The Wolves Catch Their Attorney(3)
Fucking ropes or no fucking ropes. But I’m still going to kill that goatish fly-bitten maggot pie of a manager. She grinned as she undressed for bed. That was Ambrielle Watson’s favorite polite swear term. The one she used in public. It was such an awesome amalgamation of bad images that Sierra had instantly borrowed it for her own use. It even made her smile although she was serious about explaining to the manager that a high-ropes course was not a good idea. A dinner or business lunch, hell, even a business breakfast, was more her style. However, if she got a new client out of it maybe she’d reconsider.
* * * *
Fucking rope burn!
Sierra looked at the messy bruises and broken, bleeding skin on her left forearm. Okay, likely holding the ropes with her forearms hadn’t been a totally smart move. But that was three days ago and it should have healed by now. It was a hot day, and she had to get some documents signed by Dr. Oscar Thorne, the owner of the Thorne House Clinic. She could send them by courier, but he was supposed to sign them in front of a notary public, and by the time he organized that and couriered them back to her, likely it would be simpler and faster to take them there and witness them herself. Besides, in her car she could take off her jacket and maybe some sun and fresh air on her bare arms would help them heal faster. Well, she could hope.
Sierra left the town and drove fast down the two-lane country road, loving the speed of her car, the fresh air, and the sun on her bare skin. Ah, she had too few moments of freedom like this. But if she made partner by the time she was thirty, which was her aim, it’d all be worthwhile. She was twenty-eight now and she was certain she could do it. Well, almost certain. Say, seventy-five percent certain.
She grinned. She wanted that partnership and she would get it. No one at Bailey and Bond Attorneys at Law had anything like as good a record as she did. Her win ratio was the highest by an impressive margin. Actually many people thought she was a partner already. They thought she was the “Bond.” But that was her long-dead great-uncle. The three Baileys who were now running the company had simply thought “Bailey and Bond” sounded better than “Bailey and Bailey,” or “Bailey, Bailey, and Bailey,” so had never changed the name to reflect the true ownership. Well she planned to put the Bond back into Bailey and Bond.
Sierra stopped her car at the tall, wrought-iron gates of the clinic. The property was surrounded by a ten-foot-high brick wall. This gave it plenty of privacy, which it most definitely needed. Shape-shifters? Who’d have thought such creatures existed outside the pages of a novel? She’d had quite a mental battle to come to terms with the idea, but she’d been led into it gradually. Now she had half a dozen paranormal clients. One of her best private detectives was a bear shape-shifter, Oscar Thorne was a wolf, and this entire clinic was established to help shape-shifters heal. But that didn’t mean she’d completely adjusted to the concept. It was still a bit of a leap for her brain to take some days.
She pressed the button on the intercom and when it beeped said, “Sierra Bond.”
The gates began to open. Ah, the fact that no one questioned her meant Ambrielle was on duty at the reception desk. She liked Ambrielle. The woman was efficiency personified but with a generous coating of fun on top. Sierra hated having to work with inefficient people. It was Ambrielle who’d gotten the clinic paperwork under control while Oscar concentrated on the patients.
But it was Oscar she needed to sign the paperwork today. His cousin, George Thorne, was determined to take control of the clinic. George said his grandparents had wanted him to have it. That wasn’t what their wills said, and Sierra preferred to trust the written word over George’s protests. So far, George’s attorney seemed to be very unimaginative and easy to outwit. Sierra just hoped he’d tell George to give up his futile attempts to cause trouble very soon. The paperwork Oscar was about to sign showed George had no hope of legally overturning the written wills. With luck, this would be the end of his complaints about Oscar.
She drove smoothly up the long driveway and parked in a visitor parking space right by the door. She grabbed her briefcase and jumped out of the car, clicking it locked as she walked up to the front entry and into the reception area.
An extremely handsome red-haired man was standing at the desk talking to Ambrielle. She’d seen him before but it took her a minute or two to remember his name. Fergus, Fergus MacLeod, a werewolf shape-shifter and a nurse here at the clinic. Oh, he was a fine figure of a man. Around six inches taller than her and every inch of him lean muscle. He could nurse her any time.