His face shifts, and I almost choke.
Oh.Oh.
He doesn’t remember me? He seriously doesn’t know who I am? My pen squeaks—I gripped it too tight, cracking the barrel. I loosen my hand. My knuckles are white. Fuck him!
“Oh, I’m terribly sorry,” he stammers, sounding uncharacteristically uncertain. “I didn’t know we’d met.”
He’s still trapped in my doorway.
I stay at my desk, not inviting him in at all.
The nerve!
“We were in the same high school class,” I spit out. I can’t believe this guy—he comes begging for help and can’t even look me up to remember we spent three years together?
He swallows hard, and I watch his Adam’s apple rise and fall.
“Well, how about we try this… do you happen to know me as Blueface?”
His eyes widen. Yeah, that’s what I thought.
Memories flash: the hallway, five boys cornering me, stealing my books, calling me fat, four-eyes, saying I had crap on my face because of my freckles, calling me a witch, posting witch-burning pictures—just for my red hair.
Yes. Today I’m the witch, but for good reasons.
I halfheartedly expect him to apologize but instead the bastard dares to step into my office and closes the door behind him.
I don’t know whether to scream at him or hurl my cold coffee at his head. So, I just stand up, my chair scraping the floor as I do. “I’m fully booked and don’t have time for an intake. I can’t take your case.”
He rubs the back of his head. “I’m sorry.”
I roll my eyes. That’s it?
“I need help getting custody of my?—”
“Look, everyone here needs help. I told you: I’m booked solid.”
“My assistant said your boss told him you were available.”
I grip my desk. Benjamin better have a good excuse. I decide which cases I take on. That’s how I keep my win rate and earned the junior partner. I’m no rookie.
“You come here, don’t know who I am, and demand I take on a way too difficult case? That’s a whole other level of arrogance, don’t you think?”
He stops mid-office and stares at my suit, holding my gaze a beat too long.
“I’m sorry. You look—great, I…” he mumbles in what sounds like Russian.
I lose patience.Men, ugh.They’re hopelessly inept at conversation. No wonder cat ladies exist—twenty cats beat a clueless man any day.
“My assistant set this up. I told him to find the city’s best lawyer to save my daughter.”
Save? Ha. Probably another guy who just wants to control his ex since she has custody. Who knows nowadays. We must be careful.
I cross my arms.
“Nice approach—letting others solve your mess. The door’s back there. Good seeing you.” Not.
“Jenna,” he says, and when he says my name, my neck tingles. Must be a draft in this glass box. “I really need your help. I’m so sorry I didn’t know who you were, but my daughter is with her mother, she’s scared to sleep alone, I need to help her?—”
