"Talents?"
"You're a beautiful woman, Leary. You hide it, though, and I'm guessing it's because the last thing you want is to rely on your beauty for anything. I'm guessing there's a sordid little story there that makes it so . . . maybe coming straight from the dusty front yard of the little trailer you were raised in."
I cringe, because she's hit too close to home, and there's no way she could know about my past. I raise my chin, daring her to continue, yet am oddly fascinated with where she's going.
"You see, Leary, in order to succeed in this world, you need to work it . . . and work it hard. Your brain, your wit, your determination, your confidence, your sex appeal. Lose the baggy, cheap clothes and show off your body. Get a good haircut, leave your hair down, and get someone to teach you how to wear makeup properly. Make men notice you, and when you've fogged their senses with lust, slap them with your brains. Make women want to be like you, but be so confident in your abilities that they will inevitably fall flat on their face. When you finish with your opponents, don't let them have a moment's doubt that they've met their match." She leans in closer. "I'm talking about winning at any cost. Doing whatever is necessary to get the victory, and as a woman, you need to use every weapon in your arsenal. It's how I succeeded, and it's how you will succeed, too."
I know I should be offended, maybe feel let down over this revelation that Midge Payne seems to be interested in my physical attributes as much as my mental, yet I'm not. I'm strangely titillated by it and feel a sense of power flushing through me. It's a power I imagine my mother employed on more than one occasion, and while I have the utmost love and respect for my momma, I never once wanted to use the same charms she had to use to make sure we survived in a harsh world.
But oddly, the way Midge is advising me to work my assets doesn't seem as seedy as when my momma lay on her back and spread her legs for money to put food on the table.
Midge stands up and walks back behind her desk. "Danny's waiting for you outside and will show you to your work area."
I stand up, smoothing down my polyester skirt and having an insane urge to run to the mall right now and spend my meager savings on a new wardrobe. "Thank you," I say, feeling a little bit lost.
"Great things," Midge reminds me with a hard look. "It's what I expect."
I stare at her a moment, not sure whether I can truly subscribe to her philosophy. Whether or not I can meet those expectations. She's asking me to completely change my way of thinking, and I need just a moment to see which direction my logic will tell me to take.
My logic doesn't wait around, apparently knowing what I need to do.
Steel courses up my spine, and determination and excitement fill me.
"It's what you'll get," I tell her as I turn away from her and walk out of her office.
CHAPTER 1
LEARY
An orgasm crashes through my body, causing my back to arch in my chair and my fingers to pull hard at the hair of the man who's working his tongue between my legs. A groan pours out of me, and he lashes his tongue against me harder yet.
"Enough," I command, because I don't beg well, and I push his head away. Ford sits back on his haunches, grinning up at me. He's in my office, kneeling before my chair, while my skirt is hiked up around my waist and my thong is pulled haphazardly to the side to give him access. My suede ankle-strap Alexander McQueen pumps are perched on the edge of my desk, and my knees are spread wide, baring myself to Ford's fantastically gorgeous face and his shiny, wet lips.
"Feel better?" he asks with a grin, because I was having a craptastic day, which he'd keenly picked up on. But then again, Ford knows all of my moods, and yes, I do feel better, so apparently he knows how to bring me out of a funk. A shattering orgasm does the trick.
"Much better," I say with a grin and pull my legs off my desk, setting my four-inch heels on the hardwood floor on either side of Ford's hips. I vaguely notice figures moving around out in the Pit, just outside my glass-paned office wall, which is now grayed out with smoke so no one can see the nasty things Ford and I are doing. My door is unlocked but I'm not worried. No one but Midge would dare walk in here without a knock, and Midge has never once stepped foot in my office since I moved in here almost two years ago when I made junior partner at Knight & Payne.
Wiping his mouth with the back of his hand, Ford asks, "Wanna feel even better?"
"You know I do," I say as I stare at the massive bulge behind the zipper of his Hugo Boss pants. Ford is as serious about fashion as I am, and we're well suited to each other in other respects, too. We're pretty much in line with our tastes and proclivities, and he's the closest friend I have in the world.
