Mack, page 3
I glance over at Presley’s smug face.
I have to admit, I kind of want to go kiss that smirk off her. Not many people can match wits with me and come out on top.
She’ll come on top.
Fuck, I need to just regroup from this. Concede this battle and win the war.
A hard dick in the courtroom is the last thing I need right now. Judge Lincoln won’t tolerate an attorney being five minutes late; I doubt he’d be sympathetic to an obvious tent in my slacks, though it might be fun to flash it at Presley where he can’t see.
The judge looks up from Presley’s papers, gazing down at me from over the top of his glasses. “So, this seems dependent on the plaintiff for now. Where are we?”
“I’ll take the forbearance request to the bank and have an answer shortly. If not, we’d like to proceed with the foreclosure, unless the defense is open to a short sale of the property.” I look Presley’s way and find her struggling to bite back a triumphant smile.
She does her best to hold it together, but her poker face sucks. She looks like she might blow a load in her skirt any second. “I can assure you we are not open to a short sale.”
There’s something about her and I don’t know what it is. Something about how I fucked up her morning, yet she still managed to come in here swinging. There’s a tiny bit of respect for her, somewhere inside me, even though I need to crush her under my heel like an ant.
She’s delaying the inevitable and knows it. There’s no way First National will accept this. Laws aren’t written to benefit people like her client.
“Mr. Mitchell, I would advise your client to attempt to work out this difference and avoid the court’s involvement in the future. We have far more pressing matters here.” The judge shoots Presley one more look before rising from his chair, and the two of us follow suit.
“Yes, Your Honor,” we both say at the same time.
Apparently, he’s going to take a little break after dealing with that.
I wait until he’s in his chambers before I start packing my things. There’s nothing really to discuss, but I don’t think I’ll pass on the opportunity to rattle her a little more. “Well done, Counselor.” I can’t hold back a smile as I turn to face her. “Must’ve spent days coming up with that little plan of yours.” I fake a yawn. “Spent five minutes over here. Actually, not even that, I just kinda showed up.”
She snorts before throwing me a glare that only interests me more. “Little defense?” She scoffs. “Got me what I wanted.”
“Shouldn’t it be about what Mrs. Winslow wants?”
“It is. I got her what she needed.” She glowers at me again.
“Yeah, yeah, that’s true. I guess there’s only one more thing you need, really.”
“Oh?” She locks her briefcase with a snap and turns toward me, confident and cocky as ever. “And what would that be?”
I rake my eyes up and down her, making sure to take in every curve, every detail of her. Fuck, she’s even more beautiful up close than I remember. “A washing machine.” I flash her one more grin and turn to head out of the courtroom. Once I take a few steps, I whip my head back to survey the damage. It’s glorious.
Her blue eyes are fiery. “Pro tip: download the app and order in advance. That way, you don’t have to act like a complete piece of shit in public.”
I smile like I don’t have a care in the world. “I’ll take that into consideration.”
To say she scoffs at this would be an understatement. She looks like she might have a response, but stops herself.
“Why don’t I take you to dinner? You can show me how to download apps and make my life more efficient. Sounds like a net positive for society, limiting my interaction with them.”
“Yeah, no. Even I’m not taking that one for the team, regardless of the public good.”
I don’t feel like this rejection should sting quite as bad as it does. What the fuck is happening here?
Instead of backing away, I withdraw a business card from my wallet and hold it out. “Number’s on there. In case you ever want dinner, or lessons on real estate law.” I flash her one last smile, then turn to leave.
Just before I step out into the hall, I hear her footsteps following.
“No thanks, I only take advice from people who beat me in court.”
Yeah, she keeps saying no, but I know it’s bullshit.
It should raise a million red flags, being attracted to the opposing counsel on a case for an old lady’s foreclosure that can literally make or break my career. The fuck is wrong with me?
Regardless, I think I want to fuck Presley Griffin. Or take her out on a date. I’m not sure which.
