Page 35 of The Enforcer

I’m cut off by Mr. Clinton. “We’re aware.” I snap my mouth shut to hear what else he has to say, since he looks to be gearing up for a lecture. “I’m aware that they are your clients. They should not be your friends. We work for our clients, not with them. There is no reason you should know them on more than a professional level. Especially … those people.” His voice is stiff and judgmental, making me sit up straighter and read between the lines of what he really wants to say: those people are not on your level and consorting with them leaves a bad reflection on the firm.

While I love working here and it’s my dream job, the brothers in the Devil’s Mayhem MC are my family. They may be rough and hard men, but they’ve been good to me. For years, they’ve treated me like one of their own, even though I wouldn’t be caught dead on a bike. No way will some shriveled up fucker try to put me on the spot to get rid of my family.

“If you are chosen as a partner,” he continues, as if I’m not fuming internally, “any continued association with those people would not be wise. Just something to think on for your future at this law firm.”

I should probably just get up and leave, but he pissed me off. I have to push back, even a small amount. “I appreciate your advice,” I say sagely. “Tell me, have you kept your professional distance from all of your clients? From what I recall, you met your wife when she hired you as her attorney thirty years ago. That’s what you said at the last company brunch we had.”

A forced chuckle leaves Mr. Clinton’s lips as he looks at the other partners. I continue to stare him down, wanting him to know with my eyes that I’m not pleased with the fuck shit he just said, even though I have an open grin on my face.

After a few more moments, he nods. “Yes, well, it’s just a word of advice. Nothing more.”

“I appreciate that. If there’s nothing else.” I stand and hold out my hand, shaking theirs before I walk out of the conference room.

I’m fucking livid. How dare he look down on any of the brothers for how people see them? A lot of people would think the advice Mr. Clinton gave me was sound advice, as no one in Devil’s Mayhem is without a criminal charge under their belt. That doesn’t matter to me. What matters is how, immediately after losing the biggest case of my career where any other dangerous organization would have probably killed me, they took me in. Even though I felt like I let them and Rax down, none of them held it against me, as I worked hard for him—exactly what I wanted them to see.

For Mr. Clinton to give me some advice that he himself didn’t follow pisses me off more. When I get to the elevator, I jab the button hard, probably denting it with the force of my frustration.

As the door closes, my phone vibrates in my pocket. With a snarl, I pull it out, ready to turn it off until I calm down. Until a picture of me and Zeke from our weekend together flashes on my screen. Just like that, my anger bleeds away and I smile, answering the phone quickly.

“Hey.”

“Hey, yourself,” his deep, rumbling voice comes through the speaker and my smile broadens. “Where are you?”

“Work. On my way back to my office now. What are you up to?” I ask as I throw my office door open. There on my couch is Zeke, feet on my coffee table. Rolling my eyes, I hang up and shut the door. “You love breaking into my office.”

“Can’t break in if the door is open, Counselor.” He makes his way over to me. I step into his open arms, hugging him tight. God, I love when he has his arms around me. He makes me feel good and safe.

After giving me a quick kiss, Zeke asks, “Want to have lunch with me? There’s something I want you to see.”

I look at my watch, seeing it’s my normal lunch hour. “Sure. I’m driving though.”

Zeke gives me a dry look. “Of course you are. Meet me at the Boom Boom Room.” He scowls. “I can’t wait to change that fucking name.”

“Got a name in mind?” I ask as we walk to the elevator. I thread my fingers through his, my personal fuck you to Mr. Clinton, even though I’m sure he won’t see it.

Zeke nods, pressing the down arrow on the elevator bank. “I have two that I really like. Club Nirvana and Inferno. Not sure which one.”

As we step onto the empty car, I say, “Inferno, for sure. Club Nirvana makes me think of Kurt Cobain.”

“Good point,” Zeke says with a chuckle. “Inferno it is.”

Once in my car, I head over to the nightclub—Inferno—wondering what Zeke has to show me there. I still want to get some lunch.

After I pull into a parking space, Zeke helps me out of my car. Even though my heart flutters, I say, “I can get out of the car myself, you know? Been doing it since I started driving.”

“I know. I just like touching you.” God, he’s fucking perfect.

Pushing my hair from my forehead, I tip my head back so I can look up at the club. It’s nice if you can look past the fact that it needs a new paint job and some serious TLC. I’m sure after the Zeke and Prez are done, it’ll look like a completely different club.

Zeke grabs my hand, leading me inside. “Come on. I want to tell you about the plans I have for this place.” He sounds like a kid in a candy store, his voice ringing with excitement.

Once we step into what is usually the main dance floor, Zeke stops and looks around. “I plan to rearrange all of this. See here,” he says, pointing to the bar in the middle of the dance floor. “This is a good location for a bar if it didn’t make the dance floor such an odd shape.”

We walk around the dance floor, and I take it all in. He has a great point. With the bar in the middle of the floor, it makes it look smaller. Add to that there are VIP tables situated all around the room instead of in sections and everything looks cluttered.

“Okay, what do you plan to do?” I ask.

“Get rid of all of it. Everything goes. The bar, the VIP sections, even the floor. I want the bar to be on the wall here,” he points to the wall to our left. “It’s not in the way of the dance floor and it saves space. Even if we have a large bar with several bartenders working, there will still be space for people to dance.”

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