“I’ve got it,” I say casually as if I could take it or leave it, but I want this case. And I want it bad.
Most of the corporate law cases Long Multinational has are truly nickel and dime. Nothing to lose sleep over. Easily settled or readily dismissed. And reading through a thousand pages of depositions just makes the snore fest that much less appealing. But it keeps me on my toes, and in the heart of the ever-changing universe of corporate law.
But this one is precedent setting. Okay, maybe the man known as Don Silvers isn’t exactly going to change a law, but he’s sure as hell going to rock the local scene. Well, him and his dong.
Jean Anderson, vice president of strategic relations, gives me a knowing smile. “You want to represent Long Multinational on this? Your name will be all over the papers. And aren’t you worried about your fiancé? Not saying he has to approve, but—”
“But nothing. This case was made for me.”
“It certainly was,” Margot says with a mischievous smirk and a lift of her brow. “Like, so much so, it makes me think you wished really hard.”
“I certainly wished for something really hard,” I say, but I don’t elaborate. “And fate delivered. I’m so ready to dive into this case, I can taste it.” I rub my hands together, ready to get them dirty with the salacious lawsuit of a lifetime.
Jean hesitates, pursing her lips as she ponders the situation, talking almost to herself. “Normally, I’d recommend quashing it and avoiding publicity at all costs, but it’s a new day. A new culture. Publicity like this for the company makes us look like real people with real problems.”
I pull up my phone, showing them the stock trends from the past few months. “And if we learned anything about salacious scandals at the office, they oddly cause a buying frenzy, and our corporate value goes through the roof.”
Their nods are slight, but exactly the affirmation I’m looking for.
Margot’s grin widens. “You can have all the resources you need. And maybe assistance with your current workload.”
“Nonsense. My current workload is the sort of stuff I can do in my sleep. If you’ve got an intern you want me to train, I’m happy to walk them through this and give them some hellacious homework for the hell of it. But this one isn’t work. This is fun.”
“I’ll bet it is,” Margot says. “And I’m guessing you’ve already read through everything we have so far.”
“Of course. Synopsis: we’ve got one hell of a case for corporate espionage against Don Silvers, who I’m now dubbing Long Dong Silvers.”
Jean snorts out a laugh. “Nice.”
“I’m glad you approve. You know, with his name being Don Silvers, and the company name, it fell together naturally. Though, I did consider High Ho Silvers—”
“Evie,” Margot says, scolding me with a wry smile.
“Oh, don’t worry. Not going there. But brace yourself, because I’ll bet the media will.”
“Probably,” Jean says with a nod.
Shrugging, Margot gives in. “Just as long as that term doesn’t come from your dirty little lips, opening us up to another lawsuit—”
“Lawsuit?” I scoff. “For what? Acknowledging that the man is endowed like an elephant? Trust me, the court of public opinion would definitely be on my side.”
Again, I pass my phone, offering Exhibit A and all his foot-long glory. Jean takes a curious peek, but her wide eyes suddenly shy away.
Margot, on the other hand, damn near rips the phone from my hands for a closer look. “This is part of the evidence?”
“Well, it could be. So, we have corporate espionage by a foreign country. And Long Dong Silvers here seduced several members of our staff, as well as a few of our competitors. Thankfully, we caught on after the catfight in the break room between jilted lovers numbers one through four. Three women and one man. All fighting over Long Dong Silvers.”
Margot blows out a whistle before her lips settle to a smile. “Not your garden-variety love triangle.”
“Nope. More like a bisexual love star. And these are just the ones we know about. We’ll need to rally the troops to prep them for the media circus ahead, but also to see how many more ‘victims’ we have. My bet is well over a dozen.”
Jean shifts uncomfortably in her seat and clears her throat. “He’s had how many partners?”
Uncertain, I shrug. “I think we’re nearing a dozen.”
“Well, I need to come clean. He, um . . .” Her slight hands rub together, then clasp together tightly. Her white knuckles and worried expression are all Margot needs to reach over and squeeze her hands with reassurance. Slowly, Jean says, “He seduced me.”
Shocked but not showing it, Margot and I refrain from even the slightest look of judgment. The lines on Jean’s brow harden, and apprehension bleeds from her hesitation. But we all know the drill. Safe spaces are made when people listen. So we wait patiently, ready to hear whatever she has to say.
Jean lets out a heavy breath and her concerned features soften. “What can I say? I’m lonely. I’m human. And he’s about the best-looking man I’ve ever seen.”
“That he is,” I say with a nod. “I’ve seen his photos.” Repeatedly.
The chiseled lines of his body are the perfect canvas for his edgy tattoos, and I’m pretty sure I didn’t see a single hair anywhere but on his smoldering face and his head, crowned with thick, dark waves that were made for gripping.
