Christmas In The City (Imperfect Match 1.50)

She stepped closer to me and pushed up on her tippy toes so we were almost nose-to-nose. “I think you’re full of shit.”

We stared off at each other for a solid thirty seconds, then I couldn’t help myself. Unable to keep it in any longer, I cracked. A smile broke out on my face. Then one spread across hers. Next thing I knew, we were both hysterically laughing. Margo held onto her stomach and, at one point, she snorted, which threw us into another round of hysterics.

She wiped tears from her eyes. “Seriously…how do you do it? And don’t give me some bullshit answer this time.”

I shrugged. “Haven’t you ever had a client you didn’t care for?”

“Sure. But that’s different. I’m only throwing an asshole’s parties or planning some elaborate proposal to make them look good. Not beating up my client’s adversary who doesn’t deserve it.”

She had a point. And the truth of the matter was, I was tired of taking on clients with no morals. It was one of the reasons I’d been kicking around leaving my firm and going out on my own. Sometimes you meet with a prospective client and you agree to take on a case, thinking you’re representing the kid getting bullied. But after you listen to the other side of the story, you wonder if your client might actually be the bully. Those situations, you can’t help. But that wasn’t what had happened when I met with Rex. My gut had told me he wasn’t the victim in the first thirty seconds of sitting down with him. Though it didn’t matter, because I was trained to see all clients the same way at my firm—as billable hours.

I sighed. “It’s not always the easiest job.”

Margo tilted her head and studied me. “Such a shame,” she said with a sigh.

“What? That I’m a lawyer?”

“Nope. That you’re Rex’s lawyer.”

“Why is that?”

She looked down at her watch and back up to me biting her bottom lip. “Because I’m almost done for the night. And you’re standing right under one of the mistletoe I hung this morning.”

I looked up. Holy shit. I really was. There was nothing more I wanted to do at this moment than take Margo in my arms and kiss the shit out of her. That first kiss had stuck with me for days. But…I couldn’t. I was just about to begrudgingly tell her that, when she suddenly turned and started to walk away.

What the…

Margo looked back over her shoulder and flashed the wickedest grin. “Bye-Bye, Mr. Lawyerman. Feel free to watch me walk away now. Unless, of course, that’s against the rules, too.”

I watched as Margo Adams strutted across the room. Her red dress hugged the curve of her amazing ass as it sashayed from side to side. Honestly, it probably was unethical to drool while checking out your client’s adversary, but at this point—I was lucky that was all I allowed myself.

Putting my hands on Margo Adams would totally be a breach of ethics.

Yet in the pit of my stomach, I somehow knew she’d totally be worth it.

4

Chet

I decided to play a little chicken.

Remember that game? Two drivers careening down the road on the path for a head-on collision. One had to jump out of the way to avoid being run over, which one was generally decided by who had the biggest balls.

“Mr. Saint?” My assistant Lydia buzzed into my office. “Your three o’clock appointment is here.”

“Great. Give me five minutes and then show him in.”

I cleared the scattered papers of another client’s file from my desk and pulled a manila folder from my drawer—my own personal bank statements. Today, I’d definitely have the biggest balls in the room. Though sometimes, on rare occasions, neither party swerved, and a collision just became unavoidable. I thumbed through the folder and turned a few of the top pages over so that the name on the account wasn’t visible.

Lydia knocked and opened my door right on time. I stood and buttoned my jacket before coming around my desk.

Rex Adams strolled into my office like he owned the place.

Was he always such an arrogant fuck?

I flashed a practiced, very insincere smile and offered my hand. “Rex. Good to see you. I’m glad you could make it today.”

He grumbled. “Three o’clock on a damn Friday. Traffic is terrible.”