“What a mess,” Stephanie remarked as she rose from her seat. “Glad I don’t have to deal with that filing nightmare.”
“Wrong.” Cassie halted her assistant by grabbing her elbow. “This is what you get paid to do.”
“Me?” Stephanie squeaked.
“Yes, you. I’ve got the other mess to deal with. Bill me double-time if you must, but we’ll need these files organized.”
Brad shrugged his shoulders. “I can match her rate for expediency.”
Cassie nearly burst out laughing at Stephanie’s shocked expression. Nine times out of ten, Stephanie believed her sole purpose was to retrieve coffee and answer the phone in between filing her nails. Actual work? Cassie would have fired her years ago, if she didn’t prove her mettle when it really mattered.
Stephanie swallowed hard, grimaced, and picked up a stack of file folders. “Right. I’ll ah…cancel my plans this evening.” With a forced smile, she stalked out of the room, letting the heavy oak door bang behind her.
Brad leaned across the conference table, his mouth coming dangerously close to Cassie’s. A heavy moment of silence passed as his gaze searched hers. Her breath hitched. Her lips parted. She willed herself not to sway forward and erase the breath or so that separated them. It was shameful how easily he commanded her body without ever saying a word.
“Schedule me for a working dinner. We can discuss the claims on Mr. Fischer more thoroughly.” His gaze dipped down her neck, slid slowly over her breasts. “It would be far more enjoyable.”
Chills spread over her skin. God, he was killing her. Didn’t he have any idea how hard it was to say no?
She gave herself a mental shake. Of course he did. He manipulated her like he had some inherent right to do so. No wonder he won in the courtroom. At this rate, he’d have her caving in more ways than one. She closed her eyes, sucked in a deep breath, and grabbed at her determination. Braving that weighty, suggestive stare once more, she found the ability to wrap her arms around her box and take a step backward with a shake of her head. “I prefer to do my own investigative research.”
Brad’s lashes lowered, and something very close to regret washed across his handsome face. For a moment she doubted her sanity in refusing him. He looked like her rejection actually bothered him.
She checked her natural response to adapt just to please him and forced herself to walk out of the room. That instinctual behavior to allow him to mold her as he desired was exactly why she had to leave.
…
Outside the prominent bay window, an engine started. Brad glanced through partially closed white miniblinds to see Cassie’s Cherokee backing out of her parking space. He envied that freedom—with the partners lurking over his shoulder he didn’t dare take time off at liberty. But she worked for herself. She could open her office, or close it, as she desired. Judging from the way Stephanie’s phone had rung all morning, Cassie obviously wasn’t hurting for clients, either.
He paused as he eyed for the folder she’d left behind that contained her notes on the meeting. He’d never expected she would be clueless to Mr. Fischer’s past, or the fact he spent his holidays here in Colorado. She was right—he should have forewarned her. But he had to give her credit, she’d put him effectively in his place. Strangely, he didn’t mind. And until that moment, he’d held an unfounded belief that attorneys who avoided large firms and opened their own practices did so because they couldn’t make the cut. Nor had he ever realized—truly realized—the benefits to private practice. Cassie called the shots here. She could choose her clients and caseloads. And she could adapt her schedule to the things that were important to her.
Like her former marriage. Like taking time to cook breakfast in the mornings.
He frowned, curiosity nagging at him, and reached into his coat pocket for his cell phone. He dialed the mobile number she’d given him before he’d left New York.
“What now?” she asked with no small degree of irritation.
“Just curious about something. If you hadn’t had to meet with me this morning, would you have been here at eight?”