Hardass (Bad Bitch)(13)

When I stood straight again, he was looking down the hall and running a hand through his hair. I smiled. He’d looked at my ass, all right.

“Sorry, Mr. Granade. It won’t happen again.”

“It better not.” He stalked away, and I hurried to keep up. My stride was far shorter and my heels far higher.

We passed Terrell’s even smaller office, but I only had time to give him a quick wave before I followed Mr. Granade onto the elevator. The doors closed, and he moved away so we were standing in opposite corners. He was careful not to catch my eye in our reflection, so I took the opportunity to study his features yet again—the hair tickling the tips of his ears, the smooth jaw, the strong chin. What would his hands feel like on my waist? Or higher? Or lower?

My thoughts warmed my skin, and a flush crept into my cheeks. The elevator stopped, and he waited for me to exit ahead of him. I did, swaying my hips as I walked to his car. Once again, he walked toward the passenger door as if he were going to open it for me before he thought better of it and went to the driver’s side. Clearly, he’d been raised right, but he was squashing his gentlemanly instincts where I was concerned.

He drove out of the deck and took us down Perdido Street to the government buildings.

“Remember how I told you to be at the client interview? Seen and not heard?”

I glanced to him, but his sunglasses hid his eyes again. “Yes.”

“Do that again times two when we’re in their office. Got it?”

I gripped my legal pad. “Sure. But if I’m not supposed to, you know, do any lawyering, why did you even bring me?”

“Would you prefer if I left you at the office and chose another associate to work on this case?”

“No, I was just—”

“You were just complaining about the immeasurable experience you are about to gain, experience that none of the other associates have. But by all means, keep complaining, Ms. Montreat. See where it gets you.”

The threat of being taken off the case was enough to shut me up. Still, I grumbled a whole hell of a lot on the inside.

The silence held as he snagged a parallel spot on the street in front of the justice center and deftly parked the car.

“See, Ms. Montreat? I knew you could do it.” He smirked, the dimple almost breaking through. “All you needed was a little guidance.”

I got out and slammed the ever-loving crap out of his car door. He winced but didn’t comment as I moved around the front of his car toward the justice center entrance. He walked at my elbow and opened the door for me. We skipped the metal detector line and went straight to the prosecutor’s office.

“Hi, Carla.” Mr. Granade smiled at the receptionist.

The pretty brunette batted her lashes at him. “I was wondering when you were going to show up, handsome. Glad to see you again. And who’s this?”

“Just my associate.” He reached into his pocket and pulled out a little tin of candies that he handed to her. “Where’s Matt?”

Just my associate? I didn’t even have a name? And he gave gifts?

“Oh, you know I love these.” She took a taffy from the tin and popped it into her too-wide-open mouth, her eyes on Mr. Granade the whole time. I felt like I was trapped in a Willy Wonka porn, but I was just an Oompa Loompa cameraman.

Mr. Granade smiled down at her, though there were no dimples.

She swallowed (of course she did) and said, “Go ahead into Conference One over there. I’ll call Matt to come on up here for your meeting. Can I get you anything? Coffee? Maybe some tea?”

I saw my chance and took it. “I’d love some sweet tea—”

Mr. Granade gripped my wrist behind the reception desk. “No. We’re good. Thanks, Carla. You’re one in a million.”

She picked up her receiver and began to dial.

Mr. Granade squeezed my wrist and let it go before turning and gesturing to the nearest conference room. “After you, Ms. Montreat.” His mouth was a thin line of disapproval.

As soon as the door closed behind us he said, “Didn’t I mention that you were not to speak the entire time we’re here?”

“I was just being polite.” I stared at his nose—brave enough to look him in the face, just not in the eye.

“No, you weren’t.” He lowered his voice. “Carla is an extremely helpful ally. Get your head in the game or I’ll find an associate who will. Now take a seat and don’t say another word.”

Asshole. I met his eyes then, and shot mental daggers into them, before walking around the table and sitting. He smoothed his tie, though it was still as pressed and perfect as it had been when I’d first seen him this morning. He didn’t sit, just leaned against the wall and looked at his watch.