Page 4 of Three Bossy Boyfriends
So, so grateful.
Just super happy to have to give up the entire life I’ve built for myself in New York City to return to Honeysuckle Harbor, South Carolina, and wear a fucking blouse with a pencil skirt and heels while covering up the basic little cluster of stars on the inside of my wrist. I got it at eighteen, and I don’t see how anyone could object to a couple of stars, for fuck’s sake.
It’s not like I have “cum slut” inked on my forehead or anything.
That thought makes me grin as I turn the knob and shove the conference room door open.
The door opens harder than I intended, flying out and smacking against the stopper.
Damn.
That door looked so much heavier. Like law firm heavy. Mahogany heavy. I use so much more force than is necessary that, when it flies open, I stumble into the room, jostling the coffee, nearly losing my grip on the tray. I reach out with my free hand to catch the tray, and I realize that makes my sleeve ride up, exposing my tattoo. I tug it back down, and now I’m giggling for real.
Cum slut.
I can’t help it.
This is all so stuffy.
“Can I help you?”
The confused but commanding male voice has me pursing my lips closed and looking up from my coffee tray.
“Coffee. Mary Grace gave me your order for your morning meeting.”
There are two men standing there in suits looking like a TV show version of a law firm.Charleston Confidential. One is older, classically handsome, with salt-and-pepper hair, trim and tidy, and hands in his pockets. He’s frowning at me. The other man is closer to my age, trimmer in build, a pretty boy. Like, verypretty. He could stroll next to Girl Kyle on the fashion runway. He looks intently curious, his eyes sweeping over me briefly before he gives me a polite smile of encouragement.
“Let me help you with those.” He walks away from the other man toward me.
Wait. It suddenly occurs to me that they were standing really close to each other. Interesting.
“Thanks, but I’ve got it.” I set the tray on the conference table. “Are you Evan or Christopher?” I ask him, reading the labels on the various cups.
“I’m Evan. Staff attorney. It’s a pleasure to meet you.”
I pull his coffee out of the carton and turn to hand it to him. Now he’s standing close to me. “Oh! Here you go.” I shove the cup at him. Maybe he just stands close to people to intimidate them.
I refuse to fall for that.
“Your name?” he asks me with a smile, taking the cup and a step back.
God, he’s pretty. I’m kind of dazzled by how ridiculously beautiful he is. Men shouldn’t have eyelashes that thick. It’s just rude.
“I’m Finley Anderson. The new paralegal. It’s nice to meet you.”
“The pleasure is all mine.”
It would sound flirty if he had a traditional South Carolina drawl, but he doesn’t. His accent is flat—Midwestern. It makes the statement sound appropriately businesslike, not sexy.
“That means you’re Christopher.” I lift the other cup and turn to hand it to the older lawyer.
“Finley Anderson?” He’s still frowning. “You’re Greg’s daughter.”
He doesn’t pose it as a question. I pause, lifting my eyebrows. “Yes, though at least a dozen times he’s probably wished that wasn’t the case.”
“You’re the new paralegal? I had no idea. No one told me.” His hands are still in his pockets, and now his head is tilted like he’s trying to puzzle out my genetics.
“No?” I don’t know what else to say. Sounds like office drama that I want no part of. “Well, here I am.” I give him a little salute. “Reporting for paralegal duty.”
