Chapter 2
2
Emily
T oday was the day.
I tried to contain the emotions rampaging through me as I picked up the file, laid it on my lap and opened it.
It was a good thing I’d familiarized myself with this case by coming in at five-thirty this morning.
I knew I would be useless if miracles happened, and Violet Knight actually went through with signing the papers this time around.
For the last three months, ever since Fletcher brought me onto his divorce case, I’d watched the woman throw every wrench she could find into the divorce proceedings. Sometimes it would be something as insane and frivolous as canceling a scheduled meeting at the last minute to say she was going on a three-week mental health vacation to Europe.
I would watch Fletcher climb the walls, his temperature at boiling point as he prowled his office.
Often, he’d released all that pent-up rage in the firm’s private gym by running the equivalent of a half marathon on the treadmill at insane speeds. Other times he would lift weights and work up such streams of sweats he’d be dripping with it.
I knew this because I had secretly stalked him those and many other times, secretly and fervently wishing I could help with that release.
I wasn’t sure exactly when my obsession with my boss started.
Sure, I knew all about him from the sheer number of landmark cases he’d won in Chicago long before I left law school. Anyone who was anyone in the legal field knew about Fletcher Knight.
I hadn't believed my luck when I heard he was looking to interview paralegals after his last one went on maternity leave and then decided to quit to become a stay-at-home mom.
On the morning of my interview, my spirits fell when I saw the caliber of vastly more experienced paralegals up for the job.
To this day I don't know why he picked me, but hell if I was complaining.
I snuck a glance at my watch and almost moaned in frustration when I saw that only five minutes had passed.
My phone was in my pocket ready for the alert from Judge Montgomery’s clerk once he was back in his chambers.
It had cost me an extra bottle of red for said clerk, but at least I would get the heads-up of the imminent news Fletcher was waiting for.
I learned very early on that he valued extreme efficiency and conciseness. It was why he took me along to every meeting to take notes.
I had a near photographic memory and an ear for recording things as clearly as if hearing it in real time. It’d seen me graduate at the top of my class with several recommendations when I left law school. I still pinched myself every morning that I got to work with the Fletcher Knight.
But my growing obsession with him?
My sexual obsession?
Yeah, that was becoming increasingly problematic. Except my analytical brain hadn't found a way to resolve it that didn't involve distancing myself from the object of my obsession. And heaven help me, I wasn't planning on finding a solution anytime soon.
Because I liked Fletcher Knight. More than liked him.
He was the first thing I thought about when I woke up and the last thing on my mind when I went to sleep.
I had a picture of him on my nightstand. And that one time he’d asked me to deliver his dry cleaning, I may have stolen one of his shirts then made up a story about it being misplaced.
So what if it cost me $700 to have it replaced because it happened to be a Brooks Brothers exclusive made of a specially sourced cotton-silk blend?
Snuggling into his shirt and falling asleep with the regrettably diminishing scent of his aftershave was the highlight of my nights. And I wasn't about to deprive myself of it over an insane obsession I couldn't escape.
“Is everything alright, Emily?”
I jumped a little at the deep voice directed at me from across the room.
“Of course.”
“Are you sure? Because you haven't turned the page in that file for the last three minutes.”
I sucked in a sharp breath at being caught.
“Oh, yeah…I came in early this morning so I am familiar with the case already. I was thinking what our next step would be.”
Grey eyes, set in the light bronze face of the most gorgeous man earth, stared at me. “You came in early?”
My head bobbed up and down as I cleared my throat, so I didn't sound like a breathless bimbo.
“Yes. I thought I'd get a jump start on a few of the cases just in case your meeting went longer than scheduled.” I immediately regretted reminding him of the clash with his ex when his lips pursed, but his annoyance seemed to evaporate in the next instant. And his gaze remained on my face, his eyes probing.
“How early?”
Shit. Would I get in trouble for telling him the truth?
He’d berated me for coming in when the roads were icy two months ago. And he had expressly forbidden me—with a horrified, livid look on his face—from taking an Uber when he’d discovered that was how I went home when I worked late. Which was why I now had access to the firm’s exclusive car service, usually reserved for partners and senior associates.
“Around five-thirty,” I said, deciding to come clean because I suspected he could find out if he put his mind to it. He was Fletcher Knight, after all. “Closer to six,” I hastily added because I didn't want to get into trouble.
“I admire your diligence, but you should have known that I would have given you more time to familiarize with the case if necessary. We don't go to trial for another week.”
I forced a shrug, his intense focus as usual making fireworks explode beneath my skin.
“I couldn't sleep so I would have just been wasting time lying in bed.”
