Page 10 of Filthy Lawyer

I bit my tongue before I could say, “Likewise.”

She set a coffee carafe on the far side of the table, and then she set a single mug near me.

“Wait a minute,” I said as she approached the door.

“Yes?”

“Mr. Hamilton’s wife is Aubrey Everhart and she’s a former world class ballerina, right?”

“Um, yes…” She shot me a confused look. “Why?”

“I’ve been studying him ever since I received the invitation,” I said. “I’ve watched a few of her performances on YouTube, and I…I just want to make sure I give a good first impression.”

She gave me a blank stare. “He’ll be with you shortly.”

I set my briefcase in my lap and nervously flicked the buckle up and down.

Stop it, Elizabeth. Focus.

You’re a lawyer. A real deal lawyer.

Moving the briefcase to the floor, I stared straight ahead and went over my small talk notes again.

The door opened moments later and I smiled, prepared to shower Mr. Hamilton with the many ways I admired his career, but the man who walked in was taller with darker hair. There was no wedding band on his left hand, and his familiar, unforgettable lips were the ones I’d seen less than an hour ago.

Mr. Not Guilty.

“Good morning, and welcome to—” He stopped talking when his eyes met mine. He stared at me, and a slow smirk crossed his lips. “Hello again,Miss Lawyer.”

“Um…” I hesitated for a few seconds, debating whether I should run away now. I hadn’t prepared for a glitch in my plans.

“Good—” My breath hitched. “Good morning.”

Keeping his eyes on mine, he walked to the other side of the table and took a seat. He picked up a folder and flipped it open.

“So, your name is Elizabeth Nicole Tanner?” he asked.

All I could do was nod.

He’d changed suits since we last met, and this one was far more lethal.

“Hmmm.” He picked up the carafe and poured a cup of coffee. Then he brought the mug to his lips.

Taking a long sip, he didn’t say a word.

He just stared at me.

“Um…” I cleared my throat. “I was expecting to meet with Mr. Andrew Hamilton.”

“Oh?” He tilted his head to the side, smiling a perfect set of pearly whites. “And why is that?”

I stared at him, unable to force a single word from my lips. This man was utter perfection at every angle.

“It’s honestly better ifIdo the interview,” he said. “Mr. Hamilton has a zero percent hiring rate.”

“Oh, okay.” I swallowed. “Well, what’s your hiring rate?”

“One percent.”

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