Page 8 of Falling for Roxanne

Inside I wanted to jump up and down and squeal. I remembered to keep a professional distance and make my facial expression as neutral as I could. Sure, I grinned a couple of times because I was just irresistibly happy that I got the internship, but I kept the gushing and jumping up and down to myself.

“That’s flattering,” he said, seeming genuinely uncomfortable with the deference I’d shown to him.

“Your track record in the courtroom, not to mention the number of cases you’ve gotten dismissed before they went to trial, is impressive. I read up on you before the semester started…I have a research brain and I like to have an idea of what I’m going into with a class. Last semester I had a seminar from Dr. Gladstone.”

“She’s…very strict in her interpretation of the law,” he said deliberately.

“She’s a total robot. No sign of compassion, warmth or a pulse. I said what I said,” I replied.

He cracked a smile and rubbed the back of his neck. “That was…very accurate. I’ll have to watch myself around you or you’ll have one of those sharp one-liners to describe me.”

“I take no prisoners,” I joked and, thankfully, he chuckled.

“I have a packet for you to read over, some statutes to learn as well as an outline of our office procedures, and some nondisclosure agreements because of the sensitive information covered by privacy law in our cases. You can report to the office on Monday morning at eight if that fits your schedule. Your hours will be flexible, but we need you a minimum of fifteen hours per week between the hours of eight and six.”

“Thank you,” I said, glowing from head to toe over the honor of this internship. I held out my hand. “You won’t regret it, Mr. Bell.”

“I don’t plan on it,” he said with a half-smile. “And you can call me Hamilton.”

He extended his hand, and I shook it.

“Roxanne,” I said more calmly than I felt, and on the last breath I was able to take.

If a brush of his hand had given me a shock of pleasure and awareness, then his entire hand consuming mine, gripping it palm to palm was absolutely indecent. I didn’t know where to look. Heat surged through my body, and I bit my lip to keep from moaning as sensual waves rolled through me and I was powerless to resist them. My chest heaved, my nipples pinched, and I felt my pussy heat and throb in response to his handshake.

“Roxanne,” he repeated, and the caress in his voice might as well have been a lick between my thighs.

CHAPTER 7

HAMILTON

Colin was so excited. Every time the crowd reacted to a play, before I was even finished explaining what had happened in the game, he would jump to his feet and cheer. Even if the crowd booed a bad call, he was hopping from foot to foot, clapping his hands and yelling. That was the kind of energy we needed at a ball game—straight exuberance and positivity.

I loved the furrow of his brow when he tried to concentrate on what I was saying and the way his eyes lit up when I got him a balloon. A blue balloon that was now tied to his wrist and bobbed up and down wildly when he jumped and cheered.

My beautiful little boy was so happy, and I couldn’t help taking a minute to be grateful just that I got to be his dad. That I had the privilege to take him to his first ball game and see the wonder and happiness unfold on his face.

“Look! Daddy! Daddy! Daddy! Look!” he said, tugging my arm. “He hitted it! He hitted it far. That’s how I hit it too.”

Colin stood on his seat and craned his neck to follow the trajectory of the double a player on the opposing team had just hit. I didn’t chuckle at his interest in the visiting team and their hits, too. I just picked him up and said, “Here we go, buddy,” and lifted him onto my shoulders.

He settled in there, hands resting on my head, and his chin on his hands. I could feel him get comfortable and couldn’t help smiling. He would point and I’d tell him about the player’s batting average or what the score was now. It wasn’t really about baseball. It was about giving my boy a perfect day.

By the time the cotton candy was gone, Collin had a stomach ache, and all of his attention span was used up for the most part. When he asked if he could play on my phone, I knew it was time to leave. I gave him a piggyback ride to the car and used about six wet wipes getting his hands and face cleaned off. He was so wiped out, he fell asleep on the ride home.

I carried him inside and helped him brush his teeth and change into pajamas. He mumbled and whimpered and basically sleepwalked through it. I tucked him in and then popped open a beer. I turned on some mindless reality TV, people who were doing ridiculous things, competing for money. After a few minutes, when I still couldn’t tell any of the square-jawed, dark-haired guys apart, my mind wandered to Roxanne Park.

It may have been a mistake to award her the internship at my law firm. She’d be showing up in my office bright and early Monday morning. Admittedly, I’d evaluated the applications blind, with no name attached to them. I had not known it was her when I chose the applicant. So, I hadn’t hired her for any nefarious reason. I wasn’t stalking pretty grad students or trying to ‘mentor’ anyone like some sleazy history professors I knew happened to do. The fact that the best qualified candidate to help take up the slack at my law firm happened to be the unnervingly attractive student from my Trial Practices class was just a coincidence, one I’d have to deal with for an entire semester.

Her internship was not tied to her grade, and it was an unpaid position. I wasn’t offering to use influence or networking to secure her advancement nor threatening to withhold help in the future in order to get something from her. There was no quid pro quo in effect and no improper suggestions had been made. So why did I feel like this was a thorny situation?

I‘d worked with women for my entire career and never had any issues. Why was I so worried about having an intern work in my office? She would be Sydney’s direct report, not mine. She’d file paperwork and look up information, make phone calls, generally take menial tasks off the paralegal’s list. It wasn’t a position that would work closely with me or that I would be personally involved with. Her presence at the firm would be for the convenience of my employees. That was all.

Still, it bothered me. Perhaps the fact that she intrigued me with her cleverness, her motivations for becoming a defense attorney, her wrongly convicted father, the altruism and strength such a decision revealed. My interest in her wasn’t strictly professional. It could spell disaster. I knew I couldn’t get involved with a student, and she was significantly younger than I was, even if I weren’t her professor. The power imbalance, questions of consent—Kyle would know how to name off all the reasons why it was inappropriate to have ever let the thought of her cross my mind.

I had to keep it together. I shifted on the couch, trying to get comfortable, realizing that I had thought about Roxanne Park for so long that I was hard. I switched off the TV and tossed my beer can in the recycling. I got in the shower, blasted the water against my skin, perhaps as punishment. I scrubbed off, tried to think about baseball stats, anything to distract myself, but nothing was helping, not even the merciless water pounding on my body the same way I wanted to pound into Roxanne.

She pulled aside the shower curtain and stepped in with me, her long bare legs pale as my eyes raked up her body, drinking in the flare of her hips, the curve of her breasts. She had one arm across them, suddenly bashful, though her eyes met mine, bold as brass. She stepped in toward me and I captured her, arm snaking around her waist and hauling her cool, bare skin against the wall of my chest, hot water pouring down on us like a cascading waterfall.

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