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THREE

Maverick

“Didn’t you tell Ember Lynn to keep a low profile during her very public and very messy divorce?”

I glance up from my computer as Brantley stomps into my office, closing the door behind him with a resounding thud. He slams his hands down on the other side of my desk, leaning toward me, his eyes narrowed, steam practically radiating from his body.

A normal person would be intimidated by his entire demeanor, but I’ve known Brantley and his brother Wyatt almost my whole life. He doesn’t scare me.

Not when he jumped out of his closet with a Jason mask when he was seven. Not when he challenged me to a game of chicken and plowed his bicycle straight into mine. Not when he tore his ACL playing high school football. The only time he came close was when he found Jennifer, his college sweetheart and fiancée, in bed with his law school rival, but it was a different kind of scary.

The man went weeks without eating, without sleeping. He was lost. He buried himself under a mountain of work so great, we didn’t think he'd ever come out of it. It took me a good seven months to get him to crack a smile. Not even a full smile. A fucking lip twitch.

But this—this version of Brantley Ellis— doesn’t intimidate me in the slightest.

And to prove my point, I lean back in my chair, prop my feet on the edge of my desk, and wave a hand toward him. “Please, come in. Make yourself at home. Don’t worry at all about me or the work you interrupted.”

He grunts, giving me a droll look—his version of rolling his eyes—and runs his hands through his hair. Something he must’ve been doing repeatedly on his way to my office. To say his normally tame hair is wild is an understatement. “I’m not in the mood for your bullshit today, Maverick.”

Of course not.

“I’d have never guessed. You seem like your usual jovial self.” I tilt my head, a smile tugging on my lips as his frown deepens.

“Ember Lynn.” He finally lowers himself into the leather chair across from me with a heaving sigh that tells me exactly how annoyed he is. At Ember? Me? At the chair? I don’t know, but at this point, it’s probably everything. “Have you talked to her recently?”

“Nope.” And if I had my way, I’d never talk to her again. Nothing against her, but her entire personality sucks. She might be a world famous country music star, but deep down she’s nothing more than a spoiled little rich girl. And our new client. “What’s she done now?”

He gives me another look, this one expressing his sheer displeasure, and slides his phone across the desk.

Jesus fucking Christ.

She’s posted not one but two—oh, I’m sorry, four—videos of her absolutely slamming her soon-to-be ex-husband. I did, in fact, tell her to lay low and keep quiet about the divorce until it’s final, but I can clearly see my astute legal counsel has been ignored. These things can, and will, be used against her in court, of that I’m sure.

Especially, since she’s calling out his mistresses, and if the comments are anything to go by, people are bringing up her twenty-two-year-old boy toy. The one she had before the divorce was initiated. The one no one had known about until she was caught dry humping him outside her trailer on her last tour.

She’s not very good with discretion.

I slide his phone back across the desk and this time let out my own sigh. “We’re going to need Julie to set up a meeting with her ASAP.”

“She quit after lunch. Apparently, we’re too demanding or some horse shit. I don’t know. The temp agency keeps sending us duds. This one refused to look me in the eye when I talked to her. I hate that shit. And she picked her nails.”

I barely resist rolling my eyes. Barely. “How annoying.”

“I know.” He leans back with a groan. “So, not only do we need to find her replacement, but we need to figure out how to get our current biggest client to shut her fucking mouth.”

Now may not be the best time for the mouthy legal secretary with sinful curves and a healthy appetite for chocolate chunk cookies to pop into my head, but here we are. I could suggest anyone for the job. Literally anyone, including our downstairs neighbor, the one with the lazy eye and always smells like meatballs.

But nope.

I glance out of the glass wall and into the office across from mine, and her fiery red hair is the only thing I can picture.

She’d be better than no one…right?

Ember and her flair for the dramatics isn’t a problem that I can fix today, but I might be able to rectify the secretary situation. To be clear, I shouldn’t.

She called the three of us emotional vampires, soul-sucking Dementors, and thanks to my teenage niece introducing me to the wonderful world of Harry Potter, I know exactly what that means.

And then there’s her. She’s attractive, a walking temptation I don’t need to see every fucking day when I come to work, but damn if she doesn’t make me a little bit of a sadist.

Which is bad. For me.

I should forget about her and move on with my life, let her hang out with the paralegals and associate lawyers two floors down. I should avoid the lunchroom and my favorite cookies. I should definitely not suggest her for this job or any job that requires her to work with me in any capacity, but?—

“There’s a new legal secretary downstairs I think would be a good fit. Miss Rhodes.”

Well, I can't take it back now. Especially not when Brantley’s eyes narrow again, and he assesses me for a good several seconds. “When were you downstairs?”

I straighten, clear my throat, and smooth a hand down my tie. “I went to the lunchroom today.”

“Ahhhh.” He nods, the corner of his lip twitching. “That explains it all. The cookies.”

“Fuck off. I don’t go down there for the cookies. I was meeting with Darren.” It’s not a total lie. Technically, he was in the lunchroom when I was down there.

“And this secretary? Was she at the meeting as well?”

“Of course not, but she comes highly recommended.”

Brantley scoffs, his brows raising as he assesses me. “Highly recommended from Darren Keller? The same Darren Keller who since the groping incident refuses to work with any female legal secretaries?”

Shit. I forgot about that. He was working late on a case, and there was coffee spilt and napkin dabbing. It was all fairly innocent. Well, except that the coffee spilt on his crotch, and Stacy tried to help before she realized what she was doing, and then Darren popped a boner.

“She didn’t work with him directly.” I try to stay casual, too casual maybe, so I quickly add, “What’s with the twenty questions? Do you want a legal secretary with experience, or would you rather I call up the temp agency and have them send over another nail picker?”

His mouth snaps shut, and he visibly shudders. “Have Mrs. Monroe prepare her paperwork and direct her to her new office first thing in the morning.”

“Consider it done. And I’ll reach out to Ember’s publicist and see if we can’t get something on the books.”

“Soon.”

“Soon.” I repeat with a nod. “You know, you’re not my boss, right? You, me, and your brother are all equal partners.”

“Oh, I’m well aware.” He quickly stands, tugging down the sleeves of his jacket, but before he can make it out the door, he glances back at me. “And if this secretary turns out to be a problem for you, you’re going to be the one who’ll have to fire her.”

I scoff again and run a hand down my face, then wrap it around the back of my neck. “There isn’t going to be a problem. She’s no different from any other employee.”

“Yeah. Keep telling yourself that.”

“Fuck off, Brantley.” But he quickly deflects my quick-witted response with a raised brow, and then he’s gone.

Fucker. It’s not like I said there was a beautiful legal secretary two floors down who would be perfect to work up here with us. Nope. I was as professional as possible. Unless this is a jab at my extracurricular activities. I may go on more dates than him and Wyatt combined, but I don’t mix business with pleasure. He knows that.

Good riddance.

I don’t need all that negativity in my life. Not when my mouth has gotten me in enough trouble. I just hope that Miss Rhodes is a top notch secretary, not some girl with an appetite for cookies.