He reaches in his pocket and pulls out a condom, handing it to me. I tear it open with my teeth as he unzips his pants and pulls out eight gorgeous inches of "wanna feel even better." Leaning forward, I roll the condom over his straining erection, loving how after five years, he still groans when I touch him there. Placing my hands on his shoulders, I pull myself from my chair and squat down over him, bringing the tip of his cock in perfect alignment with me.
I sink down slowly onto him while his hands help to guide my hips. When I'm fully seated, we both give a moan of appreciation, and then I start to rock.
Using my hands on his shoulders for balance, I pull myself up . . . push back down. Over and over again, I fuck the man who used to be my boss when I first started here but is now my good friend, close legal confidant when I need to strategize on a case, and occasional lover when I've had a bad day.
Like today.
Because some asshole attorney thinks he can try to screw me over on one of my cases, but he has another thing coming. Right after I come again, and get Ford off as well, I'm going to come up with a stellar plan to mop the floor with this douche. I'll make him regret crossing me, that's for sure. Midge would be proud of my moxie.
"Where'd you go?" Ford pants as he nuzzles his face into my neck and tilts his hips upward as I push down.
"Nowhere," I assure him and pick up the pace.
He seems to accept my word, because he murmurs, "Feels good, baby."
It does . . . feel good.
Damn good, but then again, Ford has always been able to push all my buttons. Ever since my first day on the job here at Knight & Payne, when Danny took me from Midge's office back through the Pit to a desk outside a large office in which a man was talking on the phone.
The man was Ford Daniels, and he was to be my supervising attorney.
He glanced up and saw Danny standing there with me, then motioned for us to come in. His eyes ran down my body briefly, but he never gave any other indication of interest. I was fresh off my meeting with Midge, and my mind was buzzing. I immediately wondered if I should use these extra talents Midge seemed to think I possessed on my newest boss but then thought better of it. I wasn't cut out just then to be a sexy seductress. Oh, I intended to learn, but I knew I was an amateur, at best, at that point in my life.
I couldn't deny my attraction to Ford. At thirty-four, he was ten years older than I was. Light-brown hair, maybe dark blond in the right light, that was slightly wavy with natural curl. He had dark-brown eyes and a strong jawline, was tall, and wore his suit in a way that told me he was built underneath.
Ford was very professional those first weeks of our working relationship, and by professional I mean he never made an untoward move. He looked plenty, particularly when by the third day of employment I'd ditched my conservative polyester suits for a chic, casual office wardrobe, convincing myself it was a wise use of my money. I traded in Walmart for Burberry and Elie Tahari, making sure my clothes showed off my assets, as Midge had instructed me to do.
I cut three inches off my dark-brown hair to just below my shoulder blades and wore it long, loose, and layered with softly curled waves. I learned how to put on makeup to accentuate my golden-brown eyes and full lips, and I walked the Pit with confidence.
By my third week of employment, Ford and I were sleepi
ng together, and I never had a moment's regret. I didn't have sex with him for any gain within the firm. I made it clear to him that sex had nothing to do with work. It did, however, have everything to do with the fact that I wanted to explore my sexuality, which was something I'd never had need of prior to my employment at Knight & Payne. I'd lost my virginity my senior year of high school, and I'd had sex with a few men since then, but I never viewed sex as all that important in my life. Maybe because it never rocked my world. Maybe because they never told us in law school that it could be a tool.
After Ford, I needed it. Not only did he teach me that sex felt damn good and was a great tension breaker but that I had power, and it had everything to do with the fact that I had boobs and a vagina. Ford taught me how to be sensual, which I used in small doses when the time called for it. My sensuality has served me well the last five years.
"I've lost you again," Ford growls before biting at my ear.
"Ouch," I whine as I jerk against him, which causes him to go in deeper and then fuels him to pump into me faster.
"Well, damn, Leary . . . you're not paying attention here," he complains, still heaving upward into my body.
And he's right.
