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I screwed my boss.
Technically he wasn’t my boss at the time, but holy crap, I screwed my boss.
Or, who I hoped would be my boss. What if he didn’t hire me? And why would he want to take me to his house? What did he have to say to me there he couldn’t say here?
Shit. I really stepped in it now. I wanted to be responsible and show my parents I was a fucking adult and here I have not only slept with the enemy but I am also—potentially—working for him too.
Yeah, that will go over well at Sunday dinner.
“Crap, there are a lot of files,” I said, looking up at the wall in awe. The expansive space was packed full of files from floor to ceiling with a scrolling ladder hooked onto the side of the large oak shelves. I always loved to see those in the movies and found just how helpful they really were.
I’ve been working for the last hour and a half. Thanks to Trish, who was fast becoming a friend, I learned Mr. Sloan’s—Grayson’s—filing system. Not only was it alphabetized but it was also color coded by theme and what stage of completion the case was in. Complicated yet beautiful, just like the man.
From my count, only a few files were marked red which Trish explained were lost cases. Three, to be exact, out of hundreds. Given the worn edges of the files and their contents I would bet he liked to pore over the cases to see where he went wrong.
Almost done, I looked at the stack in my hand. I climbed the steps to the middle and slid the files home.
After stepping off the ladder, I stood back and admired my handiwork. I snapped mental pictures so I could replicate the system for my own use for when the time came and I hung my own shingle.
I took another step and came up short when a wall of muscle greeted my back.
“You’ve done an impressive job.”
Dark eyes stared down at me when I turned on my heel, eyes climbing high. Higher.
“Mr. Sloan, I didn’t hear you come in.”
“Grayson, Cherry. It’s Grayson. I think once a man pops your cherry you can call the bastard by his first name.”
The longer he talked the hotter the ire and fire in his eyes grew.
“Is that a fact?”
He nodded. “You should be kneeing me in the balls and walking out of here for what I did to you.”
He looked like he spent the last two hours in hell instead of court. His hair looked like he raked his hands through it at least once every thirty seconds and irritation rode him so hard his breathing was hitched and his chest heaved with every other word.
All signs of frustration. Deep-rooted frustration at that. I learned how to read jurors in body language class. Good stuff, practical stuff I got to use on everyday people outside court, and right now it said Grayson Sloan was pissed off about our one-night stand.
“Grab your things. We’re leaving.”
I turned to see Sloan looking down at me, his stare unwavering. It made me nervous. My heart beat like crazy, and my knees wobbled so much I feared if I didn’t stand my ground I’d be led out of here with no job to speak of and turned into arm candy because that was all he saw me as.
“No.”
He narrowed his eyes and damn, if that didn’t make him look sexier and harder to keep the steel in my spine. “Excuse me?” he growled low, closing the door behind him.
And locked it.
I swallowed the boulder lodged in my throat. “Just because you’ve had a taste of heaven, doesn’t mean you get to dictate the rules.” I sounded stronger and braver than I felt. Honestly, my knees were playing the Cha Cha Cha they were knocking so hard under this tight pencil skirt.
He stepped into my space, now standing close enough I could smell his intoxicating aftershave. Not that I minded.
His hand came around my neck and strong fingers collared the delicate flesh one at a time.
“I have a long memory and I remember you telling meIput you in heaven so that makes youmyangel. Tell me I’m wrong.”
His voice was deep and shivery-good. It reminded me of Christian Bale’s in Batman. I’d sit on any jury just to hear him talk.
