One to Chase (One to Hold 7)

My associate sips his coffee as he leans against my office doorjamb. Since the incident yesterday, I’ve dedicated myself fully to Fieldinghouse, blocking out my irritation over shit I can’t control. When I’m not at work, I contemplate all the other things I can be doing besides Amy Knight.

“Bad news about McGruder,” Evan says.

Reaching up, I pull off my glasses and rub the bridge of my nose, glad to direct my attention away from wastewater. “Something we can’t handle?”

“CPA’s assistant dated an owner at Frank Metropolitan before the sale went through.”

Shit. “How long?” Snatching up my Mont Blanc, I quickly make notes on the legal pad to my right.

“It had only just started, but they were photographed around town. They attended the Joffrey Ballet gala in September. It made the paper.”

“Shit.” My mind is filtering through the possible arguments. “How long has she been an employee?”

“Three years.”

Leaning back in my chair, I toss the pen onto my desk. I’m sure my frown mirrors my associate’s. “How’d you find out?”

“Campbell, of course. That jackhole is gloating so hard, I’m surprised we can’t hear him from across the river.”

“Don’t answer it yet.” Glasses on, I flip through the thick reference volume in front of me, searching for a name. “Make a phone call first.”

The staccato click-click of heels I’ve been trying not to listen for all morning echoes in the hallway. Fixing my eyes on the page in front of me, I tamp down my reaction to her presence.

“Good morning, Evan.” Amy’s soft voice fans the smoldering anger in my chest.

She doesn’t stop, and when my associate turns back to me, I can feel his eyes monitoring my response.

I flip a page, still searching, and he finally speaks. “What’s the latest on that situation?”

A quick glance over my frames, a quick eyebrow flick, and I’m back to scanning the tiny font. “What situation?”

He steps forward toward my desk, and his voice drops. “Don’t bluff me. I heard you two in here last week. Sounded pretty fucking hot.”

Shit. Clearing my throat, I don’t look up this time. “I don’t know what you mean.”

Sarcasm drips in his reply. “Whatever, Marc.”

I drop the book and stand, going to the shelf holding my bar association journals. “Do you remember the speaker from last year’s spring conference? He did a few panels on insider trading.”

“Bryant Kelly?”

Snapping my fingers, I point at him. “Give him a call, tell him you’re my associate. Get his advice.”

“Good thinking.” Evan nods, and heads for the door. He pauses before leaving. “Stick with her. You make a good team.”

“You know I don’t do commitment.” Rounding the desk, I pause before sitting. “Also, I’ve heard she’s a runner.”

“Well, shit, Marcus. Chase her.”

I don’t growl a response. Instead I’m back to business. “I want you to take the lead on this case. I’m here if you need me, but it’s yours. Make your mark.”

“Got it. I’ll keep you in the loop.” Evan is gone less than five minutes when our bubbly receptionist interrupts me.

“Mr. Merritt?”

I’m so tense, I almost swear at the brunette pixie standing in my doorway, but I don’t. No use taking my shitty mood out on everyone.

“Yes, Charity.”