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I knew what she was getting at, but I wouldn’t take the bait, so I ignored the last part of her statement. “Look, I know the players. If there’s anything I’m good at, it’s how to read people. How to use their weaknesses against them—”
“I’ll keep that in mind,” Lena muttered, but then she smiled at me and I knew she was only joking. The brief instant of tension caused by the mention of Sheila had passed.
“What I mean is, I’ve built my career on being able to read a room. Trust me when I say Nolan does not possess the same talents. He thinks he’s better than he is. Which means it’s almost too easy to take his knees out from underneath him. As for Sheila—”
Lena’s expression hardened but I continued, knowing she needed the advice. “Sheila will let Nolan run the show. She’s always been a back-seat observer. She doesn’t have much confidence when it comes to her abilities. So, I don’t think you’ll need to worry about her.”
She looked as if she wanted to say something, most likely something I wouldn’t like, but she seemed to think better of it. Instead, she tapped her fingers on the desk. “Okay, noted. Take knees out.”
She dropped the pen she was holding with a flourish and I held up my hand for her to high five. Then, without meaning to, I laced my fingers with hers, holding on. Not letting go. “You’re going to kick this trial’s ass,” I enthused, still holding her hand. She wasn’t pulling away. I wasn’t pulling away.
“That was some solid investigating, Lena. I couldn’t have done it better myself,” I told her sincerely.
She was grinning wildly at me. “You called me Lena.”
“I won’t make that mistake again, Marlena.” This time she didn’t bark at me for using her full name. This time she squeezed my hand. But then slowly, she released me. Pulling away. And I was left grasping air. I realized my palm was sweating and I quickly wiped it on my pant leg. “It looks like you’re all set. You don’t need my help.”
“I guess I mostly wanted to brag,” she boasted, her eyes sparkling. I loved seeing her like this. Full of confidence. There was nothing sexier than a woman high on her own power. I was man enough to appreciate women who were in control. I was a big fan of being dominated when the mood was right.
“As you should,” I said with genuine warmth.
She regarded me thoughtfully. “You know, I really didn’t think this would work.”
I propped my ankle on my knee. “You and me working together?”
She nodded and was quiet again. She seemed to be stewing on something.
“You look as if your head is about to explode,” I observed dryly.
She didn’t crack so much as a smile. “About Friday. I was out of line,” she let out in a rush.
“And pretty wasted,” I added with a smirk.
“Yeah, that too. What I said was... inappropriate.”
I chuckled. “But I like it when you’re being... inappropriate.”
Her brows drew together in consternation. “Seriously, Jeremy. We work together. I can’t talk to you like that. I can’t touch you…” Her face flamed hot. “What I mean is that we have to keep this strictly professional. Whatever might or might not have been in the past is irrelevant. I don’t want to muddy the waters.”
I understood what she was saying, but I could admit, deep down, that it sucked. Because when it came to Lena Ducate, I felt anything but professional.
“Thanks again for being my second set of eyes,” she said, and I knew she was dismissing me.
Fine. If that’s how she wanted to play it.
I got to my feet and handed her back the file. “I can’t wait to hear how you get on at the trial.”
“Sure. Oh, and can you close the door on your way out?”
It felt as if she were closing a lot more than the door.
And why did that royally piss me off?
Chapter 6
Jeremy
There were five women waiting in the reception area. Three of them were dolled up as if they were about to go out to a club. One was old enough to be my grandmother but had my grandad’s facial hair. The fifth I recognized, though only vaguely. She was prettier than the rest, with a head of dark red hair that reminded me of Adam’s fiancé.
I walked into the main conference room where Lena was sitting. “Are those all the candidates?” I asked, pulling out a chair beside her and taking a seat.
“The only ones with any credentials. I passed over the guy that put chicken farmer as relevant work experience,” Lena deadpanned, shuffling through the resumes. She looked at the time on her phone. It had just turned nine. I had agreed to help her with the interviews, mostly because whether she knew it or not, saying no to Lena was hard. Particularly when she paired it with a “pretty please.”
