The Opportunist (Love Me with Lies, #1)(15)

“So, how’s law school going?” he ignores the mess he made and bites into a jelly. I imagine the stack of law school applications on my dresser at home and sigh. Tonight. Tonight, I would be ambitious.

“Fine, thank you, Mr. Gould.” I can’t take it anymore. I scoop up the pens and reposition the cup.



“You know Olivia, a girl with your looks can get far in this world, if she plays her cards right.”



He is chewing with his mouth open.



“Well, I was hoping that my talent and hard work would get me far in the world, Mr. Gould, not my appearance.”



He chuckles at me. I envision myself jamming a pen into his trachea. Blood. There would be lots of blood to clean up. I better not.

“If you ever want to excel in this field, sweetheart, you let me know. I can instruct you all the way to the top.” He smiles at me, winks, and my slime-ball radar goes off. I hate being sugar lipped, especially by a bleating goat in pinstripes.

“Instruct?” I ask with false enthusiasm. Mr. Gould picks at his teeth, flashing me a view of his wedding band, which he liked to forget symbolized fidelity.

“Do I have to spell it out for you?”

“No,” I sigh boringly, “but you’ll have to spell it out for human resources when I tell them that you’re sexually harassing me.” I pull a nail file from my drawer o’crap and begin sawing at my thumb. When I look up, his face has gone from its usual tomato red to an ugly shade of scared shitless.

“I’m sorry you see my concern for your future as sexual harassment,” he says, quickly removing himself from my desk.

I size him up, all the way from his bony shoulders, which are poking out of his Armani suit like two tennis balls, down to his regrettably small feet.

“How about we stick to work-only conversations and you save your concern for your wife—Mary was her name wasn‘t it?” He turns away, his shoulders rigid. I hate men….well, most of them.

My intercom crackles.

“Olivia, can you come in here for a sec?” It’s Bernie.

Bernadette Vespa Singer is my boss and she loves me. At five feet even she has cankles, perpetually smudged peach lipstick, and wiry black hair that looks like poodle fur. She is a genius in her own right and a damn good lawyer. With a ninety-five percent prosecution rate and a stride to match any man, Bernie is my idol.

“Mr. Gould offered to help advance my career,” I say coolly, walking into her office.



“Bastard!” she slaps her palm so hard on her desk her bobble heads jump to action.



“Do you want to press charges, Olivia? Damn that cock-a-wiener bastard. I think he’s sleeping with Judge Walters.”



I shake my head “no” and sit down in a chair facing her desk.



“You’re my kind of assistant kid, tough as nails and ambitious as hell.”



I smile. That was what she said when she hired me. I’d taken the job knowing she was a little crazy but not caring since she won cases.

“What’s happening with that fellow you were telling me about?” she asks. She scratches her nose with the tip of her pen and it leaves a scribble on her face.

I blush so fiercely it is an immediate emission of guilt.

“You know he’s going to find out eventually,” she says, narrowing her already beady eyes at me. “Don’t do anything stupid, you could have one hellavah lawsuit on your hands.”

I bite the inside of my cheek.



I don’t know why I told her. I regret it now as she stares at me with her probing eyes.



“I know,” I mumble, pretending to fumble with the buttons on my blouse. “Can we just not talk about it right now?”



“What is it with this guy?” she says ignoring me. “Is he well endowed? I can never understand why pretty girls like you go chasing after men. You should get a vibrator. You’ll never go back. Here, let me write down the name of a good one for you,” she scribbled something down on a yellow post it note and hands it to me.

“Thanks.” I looked at the wall above her head and take the paper.

“Not a probby. See you later, kid.” She waved me out of her office with her chubby, ink-stained fingers.

I invited Caleb over for dinner. Same dog, same tricks. Our coffee rendezvous ended abruptly when the pimply kid behind the counter flipped the closed sign in the window and turned the lights off in the cafe. We had lifted ourselves regretfully from the table and wandered outside.

“Can I see you again?” He was standing directly in front of a street lamp and it cast an ethereal glow around his shoulders.



“What would you do if I said no?”



“Don’t say no.”



It was another one of those moments where I flirt with my conscience and pretend for once that I am going to do the right thing.



“Come over for dinner,” I blurt. “I’m not much of a cook, but hey…”



He looked surprised at first and then grinned.



“I’d love to.”



And that’s how it happened.



Bad. Bad. Bad.