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“I didn’t suggest either of those things,” I said through gritted teeth.
“Do I really need to remind you again that your attitude is abysmal?”
I closed my eyes and visualized him being hit by a trash truck. Opening my eyes, I walked around the back of his desk. The wood top gleamed from the light coming in through the floor to ceiling windows. As I’d noted on my way over, the report was not there. Looking to the left, I saw that his trashcan was empty. A glance to the right didn’t produce the report, either. When I glanced down at his chair, however, I saw a hint of white against the black leather. Pulling the chair out I picked up the report and held it up with a grin.
“I told you it was here,” I said triumphantly.
Devlin folded his arms across his chest and glared at me imperiously. “No, you told me it was on my desk. Unless that chair is suddenly being called a desk, you were wrong.”
Demise by trash truck wasn’t enough for him. I changed up my visualization to a pack of wild dogs in an ice storm on an uninhabited planet.
“My apologies,” I said in a saccharine sweet voice. My eyes, however, told him to go fuck himself. His narrowed, his nostrils flaring as he stared at me for countless seconds in silence as if he was planning where to hide my body. I briefly considered being helpful and telling him one or two of the dozen places I had in mind for his, should it come down to it. Instead, I held my tongue and waited for him to do something.
Mumbling a curse, he stalked around the desk, pulled out his chair, and sat down with a huff. “Get out,” he growled.
I bit back a grin, knowing I’d ruffled his feathers. The jerk treated me like I had a raging case of something he wanted no part of. I wasn’t sure what I detested more—the fact that he was such a prick or the fact that he was the star of my nightly fantasies. Determined to leave with the upper hand, I beamed a fake smile at him.
“Be sure to let me know if you need anything, Mr. Fitzpatrick. I live to serve.”
He grimaced before he dropped his forehead into his hand. “I said get out,” he snapped.
“Okey dokey,” I said cheerfully. Heading for the door, I made sure to exaggerate the sway of the hips God gave me. Devlin hated my high heels (something about the way they made me walk), hated when I wore skirts instead of pants, and had even complained about my perfume and the color lipstick I used. I knew this because he’d criticized all of the above, multiple times. My response was to go one whole inch higher with my heels, one shade deeper with my lipstick and I no longer wore anything but skirts to work. I’d also very kindly told him that his opinions were pointless since I adhered to the company dress code to the letter. No matter how badly he wanted to, he couldn’t write me up for my appearance. He was a lawyer, after all. He knew if he opened that can of worms there would be trouble.
When I got to the door, I stopped and turned, not surprised to find him watching me. “When you boot up your computer you’ll see I scheduled a block for us at the end of the day to go over the agenda for next week.”
He clenched his jaw and pointed to the door. “One more word, Sims, and I’ll fire you.”
I snickered as I turned and pulled the door open. “I’d like to see you try,” I said—just loud enough for him to hear.
2
Devlin
I had officially become that fucking guy, the asshole attorney who hid in his office to avoid interacting with people unless I had to. It was fucked up that a mere six months before I’d been an affable guy who got along well with nearly everyone who worked for me. I could pinpoint to the fucking minute when the change had taken place because it happened when the smoky-voiced five-foot-four green-eyed curvy blonde with a penchant for silk stockings and high heels set her shit down on the desk outside my office.
I wanted the secretary I’d had for ten years back. Badly. Betsy was forty-nine with a husband named Gus and two rambunctious teenagers that she doted on. Everything was fucking perfect—and then Gus got a transfer from New York to Philadelphia and ruined my life. Somehow, between when he got the transfer and when Betsy left, she decided to fuck me over, too. That’s how I wound up stuck with Anya, who just happened to be Betsy’s niece.
I could still remember the way Betsy beamed when she told me she had the one—a replacement so good I wouldn’t even blink. “She’s perfect.”
