Chapter 1
CHAPTER ONE
EVAN
OCTOBER
“Oh my god,” I squeal out, grinning wide as my fingers fly over the computer, the only sounds in my still mostly dark office the clacking of my laptop keyboard and my feet hitting the floor under my desk as I literally kick my heels.
This story is even better than I imagined it, and my imagination is…vivid.
Glancing over at the spiral notebook open on my desk to remind myself of the dialogue I wanted to add, I type with one hand as I grab a Jolly Rancher from the pile by my computer, squeezing it out of the wrapper with two fingers and popping it into my mouth.
The cherry flavor exploding on my tongue immediately improves my already excellent mood as I nudge my characters through what they thought was an impossible conflict.
I cackle maniacally. They all should have known better.
In this fictional world, nothing is impossible.
If only real life worked that way too.
I shove the thought away as I get lost in the final few paragraphs, determined to finish this up.
If I stop before the end of the scene, I’ll think about it all day until I can get back to it late tonight.
I won’t be able to focus on anything else, and in my job, not being able to focus is career suicide.
When it comes to my stories, I have a bit of a one-track mind.
It’s not that I have an addictive personality or anything except yeah, I kind of do.
Entirely lost in bringing this scene to its inevitable conclusion, I don’t hear anything but my own thoughts. Don’t notice anything around me. I could be anywhere in the world until a bright light floods my office, shocking me out of the story and yanking me right back to the here and now.
My head jerks up and I meet a pair of eyes.
A pair of navy blue eyes to be exact. Navy blue eyes that belong to a tall, hard body and a set of broad shoulders and brown hair that is always just on the right side of messy and hands that felt really good when they were all over me even though they’re the hands of the enemy.
Navy blue eyes that belong to Cooper Wyles, who is currently standing in the doorway of his office across the dark hallway from mine.
He’s backlit by the fluorescent lighting on his ceiling, studying me like he’s never seen me before, amused smirk on his face that I want to slap right off, all thoughts of his magic hands vanishing in an instant as I adopt my very serious lawyer who could kick your ass all over the courtroom face.
And then, it occurs to me exactly what he’s seeing.
Fuckity fuck, fuck, fuck.
With something resembling a yelp that I’m sure I’ll regret later when I have to look at him across a conference table, I jump up from my desk, reaching my office door in three strides and slamming it shut. Spinning around, I press my back against the wood and sink to the floor in a panting heap.
My eyes travel the length of my body, taking in my oversize sweatshirt, red pajama pants covered in hearts, hair that I’m sure is a tangled mess tossed up in a haphazard ponytail, and the worst part of all, pink fuzzy slippers so bright they can probably be seen from space.
Goddammit.
I drop my head back against the door with a silent groan, suddenly regretting all my life choices.
For almost seven years, I’ve managed to conduct my early morning pajama-clad office writing sessions without anyone being the wiser.
Everyone here thinks I stay late and come in early because I’m a dedicated BigLaw associate on the fast track to making partner.
And I am that. But I’m also a whole bunch of other things. Things no one needs to know about.
Except Cooper Wyles, my enemy in all things and one of the people who stands between me and a partnership position in the intellectual property law group of the prestigious Boston law firm Maguire Brown where we both work, just saw me in my pink slippers.
So, fuck my life, kind of.
Of course, this is the moment my brain serves me a highlight reel of the night three weeks ago when Cooper picked me up, shoved me against a conference room window, and fucked me so hard I couldn’t walk for three days without an ache between my legs.
It’s really a shame someone so insufferable gave me the best orgasm of my life.
Crunching hard on my Jolly Rancher to try and banish the memory, I pick myself up off the floor, glancing at the clock on my desk as I stand. Six thirty a.m. Looks like Cooper is upping his game. He’s never here before seven.
My brain moves rapidly, trying to calculate how this new development affects my life. If Cooper’s going to start coming in earlier, I’ve got to lean in harder. Except I’m already leaning in so hard, I’m falling on my damn face.
Flipping the lock on my office door, I quickly shed my pajamas, unzipping the garment bag on the back of my door and pulling out a black skirt suit and white button-down shirt with thin black stripes.
Donning the outfit with expert precision, I walk around my desk and open the bottom drawer, pulling out my favorite red heels and sliding them on, then sitting down in my chair.
Taking a sip of the now cold pumpkin spice latte I picked up on my way in at five this morning because it’s October and I’m basic like that, I grab my makeup bag and get to work on my final transformation from swamp creature to brilliant BigLaw associate who has all her shit together and definitely doesn’t spend at least an hour a day doing extremely not work appropriate shit at work.
With a final coat of mascara and an extra dab of under-eye brightener because, late nights and early mornings, I put my makeup bag away, shove my discarded pajamas and slippers into the extra-large tote bag in the corner of my office, give my freshly dry-shampooed and brushed hair a final fluff, and open my office door, feeling like a general prepped for battle.
“Those were really nice slippers you were wearing. Very…bright.”
“What slippers?” I ask breezily, sailing past where Cooper leans against his office door, arms crossed. I send up a prayer to the goddesses above that he doesn’t follow me down the hall to the kitchen, but I’m just not that lucky. Cooper falls into step beside me and keeps on talking.
I really need to stop remembering how that deep voice sounded when it was whispering filthy things in my ear.
“No but really, your whole look was just top notch. I especially liked the sweatshirt with the silk-screened image of Hillary Clinton’s face.”
Walking into the kitchen, I grab a mug from the cabinet and turn to face Cooper, who is now leaning against the kitchen doorway.
Fuck my life again. It’s really hard to hate someone who looks so good leaning against a damn doorway.
Quirking a brow, I give him a once-over.