My mind is wandering more and more lately, and I feel restless. While Ford tends to be a great diversion for me, he's just that . . . a diversion. He's my friend, occasional lover, and confidant. He knows me probably better than anyone at this point, and yet Ford will never be anything more than an occasional fuck, a great colleague and a guy I can pal around with sometimes. We just don't have that burning, deep connection that compels us to want to be around each other all the time. We use each other as a sounding board, as a cheerleader in our work lives, and to get our rocks off if the occasion calls for it.
My stomach bottoms out when Ford surges to his feet, his powerful legs easily pushing both of us up from the floor while his hands support me under my ass. He turns, dumps me on my desk, and with the stapler stuck in my lower back, starts to really pound me hard. He's doing this as a way of keeping my attention, and damn . . . it's working. From this angle and the way he's driving into me, I can't think about anything other than the way he feels and the second orgasm firing up low in my belly.
He senses my body getting ready to unleash and he picks up the pace.
Then I'm flying apart, and so is he. My day is definitely a little bit better than it was before.
Condom disposed of, my fringed Tory Burch skirt pulled back down, and Ford sitting across from my desk, you'd never know that we were both fucking like animals just five minutes ago. God, it was good. It had been a long time in coming, too--no pun intended--because Ford had been in a relationship with a physical therapist for several months, and one thing we didn't do was cheat if either of us tried to date someone else. In the past five years, neither one of us has had a relationship that stuck, so we always end up becoming fuck buddies in between our failed attempts to find love. Ford broke up with that woman last week, and I knew it was only a matter of time before we hooked up.
Today just happened to be that day. He poked his head in my office and said, "What's up?"
I growled at him because I was frustrated with this douche of an opposing attorney, and he knew exactly what I needed. He didn't even say a word. Stepped in, closed my door, hit the smoke button on my desk, and went down on me.
It was sublime.
"So what's wrong with you?" Ford grumbles as he watches me carefully from across the expanse of my desk.
Leaning back in my chair and fiddling with a paper clip, I shrug my shoulders. "Not sure what you mean."
Ford cocks an eyebrow at me, one of his patented moves that I adore and that always makes me smile because of his skepticism. "Cut the shit, Leary. You're edgy, tense. This case has you worked up, and it's not even that big of a deal."
I glare at Ford and stick out my lower lip. "It is too a big deal. I don't like this jackass nipping at my heels like a little Chihuahua who thinks he has balls the size of Texas."
Snickering at me, Ford casually crosses one leg over the other. "He's filed a motion to dismiss. Big deal. Happens all the time."
"Yeah, but not to me. Most attorneys know not to screw with me over something so trivial."
"He's new to the area. I'm sure he hasn't heard of your greatness," Ford says in a mocking tone.
"Don't be condescending," I chastise him. "Besides, this case is important to me. You know that."
He nods because he does know how important this case is. Other than Midge, he's the only one who knows about my past and why I have so much riding on this lawsuit. This case is a means to help absolve me of my own sins, and if I can't get salvation with it, I'm doomed to a life of guilt.
Midge.
I smile inside--sometimes on the outside, too--whenever I think of her. While I'm very close to Ford, Midge has always been there for me, too, although almost all of our communications are through e-mail or phone. But she had an influential hand in helping to shape me my first few years at Knight & Payne. She gave me advice and guidance on cases and taught me how, as a woman, I could be the best possible attorney.
Midge once confided in me, during one of those rare occurrences when we sat in her office, sipping on whiskey, "Leary, I want people who are risk takers. People like you, who are not afraid to push the envelope, stretch boundaries, get their hands a little dirty."
"Cheat?" I asked her with a smile.
"If necessary," she said without cracking one.
"Lie?"
"In the right circumstances," she confirmed.
"Use my womanly ways?" I asked with a grin.
"Always," she murmured, and we clinked our glasses together in celebration while we laughed.
