Page 3 of Three Bossy Boyfriends
I can’t deny it. I give him a smile. “You are amazing one-on-one. And with clients. I’ve never seen a lawyer able to make clients comfortable like you do,” I tell him, not for the first time. “But you get in your head when you’re around more intimidating people. People with power. Charles, Mary Grace, most of the business owners in town, a lot of Charles’s clients. You’re at a disadvantage because you didn’t grow up here.”
Evan doesn’t argue. He knows very well that this is true.
“You need to show Charles that you can handle those kinds of situations. That is partner material. And Fiona will be perfect for that. She’s very sociable and knows a lot of people in this circle because of her dad. She’ll be great as a plus-one. And,” I add. “She’ll bake for you. That’s a pretty great perk.”
But Evan doesn’t even crack a smile. “I don’t want to date anyone else,” he says, his voice a little husky.
His words make my chest feel tighter. I never imagined being involved with a younger man. Certainly not one of my employees. Once he’s a partner, that part will go away, but Evan is young, almost innocent, certainly far more optimistic and happy than I am. I’m not an asshole. At least not all the time. Unless I need to be. But I’ve seen people divorce, sue each other over the stupidest shit, lie and cheat and steal. I’ve been cheated on and broken up with myself.
I’m not sure what he sees in me. I haven’t even been able to show him how good the sex can be. It’s been close, but we haven’t slipped up yet.
Is there a risk to him dating someone else? Someone his age? Sure.
But he needs the partnership, he deserves the partnership, and I truly believe that this is one way to help with that.
“It doesn’t have to be serious,” I tell him. “Just long enough for Charles to make you partner.”
“You think that can happen more quickly if I’m dating her?”
I nod. “Once you’re dating Fiona, I’ll make a push.” I haven’t brought it up or pushed hard because I didn’t want it to seem odd that I was so invested. I worried it would be hard to hide my true feelings. But if Evan’s dating someone, Charles won’t think anything of my advocacy. He’ll assume I’m just a partner interested in moving a very talented associate up in the firm.
“Okay, I’ll?—”
But he’s cut off by my office door suddenly swinging open, banging against the wall, and a mess of brunette hair, long legs, and coffee cups falling over my threshold.
CHAPTER 2
Finley
“Sleeve!”
“What?” I’m too busy trying to juggle a cardboard coffee tray containing four jumbo takeout cups and figuring out how to open the conference room door to comprehend what my coworker is urgently whispering to me. I turn to glance back at Kyle, the law firm’s other paralegal.
She’s gesturing wildly. “Sleeve. Mary Grace will be here in five, and she’ll lose her mind if she sees your tattoo.”
I roll my eyes at the closed door before turning to make a face at Girl Kyle. I decided immediately upon meeting her that this will be her nickname because I’ve never met a woman named Kyle before, and yet I’ve never seen someone so effortlessly feminine as the willowy brunette. She looks like she can stroll down the runway at Paris Fashion Week right into the courthouse to file a motion for a mistrial.
“Thanks,” I tell her. “I wouldn’t want to upset Nurse Ratchet.”
That’s my nickname for Mary Grace Banks, one of the firm’s partners and daughter of the founding father, Charles Banks.I give everyone a nickname because I’m bad at remembering names. It’s a habit I picked up in middle school.
Kyle claps her hand over her mouth to cover a giggle. “That’s really terrible,” she admonishes, even as she can’t contain her smile.
“Is it?” I ask breezily.
Mary Grace is the one who interviewed me for this position. She’s in her late forties, never cracks a smile, told me three times she made partner at twenty-eight, and regaled me with tales of nepotism in the legal field while never seeing the irony of having been hired by her father. She pointed out smugly and with a very obvious pat-on-her-own-back that she lives with her parents and cares for her elderly mother, who, unless Charles married a woman twenty years older than him, is probably all of seventy.
I have a feeling Mrs. Banks would be thrilled to be living alone with her husband over being cared for by Mary Grace, who hates everyone, life, and probably even puppies.
“Do I knock?” I ask Kyle as I attempt to tug the sleeve of my blouse—God, I hate the word blouse almost as much as I hate wearing one—down over my apparently scandalous tattoo. “Is someone in there?”
She shakes her head. “Never knock on the conference room door. That’s more of an interruption than just slipping in and delivering them the coffee. Mr. Davis is in there with Mr. Young.”
I feel myself getting annoyed, and I take a deep breath through my nose.
I should be grateful I have this job for the next few months.
I should be appreciative of the fact that my father got me this job, even if it resulted in Mary Grace’s nepotism speech. It is nepotism. And I’m grateful. Just like I’m grateful to my sisters for letting me stay with them for free.
