Page 60 of My Bossy Billionaire Attorney

Michael

From my vantage point behind my laptop, I glance at the woman buried in a pile of papers seated at the corner of my office.

I take in her carefully folded legs, wrapped close to her body, and the way she puts a curl of blond hair behind her ear to keep it from falling in her eyes as she studies every page with intent. At some point, she sighs and I sharply look away before she catches my staring.

“I hate this,” she says. “How do you do it?”

“How do I do what?” I ask, acting casual.

I know why I can’t take my eyes off Savannah—way past the fact that she has so much passion that it intrigues me, there is an air about her that makes me want to care. I want to listen to her tell me about her problems and help her find a thousand and one solutions to them.

It’s maddening, given the sort of person I am and the mask I have built over the years, but I can’t help it.

“This,” she untucks her legs, picking up papers and letting them rain down. “I know I do a lot of research, but I’m not the one who separates the evidence and puts together the speeches to convince a jury. I don’t know how to do this.”

Then she glares at me. “Why are you having me do this anyway? Aren’t you the attorney?”

I nod.

“Then?” She fixes me with a questioning look.

I don’t know if it is supposed to be intimidating but it sends me into a fit of laughter that only turns her expression into a deeply puzzled one.

“Why are you laughing?”

I shrug. “Because of the look on your face. I’m making you do this because I want you to have hope. I can tell you’re scared, and I don’t know how to ease your worry. So, I thought if you knew what was happening, you’d feel a bit better.”

Another thing I absolutely do not do.

My clients either trust me or they don’t. And if they don’t, I can’t work with them.

For Savannah, it is a need.

“Well,” she doesn’t look impressed, “I don’t feel any better. But,” she strokes her hair, “I am too tired to worry, so I guess it worked?”

I smile. “My work here is done.”

“I thought you were going to say something like Bingo!”

My eyebrows furrow slightly. “Bingo?”

“It’s the thing you say,” Savannah says, standing up to stretch her legs. “When something you assumed turns out to be right, your eyes light up, and in that smug tone of yours, you go,Bingo.”

I hear the echo of her words, but I am lost in my thoughts while looking at her. Just looking and imagining.

With her jeans on and a button-down white shirt tied in a knot at her waist, Savannah is breathtaking in her simplicity. She exudes a carefree attitude that seems unlike her.

“Why are you staring at me?” she asks, but her tone is more curious than accusatory.

“You’re wearing something different. I wonder why I didn’t notice until now.”

She does a spin—more like a self-aware check, but it gives me a view that I indulge in for as long as she stands there.

“This?” she shrugs nonchalantly. “I figured I would do something different since my life is going through all these changes, you know? Why? Is something wrong?”

No. Everything is perfect.

Before I can stop myself, I beckon her with a nod of my chin. She looks puzzled but does it, nonetheless, coming to perch on the edge of my desk.

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