He only got bumped to fantasy number two when the Meaty Streaker hit my sights.
Jean’s wry smile saddens. “He kissed me,” she says with a heaviness that hurts my heart. There’s a longing behind it, and I know exactly how she feels. “I can’t remember when I felt that excited to have a man’s lips on mine. I just wanted it, I guess.”
“No,” Margot says. “You were conned by a master manipulator.”
Jean’s nod gives way to something unexpected. “Perhaps I should step down.”
“No,” I say quickly, but remembering it’s not really my decision to make, I turn my desperate eyes to Margot. “She can’t.”
“No, you can’t,” Margot says, locking eyes with Jean.
“But it’ll come out. You have to take my deposition.”
“For a kiss?” I scoff, dismissing the ridiculousness of the idea. “That would be a pretty short deposition, and hardly enough to build any sort of case on. But . . .” I hate myself for going here, but I have to. “Was it only a kiss?”
Shrugging, Jean says, “He may have grinded against me.”
Now I’m suspicious, because that seems completely out of character for our vice president of pure professionalism to do at the office. “Just one kiss? Where?”
“On the lips,” she says, darting a look at me that can only mean she’s surprised I’m that much of an idiot.
“No, I mean where did this happen? In the building?”
“God, no,” she says, her expression appalled. “I would never. I was at Pixie’s, having a drink with friends and letting off some steam. He cozied up next to me, and we hit it off. What can I say? A little vodka . . . his full lips and tight jeans. I do have needs, after all.”
Energized, I grab the pile of depositions, fanning through several tabbed pages until I find the one I’m looking for. Then I flip to the next. Then the next.
“Jean, all his Don Juan activities were done at the office. They all met here. Courted here. Fucked here. In offices. Janitor closets. Even in the copy room. Because we’re ancient enough to have one of those.”
I catch Margot’s unamused glare at me but ignore it.
Jean grabs the phone-book stack of paper, finding the same references I did. “You’re right.”
“Honestly, I’m not sure he knew your position at the company.”
Margot pats her hand. “Maybe he really likes you.”
I’m tempted to offer that maybe the douchebag’s just a fuck boy, but I refrain.
“Maybe,” Jean says softly.
My hand piles on top of theirs. “And since nothing happened at the office, and it was just one kiss, none of this needs to come out. At all. It’s not like you gave him a blow job in the bathroom.”
Studying my friend, I double down on my assumption that she’s the buttoned-up librarian we all assume she is.
With a hopeful and probably dirty grin, I ask, “Did you?”
“I don’t think so,” she says, tapping her fingers to her chin. “But I did have a few vodkas, and the night’s a blur.”
“So, it might not have been him at all?” I’m coaching her a little, just to get her out of her own head. I open my phone to a photo—the one with his dick in the frame. Seriously, that cock would make any woman forget his face.
“Well, I definitely have no recollection of that. So, maybe not. I guess.” Intrigued, she pulls my phone closer, then turns it sideways, wide-eyed as she enjoys the view.
“Maybe it was another smoking-hot cowboy you locked lips with.”
Jean expands the image and looks so closely at it that I’m half ready to offer her a magnifier, though the man practically jumps off the screen as it is. “When was this image taken?”
“Yesterday,” I say, wondering where she’s going with it.
Her nose crinkles as she cocks her head. “Oh my God. It’s not him. Now, I was three vodkas in, and they do bear a close resemblance. Dark eyes that go on for days. Scruff that made my lips raw and wanting more. But my mystery man definitely had a tattoo on his neck.”
“Oh yeah?” Margot asks. “What kind of tattoo?”
Jean leans in and we follow suit, eager for whatever national secrets she’s about to share. But then she struggles.
“I’m not sure. It’s all a little fuzzy. Maybe it was a star. Or a spider.”
“Or a zodiac symbol?” Margot says, trying sweetly to be helpful while I deal with the buzzing of an incoming text.
D: Need you here.
Evie: On my way.
Of course. Because my job is meaningless in his world. Whatever. This is the life I’ve chosen.
“Look,” I say. “I’ve got to go.”
Margot tosses me a suspicious glance that I don’t bother acknowledging. “Everything all right?”
“Fine,” I say, masking my irritation behind a smile.
Without any warning, I smother Jean in a monster hug. “If you remember the tattoo, let me know. I’m not half bad at tracking down mystery men. Especially ones with interesting tattoos you’ve probably nibbled on.”
Jean gives me a squeeze back. “Thanks, Evie.”
“I’ll walk you out,” Margot says, but I decline.
“Nope. Sister bonding next time.”
Everett Long is two shakes of a lamb’s tail from setting a wedding date with my mom, but the sister comment still throws Margot. It’s enough to let me slip away without her getting all up in my business.
Because I don’t need to be talked out of breaking up with my rich dick of a fiancé.