Page 1 of Miss Understood

1

Luce

Peopleassumeloveisthe answer to everything.

It isn’t.

I’ve handled enough divorces to know that love is a sham. At the end of the day, when infatuation sours andloveruns out, only two things matter: money and sex.

“I’ll be blunt, Mr. Hartford.” I narrow my eyes at him. “You need to decide what’s more important right now: your bank account or your dick.”

Mr. Hartford tips his head toward Jesse Davis, one of the firm’s managing partners, and frowns. “Doesn’t bite her tongue, does she?”

Jesse gives him an unsurprised shrug. “She’s not wrong,” he says.

From the wrinkle between Jesse’s eyebrows, I know he’s not happy with my performance. But I also know he won’t challenge me in front of our client because it would be abad look. And Jesse’s all about appearances.

I stand up and plant my fingers wide on the conference-room table, narrowing my eyes at the three men seated across from me.

There’s Mr. Hartford, in the disheveled suit that tells me he stayed with his mistress last night. Jesse, with an icy stare that’s lowering the temperature of the room. And Mateo, Jesse’s assistant, who’s wildly typing up our entire conversation.

In this room, there’s no space for bullshit, minced words, or hard feelings. This is the lion’s den, and I’m on the prowl.

As the youngest and sole female senior attorney at Price & Davis, I’m used to standing my ground with men who don’t take me seriously. Used to men seeing me as a pretty face with killer legs. God forbid I have platinum blonde hairanda brain.

From elementary school to law school, men have underestimated me. And I’m happy to prove them wrong. After all, I had a lifetime of practice dealing with egos and testosterone. I grew up with three older brothers and a Marine Corp father who owns an impressive shotgun collection. I learned at a young age how to stick up for myself. I don’t scare easily. And I don’t back down.

So Mr. Hartford is about to learn three things the hard way:

Men don’t make me nervous.

Money and power don’t intimidate me.

I don’t put up with shit from anyone. Especially my clients.

“This is how it’s going to go,” I tell Mr. Hartford, staring directly into his eyes without blinking. An anxious tick in his right one gives me my edge. “You’re going to pretend to be the remorseful husband for the media. You’re going to attend every mediation and sit quietly while we try to salvage at least half of your estate. And you’re going to keep your dick in your pants until the ink on your divorce papers is dry, notarized, and filed.”

He swallows hard.

“And if you don’t”—I fix my eyes on him—“your soon-to-be-ex-wife’s attorney will be the least of your worries. Do you have any questions?”

He shakes his head meekly in defeat.

Got him.

That familiar feeling rises up my chest, but I fight a smile. I don’t need Jesse’s validation for winning this round with our half-wit client. I’m pleased with myself, and that’s all that matters.

All three men watch me spin and leave the room, balancing on four-inch cherry red stilettos, every part of my body vibrating with excitement. A triumphant grin stretches my cheeks as I turn the corner, knowing my tongue alone has the power to bring even the richest and most powerful men to their knees.

It’s what I work for—live for.

Especially a scumbag like Shepard Hartford, screwing his way through his female employees while his pregnant wife is on bed rest. God, I hate him. But he’s a client, so I’ll do what I do best and preserve his fortune while padding my paycheck.

It sounds cold, like I don’t care. I get told that on a daily basis. But his wife was the one who chose to believe in love, hoping her husband would be the one man who wouldn’t think with his dick.

Fat chance.

Romance is dead, and that’s fine by me. I’m in the business of heartbreak. And it’s booming.

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