AllFreeNovel
Share Us
This time he left the "r" off the end of my name, and that familiar tell just about killed me.
I looked up to find Brandon leaning confidently in the slim doorframe, dressed in a beautifully fitted gray suit and pale pink shirt. It was a far sight from the wrinkled T-shirt and baseball cap he'd worn on Saturday, with his blond curls styled elegantly and face cleanly shaved. He looked like a model, not a brilliant business and legal mind. Basically, he had no business being seen by any woman who hadn't been lobotomized. Me, in particular.
Behind him, I caught more than one female associate glancing over their desks with hooded, yet covetous looks, most of them aimed somewhat lower than his back.
I sighed and forced myself to stare at my empty email inbox. "What are you doing here?"
He frowned and pushed off the doorframe to enter the room. "I was looking for Kieran. What are you doing here?"
I looked around at my desk, feigning confusion. "I work here."
Brandon blinked. "What?"
I tapped my fingernails on the Cherrywood desktop, focusing on my breathing. I really didn't want to blush in front of my colleagues, although I could already feel it coming. Come on, Crosby, think of things that don't get you excited. Dad's old bathrobe. Tort law. Yanni.
I looked up again to find Brandon glaring at me, and all my efforts were completely wasted.
"What?" I affected innocence. "Yes. I told you I had to take a job in Boston. I can't pay you back otherwise, nor can I pay for my dad's continued treatment."
"You can't pay me back..."
The words trailed off under his breath as Brandon shook his head. Brandon wasn't given to blushes like I was, but I knew his other tells, one of which was the hand currently tugging at his nicely combed hair. Well, what used to be nicely combed.
He exhaled, long and deep, then looked back at me with eyes like fire. Electric blue fire. Without saying anything else, he marched into the small room while the door swung closed behind him. He continued around my desk and leaned over me, forcing me to sit far back in my chair while I gripped the arms of the desk chair.
"What are you doing?" I hissed, trying to keep my face still despite the fact that it was now likely a brighter pink than his shirt.
I tried not to observe how amazing he smelled that close, but failed miserably. A few of the associates were watching through the glass walls with open curiosity. I was mortified and turned on all at once.
Brandon still said nothing, just reached around me and pressed the button Kieran had pointed out on the side of my desk. He clearly knew his way around these offices. Immediately all of the walls and the door turned icy white, and more importantly, opaque.
He stood up, leaving me still gripping my chair arms for dear life and breathing much harder than I wanted to be.
"We're really supposed to leave the walls clear unless we're with clients," I whispered, to which I received another withering scowl.
"I am a client," Brandon said as he pulled off his jacket and practically hurled it, along with his briefcase, on one of the chairs in front of my desk.
His chest heaved. I watched warily as he loosened his tie and unbuttoned the top button of his collar. What did he think he was doing?
"You're a client," I repeated, half-mesmerized by his actions as he stalked toward me again. "What, are you getting another divorce today?"
Another glare. This time I didn't look away.
"Well, you're not my client," I continued, more boldly than I really felt.
"No," Brandon growled, "I'm not."
Before I could say anything else, I was bodily yanked out of my seat and into a kiss so searing that I felt it in my toenails. My body reacted instinctively, hands grabbing at his mussed waves while his tongue twisted unforgivingly around mine. We both grunted and wrenched at each other, echoing the same urgency from the back of his car, except it was nine in the morning and sober. I felt everything that much more acutely.
Finally, during a quick breath, I remembered exactly where I was and pushed him away.
"Fuck!" Brandon yelped, hopping around like he had been burned.
"Shh!" I pointed to the blocked windows. "They can hear you!"
I hastily fixed the back of my blouse, which had become untucked under my jacket. My hair had completely fallen out of its pins, and my glasses were now somewhere on the floor.
"These walls are soundproofed," Brandon said darkly as he handed me the thick frames. "Kiefer Knightly takes confidentiality very seriously, maybe even more than Sterling Grove. So I can say or do pretty much whatever the FUCK I want, as loud as I want."
