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It took a while, but I managed to set up the shot just how I wanted.

I sat in front of my standing mirror, looking like I was taking a casual selfie. Except I was shirtless, in loose sweatpants that didn’t hide my erection from her, with one leg propped up suggestively. My head, with the motorcycle helmet on, was cocked to the side as I placed my hand dangerously close to the low, low band of my pants.

When Jacqueline received the picture, she immediately FaceTimed me.

Which proceeded to the hottest dual masturbation session of my life.

I was just admiring Jacqueline’s picture when a woman’s voice caught my attention.

“Leo Turner?” I lifted my head, locking my phone so no one else could see what I was drooling at before work. A blonde woman with a cream sweater and jeans was walking toward me, a curious look on her face.

“Hmm?” I asked.

She paused a couple of feet away from me, just outside of my building, to reach into her shoulder bag.

“Are you Leo Turner?” she asked.

“Yes.” I tilted my head, wondering why anyone would need to approach me at seven in the morning.

She nodded, before removing a folder from her bag and handing it to me while saying, “You’ve been served.”

Oh, fuck me.

* * *

“I havea question for you and I apologize in advance for it.” I was an anxious mess, the pen I snagged from my desk twirled around and around in my fingers. I didn’t take a seat in Brandon’s office, instead I paced back and forth. He studied me from his chair, his hands casually crossed over his chest as he furrowed his dark blonde brows.

“What is it?”

I gave him what I hoped was a charming, self-deprecating grin, before deciding to drop it with a shake of my head.

Charm wouldn’t help me here.

“I messed up,” I managed to get out, “I know that Sun Steer is sponsoring my visa while I go through the clusterfuck of American citizenship, but…” I pulled the file from my bag, showing him the papers discussing the assault charges that Vincent Lee was pressing against me.

“What is this?” Brandon asked, still not looking disappointed quite yet, but more confused.

“I need a lawyer. Not my immigration one,” I rushed out, finally dropping my weight into a chair across from him. I didn’t love going to my boss for something like this, but he was the one who got me a job here in the first place. It felt less scary going to the CEO of Sun Steer than Mary Jiang, who would rip me a new arsehole if she found out I had been in the States for less than a year and already had assault charges under my belt.

My mums didn’t need to know about this, either.

“…Want to tell me why you’re being charged for assault?” Brandon asked after going through the papers in the folder.

“It was self-defense.” It was true, even though Vincent never stood a chance against me. Growing up in my specific area of South London, I learned how to fight bullies before I learned how to code in JAVA. In my neighborhood, being targeted by everyone and their mother for—gasp—having crushes on girlsandboys in my class, I also had to learn how to end fights as quickly as they started.

If I was the toughest kid on the playground, nobody could shove my head in the toilets.

“I see,” Brandon frowned, studying the papers, before scraping a hand down his face and pulling his mobile out, “Lucky for you, I know someone.”

“Thank god.” I sighed. Brandon gave me an unimpressed look before dialing and setting his phone to speaker.

It rang three times, with no answer.

Brandon rolled his eyes and dialed again, and this time someone answered on the second ring.

“Yeah?”

“Graham? You busy?” Brandon asked. I raised my eyebrows. I thought his brother was a farmer. Not a lawyer.