Page 17 of Sweet Nothings

The sincerity in his statement weighs on my shoulders. I swallow, knowing the struggle he’s facing with keeping the firm afloat is in direct relation to what my brother did to the Branford name. The crimes he committed have had a lasting effect on our family and me in particular. Like my uncle, I’ve tried to keep our heads above water, hoping to rebuild what’s been broken. And although my uncle may be desperate enough to consider taking on clients like Mr. Wright, I’m not ready to give in so easily.

“I understand.” I nod. “I’ll find another case to take up—one that is worthy of being represented by our name. There’s no use in forcing cases when they will only further damage our reputation, Fred.”

“Fine.” He waves me off, clearly done with this conversation as well.

Frustration forms a tight knot in my chest. All my uncle ever sees is dollar signs, not caring the path he takes to make his money. Legitimately. Although my uncle’s morals aren’t as askew as my brother’s, I can’t help but sniff the same undertones of greed surrounding him.

I slide out of my chair and leave his office. I’m ready to call this shit show of a day to an end, but if I’m going to prove my decision of refusing to pick up Mr. Wright’s case was the right one, I need to start putting feelers out for a new potential case.

On the way to my office, I check my phone to see if Roe called me back. She didn’t, but I at least have a text from her.

Roe: Sorry, I was having lunch with Steven. I’ll call you later tonight.

I type out a quick reply to my sister and push through the door to my office. The second I make it through the door and shut it behind me, I slide out of my heels and my blazer.

But when I look up, I gasp and fall back against the door. I raise my hand to my chest and stare at the person sitting behind my desk.

“Is this a habit of yours?” he asks, slowly wagging his finger up and down. “Getting undressed in your office?”

“What are you doing here?” I concentrate on my hand, counting the breaths I’m taking. Lennon Harding has never step foot in my office. Ever.

He’s sitting in my chair, relaxed, with a smug expression. His deep blue eyes roam up and down my body as he runs his thumb across his lower lip. He smirks in delight before pushing away from my desk, rolling in my chair. He stands, adjusting his tie and buttoning his jacket as he crosses my office toward me. His eyes move up and down my body again. The corner of his mouth slowly curls, and his dark eyes flicker. “How far does this go? Is it your skirt next, or is it the blouse?”

He stops close enough to touch me. My cheeks burn. I lower my hand and take a deep breath, inhaling Lennon’s scent. I try not to make it too obvious the way my body reacts to it.

“You’re ridiculous.” I lower my hand and push off the door, walking around Lennon.

He’s quick to follow me, sitting down in the seat opposite my desk. I sit down in my own desk chair, thankful to have a three-foot-wide piece of furniture now between us.

Lennon’s black suit hugs every inch of him. He doesn’t look different than any other time I’ve seen him. Dark suit with tattoos peeking out of the sleeves of his undershirt. His dark hair resting just above his brow.

I raise an eyebrow and lean back. “Is this a habit of yours? Breaking into people’s offices when they aren’t in them?”

He laughs, his smile reaching his dangerous blue eyes. “It’s hardly breaking in when the door is left wide open.”

I shake my head in disbelief. “Having the Harding name doesn’t give you permission to go wherever you please, Lennon.”

His smile fades, and the light in his eyes disappears. He clears his throat. “I was under the impression Branfords thought the same.”

He tilts his head to the side, narrowing his sinfully gorgeous eyes. If I weren’t already sitting, I’d know the way he’s looking at me would make me go shamefully weak in the knees.

I chew on the inside of my cheek and sigh. “What do you want? I’ve had an awful day already. Don’t you have your father’s business to take over and run now?”

He pops an eyebrow. “That bad of a day, huh?”

“Yes.” I don’t tell him about my meeting earlier with Mr. Wright or the discussion I just had with my uncle. “I’m sure you get bad days every now and then, too, but then again, that would mean you have feelings.” I pause, giving him the darkest glare I can summon.

He’s quiet as he rests his elbow on his chair. His eyes move to the window behind me overlooking the city.

“I saw you at the funeral.” His eyes swing back to mine.

I swallow. It’s difficult not to look at him without the image of the woman kneeling in front of him, sucking on his cock. But it’s also difficult looking into his eyes now, remembering the vacancy in his eyes that day. Losing a parent is a feeling I’m alltoo familiar with. I wouldn’t wish it even on my worst enemy. Even Lennon.

“What do you mean?” I swallow again. My skin tingles as I hold my breath. Does this mean he remembers our night together?

“You’re a Branford.” He states, dryly. “Branford’s always seem to insert themselves in places they think will benefit them.”

“Oh,” I shoot him an icy glare and clear my throat, brushing off his calloused comment. And the disappointment working its way under my skin. “I was sorry to hear about your father.”

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