But one of them is going to happen.
Presley Griffin
“We bought a little more time. Don’t worry about a thing, okay?” I have to force the Bob Marley song from my brain.
“Thank you. I don’t know where I’d be without you.” Mrs. Winslow’s voice cracks a little. I can tell she has tears in her eyes, even over the phone. “Probably out on the street somewhere.”
“I won’t let that happen, I promise. Just relax and breathe easy for a bit. I’ll deal with the bank to try to get a forbearance lined up for the nine billionth time. They’ll deny it, but if they’re dealing with that it delays the foreclosure and gets us one step closer to your pension money. It’s a stalling game, so today was a win.”
“Okay, well thank you.”
“You’re welcome. It’s going to be fine, I promise.”
I wish I felt as confident as I sound. It’ll be fine for now, anyway.
Sure, I’ll do everything I can to prolong this fight, but the sad truth is, a lot of the time these corporations and banks win. Especially if it’s a property they really want, and they really want Mrs. Winslow’s.
I need to unwind. I might’ve won for now, but it’s a short-lived victory, and the memory of that smug jackass hasn’t done much to inspire any relaxation. I could barely focus on anything but Mack Mitchell for the rest of my day. His eyes, his smirk—ugh. Even through his Tom Ford suit I could tell he definitely works out.
He’s one hell of a specimen. It’s a shame there’s no soul behind those blue eyes and there’s definitely no heart in that broad chest.
I make a quick stop at the supermarket on the way home to pick up a few sides to go with the wine. Sarah’s coming over. Monday is wine and cheese night, and it’s my turn to host. Nothing fancy, just an opportunity to spend some time with my best friend and remember there’s more to life than legal briefs.
I’m halfway through the first glass when she shows up, kicking off her shoes the second she steps through the door. I’m not one of those people with a rule about shoes inside the house, but she prefers being in her socks for some reason. It’s one of the little quirks that makes her who she is.
I quickly remember she’s observant too, and her eyes narrow at the sight of my half-empty wine glass.
“Didn’t even wait for me. Long day?”
“Court went fine. Meeting in another two weeks, and by then I should have this shit cleared up. I don’t want to file the bankruptcy, but I will if it’s needed.”
“So why do you look a thousand miles away, draining booze?” She gives me a side eye.
I plop down on the sofa and pop a piece of cheese into my mouth, washing it down with a swig of wine. Sometimes I wonder why I didn’t take a job at a firm making a huge salary with tons of benefits. I’d be making big bucks and could afford good wine and expensive cheese that pairs well with it. I’d be in an apartment big enough to have office space along with a bedroom where my only activity would be sleep—since I don’t use it for anything exciting these days.
I shiver a little as Mack Mitchell’s piercing stare flashes through my mind again.
Nope, my bedroom is a haven of chastity. Instead, I usually end up working from home with papers spread out across the coffee table or my bed, depending on how adventurous I feel. Sure, I could stay late at the office, but it’s generally discouraged to stay late in that part of town. Especially when you’re all of five-foot-three with no self-defense training whatsoever.
That’s life working for a nonprofit advocacy group. It’s not about the money. I get paid in gratitude, which is more than enough.
For the most part, I wouldn’t have it any other way. It seems glamorous to be a Mack Mitchell or any of the attorneys like him, but it would mean selling my soul for money, and the very idea of that is unthinkable.
Mack Mitchell.
Thinking of him makes my blood boil, all smug and well-groomed and obnoxious and his greedy, soul-sucking client. They’re everything that’s wrong with the legal system and society in general.
I wish I could put all that into words for Sarah to understand. All she sees is a small apartment and an anxiety-ridden best friend. I shrug it off. “The whole day was weird. It started off bad, and you know how it goes. Like a domino effect. Sometimes all it takes is being five minutes late for everything to go downhill.”