His eyes grew dark and a faint flush colored his clean-shaven jaw.
For several seconds he didn't speak as his gaze raked my face.
When his eyes dropped to his desk, I suspected, for some ridiculously exciting reason, that Fletcher was composing himself.
Because of the reference I’d made to lying in bed?
Heat tunneled through my belly into my pussy, and I felt my panties dampening.
After several seconds when he raised his gaze once more, he was fully back under control, easing back in his chair and steepling his fingers under his chin.
“Go on then, what do you think our next move should be?” he asked.
“It's clear Harry Willis and his son will never admit to the fraud they committed, but we know Mrs. Willis has a few receipts. We could lean into that, let them think they hold more significance and see where we land. I have a feeling they’ll jump first and give Mrs. Willis what she’s worth.”
He raised an eyebrow. “Bluffing without solid evidence is dangerous, Emily, especially if you don't have the experience to back it up.”
My skin tingled some more to have his full attention back on me. At moments like these, I felt like the luckiest girl in the world to be under Fletcher Knight’s regard. “But you have the experience. You're a maestro at getting exactly what you want for your clients.”
Again his eyes flickered and he shifted in his chair.
“You really believe that, don't you? You're not like one of those hungry associates out there blowing smoke up my ass, are you?”
“I would never,” I said a little too fervently. Crap. My groupie voice was in danger of making another appearance and I cleared my throat again. “I mean, I'm just going by your reputation.”
“And reputation means a lot to you?”
There was a probing quality that made me think he was delving far beneath the surface of that question. My heart began to race.
“A good reputation is important, yes, but up to a point, I think. I would never let it get in the way of what I truly want.”
“And what is it you truly want, Emily?” His voice had dropped a couple of octaves until it was a dark rumble moving through me. Whether it was deliberately designed or not, I found myself leaning closer to him even across the room just so I was more tuned in. As if I could be any more tuned into this man.
What was it I wanted? I wanted to blurt out every fantasy I'd had about him, but that would be a one-way ticket to HR and a swift security escort out the front doors.
He literally came out of a divorce meeting, was still a married man for the next hour or two technically.
And also, when was coming on to your boss ever a good idea?
I don't care.
Those three reckless words pounded hard through me as I stared at him. “What I want is impossible. Crazy. Maybe even dangerous,” I whispered.
“But you would still risk your reputation if it was attainable?” he pushed.
“Yes,” I breathed, the response ejected from my very soul.
Because I’d lain awake for countless nights dreaming of ways to have Fletcher Knight.
In my life.
In my bed.
Deep inside me.
Those times I had stalked him to the gym downstairs, I had blushed when I saw the outline of his cock against his shorts as he heaved those weights.
The man was packing an absolute monster in his pants. And yes, I had hastily gone online afterwards and bought myself a dildo to practice on.
A blush crept up my face now as I recalled how difficult it had been to get even half of it inside myself. If…no, when the time came, I would need a lot of lube to take Fletcher.
The very thought made me squirm in my seat and his eyes dropped to my hips, and then up to my mouth before he abruptly shoved away from the desk and rose.
Watching him stride to the floor-to-ceiling windows that overlooked the city, my mouth dried all over again with how hot he was.
At six foot four, he towered over most men in this building and his workouts had reaped a physique that made most women drool when he walked past. Hell, I’d seen it happen with my very own eyes.
And yes, I'd wanted to scratch out every single one of those eyes that dared to look upon him.
“You’re an exceptional paralegal, Emily. I assume you have plans of sitting the bar in the next few years?”
The memory of why my education had stalled made my heart hurt for a few beats. Luckily, Dad beat the cancer after it was caught early and after several rounds of chemo. Now he was back to full health, there was nothing stopping me resuming my studying for my bar exams. Well, almost nothing. “Yes.”
“Then you need to be sure if and when this thing you want happens is handed to you, that you weigh the risks.”
Framed against the glass with the sunlight glinting on his hair like it was worshipping him, I couldn’t think of a single thing I’d let stand in my way, including the career I loved. “I will. I have.”
His nostrils flared and those mercurial eyes remained on me for an eternity.
Until my phone buzzed. Loudly enough for him to hear it.
Heart jumping into my throat when his eyes dropped to my pocket, I felt the force of his stare as I drew out my phone. And paused. “Sorry, I…”
He waved me away. “Go ahead. Answer it.”
Swallowing, I pressed the screen. Read the message.
Monty done earlier than expected. He’s reviewing docs now. Stand by.
Oh God, it was almost over. Fletcher was almost?—
“Something you want to share?”
