negotiating tedious aspects of the law.
You like flirting with him.
I like what it gets me—like an easy win on the tennis court.
Then why did your cock react to seeing him sitting there all sweaty and relaxed when you came out of the locker room?
That was just adrenaline. I was wired up from the match and the anxiety of the call about Gran.
I wasn’t gay. I’d never been gay. I could admit Ford was an attractive man if you were into the tweedy professor look, but for God’s sake the man wore sweater-vests and argyle. Even if I was gay, he would not be my type.
Even thinking about it was ridiculous. I liked women. If I didn’t have this damn case to deal with, I’d be out picking up one now. I could use a good, hard fuck to get my mind off thoughts of losing Gran and having to go head-to-head with Ford.
Why did that suddenly sound suggestive?
Is that something a straight man would think?
Fuck. I needed to get it together.
I was clearly in need of sleep, or I wouldn’t be thinking like this. I had to focus on my new case. I needed to act like a professional on Monday. I couldn’t risk having my client request someone else because she didn’t think I was competent.