She winces, sitting down with me, holding a glass of wine. “I hate that! It’s like you spend the rest of the day playing catch-up.”
“I know! And it didn’t help that I ended up running into the asshole of all assholes this morning.” I wrinkle my nose at the thought of him. “Mack Mitchell.” I sit there, breathing hard just at the thought of him. The thoughts that never leave.
“Whoa, hot name alert.” She stares right at me, clearly waiting for the rest of the story.
I point a finger at her, shaking my head. “No. Not hot name alert.”
“Tell me more about Mack.” She bats her eyelashes at me.
Damn it. Like I said—observant.
I knew I shouldn’t have said anything. She’s never going to let this go now.
By the time I’ve given her the full rundown, we’re both on our second glass of wine and the cheese and crackers are half gone.
“Hold up. Hold up.” She waves a slightly wobbling hand around. “Let me get this straight. The guy who made you late for court and doused you with hot coffee ended up being the opposing counsel? And he wants to take you to dinner?”
I roll my eyes. “You’re focusing on the wrong thing here.”
I might as well be talking to a wall. Sarah pulls out her phone and a moment later gasps with one hand over her chest. “Holy shit! Is this him?”
The fact that she gasped in the first place tells me she found the right person. Even though I hate his guts, I can’t deny how ridiculously hot he happens to be. A quick glance at her screen confirms this and I nod. “That’s him.” Even seeing his firm headshot gives me pause. Damn, he has a killer smile. The arrogant jerk.
It’s the wine talking. Everyone looks better after wine.
Yeah right, Presley.
“What I want to know is how you managed to keep from humping his damn leg right there in the courtroom.” She practically drools looking at his picture. “Holy hell.”
Okay, that’s an exaggeration about the drooling, but still.
“Sarah!”
“Well? You have the look about you.”
My mouth drops open and I smack her on the arm. “I do not have a look.” I can’t even look at her when I say it. “A look of murder,” I mumble.
“You can hate-fuck someone. It’s pretty awesome. At least, I’ve uhh, heard.” This time she’s the one who looks away, grinning the entire time.
“Sarah!” I repeat, and then smack her on the arm again.
“Just sayin’.” She shrugs.
“How the hell did we get on this topic anyway? I’m telling you about my day, and all you can think about is that dick.”
“Indeed, that dick.” She almost falls over, sloshing her wine around the glass.
“You’re ridiculous.” I have to get up from the couch and do something, anything to change the subject. In the spirit of honesty, I will also admit the thought of Mack Mitchell’s dick makes me a little dizzy, and I hate myself for it. I walk through the open floor plan of my apartment and head toward the kitchen. “Do you want some of these mini quiches? I have the oven preheated.”
“Sure. I’m starving and cheese and crackers isn’t cutting it.” Sarah spends most of her workday on her feet or driving to her next patient’s home, working as an in-home health aide.
“Let me guess. Didn’t have time to take a break today?”
“Don’t start, Mom,” she hollers from the couch.
I give her a motherly stare. Someone has to.
Her head flies back with a sigh. “Fine. I had some lukewarm fries on the way from one house to another. That’s about it.”
I add the second box of quiches to the cookie sheet before sliding it into the oven. I also pull out a container of spring mix and arrange a small salad for both of us, complete with sliced pears and candied pecans. It’s not often I splurge on little things like that, but our wine nights are worth it.
Besides, somebody has to take care of her, since she spends all her energy taking care of other people.
“Ohh, you have his card.”
I whip around from the oven to catch the shit-eating grin on her face. “Stop going through my things!”
Her eyes bug out like I’m being absurd. “It was sitting right here, sticking out from this folder on the coffee table.” She holds her hands up in surrender. “Hey, you know you can’t leave stuff lying around. I’m a snooper. You only have yourself to blame.”
“You say that like you’re bragging.” I glance at the card in her hand and sigh, switching the tone of the conversation. “Can you believe that asshole? Had the balls to flirt with me and ask me out after what happened? Lunatic. He’s not right in the head.”
