Page 11 of Snap Shot

“Damn,fine. Not Gabe Finch. You're such a cock block.” He huffs then taps on his chin, seemingly in deep thought. Though I don't know what deep thoughts Wade Boehner could have. Actually, I have an idea, but I don't want to think about them. “What about the one standing next to her?”

“Which one?”

“Dimples. In the black onesie pantsuit.”

Whoa. Who is that? “Onesie pantsuit?” That's not what that's called. It's a romper. No, a jumper. A jumpsuit? Fuck, whatever it is, it looks fucking good. Insanely good.

Full tits, little waist,greatass. She squats, for sure. Can't see her legs from the loose fabric of the pants, but they're as long as this fucking day. She's tall, but not quite as much as Gabe Finch.

Graceful fingers tuck her hair behind an ear as she smiles, coy and restrained. The ends brush across her shoulders when she turns to talk to the little one Fletch likes. Deep dimples pit each pretty cheek. Her eyes gleam, cutting across the room like daggers in the dark lighting, reflecting the purples and blues. My heart thuds away. She wets those full lips. Lips shaped like a bow I want gift-wrapped around my—

Wade elbows me, clearing his throat. “Yeah.Wow. Smash or pass, Landy?”

“Smash.” I gulp down the hoarse whisper, staring like an imbecile. I can't blink. There's something familiar about her. Something familiar and comforting.

“Atta boy.”

This must be what talking to beautiful women is like for Fletcher Donovan. I'm paralyzed in my seat. Can't budge. I'm fucking entranced by this gorgeous girl I have no business engaging with. I force my eyes to pull away. My hands wring between my knees.

I already kissed the Cup goodbye this year. No need to repeat the same mistake for the rest of my career. Nope.Nowomen. Singular focus.

“I'm going home.” And wanking myself to death.

Wade scoffs. “You're not gonna go over there?”

“No way. I got my hands full with the press on my ass.”

“Literally.”

“Zip it.” I jab him in the shoulder. “I don't care if she's God's gift to man, I'm not fucking around withanychicks this season.”

Chapter 4: Sword Fighting

Indi

Theresa Giachetti isverypersuasive.

It’s the only explanation I have for ending up in the VIP section of Persepolis on a busy Friday night to meet Cooke Wagner and Landon Radek.

“It's a hell of a contract, Indi. We can't pass it up,” she said. “Plus, it's amazing publicity.”

“Didn't we get enough publicity with the Pearson case?” I hated how exposing it was. I also hated how I had to break down another woman so a man could maintain his image, even if she was at fault. It haunted my feminist spirit.

“But this is different! That was politics. This is sports and entertainment!”

I sighed. “Can't you assign Thomas to it or something?”

“Thomas is a dim-witted ass-kisser, and you know it. I can't give him this big of a fish. I trustyou.” She moved to the front of her desk. “I want you to succeed, Indi.” When she leaned back against the edge, her voice lowered. “I'm not gonna run this place on my own forever, you know.”

If she's serious about making me a partner, I can't say no. I've been working my twenties away for an opportunity like this.

“Fine. I'll meet Wagner.” But I won't like it.

“Yes!” She pulled down a fist in victory and strode back to her office chair. “Persepolis. Tomorrow night. Take your friends along. Drinks are on the client. I'll tell Nance to share the contact with Bea. Go get ‘em!”

Wagner and I talk business for a few minutes. When he excuses himself, I'm more than unsure about the situation. And since I lost count of how many free drinks I impatiently glugged down to tame my nerves, the girls cut me off.

“If I'm gonna represent Landon Radek, he's gonna pay top dollar,” I tell Gabe and Bea, pressing my finger into the opposite palm. They nip at their drinks and exchange approving glances. “It's not like he doesn't have it.”

---