Total pages in book: 65
Estimated words: 60951 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 305(@200wpm)___ 244(@250wpm)___ 203(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 60951 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 305(@200wpm)___ 244(@250wpm)___ 203(@300wpm)
James shrugs, smiling. “Both.”
The beautiful blonde sips her wine, sets the glass on a coaster, and steeples her fingers like she’s about to cross-examine us. “For the record, I never wanted to trade on my father’s name. I just want to do my job.”
I lean back, arms spread on the back of the sofa. “You’re not here because of your father. You’re here because you’re qualified, between your stellar grades to your previous job at Carter Graywright.”
Marnie shrugs, but doesn’t contradict me.
The conversation is, at first, a chess match. Every word is precise, every compliment laced with a question. We talk about trial prep, the circus of the media, the way a bad ruling can make or break a career. She’s sharper than most new hires, and more careful than any of the last dozen. She doesn’t fish for gossip, but she knows how to pick apart a story. When I mention the New York office, she asks about their record on post-conviction relief. When James tells a story about a disaster deposition, she wants to know how the witness was found. She’s cataloguing, and supersmart. Even more surprising, I love it. I have to admit that my bud and I generally don’t pay attention to a woman’s brains, just to her body because female bodies were made to be fucked hard. But this bodacious blonde is more than a pair of tits and a curvy ass. She’s sharp, witty, and keeps us on our toes, and I fucking love it.
After a second round of drinks, the city outside is black and shimmering, and we’re a little closer on the sofa than before. My knee touches hers when I shift, and Marnie doesn’t flinch or pull away. James watches her over the rim of his glass, his gaze laser-locked.
She sets her empty wine on the table and leans in, almost conspiratorial. “Okay. My turn. Ask me anything.”
James grins. “Anything, sweetheart? That’s quite the offer.”
“Anything.”
He lets the silence expand. “Why did you really want to work at Gibson Grant?”
She holds his stare. “I thought we went over this. Because you represented my father, and I want to understand what happened to him. Not the news version. The truth.”
I can feel my jaw tighten, but I keep my expression neutral.
She turns to me. “Did you think Stanley was guilty?”
I pause, considering my answer. “I thought he was the best liar I ever met.”
She nods, as if that’s confirmation.
James shifts forward, elbows on knees. “And do you think he was innocent?”
She smiles, a sad one this time. “I think he was my father. And that’s enough. He didn’t deserve to die.”
There’s a pause, and then, almost imperceptibly, something cracks. The room softens. We’re no longer adversaries, but three people locked in a private orbit, waiting to see who moves first.
I move first. I refill Marnie’s glass, but this time, when I pass it to her, my hand brushes hers. She doesn’t pull away.
James slides a little closer, the triangle tightening.
“You know why you’re really here, don’t you?” I say, voice low.
The beautiful blonde’s cornflower eyes are huge in the city lights. “Enlighten me.”
James gives her an assessing look—calm, predatory, all teeth.
“Brent told me how you broke into the archive room. We know what you did.”
Her composure flickers, but she recovers fast. “Well, if you’re going to fire me, at least let me finish the wine.”
I shake my head. “We’re not going to fire you. We want something else. Payback. Retribution.”
She laughs, quick and breathy. “What do you mean?”
James leans in, all charm and menace at the same time.
“Punishment.”
She sits back, stunned, then laughs again, a little too breathy. “Are you insane?”
I let her twist for a beat. Then I lean in, close enough to catch the scent of her perfume—a sweet, flowery musk under the wine and sweat.
“Are you ready to make a deal, sweetheart?” I say in a silky voice.
She goes very still, big breasts trembling.
James’s hand finds her knee, fingers light but deliberate.
“Help us with something,” he says. “And we’ll help you get to the truth.”
She looks from him to me, then back to him. Her pulse is visible at the hollow of her throat.
“What do you want?” she asks, voice so soft it’s almost a whisper.
I could spell it out, but I don’t have to. She already knows.
Instead, I say, “One taboo night. You, us, no limits. Your curves, open and seeping, ready to be used by our cocks. Then we give you everything you want to know. You might not come out alive, but it could be worth it.”
The silence is total.
She closes her eyes, just for a second, then opens them again. “You’re both bastards,” she says, but there’s no real venom in it.
I nod. “That’s the offer. Take it or leave it, sweetheart. The decision is yours.”
James’s hand slides a little higher on her thigh.