CHAPTER TWO – MY TWO BOSSES #2
“I’m enjoying it so far,” I mumble, trying not to sound like I’m begging for mercy. “Everyone’s been very welcoming.”
James tilts his head. “That’s not the word most new hires use. Most say ‘intense’ or ‘brutal.’ Sometimes even ‘terrifying.’”
I laugh, a little too high. “I suppose I’m still in the honeymoon phase. It’s only been two days.”
Brent shrugs. “Two days is enough. But you’ll find we value candor here, so don’t be afraid to tell us what you really think.”
My pulse hiccups.
“To be honest,” I say, “I’ve never worked in an environment this—well, this competitive. The drive here is palpable. I haven’t been here long, but I can feel it in the air, and I like it.”
James sits back, folding his hands behind his head. His shirt tightens across his broad chest, and for a second I can’t look away. He catches me, and the edges of his mouth curl up, just enough to say I see you seeing me.
“So, Ms. Williams,” he drawls, “walk us through your resume.”
I take a breath. This I can do. I recite my resume bullet points: college degree, good grades, classes I enjoyed most, and the previous firm I worked at, Carter Graywright. I ramble a little, saying the right things, but my skin feels too tight, like I’m wearing someone else’s body.
When I finish, James taps his pen on the table. “And why did you leave your last firm?”
A good question. The truth is “I got obsessed with my father’s case and had to get a job here.” But of course, I can’t say that, so I mumble something about “better opportunities” and “closer to my apartment.”
Brent’s eyebrows raise, but he says nothing.
James picks up the folder, scans it, then levels me with those dark eyes. “Do you have any trial experience?”
“A little,” I say. “We were in trial only once, and the entire team moved into the hotel across the street from the courtroom. It was crazy.”
He makes a small, approving sound. “Good. The quickest way to get tossed here is to be a lazy fuck, and obviously you’re not that.”
I nod, frozen.
Then James leans forward, bracing his arms on the table. The move brings his shoulders toward me like he’s about to tackle. “Let’s cut to it, Ms. Williams. Why us? With your grades, you could have gone anywhere. Why Gibson Grant?”
I take a half-second to calibrate, and then nod.
“Like I was telling Mr. Gibson earlier, your firm is renowned for its defense work. You take the hardest cases. You don’t back down, even when the odds are impossible. That’s not just reputation—that’s character, and I want to learn from the best.”
Brent’s gaze doesn’t waver. “Character is tested under pressure, sweetheart. You know that, right?”
I nod.
James’s fingers drum a slow, irregular beat on the table. “You seem very… deliberate, Ms. Williams. Some might even say guarded. Is there anything you’re not telling us?”
The question is so direct it almost short-circuits me. Who even asks this during a meet and greet? But I think of my father’s face, wild-eyed behind the glass, and my mother’s warning: “Don’t ever let them see what you’re after.”
I force a laugh. “Just nerves, I guess. You’re both a little intimidating.”
James grins, pleased with himself. “That’s fair. We work hard on our intimidation game.”
Brent almost smiles, but it’s more like a grimace.
“Especially when it comes to pretty young things at the office.”
What the hell? Am I being sexually harassed on my second day?
By the firm’s co-heads, no less? But a moment later, James stands, walks to the window, and looks out.
“You ever think about why people do the things they do, Marnie?” The use of my first name is intentional; it lands like a warm hand on the thigh.
“All the time,” I say, because I do. Because it’s all I think about.
He turns, his face suddenly serious. “I think most people are lying, even to themselves. Especially the smart ones.”
I let that hang, unsure if he’s talking about me or just the world in general.
Brent stands as well, looming over me with that full, intimidating height, his blue eyes direct.
“We’re going to give you a shot,” he says, as though it’s already decided. “We need someone who can handle pressure and isn’t afraid of the truth, even when it’s ugly. Can you do that, Marnie?”
I swallow. “Yes. I can.”
James joins Brent at the head of the table. “Then welcome aboard,” he says, reaching out to shake my hand. “I hope you enjoy your time here.”
His grip is strong, warm, less calculated than Brent’s but more electric.
He holds on for just a second too long, as if to let me know this is not the end of our conversation, just a pause.
Brent follows, and this time his handshake is brief, but his eyes linger on mine.
There’s a heat there that wasn’t present before.
They exchange a look over my head as I gather my things. I feel exposed, like I just got strip-searched and passed inspection.
“We’ll have Jenkins get you started on paperwork,” Brent says. “Your first assignment will be sitting in on our team strategy session tomorrow. Bring your best ideas—and your thickest skin.”
I try to leave with dignity, but my legs are made of silly putty and the carpet is more like quicksand. I keep my head high, but I can feel their eyes on me the whole way down the hall. My heart is jackhammering, and my panties are slicker than a wet puddle after a heavy rain.
As I duck into the bathroom to catch my breath, I look in the mirror and see my face flushed, my pupils huge, my hair slightly coming loose from its ponytail. I look like I just got fucked in a supply closet.
