Page 19 of When You Give a Lawyer a Kiss

I’m a product of my past.

Becoming a lawyer was a practical decision. A means to an end to secure a stable financial future. While owning a tattoo parlor is personal, it’s my way to connect with people who use ink to share their stories and express themselves. Tattooing provides me with a necessary escape from both the formal confines of my legal career and the memory of my checkered past.

The bartender brings my drink over. “Thanks,” I say, swirling it before taking a generous sip and savoring the burn. “How’s business?” I ask Harrison.

“Busy. Cash and Everly are back in London, and I’ve been working closely with them and the European division to overseethe Townstead International acquisition. Meanwhile, Stafford Holdings is booming. It’s been a challenge managing it all.” He runs his hands through his black hair that’s styled in a tapered fade. “How are things at the firm?”

“I finally convinced Wes Irving that he should hire me as his lawyer,” I say with a smug smile.

He’s been wrapped in litigation with his ex-business partner for four years. I’m confident that I can resolve this before Christmas with the right leverage.

“Damn, that’s impressive, congrats,” Harrison says, barely glancing up from his phone, his attention focused on whatever is on the screen.

“Thanks.” I throw back the rest of my drink, motioning for the bartender to bring me another. “Are you texting a woman?” I taunt, noting the pointed glare Harrison shoots me. “Oh, that’s right, you don’t have time for anything but work these days,” I say with an amused chuckle.

“Says the guy who treats his office like his second home and only has casual flings.”

He has a point. The only women I sleep with agree to my terms—casual sex with no expectations of a long-term relationship, and I never spend the night. Some encounters have been one-night stands, while others have lasted a few days. Unfortunately for me, only one woman has been on my mind during the past four months, and it’s someone off-limits.

The problem is, I’ve never been this intrigued by a woman before, especially not after one kiss. I can’t seem to control how often Reese crosses my mind and it’s maddening.

“Better watch your attitude, Harrison, or I’ll make sure I cash in one of my favors when it’s the most inconvenient for you.”

“I don’t doubt it,” he mumbles sarcastically as he finishes off his drink.

The Stafford brothers ran into some legal trouble when acquiring Townstead International and came to me for advice. After my team did some digging, we discovered that the former owner, Richard, had all but driven his business into the ground with embezzlement, tax evasion, kickbacks—the list goes on.

As a lawyer who doesn’t shy away from controversy or difficult situations, I agreed to help Harrison deal with Richard with the caveat that aside from my exorbitant retainer, he and his brothers owed me a couple of favors. Besides, I’d never miss out on the chance to make a grown man quake in his boots or watch him sign away his livelihood when he’s been a symbol of corruption, putting his family at risk in the process. “Now that your brothers have settled down, does that mean you’re next?”

Harrison shakes his head. “Not a chance. They got lucky finding incredible partners, but my priority is business. There’s no one who could handle a man who spends twenty hours a day running a multibillion-dollar company and is hardly ever home.”

“Never say never.” I smirk and lean back in my chair. “I’m sure there’s someone out there who’d tolerate your grumpy ass and is willing to work around your busy schedule if they cared about you enough.”

He glances across the room like he’s lost in thought.“There’s only one woman who fits that description, and she’s the bane of my existence,” he mutters.

“Damn, Harrison. You’re in a dark mood tonight.”

“And you’re unusually upbeat,” he counters. “You’re normally the one in a foul mood. What gives?”

I run a hand over my mouth and consider what he said. Now that he mentions it, I’m in a notably good mood tonight when normally I’m rather irritable by the end of the week. It could have something to do with finding a way to see Reese more often at work. Even though it might take a few weeks to arrange, it has me feeling oddly optimistic.

“Guess I woke up on the right side of the bed today,” I say to Harrison, shrugging it off. “Don’t get used to it.”

“Before I forget, here are those hockey tickets you asked for.” He slides me an envelope. “Just so you know, it was a pain in the ass to get club seat season passes. They’re as popular as a VIP pass for a sold-out Sovereign Kings concert. You’re lucky I’m a part-owner.” He played a year of professional hockey in his early twenties and still practices with the Mavericks to this day.

“Thanks, man. Send me the invoice for the tickets, and I’ll send over the payment,” I say, tucking the envelope into my suit pocket.

“You can count on it,” Harrison says.

Besides asking about the occasional hookup, Harrison and I don’t talk about personal matters, but I make it my job to know everything about my clients—he’s no exception. While he’s the closest thing I have to a friend, it’s hard for me to let my guard down.

Growing up in foster care taught me that trust is a rare commodity. When I was thirteen, my best friend, Max, stole a pair of high-end sneakers. The police showed up at our foster home the next day and found the shoes hidden under my bed. The asshole framed me, and I was sent to juvie. Trying to explain my innocence would have been futile—foster kids are often unfairly judged because of their less-than-ideal circumstances.

That was my first of a string of run-ins with the police and time spent in juvenile detention. It’s one of the reasons I avoid making friends or committing to serious relationships. Aside from Martha and Colby, I’m the only person I can rely on.

Along with the false robbery accusations, I was repeatedly arrested for vandalism while painting murals on public buildings and construction sites.

After moving in with the Tates, Martha gifted me a set of sketchpads and pencils. However, when she caught me tryingto sneak out of the house with a backpack of spray paints, she and Colby turned the garage into a studio fit with several large canvases and paints, offering a creative outlet that wouldn’t get me into more trouble. This sparked my love for storytelling through art, and the day I got my first tattoo, I knew I’d found my true passion.

---