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I mean…this is a place of business. A law office, for shit’s sake!
Does this kind of thing happen often?
If it does, this is probably how his usual assistant Liz actually got knocked up.
Immaculate conception, compliments of Nadia and a bevy of other sexually overzealous women, is actually possible here at Caplin Hawkins Law!
Stick a fork in me, I’m done. Done with being polite. Done with being nice. Done with Nadia’s breathy, orgasm voice.
“Before I give Mr. Hawkins any messages, I need to clarify a few things first,” I say, and my tongue is already locked and loaded with enough snark to power the entire fucking city. “Does your pussy need legal advice?”
“No,” she says, and her voice somehow manages to get breathier. “Just Cap’s cock. Be sure to tell him that too.”
It’s like she thinks osmosis is possible. If she comes on to me, then she can literally come on Cap. I don’t think so, sister.
“Is your pussy currently in the middle of a lawsuit?”
“No.”
“Does it need some kind of corporate contract because it is taking over another pussy’s assets?”
“Uh…no.”
“Has your pussy ever suffered from mesothelioma and is trying to join a class action lawsuit to gain compensation?”
“What does that even mean?” she asks, and thankfully, all the moan and seduction has left her voice.
Truthfully, I don’t even know what mesothelioma is; I’ve just seen one too many of those commercials scroll across the screen at three a.m. But I do know that I’m not giving Cap this fucking message.
“Nadia, it means I’m not going to give him the message. This is a law office. A place of business that only handles things related to the law. So, if you want to tell him your pussy’s wet or tight or any-other-freaking-thing involving your vagina or its appeal, you’re going to have to tell him yourself.”
I hang up the phone on a huff, and not even a second passes before a distinct throat clears behind me. I close my eyes tight. There’s only one person who could be coming from that direction.
“Oh God,” I groan before turning around and lifting my gaze to find Cap’s absolutely shimmering eyes staring back at me. They look like burned brown sugar.
And I wanted the rest of this day to go smoothly…
“You know, I came back out because I forgot to mention that I need you to fax the Gordon contract, but I’m pretty sure I just stumbled into something way better.”
I roll my eyes. “You stumbled on me telling off one of your female suitors after she assaulted my ears.”
“I heard.” His smirk is one-hundred-percent amused. “And I gotta say, the mesothelioma bit was really fucking good.”
I sigh and shake my head. “Do you really give out your office number to these women?”
“I don’t give it out. They just find it.” He laughs it off and shrugs like it’s no big deal that women are practically giving GPS coordinates of their beavers to his assistants.
“Well, it’s really terrifying that this is the kind of thing I might be dealing with on a regular basis. Hell, I was so annoyed, so freaking traumatized, I hung up on her. Maybe you wanted to speak to her, I don’t know.”
He waves it off. “Eh. It’s fine. You can say whatever you want to them if they call here spouting that shit.”
“Really?” I quirk a challenging brow. “A woman calls and practically offers to send a 3-D model of her vagina, just for your personal use, and you’re okay with me sending her away?”
“Trust me, if she’s that willing and ready, she won’t stop just because you told her off. And 4-D is the new technology. I’m sure her 3-D model is outrageously outdated.”
I shake my head, mystified. “Is it always like this for you?”
He shrugs again, the bastard.
“Never mind. I truly don’t want to know anymore,” I say and quickly change the subject. “You said something about faxing the Gordon contract?”
“Yes. It needs to go out this morning for review.”
“And where exactly will I find it and the information about where to send it?”
“In your email.”
“I have an email?”
He laughs and pulls me and my desk chair to the side so he can lean down and type on the computer. I watch as he pulls up the browser, clicks on to the firm’s personal server, and types in my apparent email.
He clicks the next box, the spot where I need to input my password and types again, but the letters are encrypted, and his fingers are moving too fast for me to see what he does.
“What was that password? You know, just so I know for future sign-ins…”
“Capital C, lower case a-p,” he begins to recite it, and I quickly grab a pen and jot it down on the notepad beside my computer. “Capital L, lower case o-v-e-r.”