But all I did was survive a second day meet-and-greet with the handsome, dominating men who lead the firm.
Oh my god, how am I going to stick it out when I’m already jangly with nerves, and breathing hard with arousal?
Keep it together, the voice in my head whispers. You’re here for a purpose, Marnie.
Of course, my subconscious is right. Yet I also know that there’s more with Brent and James coming … and I can’t wait.
I spend five minutes in the bathroom faking like I’m fixing my hair, but really, I’m just trying to flush the color out of my cheeks.
I splash cold water on my wrists, like that’s supposed to slow my heart, but it just makes my skin break out in goosebumps.
I try to imagine what my mother would say if she knew I was having sex fantasies about the men who defended her ex-husband, and the answer is so bleak I almost laugh out loud.
Once I’m composed—or as composed as I’m going to get—I head back to my desk in the intern gulag. The other girls are already busy, and Shay has her earbuds in, but she clocks me from the corner of her eye and smirks like she knows exactly what happened.
“You look like you just got out of a dentist appointment,” she says, voice low.
“Worse,” I reply, collapsing into my chair. “They could have done a cavity search and I wouldn’t have noticed.”
She snorts, then pulls out an earbud. “So how was it?”
I try to summarize, but nothing comes out. “Brent and James are … intense,” I finally settle on.
“Everyone says that.” Shay leans in conspiratorially. “But you got the double-team on day one? Damn, girl. They must like you.”
I bristle at the implication, but the flush comes back instantly. “I’m not sure ‘like’ is the right word.”
She gives me a once-over, eyes sharp and assessing. “Trust me, if they wanted you gone, you’d already be at Starbucks filling out an application.”
I force a smile, but it lands sideways. I keep expecting to wake up and find out I’ve bombed it, or that they saw right through me, but the reality is much scarier—Brent and James want me here. And that means I’m in.
The day blurs past in a static haze of HR emails, more orientation packets, and mandatory e-signatures.
At one point, Mrs. Jenkins appears and hands me a thick envelope.
Inside: official offer letter, benefits breakdown, and a handwritten note from the partners, welcoming me to the team.
I nearly drop the paper. The handwriting is precise, a little old-fashioned, and both men have signed it in ink.
Just looking at it makes my stomach twist with nerves and not a little bit of something else.
I stare at the note until my eyes blur, then stash it in my desk drawer and try to focus on the casework they’ve assigned.
But all I can think about is the way Brent’s hand swallowed mine, the smell of his cologne after he let go, and the way James’s lips curled up just before he pressed a little too close.
The image keeps replaying: Brent pinning my wrists above my head, James’s mouth between my legs, their voices rough and approving as they make me beg for it.
Get a grip, I tell myself. These are your bosses. Older, experienced, probably not even interested in you. Besides, you’re here for the files. For your father.
But then why do I want it so bad?
Around three, I catch movement out of the corner of my eye: Brent, in the hallway, talking to another lawyer with his head bent low, lips barely moving.
He glances in my direction and our eyes lock for a second.
There’s no mistaking it: he knows. He knows what I’m thinking.
What I want. What I desire. It’s not a leer, but a simple, devastating acknowledgment: I see you.
I look away first, heart hammering, and pretend to type.
Five minutes later, James appears in the glass corridor, phone pressed to his ear.
He’s not even trying to be subtle; his eyes go straight to mine, and when he catches me watching, he smiles slow and wide.
The rest of the office is oblivious, but I can feel the charge in the air, thick as storm clouds.
When the clock hits five, I pack up my bag and slip on my coat. The air outside is colder than before, biting at my thighs through my skirt. I walk fast, head down, hoping the physical exertion will burn off whatever chemical reaction they’ve triggered in my blood.
But halfway down the block, my phone buzzes. It’s an email from James: “Welcome to the team.” There’s no punctuation, just a line break and his name. No signature. No HR cc.
I reread it three times before deleting it. I want to respond, but I don’t trust myself not to say something stupid or outright obscene.
When I get home, I collapse onto my bed and stare at the ceiling, playing back the day in granular detail.
Every look, every question, every micro-expression.
I know I should be terrified. I know I should be focused on my father’s case and not the twin forces of masculine destruction who just hired me to work at their firm.
But the only thing I feel is anticipation. A hunger, deep and insistent, curling low in my stomach and setting my nerves on fire.
I close my eyes and let it happen: I imagine Brent’s voice, low in my ear, telling me to be a good girl as I bend over.
I imagine James’s hands on my hips, his mouth hard and greedy as he pushes me to the edge.
I imagine them both, pinning me on the mahogany table, making me forget who I am or what I ever wanted, except this.
I come so hard I nearly black out.
When the shaking stops, I stare at the ceiling, sweat cooling on my skin. I know I’m in over my head. I know this is dangerous. But I also know that I’ll walk into that office tomorrow and look them both in the eye, because I’m done pretending.
If I’m going to be prey, I want to choose the wolves.
And I want them to devour me, together.