Page 2 of Miss Understood

“Luce.” Jesse jogs to catch up, and I straighten my face before he catches me smiling. “A little harsh, don’t you think? The man is paying us, in case you forgot.”

“Harsh would have been giving the man’s nuts the pointy end of one of my Louboutins like he deserves. That was me playing nice.” I keep my eyes on the file folders in my hands as Jesse follows me into my office. “Besides, last I checked, I made you more money last year than any other attorney, so I’m not sure what you’re complaining about.”

I spin to a stop, and Jesse almost runs into me with his solid chest. He looks down at me with an annoyed pinch between his eyes as he steadies himself.

He’s tall. Even in heels I don’t meet him at eye level. But I stand up straight and lock eyes with him anyway as he shoots me one of those cockeyed grins that he probably uses to drag the ladies into bed.

That’s the problem with men like Jesse Davis, objectively handsome, with his caramel eyes and smooth dark skin, well-off financially at a young enough age to enjoy the perks of it: nice cars, custom-tailored suits, willing women waiting around every corner.

He checks all the boxes that would usually make me want to invite him into my bed.

But I know him. Jesse is cold, calculated, and has made it perfectly clear from day one where we stand.

Jesse thinks the only reason I have this job is because the firm’s other managing partner, Brad Price, knows my father from way back. They were in the Marine Corp together. And sure, that may have landed me the interview, but I did all the rest. Proving myself with each case. The highest win rate of any attorney in the firm. Putting in the blood and sweat just like the rest of them.

I’ve paid my dues, put in my time. Jesse is just too pigheaded to admit it. So, instead of treating me like any other attorney at the firm, he’s on a constant warpath to shake my confidence. Not that I’d go down without a fight.

“I thought you were due in court this afternoon,” I say to him, flipping my gaze to the clock on the wall. “Shouldn’t you be in your office, sharpening your fangs, sacrificing babies on an altar, or whatever it is you do to prepare?”

“It got pushed back.” An amused grin creeps all the way up to his eyes. “Besides, that sounds more like your thing.”

“Wouldn’t you like to know what mythingis.” I tick up the corner of my lip.

Jesse leans in an inch, a devilish look in his eyes, as if he’s preparing for battle. He’s waiting for me to blink. Or to crack. So I cross my arms and stand taller.

“You smell lovely today, Luce.” He smiles. “Like flowers and overconfidence.”

“It’s better than whatever god-awful perfume you’re sporting from your date last night.” I roll my eyes. “How much does a call girl run these days?”

“I don’t have to pay for sex. One of the perks of actually having a personality.”

“I guess one of those is necessary when you’re making up for other things.” My eyes trail downward, and his hands clench.

There’s no doubt in my mind that with an ego his size, Jesse is definitely not lacking below the belt. But it doesn’t take the fun out of riling him up.

He inches closer. “Even you couldn’t handle this ride.”

“No thanks on that. I don’t fuck coworkers, unlike some people. Bad for business.” I narrow my eyes at him. “Besides, don’t you have work to do?”

He’s insufferable. In my space, my air. Stomping around like an angry toddler anytime he doesn’t agree with me. If he thinks I’m going to bend to his will just because he’s a managing partner, he’s sorely mistaken.

I grip the folder in my hands tighter, so I don’t smack him with it, but that draws Jesse’s attention. His eyes dip as he snatches it from my hands and starts thumbing through it.

NoHey, what’s that you’ve got there?

Jesse is all take, take, take.

“That’s not—” I start, but there’s no use.

He freezes when he realizes what he’s looking at. “Why do you have this?”

I shrug and lean back against my desk. “Brad wanted my thoughts.”

“Marcus was supposed to be working the Marchetto case,” Jesse snaps, and I can’t hold back my smirk.

There’s the angry little lion, showing his teeth.

“Guess he should have been doing a better job, then.” I tap my nails against my honey oak desk. “Marchetto is threatening our client, and Marcus doesn’t have the balls to keep him in line. Which you would know already if you were paying attention.”

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