Bad Behavior(28)

She nodded against me. "A definite no."

She let out a long breath, winding down for the night. I ran my fingers through her hair, sorting the fine strands. They were so soft, just a whisper against my skin.

"Lincoln?"

"Yes?"

"Why did you charge him here instead of in New Orleans?"

Still at work even after what we'd just done. I couldn't stop the smile that turned my lips. Bad bitch.



       
         
       
        

"Wouldn't you like to know?" I kissed her forehead. "Go to sleep, angel."





Chapter Six


EVAN

The next week was a wall of work. I was glad to be busy, to think about things other than Lincoln-his backstory, his smile, his hard . . . body.

It was a struggle to push him out of my mind. He seemed to have taken up residence, like a cat I'd fed that I'd never get rid of. Worst part was, I wanted him to stay, even though I was embarrassed that I'd told him about my family. Opening up to people wasn't exactly my forte. Doing it with him was unexpected and, in hindsight, stupid. I needed to keep my guard up. Castille's case was big money for the firm and me, and that money would only continue rolling in if I got him acquitted of the federal charges and then over onto the civil and state cases.

He was the proverbial cash cow, but I had to actually do the work before I could get any milk. I was going to beat Lincoln. Fucking him wasn't conducive to that end. I had to cut him off. He was a distraction, a gorgeous, scarred, tatted distraction with a troubled past.

The week was a blur of calls, hearings, and meetings. My clients expected the same high level of service at all times. Whether their question was about how to set aside some of their estate for their mistress, how much they could safely cheat on their taxes, or how to get their brat children out of an underage drinking citation, they all called me. Being a lawyer, after all, is a service industry.

Vinnie and Drew worked ungodly hours on Castille's case, trying to organize the chaos of the shyster's files. While they were occupied, the younger associates were rudderless, in need of direction but too afraid to ask me for it. I set meetings with each of them, listening to their sophomoric questions and legal "reasoning." It's funny how you forget how much you actually know until a total idiot plays Twenty Questions with you. The week was an exhausting parade of inane queries and horrible writing.

Late on Thursday afternoon, I decided to visit the associates' bullpen and see how Vinnie and Drew were coming. Vinnie was haggard, tieless, and looked like he could use a shower and a bed. His office was a disaster: boxes and boxes of documents, papers covered with sticky notes and scribbles posted on the walls, discarded takeout piled in his trash. The sun was shining through his window, but you wouldn't know it. His blinds were almost completely drawn. I sat down in the cramped space, admiring the piles of paper on his desk.

"Didn't we go paperless two years ago?" I asked.

"We did, but only when the photographer came for the firm photos. As soon as his ass got on the elevator, the paper came right back out." He dropped his head onto his desk with a thunk. 

"Where's Drew?"

"USA's Office." His reply was muffled.

"Getting their docs?"

"Yep. From what Jonesy told me, they have double what we have." Another thunk on his desk. "If it's in the same state as this junk, we're fucked. Nothing is in order. Castille didn't keep records, he kept a minefield of shit that I've been stepping in all fucking weekend."

"Do I need to put some more associates on this one? Split your bonus with them?"

He picked his head up, glaring at me with bloodshot eyes. "No."

"Good. We get the docs from his hard drives yet?"

"No, they're due back tomorrow." He rubbed a hand over his face and yawned.

I rose, and smoothed my already-smooth skirt. "I expect you to stay on schedule with my reports. I want profit-and-loss statements tomorrow afternoon."

"There are over a hundred victims, boss. I'm going to need more time." The bone-deep weariness in his voice almost made me feel sorry for him.

"Tomorrow. No excuses." Nothing says 'I care for you' like tough love.

Vinnie stared at my neck. I couldn't tell if he was noticing Lincoln's love bites or thinking of throttling me. Either way, it didn't matter. He would get the work done. He always did.

I turned and strode back to my office. I could hear him muttering choice words, some of which I'd taught him myself.

Jena was at her desk, looking scared as usual. "Ms. Pallida, Mr. Jones called and wants to meet for dinner tonight at Sal's if you're available."