Stephen is right about that, at least. My mother is never backward in coming forward, and if she doesn’t like you, you know it.
I press play on the message and—just as I assumed—a lunch date, tomorrow.
Wow, she must really be worried. In her mind, I’ve thrown my life away with the tattooed stranger—he looks far rougher on the outside than he is.
I like him, even though tonight he annoyed me by calling me a good girl. I sigh and throw my bag onto the kitchen bench, and go pick up Puss Puss, kissing her pretty little face and forcing affection on her that she’s probably not entirely enjoying.
Maybe he is right about me. I’ve always been a rule-follower, trying to do the right thing. Does that make me boring?
Is he calling me boring?
After I fucked him in his car—seeing shock and desire twist his features—I doubt he’ll call me boring again soon.
Or at least he better not, or he can disappear as quickly as he appeared.
I grin, remembering my boldness. My body warms and tingles with the thought of doing more. Of doing him again.
Gah, I need to get a grip. I have work tomorrow.
I sleep restlessly that night, despite having one of my best orgasms. Granted, there haven’t been many courtesy of men, but still, sleep eludes me.
I shower and dress in a comfortable pair of black trousers and a white shirt, then pull on a dark navy jacket. I respond to my mother via text, telling her I can spare a quick hour for lunch at my work’s cafeteria if she’s in the area, and what time that is, before heading off to work.
Upon arriving at the office, I barely have time to sit down before my work phone rings.
“Dallen speaking.”
“Dallen, it’s George. Come to the conference room. We have a new client who’s asked for you personally,” he instructs.
“Sure, I’ll be right in,” I reply. I set my bag down, grab my phone and laptop, and head into the conference room. I greet several colleagues already in the office with a good morning before knocking and entering the room.
I smile as I take in who’s seated at the table. I look to the gentleman’s left and see another, one who I’m sure I haven’t met before but looks familiar.
Brothers or cousins, perhaps. They have to be.
“Dallen, this is Elio and Alex Romero. They’re looking for new representation for their business interests, real estate, and financial investments, and asked for you. Your reputation precedes you, it seems.”
I set down my laptop and reach out to shake both men’s hands. I take my seat. “Of course, it’s a pleasure to meet you both.” I open my laptop and prepare a work form to take notes and see what they’re specifically looking for. “If you could let me know what you’re after, go through your assets and business plans, we can get started.”
The meeting progresses well, but the niggling realization that Alex Romero looks familiar to me doesn't dissipate; I still can't place him. He's also the less talkative of the two, but far more intense, like he's trying to work me out as much as I'm evaluating him.
If I’m to be their lawyer—and I do my job well—that’s all he needs to know about me.
“Our cousin passed last year, and we’re looking to ensure the assets that he left to the family are properly allocated and protected. He was murdered, you see, and we’re not used to handling such large quantities of investments that he acquired during his life,” Elio says.
I look down at my notes, needing to remember the deceased gentleman’s name. “Matteo Romero was a cousin of yours, is that correct?”
“Yes, that’s correct. He was murdered almost a year ago, and we’ve recently been notified of some real estate he has shares in that we believe is linked to his downfall. We would like to sell the shares of the building, and we’re hoping you’ll also be able to handle those contracts, among other legalities that may arise, of course,” Elio continues.
“Of course, I can help with that,” I say. “Do you have the contract for his shares in the building? I want to review it to see who the other investors are and identify potential contacts who might be willing to buy your shares at an agreed market value.”
Elio Romero slides some paperwork over to me, and I pick it up, looking through it. The name Stephen Moretti jumps out at me, and I fight to hide my surprise.
That can’t be the Stephen that I was with but a few hours ago? No. This is a coincidence.
I look up and find Alex staring at me intently as if he’s waiting for me to say something. “I’ll go over the contracts, look into what the shares are worth, and reach out to the other parties. I should have a response for you all by next week. Shall we meet back here next Monday? My assistant will get back to you regarding a time,” I say.
“Sounds good, Miss Byrne,” Elio says, standing. “Thank you for taking us on. We look forward to doing business with you.”
