Total D*ck (Bad Bitch #3)(7)

By: Christina Saunders

He smiled, his light blue eyes sparkling, and slid his laptop from his bag. I’d never seen anything like it. Covered in stickers for bands I’d never heard of, I couldn’t even tell the brand.

“This is Barbarella. I made her myself. Don’t worry. I’ll just get her hooked up to the server, check out what your in-house tech did for the laptops, do the same and likely a little more for her. Then we’ll be good to go.” As he spoke, his fingers flew across the keys, and he had the whole thing set up within moments.

“They said you were good.” I waved my hand at “Barbarella.” “That’s impressive, to say the least.”

“That’s why you pay me the big bucks.” He leaned back in the leather chair. “So when do we start?”

“We’re waiting on one more to join.” I glanced to my watch—1:15 p.m. “Kennedy Granade. He’ll be working for me on this matter.”

“With you, you mean.” Kennedy walked in, confidence in every step. At least he’d showered this time around. He would have been handsome, in a dark gray suit, light blue dress shirt, and navy tie, if I hadn’t already been subjected to his particular brand of charm.

“Glad you could make it. Carey, this is Kennedy Granade.” The men shook hands. “Carey Fellowes is a corporate security expert.”

“Nice to meet you.” Kennedy surveyed the river view, the marble-top conference table, and the cushy leather chairs. “Been a while since I’ve been at this office. Still over-the-top as usual.”

“Were you late that time, too? Or do I get special treatment?” I crossed my arms and glared at him.

He smiled, his dark brown eyes taunting me. “You want me to give you some special treatment, Ms. Carmichael?”

Heat crept up my neck, coloring my cheeks. Asshole. I cleared my throat. “Did you bring the engagement letter and fee agreement?”

He slapped his worn messenger-style briefcase down on the table and flipped it open. “I made a couple of changes to the fee agreement.”

“What?” I should have known he would try something. He was a two-bit ambulance chaser. Unfortunately, it just so happened he knew how to work a jury from the plaintiff’s perspective.

“Seeing as how you need me more than I need you, I went ahead and changed the split to sixty–forty. Also, you’ll be covering my expenses.” He slid the papers over to me and pulled a pen from his inner suit pocket before walking around the table and holding it out to me. I caught the scent of his aftershave, clean and masculine. He was much more pleasant on all fronts this time around, except for his personality. It remained the same.

“Changing the fee arrangement isn’t part of the deal.” I made no move to take his proffered pen.

He stared down at me, his deep brown irises flecked with gold in the warm sunlight pouring through the wide windows. “Then I guess I’ll walk.” Despite his words, he remained still, his eyes boring into mine.

I chewed my bottom lip, a bad habit, and his eyes darted to the movement. I forced myself to stop, but he drew his eyes back to mine slowly, taking in every aspect of my face as he did so.

Mr. Porter had made it abundantly clear that Kennedy was far and away his top choice for this assignment. It was all Monopoly money to me anyway; it wasn’t as if I’d see even a dime of the contingency fee were we to recover. I’d make the same salary either way.

Kennedy studied me as I weighed my options. His gaze verged on insistent, or perhaps I was imagining it. Something about the hungry way he looked at me made the air around me weigh more, pressing down on me until it became hard to breathe.

I wanted to tell him not to let the door hit him in the ass on the way out, but that wasn’t an option. Allowing him to win this battle stung, but I’d pay him back with interest.

I snatched the pen from his hand and bent over the paper on the table. I had to escape his gaze. It was like my body wouldn’t behave, my color rising right along with my temperature. I flipped through the pages, making sure the rate was the only change.

“What? You don’t trust me?”

“Not a chance.” Once satisfied, I signed my name for the firm and hit a button on the phone in the center of the table.

“Yeah, boss?” Graham only answered his phone one way.

“Please come to the conference room and bring my jacket, bag, and a legal pad if you don’t mind.” I pressed the end call button and straightened.

When I turned around, both Kennedy and Carey stared at opposite corners of the room, even though there was absolutely nothing to look at—verifying they’d been staring at my ass while I was bent over.

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