Vera
Tuesday, April 12
Great. Fucking great. I felt another migraine coming, like a wave of pain slowly washing my brain, starting from the left near my temple.
I needed sleep after pulling an all-nighter on another sexual harassment and unfair dismissal case. My client came to me in tears, alleging that her former boss sexually harassed her and made her uncomfortable with racist remarks. He fired her shortly after she objected. It was a good thing she had evidence. We had voicemails and text messages, including a dick pic… unimpressive but highly offensive.
I took a sip of my lemon-infused water and sighed loudly. On came the headphones, and I swam into my world of music. Last weekend was a blast, but kicking Mister X out of my bed was no joy. Not being one to cuddle after a one-night stand, I sent the boy home, reminding him to take his mask. Alistair Scott intrigued me. I couldn’t get him out of my head.
At nearly noon, my empty stomach grumbled, warning me I needed lunch. I switched the music off, removed my headphones, and opened my eyes to the view of... a crotch. Expensive dark-blue pants covered said crotch. The pants’ owner swayed his hips back and forth, arms bowed out, and hands shoved in his pockets.
Fuck me blind. Why was I staring at this crotch?Mind you, it was wrapped in fine Italian wool. I mean, the guy had excellent taste in fashion, but it was still a crotch. I scooted my chair away from my desk, pushing the wheels back.
“Do you mind?” I huffed, leaning back and folding my arms.
My gaze traveled from the crotch up to a slim torso, clothed in a crisp, white shirt and a dark-blue jacket, then upward to broad shoulders and a tanned neck above the thick, light-blue silk tie.
Now we’re talking. Nice body.
His low laugh rolled through the room, impossible to ignore. For a second, I forgot to breathe. Those curls, light brown streaked with gold, fell against his neck, catching the light like he was lit from the inside. There was something angelic about him, the kind of man you’d expect to be trouble only after you’d already fallen. I stared, wide-eyed. Definitely not your average guy.
His skin was smooth and tanned, no doubt from a recent sunny vacation on some exotic island. I wanted to touch his skin and explore every muscle. When our eyes locked, I knew he was no angel. His green eyes gleamed with lust, and his lips curved upward seductively.
“So, you’re the recruit,” he said, swinging his right foot back and forth. His hands were still in his pockets.
“And you must be Santa Claus,” I retorted, hoping he would bite. I loved a challenging fight, especially with good-looking strangers who invaded my space. “Has Christmas arrived? HaveI been a good girl? Do I get my bonus?” I teased with a naughty smile.
“Oh, you’ll get your bonus, Mona Lisa.” The sexy stranger’s mouth twitched into a lopsided grin.
“Mona Lisa? And you’re Leo?”
“It depends on which one you’re referring to. DiCaprio or da Vinci?” Angel Eyes replied, taking one step forward. I caught a whiff of his fresh scent, which screamed out edgy masculinity and sweet temptation.
I tilted my head and glared at the handsome stranger, arms still folded. No pretty-boy face could fool me. “I’m busy. If you’re skirt-chasing, you’re barking up the wrong tree.”
Angel Eyes cleared his throat, squared his shoulders, and shifted his stance to proclaim dominance. He pointed at my nameplate. “Vera Richland. Hmm. Do you know who I am?”
“Sure, you’re Alistair Scott. This building is named after your grandfather, and your family is connected to every business in Lester Harbor, including this firm.”
“Wow, I’m impressed. How did you know?”
I rolled my eyes. I Googled “Alistair Scott” because I was curious about the masked man who bought me champagne. “Sweetie, I knoweverythingbecause I’m a goddess.”
“Ah. A goddess of what, may I dare to ask?” Alistair tilted his head as he swayed on his feet. His dewy-green eyes twinkled when he smiled, exposing his pristine teeth again.
I stared at him for a long minute before my laughter erupted, ripping apart the silent air. “I’m the goddess of badass fuckery. Now, if you don’t mind, Mister Scott, I have real work to do. Unlike some people, I don’t have delusions of grandeur.”
Alistair’s eyes sparkled with mischief as he laughed.“Delusions of grandeur? Wow.”
“Mister Scott, I have to work to earn money like other everyday people in this city.”
“Scotty, is Vera distracting you?”
Shit. My boss, Brenton McCormick, strolled in, tailored suit, slicked-back hair, and eyes cold enough to ice over Lake Michigan. The kind of man who could smile for the cameras and cut you down in the same breath. He leveled a stare at me that meant business.
“Not at all, Brent. Nice upgrade, you finally made this place look respectable,” Alistair said, giving him an approving nod.
Brenton smirked, falling right into step. “Lunch? I hope you’re buying, Scotty.”
