Page 9 of When You Give a Lawyer a Kiss

“Rob, aren’t you late for meeting with the other associates?” Grace interjects, as she comes to stand next to me.

“Mind your own business,” he snarls.

Grace rolls her eyes as he pushes past us, storming out of the room.

“He’s such a jerk, but don’t worry, he’s all talk and no action,” Grace says. “Are you okay?”

“I’m fine,” I assure her with a smile. “Is it true Rob’s uncle owns the firm?”

“Yeah, his name is Maxwell. I’ve worked here for three years and haven’t met him once. From what I understand, he doesn’t interact with clients directly. There’s even a rumor going around that he was involved in a financial scandal, and Dawson reportedly had to fix it to keep the company from going under.” She leans in closer and lowers her voice. “Apparently Rob resents Dawson because the firm started as a family business, and he thinks he should be a managing partner despite his lack of experience.” She pauses, glancing at her watch. “You better get going. The boss doesn’t like to be kept waiting.”

“Where is Dawon’s office?”

“At the end of the hall on the left.” She points, motioning in the general direction. “Good luck.”

“Thanks,” I say, heading out of the conference room.

My heart pounds with every step closer I get to Dawson’s office. I swallow thickly when I arrive, staring at the closed door while gathering the courage to knock. After three tentative taps, his voice filters through from the other side. “Come in.”

When I open the door, I find him sitting at his desk, focused on his laptop, his fingers flying across the keys.

“You asked to see me?” I say, feigning confidence.

“Shut the door,” Dawson orders.

My hands tremble as I obey, the click echoing throughout the office as the door latches. Despite the urge to cower under his intimidating gaze, I straighten my spine and purposefully stride toward him, stopping in front of his desk.

The room is spacious, with rich mahogany bookshelves holding an extensive collection of legal volumes. Across the room, a leather couch sits beneath a piece of contemporary art,and a well-stocked bar cart is positioned in the corner. Large windows provide a sweeping view of the bustling city below.

Dawson rises from his leather chair, coming to stand in front of me. My earlier confidence evaporates from being in the same space as New York’s most feared lawyer.

I’m a skeptic who values business above all else and I have a reputation for making grown men cry.

Now I see that Dawson’s words from the night we met had a double-meaning. I assumed he was talking about his work as a tattoo artist, but it’s clear now he was referencing in part his ability to make the toughest men to tears during negotiations.

As the air between us thrums with an invisible energy, my skin prickles with anticipation. I square my shoulders and meet his gaze with an unwavering resolve, readying for whatever comes next.

The sweet scent of coconut and pineapple fills the air, causing me to clench my jaw. It’s the same one that’s plagued my memory for the past three months.

I’m known for my ironclad control. It’s one of the reasons I’m such a damn good lawyer. I’m willing to wait out my opponent until they fold like a house of cards. In my line of work, being caught off guard means losing the case, translating into millions of dollars in losses.

Which means I’malwaysprepared for anything.

Until now.

The one thing I hadn’t planned for was showing up to the all-hands meeting today and seeing Reese, the quirky and chatty woman from the tattoo parlor that I haven’t stopped thinking about.

“What are you doing here?” I ask sharply. “Did you know this was my firm?”

I pulled up her employee file while I waited for her to get here. This is her first week, but she applied once before earlier this year, which admittedly sets her apart in an industry where that kind of tenacity is rare. Her persistence is impressive and shows a determination that most don’t possess. I also found several glowing reports from her previous law firm, which praised her as an outstanding employee with an exceptionalwork ethic. Still, I’m skeptical of her motives. I can’t help but wonder if she intentionally showed up at Steel & Ink before securing a job at my company as a larger scheme to expose my secret. It seems far-fetched, but I’m not ready to dismiss the possibility yet.

Reese shakes her head. “How would I have known? You told me your name was Cole.”

She has a good point.

I pinch the bridge of my nose. “That’s my middle name.”

Adopting an alias at the tattoo shop helps keep that part of my life separate from my law career.

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