“Are you sure you’re feeling okay? You’re talking nonsense. ”
Cooper studies me, and I get that itchy, creepy-crawly feeling I sometimes have when we’re in the same room. The one that makes me feel like he sees too damn much. I don’t like that feeling one little bit. I don’t want to be seen.
Well, I do—just not by him.
“Is it nonsense, or do you have something to hide?”
I scoff, ignoring the way his words have alarm bells ringing in my head, hip-checking him out of the way when he makes a move towards the espresso machine, then ignoring the little zap of electricity I feel at that tiny contact.
I set down my mug and shove a pod into the machine before he has a chance to get there, tossing him my most menacing glare. “I was here first.”
Cooper holds up both of his hands, mug dangling from the fingers of his right, and takes a step back. “By all means, Rhodes. Since it seems like you slept in the office last night, I think you probably need this coffee more than I do.”
I roll my eyes because of course I slept at home just…
not for very long. Grabbing my mug and taking a sip, I just barely resist the urge to wince as the bitter liquid burns my throat.
I think longingly of the pumpkin spice creamer stocked in my refrigerator at home, and for one second, I let myself wish I hadn’t been quite so determined when I was a first year associate to cultivate the image of a badass bitch lawyer who drinks black coffee.
Black coffee is so gross. “Someone has to do the work around here. We can’t all be lucky enough to leave the office so early on a Tuesday night. ”
Cooper lets out what sounds like a barely restrained growl and shoves his mug under the espresso machine, jabbing at the button.
I open my mouth to tell him he forgot to put in a pod, but then I slam it shut.
It’ll be more fun to watch him figure it out on his own.
He puts his hands on his hips and turns his back to the espresso machine, entirely missing the fact that it’s currently spitting what looks like dirty water into his mug.
“I was here until after ten and you damn well know it. You could have left too, but you chose not to for reasons passing understanding. None of the partners were here that late, and we’re not on any kind of deadline for once. No one would have known whether you stayed or left.”
That’s exactly why I stayed, but he doesn’t have to know that. I just shrug, taking a tiny sip of my terrible-tasting coffee. “It’s called dedication, Cooper. Associates who want to make partner have it in spades. I don’t know what that says about you.”
Casting his eyes up at the ceiling like he’s praying for patience, he grabs his mug without looking at it and takes a sip, immediately spluttering and all but spitting the liquid right back out. “What the fuck?” he mutters.
I smirk at him. “It helps if you put a pod in the machine.”
He glares at me, eyes blazing, and opens his mouth to say something I’m sure is going to be the next shot in this little game we play, but we’re interrupted before he can get a word out.
“Ah, Cooper, Evangeline. Just the people I wanted to see.” Austin Maguire, head of the IP group and managing partner of the Boston office of Maguire Brown strolls into the kitchen looking like he just walked off a golf course even though it’s barely seven in the morning in October.
“I’m glad to see everyone is getting an early start today. ”
I smile sweetly because if there’s one thing that a female associate is expected to do, it’s smile.
And I bite back the reminder that I prefer to be called Evan because that’s fallen on deaf ears for years.
Reminding him again today isn’t going to change that.
“Sure am. I got in early to put the finishing touches on the discovery log.”
In my periphery, I see Cooper scowl, just like I figured he would. “I was going to do the discovery log today.”
I turn my smile on him but sharpen its edge. “And now you won’t have to.”
“Good work, Evangeline, I was hoping someone would have it done this morning. Opposing counsel has been emailing me all night asking when he can expect it.”
I nod, like I’ve been expecting this development even though we told them to expect it by next week at the earliest, and I haven’t so much as looked at it, much less finished it up.
Good thing I work fast. I consider my response, knowing that opposing counsel is basically an aged frat guy who never gets into the office before ten. “I can email it over to him by nine.”
Austin shakes his head, letting out a condescending tsk. “Now Evangeline, you know I like to review anything going to opposing counsel before an associate sends it. Have it on my desk by eight.”
I just barely resist the urge to scream.
I’m starting my seventh damn year as a litigation associate and am perfectly capable of sending something as simple as a discovery log without a partner having to review it.
But I’m a female seventh year associate, and Austin Maguire is king of the misogynists.
The man who would never dare review the work of a male seventh year associate.
But evidently my lady brain is just too preoccupied with pink things and periods to law properly.
I hate this man so fucking much. And I hate even more that he gets a say in whether I make partner or not.
There’s a reason associate classes at this firm have a fifty-fifty gender divide, but women only make up eighteen percent of the partnership, and that reason is standing right here in front of me in a three-thousand-dollar suit with a pocket square.
A pocket square, Jesus Christ.
Out of the corner of my eye, I think I see Cooper surreptitiously roll his eyes as if to say, Can you believe this guy? But that can’t possibly be right. My brain must still be scrambled from not enough sleep, my early morning writing session, and nowhere near enough caffeine.
Metaphorically gritting my teeth, I will myself not to let my smile drop. “No problem, Austin. Consider it done.”
He pats me on the shoulder, and my skin practically crawls at the contact. “I knew I could count on you.” Turning on his heels, he strolls down the hall in the direction of his corner office, and I take a deep breath, reminding myself that Cooper is standing right here so I can’t lose my shit yet.
“You should have just let me do the discovery log like I said I would and saved yourself the trouble.”
I spin around, glaring daggers at the hot, irritating asshole whose sex noises play on repeat in my damn dreams. Fuck my life a third time. “Go to hell, Cooper,” I spit out, storming out of the kitchen.
“I’m already there,” I hear him mutter, as I flounce down the hallway in a flood of righteous indignation.
The misery in his voice has regret for my sharp words curdling in my stomach, but I shove it away as I close my office door with an extremely unsatisfying click when what I really want is a loud, hard slam.
Good thing I work best just a little angry.