Page 17 of The Lawyer
He’s on my heels the entire way back through the offices, spits and curses flying out of his mouth as if that might make some difference to his situation. It won’t. “Please, David, take it to a tribunal if you’d like to. Believe me, I’ll relish the thought of what I can do to you if you try that option.”
“You’re a fucking arsehole, Broderick.” I nod, keep walking. I’m happy for him to think that, for all of them to think that, actually. It’s enough for me to turn around before reaching the end of the desks, my eyes focusing back on the crowd of legal clerks and lawyers looking at the commotion.
“If one more substandard fucking document comes to my office, I will terminate the person’s position immediately. Don’t think for one minute your contract will stop me because it won’t.” A hushed silence fills the air, giving me enough time to look at each one of them in the face. “I need better than this. Now. I did not come here to spend my life in court again because of your inadequacies. As of Monday, you report to Tonya.”
With that done, I ignore the noise still coming out of David’s mouth and head back to the lift. An hour more and I’m going home. Thankfully to an apartment that is properly set out now. After the day I’ve had, I might not even come in tomorrow as I had arranged to. The meeting with the next paper in line to be bought out can fuck off. As can everything else until Monday morning.
The sight of Willow's arse bent over her own desk as I get back to the area outside my office isn’t acceptable on any level. Although, it doesn’t stop my eyes drifting over it, and then her calves and heels, nor do I remember to stop myself stalling at the moment. Green suede today, with enough of a sharp edge to them that they remain somewhat professional.
“Willow?” Her head shoots up from whatever she’s doing, hands brushing her skirt back into place. “What did you need me for at six?”
“The ball. Final seating arrangement, given the changes," she says, straightening her jacket.
"Alright." I wave my hand at her. "Come in, we’ll do it now.”
She fishes about on her desk for a sheet of paper under another pile of papers and follows me in. “Did you want a coffee?” she asks.
“No.” I sigh and round my desk, sitting. “What I want is a large bottle of red wine, some cheese, and a night of nothing but relaxed talk and …” Thankfully, I don’t finish the last of the sentence and land myself in my own legal mess. Talking about fucking isn’t going to make this evening come any quicker, nor is it acceptable no matter how good her arse might be.
She smiles, probably knowing exactly what I was about to say. “Sounds nice. A date?”
My gaze goes to her as I roll my shirt sleeves up. “Not remotely.”
“Not the dating kind of guy, I guess.”
I tug at my tie. “Certainly not tonight. How about you?” What the fuck was that?
“Excuse me?”
I carry on anyway, bemused at my actions. “Any date tonight?”
Her eyes widen. Quite rightly. “Did you just ask me about a personal matter?”
Yes. Fuck knows why. “No. You’re right. I shouldn’t have. I apologise.”
“And now you're apologising?”
“It doesn’t matter.” I look at the paper laid out neatly on her lap, chastising myself, and nod at it. “Right, hit me with these names. Let’s get this done.”
“Hit you with them?" She stares for a few seconds, brows raised and her mouth half open. "Landon, are you alright? You seem … different.”
My head tilts, a smile coming slowly and I rub my brow. I’m so fucking tired I’m talking like an imbecilic moron. And not only that, I appear to be getting comfortable with someone I absolutely should not be getting comfortable with. I was pissed at her just the other day and now we're talking dates? “Just read them out, Willow. I don’t know about you, but I’m ready to go home.”
She smiles with me and laughs lightly, eyes moving to the paper. “Okay.”
She spends the next fifteen minutes reading them out, one after another, and waiting for a yes or a no on where they should be sat. Or rather, who they should be sat next to. That’s all there is for that time. Professional, as it should be. The fact that my eyes keep wandering down to her fucking legs or looking at her mouth moving is fucking ridiculous.
How long is maternity leave?
I need Nina back.
When it’s finally finished, she gets up and leaves without much conversation other than goodbye and see you on Monday. Probably best considering my scandalous thoughts. I stand and leave ten minutes after her, getting to my car as quickly as I can. In reality, it’s undoubtedly not her that I’m thinking about; it’s the fact that I’ve got my dancer to get home to tonight. With any luck, I’ll get inside her and then it will be done. One fuck. Maybe two. Or maybe I’ll see her again if she’s good enough. I don’t know.
One thing’s for damn sure, I’m getting my money’s worth out of the night.
~
The rest of the evening passes by in a blur of food and good red wine. It was left in the kitchen, I guess part of the groceries Willow arranged. Perhaps I was hard on her, given it wasn’t actually her fault considering the apologetic email she forwarded to me from the delivery company. They fucked up, not her. I haven’t even thanked her for sorting it out. Not that I should have to.
