Five Ways to Fall (Ten Tiny Breaths, #4)(54)
I can’t help my eyes from drifting over her frame. Having Mercy in here only magnifies how naturally attractive Reese is. How real. No silicone. A solid body, without being too over-the-top. I’d kill to see this girl naked again. If my mama hadn’t shown up when she did, I would have had her stretched out in the back of that truck in another thirty seconds.
She pulls out a sheet of paper from the top folder, slapping it onto my desk. “The good doctor’s out. See?” Her long, slender finger jabs at the paper. “The wife’s company donated a hundred thousand dollars to his private clinic’s fundraiser six months ago.”
Pulling my attention back to the case, I scan the tax receipt. “Shit. You’re right.” It’s definitely enough to discredit the expert witness who’s trying to paint our client as a psychologically abusive father to gain his ex-wife sole custody of their three-year-old girl and all the child support that goes along with it. “Without this jerk’s testimony, this custody battle is dead.”
“Okay, Erin Brockovich, where the hell did you find this?”
She shrugs. “Wasn’t that hard.”
Natasha was stumped. I was stumped. We thought we’d be searching for something to win this case right up until we lost it. I look up at Reese’s smug smile again. I’m seriously thinking about taking her into that corner conference room across the hall to thank her the way I’d really like to. The one with blinds and a lock. Jack’s out of town at a conference. Other than Natasha, no one would be looking to interrupt us “working.”
Dammit, thinking like this is not helping the current predicament I’m trying to hide under my desk.
I throw my pen down and lean back in my chair. “You’re awesome. You know that, right?”
“I prefer spectacular.” She pushes a lock of hair behind her ear, her face scrunching up with apology. “Look, I know I promised I’d stay late, but today’s been weird and I’m not feeling great. I’m going to grab a nap at home and work some more later.”
She is kind of pale, now that I think of it. “Yeah, I guess.”
“So, is there anything else you absolutely need me to do for you before I go?” Her eyes drift to my lap as she adds dryly, “Besides the problem that the Twinkie will be fixing later.” There’s a biting edge in her tone.
“Jealous?” Just the possibility has me smiling like an ass. I hook my hands together behind my head and admit, “Because I’d much rather have your help with that.” And I honestly would.
Reese’s lips twist in thought as she slowly appraises my body with that raptor gaze. She’s normally so much more covert when she’s ogling me, preferring to do it when she thinks I’m not paying attention. Her voice drops a few octaves as an “Okay” slides from those thin lips. “Conference room?”
“What?” My eyebrows shoot up. Shit. I wasn’t expecting that. My wide eyes scan the office for anyone who might be watching or listening in, seeing as the door isn’t even closed. Is she serious? I can’t tell! All I do know is that I’m sure going to be in a lot of f*cking pain if she doesn’t follow through.
A wicked cackle erupts from her. “Mrs. Cooke!” she hollers as Jack’s assistant passes by my door, on her way somewhere.
Mrs. Cooke retraces her steps and pokes her head in, out of breath and wiping her sweaty forehead with a tissue. “What’s the matter, dear?”
“Ben was just telling me how he ate all of your muffins over the weekend and wonders how you make them so peachy.”
The kind woman’s eyes light up as they settle on me. “Oh, you sweet boy. I’ll give you the recipe, for your mama. Do you have a pen and paper handy?” Her hands flutter about as she starts giggling—a funny Betty Rubble sound. She strolls into my office and squeezes herself into my spare chair—and I mean squeezes—as I shoot a look Reese’s way.
“Was I helpful?” Reese asks sweetly.
I can’t help but smile. “Yes, you were.” Like a bucket of ice.
“Good. Maybe you won’t need any Twinkies after all.” She struts out.
I’m sinking into total oblivion when the knock sounds on my door.
“Yeah?” I call out groggily, cracking an eye to see the glowing red numbers on my digital clock staring back at me. One a.m. I’m f*cking exhausted.
The door creaks open and a sliver of the hallway light behind shines down to reveal platinum-blond hair and a sparkly tight blue dress. “Hey,” Mercy offers, leaning back to close the door with her ass. “Travis let me in.”
I roll onto my back and murmur, “That was nice of him.” I’ve shared a house with five guys for almost six years. Someone’s always home and they’ve never not let Mercy in. I should probably set some new ground rules, given the situation.
Sauntering forward in that way she has—slow and graceful, like a cat—she reaches the side of the bed. I’ve started sleeping with the curtains open, finding the morning light helps me adjust to my new sleeping pattern. Now, it casts enough street light that I can just barely make her figure out. “You said you’d call.”
“I got caught up with work.” I actually forgot all about Mercy. After getting detailed instructions on Mrs. Cooke’s peach muffins—which I’m actually gonna give to my mama—I spent hours churning through all the files Reese gave me. Mercy’s gaze skates down along my exposed chest and stomach, her brow arching slightly as her attention drifts farther down to where I’m already pitching a tent under my sheets. I can’t help it. Reaching up, her fingertips do this little curling motion around the straps of her dress and then, giving them a slight tug, she pushes the material down until her dress hits my floor in a shimmering heap. Working six days a week at Penny’s, I’ve seen Mercy naked so many times that I could almost map out all her freckles in the dark.