When I finish, Midge just shakes her head with a smirk. “My dear, dear Leary. You’re turning out better than I ever hoped for. You remind me of . . . well, me.”

“I take that as a compliment,” I say with a grin. And then, because my taste buds are starting to go numb, I take another delicate sip of the whiskey.

Midge leans back into the couch and looks at me appraisingly. “So, is it just sex? Or is there something more?”

I shrug and lower my gaze to the glass. Running my finger down the diamond cuts on the bottom of the glass, I say, “I don’t know. I wanted it to just be sex, but I think we’re surpassing that.”

“A love story brewing,” Midge says and almost bounces on the cushion with excitement.

I cock an eyebrow at her.

“What?” she exclaims and then downs the rest of her whiskey. Standing up from the couch, she walks to her minibar, speaking at me over her shoulder. “I’m a romantic, believe it or not.”

“It’s hard to believe,” I say truthfully. “You aren’t involved in a relationship.”

“No,” she says sadly, “I’m not. I lost my one true love when Grant died, and I’ve never found anyone since. Of course, I don’t expect to find love boning twenty-something-year-old law clerks, but it works for me for now.”

I snicker, and I need to remember to tell Ford that this particular rumor—of the millions swirling around about dear, reclusive Midge—is true.

After pouring another drink, she comes back to sit on the couch. “The point is, please don’t let any of the things I’ve taught you, any of the things I expect out of you, dissuade you from a relationship. When I tell you to use your female powers of persuasion to get ahead in the legal game, it doesn’t mean I want you to sleep with every Tom, Dick, and Harry out there. It merely means you should be cognizant of all of your gifts and use them as you can.”

“Well, I appreciate the sentiment, but I can assure you the only opponent I’ve ever slept with has been Reeve.”

“And that right there should tell you something,” Midge points out. “This is definitely more than just sex.”

“Maybe,” I hedge, but I don’t allow myself to fully give in to that possibility. Reeve and I still have a very volatile case to get through. “We’ll see. I need to just make it through Jenna’s case before I can really explore what we have.”

“Want my advice?” she asks, a twinkle in her eye, and I have to laugh because she’s clearly enjoying this.

“Sure.”

“Don’t wait to explore those feelings. Fuck the case. That has nothing to do with you and Reeve. Open up and take a chance.”

“But what if things get nasty? So far, we’ve worked well in opposition. Well, at least after that first motion. But still . . . this has all been the beginnings of the case. It won’t be so nice during the trial—not when I have to get rough with his client and the experts.”

“He’s a big boy. He can handle it,” Midge says with confidence.

“And what makes you so sure of that?”

“Because look what happened when you tore his client up in the deposition. He respected you for it. He’s going to be able to do his job without taking advantage of the personal relationship, and you’ll do the same, I’m sure.”

Of course I’ll do the same. I have no desire to use my sexual sway with Reeve to get me further in this case. I don’t need it. But I am concerned that I might not be able to keep my personal feelings out of the way when things start to get nasty.

And they will get nasty. Medical malpractice trials are brutal, with both sides bare-knuckle brawling. There’s too much money at risk not to go all-in. It will be Reeve’s job to attack Jenna. It will be my job to attack Dr. Summerland.

Will we be able to open ourselves up to sex, emotion, and genuine affection after a hard day of trying to tear each other down?

It seems impossible to me, but not enough of a mountain that I’m not willing to try to climb it.

And yeah . . . I still want to climb Reeve Holloway.

CHAPTER 12

REEVE

Chad Pounds, the managing partner of Battle Carnes, drones on and on, reporting on the final numbers for the previous quarter. He makes all of the partners and associate attorneys jam into a conference room three times too small to hold all of us at the table and insists on disclosing the income that each person brought into the firm’s coffers.

This serves two functions. First, it praises and hopefully encourages those top earners to work harder, causing their already inflated egos to swell and puff some more. Big egos and overinflated senses of self are what drive money.

Or so the partners seem to think.

The second thing it accomplishes is to shame and humiliate the lower earners. Having their huge egos dinged and battered is a surefire way to get them motivated so they’ll earn more.

Or so the partners seem to think.

I think it’s all horseshit, so I tend to tune Chad out when he gets on his high horse. My earnings fall near the top, but that’s because, based on my experience, I tend to get the larger cases that earn more money. Simple mathematics, really, so I keep my ego—which is healthy enough—firmly encased and untouched.

While Chad focuses his gaze on one of the associates, Teddy Baker, who immediately shrinks because he didn’t have that great a quarter, my mind turns to more pleasant things.

Mainly Leary Michaels.

And fucking Leary.

And holding her at night.

And laughing with her.

And cooking her dinner and feeding it to her in bed.

And playing with her and my toys.

Okay, need to think of something else or I’ll be sporting an embarrassing boner in front of my peers.

But damn, she’s the perfect woman. It’s as if God created her just for me. So perfect, in fact, for the first time in my adult life I feel like getting religious and praying to the Big Guy in gratitude.

I’ve seen Leary every night for the past two weeks, with the exception of one night when she had to work late to prepare for a deposition. I tried to talk her into coming over to my house to work there, but she was having none of it. In fact, her exact words were, “Seriously, Reeve. Do you honestly think I’d get any work done with you in the same room with me?”

Christ, I loved hearing that.

Loved hearing how much she enjoyed me and my company and my dick.

Early on in our relationship, we easily gave in to the realization that being fuck buddies would best be served by fucking on a daily basis when possible. But thereafter, our relationship sort of morphed and settled into something more.

We went out to dinner. She helped me give Mr. Chico Taco a bath, and we laughed ourselves silly when he bounded out of the tub and ran crazy through the house, throwing soap everywhere. We call each other during the day just to chat, and once she breathily told me that she couldn’t wait to see me that night, and there was such feeling in it, my heart squeezed. I texted her a dirty joke, and she texted me back a picture of her boobs beautifully squeezed into a black lace bra with one hand pinching a nipple through the material.

I had to lock my office door and jack off to the picture, I was so aroused.

Yes, there’s no doubt. We’re not just fuck buddies. We’re in a relationship. It’s not something we’ve admitted to each other, and Leary still teases me about Vanessa and that she could be my fuck buddy, too, if I wanted. I didn’t like hearing that, so I tied her facedown on my bed and spanked the shit out of her, then I fucked her hard. That didn’t dissuade Leary from making that comment again, and in hindsight, I now realize that she enjoyed getting spanked so much that she brings Vanessa up quite a bit on purpose.