Bossy(13)

I put my hands on my desk and lean in conspiratorially. “We’re not stepsiblings yet, so if we hurry...”

“You also didn’t act like an asshole then, but you’re doing a pretty fine job of that now.” She rolls her eyes and sighs. “Whatever. Screw this. I’ll go get my codes and cards and stuff.” She turns and reaches for the door handle. “This is going to be such a waste of my time.”

I get to the door just in time to slam shut the little she has it open. “Don’t take that tone with me. I won’t pretend this isn’t weird, but I’m your real fucking boss and I’ll give you real fucking work. You might need law school to pass your bar, but this is where you learn how the job is done.”

“And your creepy advances are supposed to teach me... what?” Her hand’s still on the door handle, but she’s not pulling.

“They’re just bonus.” I put on my most winning grin. The one that makes girls drop into my bed and spread their legs. At least used to. It’s been a while. Come to think of it, it didn’t work on her, at least at first.

Up close, I become painfully aware of her soft scent. Something flowery, but not overpowering. The same she wore that night. No mistaking it. It makes me want to grab her and find the source.

I resist the urge to nuzzle her neck, and open the door instead. The sooner I get her out of here, the better, before I really fuck this up. “Alright, go get your things. I’ll put together some work for you.”

For a long moment she watches me, evaluating with a frown. Then she nods, but it’s obviously under doubt. She doesn’t know what I’m going to do, and fuck if I know either.

A half an hour later, she’s received her laptop, some stationery and Carl even found an unused filing cabinet for keeping her junk in. While she was gone, I ran off a copy of the briefs and documentation for the case we’ll be working on. It’s an imposing pile of paper.

“Alright, learn all you can from this. There’ll be a quiz tomorrow.” I toss the pile of papers onto her desk with a thump.

“Yes, Mr. Riordan. Would there be anything else, Mr. Riordan? Tea? Coffee? A kick in the balls, Mr. Riordan?” Her tone’s acidic, but I can’t help laughing at the snark. She’s so mild mannered on the surface, but once she gets going, she’s a wildcat. In and out of bed.

“What was that? A lick? Why Ms. Anderson, how inappropriate. But I’ll take you up on the coffee. Black, no sugar. On my desk in two minutes. Carl can show you how to work the machine.”

She cocks her head and gives me the finger. Then she sits down without another word and starts sorting the pages.

“Right. Later then.” I laugh on my way into my office.

As I sit down, I remember the old intercom system. It’s been sitting at the corner of my desk since I moved into this office, but I’ve never had reason to try it. I’ve gotten so used to ignoring it that I stopped noticing it at all.

The other end sits on Claire’s desk.

Wonder if it works.

I push the talk button. “Ms. Anderson, are you going to be long with that coffee?” Based on the angry growl at the other end, I guess it does.





Claire


Cooper Holdings.

I’ve re-read the name of the client over and over in the hopes that it isn’t who I think it is, but there’s no avoiding the truth. I knew going into law that I’d probably have to deal with work I didn’t personally agree with. Maybe even things I found wrong or distasteful.

But defending the corporation that drove my father to suicide? God, I don’t even want to think about it. It makes my stomach churn.

According to the class action lawsuit against them, they’ve been systematically cutting corners and thumbing their nose at every OSHA regulation they could possibly get away with, and then threatening workers with termination if they make noise about it. I don’t even need to read the documentation to believe it’s true.

It’s what happened to Dad.

He stuck out the shakes and breathing troubles from his welding work for the sake of the men and women who worked for him, faithfully going in day after day until they fired him anyway. If the claims are true, things have only gotten worse since then.

If this had been ten years ago, I’d have been right there on the other side, sharpening the pitchforks and lighting the torches.

And I’m supposed to help defend them?

My hand crumples the top paper, squeezing it tighter and tighter. I can’t do this. How can I justify defending the exact kind of horror I got into this to fight? Why would a reputable firm like Riordan & Flynn even take on a case like this? There have to be ethical guidelines or... something, anything that this goes against. This isn’t right. Even Declan has to see that.