Yes, Midge Payne shaped and molded me into a fearless attorney who acted like she had the biggest balls in the state. I took risks, I lied and cheated sometimes, and I used my female charms over and over again to daze and confuse my opponents. Her advice served me well, but most important, it served my clients well. I do work that has meaning. I represent people who have been beaten down. I offer protection and advice to those who would otherwise be taken advantage of by the system. I uphold the common man's constitutional rights. I do all of this because I know all too well what it's like to feel powerless. I have made a profound difference in other people's lives, and I'll never apologize for using every trick in my bag to get the job done.
Ford stands and leans over my desk. "Do you want any help brainstorming how you'll argue the motion tomorrow?"
Shaking my head, I say, "No. I've got it."
And I do. It's a simple motion that shouldn't take more than ten minutes, but it pisses me off I even have to argue it at all, that I'm being made to waste my time just so my opposing counsel can bill a few more hours to his client.
"Are you sure you're okay?" he asks, his eyes roaming over my face.
Smiling, I say, "I'm sure. More than okay after the way you just made me come."
Laughing, Ford turns his back on me and heads for my door. "My pleasure, babe. I'll catch you later."
And just like that, Ford is gone and I probably won't see him for several days because we're both so busy with our practices. However, if I ever needed the man, he would drop everything to be by my side.
As a friend, and only as a friend . . . sex benefits aside.
Sighing, I reach out and open the binder sitting on my desk with the words LaPietra v. Summerland General Surgery. It's the case for which I'll be arguing against a motion to dismiss tomorrow morning. Opening it up, I briefly scan the motion. The defendant's counsel is asking the court to dismiss my case because I've failed to state a claim upon which relief can be granted.
Which is total and utter bullshit.
The complaint I filed in superior court was cogent and clear, and left no doubt in anyone's mind that I'm suing the prick, Dr. Garry Summerland, and his medical practice for butchering my client in a breast-reduction surgery gone bad.
Jenna L
aPietra came to me over a year ago, distraught over the fact that when Dr. Summerland got done with an operation to reduce her from a double D to a moderate C cup, she was left with boobs of two different sizes and one nipple pointed north and the other pointed southeast. It was a horrific result, and she's had three subsequent reconstructive surgeries to try to minimize the damage. Unfortunately, there's too much scar tissue to completely fix the deformities. Her nipples still point in different directions, and she has large, puckered sinkholes around the fleshy globes of her breasts.
Kind of a big deal to a twenty-four-year-old topless dancer without a high school education who strips to put food on the table to support her disabled son.
Acid burns in my veins as I think of all the ways that Jenna has struggled, trying to make ends meet since losing her job at Pure Fantasy. She went from bringing home two grand a week to living in the back of her car and stealing food from convenience stores to feed her kid. All of her money was paid under the table, so she can't claim unemployment. Her kid's father is a heroin junkie who hasn't been seen in two years and is presumably lying dead in a ditch somewhere. She has no family and no friends, and I put my law license at risk when I put Jenna up in a low-income apartment and provided a bank account in which I deposited money every two weeks so she could eat and pay rent. That was a huge no-no to the North Carolina State Bar, but fuck 'em. I'm not about to let that family live out of a car and off stolen food.
Pushing the binder aside, I know I'm better served to study my opponent than the law, because the law is clear and in my favor. Tomorrow's courtroom battle will be nothing more than my swatting away this annoying flea and making it clear he doesn't want to fuck with someone like me.
I pull up the law firm of Battle, Carnes, and Pearson on my computer. It's a powerhouse defense firm that's the polar opposite of Knight & Payne. Whereas we fight nobly to save the downtrodden, Battle Carnes sits in a gilded roost and only represents the nation's elite one percent.
I navigate their roster of attorneys and click on the link for Reeve Holloway. He's pretty damn good-looking. Dark, wavy hair that's cut short on the sides and back, with the top just slightly longer, and very JFK Jr. His eyes are light colored, but I can't tell if they're blue or green, and his lips are sensual. He's actually really hot. His online profile states he's been practicing for eight years, which puts him at about thirty-two, and he just started with the firm six months ago. Prior to Battle Carnes he was working in foreign acquisitions in New York City, which sounds slightly boring and nauseating to me.