I gasped, my gaze flying up to see him standing a few feet away. Biting my lip, I hesitated. Would he think I was poking my nose where it wasn’t welcome? I may have sat in on meetings and taken notes, but it was still his private life.
“Emily?” There was the faintest warning for me to respond.
And again, consequences be damned, I went with the truth. “I had Judge Montgomery’s clerk text to let me know when he was reviewing your papers. He’s almost done.”
He was close enough for me to see his eyes blaze with a peculiar light. “You did that for me?” he asked, his voice as puzzling as his eyes.
“Y-yes. I hope that was okay. I know I may be overstep?—”
“You going out of your way to ensure I got the news as quickly as possible? That is far from overstepping, Emily.”
Pleasure and relief swelled through me. Riding the wave, I jumped up and pushed my phone back into my pocket. “In that case, I have something for you. Wait here.”
Amusement glinted in his eyes. “This is my office, Emily. I’m hardly going anywhere.”
Heat rushed up my face once more. “Yes, of course. I meant…I…I’ll be right back.” Before I could make more of a fool of myself, I turned and rushed out his door.
Although I mostly worked in Fletcher’s office, I had a designated desk where most of the paralegals were grouped in an open-plan space at the far end of the floor.
A few heads turned my way as I sprinted to my desk. I kept my eyes down, not wanting to be distracted or engaged in any conversation that might slow my return to Fletcher’s office.
The gift, which I’d had for almost a month was in my lower drawer. Ensuring no one was looking—because I most definitely did not want anyone questioning why I’d bought my boss a divorce present—I slipped it into my tote. It was coming up to lunch. Everyone would assume I was heading out on my break.
He was exactly where I’d left him when I walked back in, remnants of his amusement still lingering.
Waiting for the glass door to shut behind me, I suddenly became aware that with only parts of the glass walls that constituted the office partitions shrouded, anyone walking past would see me handing Fletcher his gift.
Granted his corner office wasn’t heavily trafficked but even his PA could look in and see.
I glanced out into the corridor and bit my lip.
“Would you like me to activate the privacy glass, Emily?”
Would I? On the one hand it felt like I was overblowing the importance of my role in his divorce. But on the other, I wanted to be a part of it. The good part.
Without awaiting my response, Fletcher returned to his desk, picked up the tiny remote and pressed the button. Immediately, the glass clouded.
From past experience, I knew that despite the door not being locked, anyone who needed Fletcher now would knock and wait to be invited in before entering. That made me feel a little better as I reached into my tote and brought out the tall object swathed in black and gold silk wrapping.
Dropping my bag on the chair, I held it out as he walked to where I stood.
“Champagne seemed a bit…” I shrugged. “I went with this instead. I hope you like it,” I tagged on, cringing at my feeble, hopeful voice.
He took it but didn’t open it immediately. “You bought me a gift?” His voice held zero inflection. It was the kind of voice he used sometimes in the courtroom, when he wanted to catch opponents off-guard.
Damn, I had overstepped.
My palms went clammy, and I was scrambling around for an excuse when he attacked the wrapper. And gave a low, appreciative whistle when he saw what he’d uncovered.
“Emily, this is a $3000 bottle of Macallan 21.”
My palms got clammier. I should’ve gone with my third instinct and gotten him a $100 paperweight or something equally banal. “It’s what you drink, isn’t it? Did I get it wrong?” I didn’t. I knew everything there was to know about this man.
And from the hooded look he flicked at me, I was sure he suspected that too. “You know you didn’t.” His gentle chiding held a layer of contemplation.
Fuck fuck fuck.
Was he about to call me out for my fixation?
I couldn’t look him in the face. I didn’t want to see his condemnation. Instead, I watched him open the top of the box and draw out the stylish glass bottle.
The way he cradled it in his large hands said he appreciated it. Enough not to shove it back and tell me how inappropriate I’d been. And yeah, in hindsight, it was a shedload of money.
Grandpa Hartley would probably turn in his grave if he knew I had spent a chunk of the inheritance he left me on a gift for my boss. But I hoped he would understand. After all, he drove cross- country without stopping to beg Grandma for a second date after falling in love with her at first sight.
And while my family wasn’t insanely wealthy like Fletcher Knight of the very well-heeled Chicago Knights, my general salary and the bonus I received at Christmas two months ago was more than enough to keep me afloat.
Besides, between the long hours and sometimes weekends Fletcher demanded I work, I hardly socialized. Not that I wanted to.
“It’s a beautiful, thoughtful gift, Emily. Thank you.”
Heady relief flooded me. “My pleasure. You deserve it after what you've been through,” I added, softly.