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Bad Behavior(67)



Lincoln nipped at my lips and slid a hand down to my ass, pulling himself even deeper inside me.



       
         
       
        

"Ohhh. Carol, just go down and eat in the conference room. Pleeeaaasseee."

"Um, sure, Ms. Angel." She was hesitant. Now was not the time to be hesitant. "You sure I shouldn't-"

"Go!" I yelled.

"Yes, ma'am." I finally heard her steps retreating down toward the front of the office.

I smirked up at Lincoln and brought my hands down to his chest, pinching his nipples hard. "Oops, looks like I broke the rules again."

He smiled, the look in his eyes pure heat as he thrust harder, punishing me so sweetly. "That's my bad bitch."





This is a work of fiction. All of the characters, organizations, and events portrayed in this novel are either products of the author's imagination or are used fictitiously.

BAD BITCH. © 2016 by Christina Saunders. All rights reserved. For information address St. Martin's Press, 175 Fifth Avenue, New York, N.Y. 10010.

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Cover photographs: woman and Man © Dmitrii Kotin/iStock; velvet texture © Zick Svift/Shutterstock

e 978-1-250-10975-0

First Edition: July 2016

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HARDASS

CELIA AARON





Chapter One


CAROLINE

I snort-laughed. The sort of laugh that catches in the back of your throat and then ricochets out in an awkward sound. The conference room quieted. Every pair of eyes turned toward me. I kicked Terrell in the shin with my pump for telling me a dirty joke before the morning meeting.

He shrugged and began doodling on his yellow legal pad.

The other associates were still looking at me, some with puzzlement, others with open dislike.

I settled back into my leather conference chair and rolled my eyes. "What? You idiots wouldn't know a joke if it bit you on your smarmy backsides."

"I thought all lawyers had to take a professionalism class before being admitted to the bar, even lawyers from backwoods no-name law schools like yours, Caroline." Yvonne smiled, her perfect face begging for the back of my hand.

I leaned over the table toward her. "Talk shit, get hit, Yvonne. I guess they didn't teach that at your charm school."

"Ladies, take it down a notch." Terrell knocked his knee into mine.

"If Caroline takes it down any further, she'll be back in the trailer park she came from."

"You fucking cunt." I tried to stand, but Terrell gripped my elbow and shoved me back down. 

"Caroline!" His sharp tone cut through my pissed-off haze. "Get it together. Don't listen to her."

"I'm not listening to her. I'm imagining pummeling her face. There's a difference."

"Even so. Calm down." He gave my elbow a hard squeeze and went back to doodling. He seemed confident the situation was defused. One look at Yvonne's smirk left me unconvinced. I flipped her off and gave a shit-eating grin.

"Stop," Terrell hissed.

"Fine." I sat back in my chair and eyed the rest of the associates, who shifted and refused to meet my gaze, discomfort in every awkward move. "Jesus, it's not like Mr. Hardass Granade is even here yet. Get your panties out of a wad."

Then the worst thing that could have happened occurred. Every associate lifted their gaze to a point above and behind me. If they'd looked uncomfortable before, they looked like they were getting a sriracha enema now. It could only mean one thing.

"Is he standing behind me? He's standing behind me, isn't he?" I whispered to Terrell, who continued doodling unawares.

"If you're done with your assessment of my demeanor, Ms. Montreat, I'd like to get the meeting started. Unless, of course, you have any more fascinating commentary?" His voice, the deep baritone that rumbled through the office on an angry roar at times, settled over me like a funeral shroud. Fuck.

I straightened my back, trying not to telegraph the panic that was engulfing me. I needed this job. Pink warmed my cheeks as Mr. Granade stalked past me to the head of the table. He was tall, well over six feet, with a broad chest, trim waist, and piercing blue eyes that happened to be turned on me. At this point, piercing was an understatement. I wanted to crawl under the conference table and hide.

Instead, I sat taller and tried to salvage it. "Mr. Granade, I . . . I would like to apologize-"

"Save it, Ms. Montreat. I've already had enough of your mouth today." He gave me a look that could melt lead, his angular face stony and his dark brows drawn down.