“Head.” She giggles again.
“You’re twelve.”
“But he’s hot.” She says it like it’s an excuse for the way he is.
“Big deal. There are a lot of hot men in the world.” I turn back to the salads, since my cheeks are flushed and I don’t feel like letting her notice, because she will.
“Not like ol’ Mack here. Nope.”
The fact is, I’ve spent far too much time today thinking about pinning Mack Mitchell to the floor, tearing his clothes off and using him like a personal sex toy. Just one time, one night where the rules and ethics don’t matter. As much as I hate to admit it, she’s right. I need to get a hold of myself. There’s way too much pent-up sexual frustration doing my thinking for me. I need him out of my system.
I realize I’m once again daydreaming about something that will never happen.
Sarah pops up next to me, holding out my phone.
What the hell is she doing? Huh?
I don’t know what’s going on, and a cursory glance at the screen shows a call coming in, so I figure she’s handing it over to me so I can answer. I was lusting so hard in my little fantasy world I didn’t even hear it ring.
Then as I clutch it in my palm, reality slowly sets in, and I might die.
Oh no. No, no, no. She didn’t. She wouldn’t.
It’s an outgoing call. “What the hell are you doing?” I whisper-scream, holding the phone out in front of me like it’s a poisonous snake.
“What you don’t have the balls to do yourself. Live a little.” She waggles her eyebrows, but I can already see on her face she regrets doing it.
God, I must have a terrible look on my face. My brain spins a million miles an hour and I try to soften my features a little, even though I may just end up murdering her after this.
Suddenly, a woman’s voice floats out from the little speaker, cutting through the tension in the air. “Would you stop it?” She whisper-giggles the words. “You’re awful!”
It’s like I stepped into bizarro world all of a sudden. My brain is still running a full second behind reality. All I know is Sarah must’ve dialed the number on the card. That’s the only thing that registers.
What I don’t understand is why there’s a woman answering Mack’s phone and giggling like he’s teasing her. “Stop it!” she insists, laughing again. “Mack Mitchell, I will spank you right here in your office.”
What. The. Fuck.
It sounds like they have no idea I’m even on the phone, like the opposite of a butt dial.
A butt answer? Is that a thing? In an office?
I clear my throat loudly. “Can I speak to Mack, please?” The words come out harsh. Very harsh.
Who the hell am I right now?
Granted, I have no idea what I’m going to say if he gets on the phone, but I want to know what’s going on. Why? I don’t know. It’s none of my business. For all I care, he could have twenty half-naked women running around his office, taking turns blowing him. Maybe this will be the final nail in the coffin for me to officially hate his guts no matter how hot he is.
One of them mumbles, “There’s someone on the phone.”
There’s murmuring on the other end before Mack’s arrogant voice assaults my ear. Yes, that’s it. It’s not a smooth, baritone, sexy voice at all. Not one bit.
“This is Mack, and this shit better be good.” He laughs. “You’re interrupting a fun little game of keep away.”
I hear faint laughter in the background, like the woman he’s fooling around with has backed away but is still energetically annoyed with him.
My jaw clenches. “This is Presley Griffin.”
He makes a sputtering sort of noise, like he’s choking. When he speaks again, he’s all business. There’s not one hint of laughter in his voice now. “Presley. This is a surprise. What can I do for you?”
“You sure you have time to do anything? Sounds like you have your hands full over there.” Oh my God, I sound like a total bitch right now.
Who. Am. I?
After making a strangled sort of noise, he says, “I don’t know what you think you heard, but I can assure you, it’s not what you’re imagining.”
God, he’s probably a walking disease factory. Not only is he an arrogant prick, but he spends his working hours fucking women in his office. I’m sure he has an entire harem waiting to jump on him while people like Mrs. Winslow wonder if they’ll have a home tomorrow.
