2. William
WILLIAM
I’d take a favor from Dot Baker, but not the kind she probably has in mind.
I never should have hired her. She walked into my office for that interview two years ago, with her tantalizing curves and glossy brown curls, and I went temporarily insane. I had to have more of her, and the only way I knew how was to hire her.
I couldn’t have asked her out. How inappropriate would that have been?
No, you cannot have this job you’re interviewing for. But I’d love to take you out for dinner and drinks before bending your juicy ass over every surface in my apartment.
Inappropriate. Lawsuit-worthy. As a lawyer, I know better. But as a man, apparently I’m only as evolved as my most basic needs.
So I hired her. And I’ve been punished for this choice every single day since then.
She was my first hire when I started my practice. Now I’ve got her, a paralegal, and an intern. Still, she’s my right-hand person. Present for nearly everything I do at the office and in the courthouse.
I didn’t expect her to be so good at her job, but damn, she is. A few months ago, she was out sick for a week with the flu and my whole damn world fell apart.
Not only because I don’t know how to manage my calendar. But because, without getting a daily dose of seeing Dot, I become a real asshole. A bigger one than usual, anyway.
It turns out, she’s good for me. Not just making me productive but making me happier, a better version of myself. A little bit closer to the man I wish I was.
So when she called me, I answered. I always answer my clients, no matter what time it is, and when I saw the number pop up on my screen, I recognized it as the local jail. Thinking it was one of my repeat clients getting into a late night mess again, I picked up the phone.
Imagine my surprise when it was Dot’s sweet voice instead.
I was out of bed in a fucking instant. Didn’t hesitate. By the time she was telling me what was going on, I was dressed and in my car.
My line of work means I’m well acquainted with that jail and the people who are in it. An innocent little thing like Dot doesn’t belong anywhere near that place.
She sounded scared on the phone. I’d never heard Dot scared before. And I don’t fucking like it.
I still don’t know the full story, but Dot promised to give me a full rundown today after we’d both had some sleep. I cleared my morning appointments for her, even though Dot insisted I didn’t. It doesn’t matter. She’s my most important client right now, whether she likes it or not.
Maybe I can’t be anything more to her than her boss. Maybe I can’t be her man. But I’ll still defend her as though she’s my woman.
Because in my wildest fantasies, she is.
I know she’d like me to give her a hard time about getting arrested, like I normally would.
That’s our relationship. It’s always been that way.
She gives me a hard time, I give her one right back.
Giving each other hell is all that we know.
And her getting arrested for brawling in a bar is the kind of thing I probably should give her shit about.
But I won’t. I can tell she’s ashamed, and worried, too. The last thing I want to do is make that worse for her. This isn’t something she can joke about right now. There’s no humor in it, only pain.
When I dropped her off at the bar to retrieve her car and drive home, Dot made me promise to figure out some kind of favor she could do for me to make things “even.”
But I have no idea what I could possibly need from Dot that she either doesn’t already provide, or wouldn’t be completely inappropriate to ask of her.
Maybe I’ll think of some stupid chore. She could dust my bookshelves. It would take forever and would come with the added bonus of requiring Dot to climb up on a ladder, giving me the benefit of a spectacular view of her ass.
That’s sexual harassment, William. What the hell is wrong with you?
When I come into the office this morning, Dot’s already there. I frown, glancing at my watch.
“Is it daylight savings and I forgot?” I ask. “You’re not supposed to be here yet.”
Dot gets up from her desk in the reception area, hurriedly bringing me a cup of coffee and a bag from Dolly’s Diner.
“Here,” she says, taking my briefcase. Her fingers brush against mine when she grabs the handle and this does terrible things to my already weak self-discipline when it comes to her. “I wanted to get here early and give you this.”
I frown, looking at the warm coffee cup in my hand as Dot takes my briefcase into my office. She zips it open, unpacking my laptop and then my notebook and pen, placing them on the desk precisely where I’d usually put them.
It’s no surprise that Dot knows my morning routine well. We’ve worked closely together for two years now. But she’s not one to bend over backwards, or treat me like a helpless child.
This kind of treatment is over the top. I don’t like it.
“You’re not my personal slave, Dot,” I tell her, coming into my office and putting the breakfast on the desk. I turn to her, crossing my arms. “How long are you going to punish yourself?”
Her blue-green eyes look up at me. Damn, I love them. We both have blue eyes. But while my eyes are cold and grayish, hers are earthy and rich. Sometimes they’re the color of the ocean at sunrise. Sometimes they’re the shade of moss after a rainfall.
And they’re so big. Big and innocent and sweet, in sharp contrast to her shrewd mind and quick mouth.
“I have to punish myself,” Dot says. “Because for whatever reason, you’re not doing it.”
“Why the hell would I punish you?” I ask her.
“Please,” she sighs. “Like you don’t know? You’ve gotten on my case about everything from stapling the reports the wrong way to forgetting to fill up your car with gas before an out of town trial. But for some reason you’re not scolding me about getting into legal trouble.”
“I’m representing you,” I tell her. “You’re my client. When have I ever scolded a client?”
“Just last week. You got onto that college kid for forgetting to tuck his shirt in when he went before the judge.”
“That was different.”
“How so?”
Dammit.
I hate when Dot makes a point I can’t refute. This happens more often that I care to admit. I went to one of the finest law schools in the country and still, Dot regularly runs circles around me in a debate.
This is the whole issue with Dot Baker. She’s the full package. When I first hired her, I thought it was a physical attraction only. If that were all it was, I think I could handle it. Could get past it and move on.
But it’s not just a physical attraction anymore. My attraction hasn’t faded with time, it’s only grown. The more I learn about her, the more I like her.
I love her mind. Sometimes I think I even love her. Being in love with her seems out of the question though. There are too many reasons why it’s a bad idea. One of them being that Dot has only ever looked at me like her boss. Nothing more.
I understand why. I’m a grumpy uptight guy compared to her free spirited ways. I’m also ten years older than her. It’s not old enough to be her father, but old enough that she can look at me and immediately rule me out as a romantic prospect.
We’re too different. If I told her how I felt, I know my affection and love wouldn’t be returned. All it would do is make our working relationship unbearably awkward.
So I will never dare to cross that line.
I go around the desk, sitting in my chair and looking across the display of morning offerings at my off-limits assistant.
“What punishment would you prefer to receive from me, Dot?” I ask her. “I’ll let you pick.”
Her eyes widen and I quickly clear my throat and continue.
“Do you want to pay me for representation?” I ask her. “Would that make you feel better?”
She bites her lip, driving my imagination wild.
“Not really,” she says. “I can’t afford you.”
Good. Because I wouldn’t accept her money even if she had it.
“Then what? You want me to hand you a mop and make you clean the floor?”
“Sure,” she says eagerly. “I’m good at cleaning. Is that what you want?”
“Absolutely not,” I sigh. “I don’t want anything .
I’m representing you for free. Consider it a perk of working for me.
We’re going to get these charges dropped, and then we’re going to move on like it never happened.
That is what I want. But I don’t think your guilty conscience is going to allow for that. ”
“Maybe not,” she says.
The longer this woman remains in my office, the closer to insanity I get. My knee bounces beneath the desk, nervous energy unable to be contained any longer. I’m worried that any minute now, I’m going to break down and spill out confessions that I shouldn’t.
“Forget it,” Dot sighs, turning to the door. “You don’t have to tell me what you need me to do. I’ll think of something myself.”
“You do that,” I reply dryly.