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Tara.
The stubborn, sarcastic girl’s name is Tara. My eyes caught the faded letters on her name tag while I was staring at her chest earlier. The little fit she threw pushed her breasts to attention, since the tank top she’s wearing doesn’t leave anything to the imagination.
I haven’t been able to stop watching her since I came back from the bathroom. Her long black ponytail swings while she cleans off a table in the corner. She’s got a tight little body, luscious curves and an ass I want to sink my teeth into. Her smart fucking mouth has me wanting to shove my dick down her throat to control the sass. Though I’d miss hearing that sexy low rasp she has.
My cock jumps to attention in my pants at the thought. Yeah, those green eyes would look good peering up at me while she’s on her knees. Her bright eyes shine against her dark olive complexion, showcasing her perfect face even more.
Her reaction to my presence left me stunned. Girls usually flock to me when I’m around. Rich, handsome, and a cutthroat, commanding lawyer—what’s not to want? But not her, apparently. That feisty, no fucks given attitude turns me on. She doesn’t give a shit how handsome I am or how much money I have. I wonder if she’d care how big my dick is when it’s choking her.
Downing the last sip of my water, I toss a fifty on the table. She came over to my table earlier spouting some half-assed apology—which I could tell she really didn’t mean—and saying my meal is on the house. Judging by the conversation I overheard through the thin walls of her office, she can’t afford to have any issues with the restaurant, so she’s obviously sucked it up, groaning out her ‘sincerest apologies’ to me.
She keeps side-eyeing me, skeptical about why the hell someone like me would step foot in the West Side. A man who wears a Kiton suit every day, drives a Lamborghini Veneno, and has more money than he could ever need has no business slumming it here.
But it’s not all about the money. It’s nice to have when I need it, but some things money can’t give you. My dad might’ve been a Grade A asshole who only cared about the zeros in his bank account, but my mom taught me that there’s more to life than money.
Some of the best people I know are from the West Side, like my best friend Reilly. I’d trust him with my life if it came down to it. Even my security guard, Rush, is from the West Side and he’s as good as they come. It doesn’t matter where you’re from or how much money you have—if you give me your loyalty, I’ll have your back for life. I wish I could say I’m a good person like Reilly or Rush, but I’m really fucking not. In my line of work, if I’m not a cold, calculating prick, people will assume they can walk all over me. I refuse to let that happen.
With one last glance at the sassy girl who’s caught my attention, I head out the door.
“Hey!” A loud yell from behind me stops me in my tracks. Turning on my heels, I find a pissed off Tara rushing toward me with fire blazing in her eyes. “I don’t need your charity.” She slaps the fifty I left against my chest.
It wasn’t charity. She refused to let me pay for my meal after I insisted about five times. My mom would wring my neck if she found out I didn’t pay for a meal, so I figured this girl could just call it a tip. The nerve of her, letting her pride get in the way. I don’t think she’s in any position to refuse money, no matter whether she thinks it’s charity or not.
“I guess that apology didn’t mean anything then...” I squint my eyes at her nametag, like I’m reading it for the first time.“Tara.”
“I know you overheard my conversation while you were creeping outside the office. I don’t need you feeling sorry for me; I can handle myself. Just take it back.” She shoves the bill at me again.
Raising my hands, I back up toward my car before she can touch me again. “No can do. It has your West Side grime on it now.” I internally cringe at my words, but I can’t help it—I’m an asshole. An unfortunate trait handed down from my father.
Instead of the disgusted reaction I was expecting, her middle finger flies high in the air. “Fuck you!” She spins, stomping back toward the restaurant.
I should be pissed, but my eyes are immediately glued to that perfect ass. Her jeans cling to her curves, and her round globes bounce up and down with each stride she takes away from me. A sight I’m going to be thinking about all day.
Smirking to myself, I chuckle, sliding into the driver’s seat. A quick motion catches my eye, I look up and find Tara racing back toward my car. What now? Rolling down the window, I flash her my most charming smile. “Can’t get enough of me? Maybe I should give you something to really remember me by.” I shoot her a suggestive wink.
She skids to a stop, leaning down to peer in at me, her breathing heavy and ample cleavage right in my face. “It took me a little bit to realize, but I thought you looked familiar. You’re Marnix Taylor, that expensive ass lawyer or something from the East Side. I’ve seen your smug face plastered all over the billboards.”
My smile falters as a hint of disappointment fills me. I liked it when she didn’t recognize me. It made me feel somewhat normal and not like the rich guy that most people want to use like an ATM. Now that she knows what’s in my bank account, she’s going to be all over me like every other desperate woman in this city.
My lips tighten in disgust while my eyes run up and down her body. “Didn’t think a girl like you would ever step foot on the East Side.”
“Could say the same thing about you being here, Marnix.” My cock twitches at the way she purrs my name. I hate being called Marnix, but it doesn’t sound completely unbearable coming from her.
“It’s Nix.” My voice comes out in a growl, more forceful than I’d like. My father is the only person who ever called me by my birth name and now I can’t stand it.
“Ooh, touchy subject there, Your Highness?”
“No,” I spit, trying to calm myself. “What do you want? You’re going to make me late for a meeting. Get on with it.”
Her tan arms cross over her body. “I came over here to tell you that just because you’re some hotshot lawyer from the East Side, I won’t tolerate you being an asshole to me or my workers. Don’t bother coming back if you can’t handle that, because you won’t be welcome.” Her serious tone quickly transforms into a fake sarcastic smile that lights up her face. “Have a nice day, Marnix.” She turns, skipping back toward the restaurant, not giving me a chance to reply.
Her reaction was the complete opposite of what I thought it would be. No flirting, no batting of the eyelashes, and no begging. Just straight up sass and a giant ‘fuck you’ to me. No one talks to me like that. They don’t even dare to look at me funny.
Rolling up my window, I slam my palms into the black leather steering wheel. That fucking hard-headed woman and her fiesty attitude have me more flustered than the criminals I work with on a daily basis.
Since my father passed away, the West Side Snakes became my clients. He started representing them as a side business to the firm years ago. Most of the time, the Snakes bring in more money than the wealthy pricks we represent in corporate disputes at Taylor & Associates. The firm started out only handling business law matters, but we’ve expanded to take on personal injury, family law, employment law, and criminal law. We’ve even opened up locations in different cities across the United States. The vast array of areas we represent allow us to be diverse while bringing in optimal income.
The money the Snakes make from selling drugs is insane. They might be on the West Side, but they’re far from poor. That wasn’t always the case, though. When I was a kid, the Draaks controlled the West Side. The Snakes were smaller and always in the shadows; the Draaks had too much power at the time for the Snakes to thrive. Eventually, the Snakes got enough backing, and a war started between the gangs—one where the Snakes came out on top.
