Object Me: A Bad Boy Lawyer Romance (8 page)

W
hen I woke up
, she was there. Sleeping peacefully. Her creamy delicate skin, silky golden hair, and tempting curves were cocooned in the covers, but floated through my mind.

Yvette was unlike any other woman I had ever known. Most of them were prissy and privileged heiresses who valued status over sincerity.

I let my hand drag along her side.

Still asleep, Yvette nestled her head in the crook of my arm as though it were the most natural thing in the world to do, as though we did this often.

I allowed her to get closer to me. Without fight, I allowed her to move her warm body against mine. When I released into her last night, something was let loose inside of me. A something that wanted to snuggle. A something that wanted to skip work and watch her smile, hear her moan, and feel her throb.

I trailed my hand from the tip of her tender breast to her round taut rear. A hunger for her built and I took her kissed-swollen mouth with mine.

I felt her lashes flutter against my cheek as awareness overtook her.

Yvette squirmed, trying to pull away.

I crooked my arm around her waist and pulled her into me, bringing her closer while inhaling the sweet scent of her, because I needed her. She had become a bit of an addiction.

“Dylan.” she mumbled in protest, my tongue tangling with hers.

I released her and gave a laugh at the same time.

“Ugh. I have morning breath.” she said shaking her head and sitting up.

“I don’t mind.” I winked. “You taste like me.”

She smiled at that.

“Well maybe I do mind.” Yvette retorted sliding out of the bed. She took all of my cover, leaving me bare.

Yvette licked her lips as her eyes hovered over my exposed body.

“Give that poor lip a rest.” I quipped. “I have plenty of things for you to lick on.”

Yvette’s cheeks reddened before she turned away from me and moved toward the bathroom.

I followed her swaying hips with my eyes. That woman made me want to jump up and sing a song.

“I need to get ready for work. I don’t want to be late.” she replied over her shoulder.

“And who’s going to say something about it if you are late?”

The playfulness drained from her face as though it had been unplugged.

“I don’t want anyone to say anything.” Her eyes widened. “It would be horrible if anyone noticed.”

Her look of fear put a halt to my laughter. Her worry was nearly palpable. I didn’t like that.

I decided in that very moment that I would do everything that was in my power to ensure that no one in the office would know or discuss our tryst.

Y
vette drove
her own car to work that morning. Leaving nearly an hour before me, she headed home first to get more clothing. When she drove her own car back to my house that evening, at my request, she brought clothing with her for the next day.

We went on that way for a few days: my dick getting deep inside of her sex every night and her riding me stallion style every morning. Sex. Shower. Dress. Drive. Work. Return. Repeat.

The house staff had begun to anticipate her arrival each night. Even Jenkins had stopped sneering when she entered. His flat, nearly mute expression was as close to acceptance as anyone had ever received.

She kept a small carrying case full of her toiletries and cosmetics on the bathroom counter. She unpacked them every morning, placing everything in order by use. Once she was done, she packed everything back up as though she were not returning. A duffle and garment bag of hers had found their way onto the back of my door.

As much as we had connected in my home, I kept my distance at work. Mostly. The supply room was my favorite place to meet. I had also substituted my random hand releases for discreet dips into that sweet wet pussy.

“I told you not to wear that dress.” I grunted as I thrust into Yvette from behind.

Her long arms were across my desk, her hands gripping the edge to steady herself as I pounded against her welcoming flesh.

Her short response was broken into the rhythm of my driving dick.

“It’s.” Smack. “all.” Smack. “I brought.” Smack.

I slapped the meaty tenderness of her round behind, enjoying the reddening shape of my fingers and palm on her skin.

I wanted to brand her. To show her that her body now belonged to me and no one else.

“Dylan.” she moaned. Her back arching as if she were a wolf howling at the moon, allowing me to tunnel deeper into her.

The form-fitting dress in dispute swished on top of my hands at her waist.

“You knew what this dress would do to me.” I grunted.

I pumped harder, drilling into her core with an insatiable need.

Yvette cried out.

Sensations stormed through my insides, clouding my mind, and erasing anything beyond the body in front of me. Nothing else existed. Nothing else mattered.

I bucked against her wildly.

Her ragged breathing and moans spurred me, energizing my movements like fresh batteries.

The tight clasp of her tremoring center engaged my mounting emotions.

“That’s right. Cum for me baby.” I hissed.

Control was nonexistent as Yvette milked my dick.

Her whimpered cry of pleasure pushed me over the edge.

I plunged into her over and over and into a free fall of ecstasy.

“Vette.” I roared with a striking release.

The orgasm circulated through me as though it were my source of life. It affected every muscle and nerve along the way.

“Damn.” I huffed trying to catch my breath.

I didn’t open my eyes. I didn’t let go of her waist for what seemed like minutes.

Yvette’s back rose and fell rapidly with her ragged breaths against my desk.

I had tried to avoid sex in my office.

Although the walls were soundproof, people had seen her enter. People would have also seen that James exited when I dismissed him, but Yvette remains behind.

I lost focus on what I was doing when she and James stepped through my door for a scheduled review of their cases. Yvette and that damn dress detoured my concentration. It wasn’t extremely provocative in an inappropriate way. She was completely covered, but because I knew her body intimately, the curve-hugging sheath dress may as well have been a string bikini.

I had warned her this morning against wearing it and even offered to allow her to arrive at work late if she went home and changed. She wore it anyway.

Yvette smoothed her wrinkled dress down and began smoothing her hair.

“Where did you throw my panties?” she questioned moving through my office in search of her missing undergarments.

I shrugged.

“Well thanks for making my day more difficult.” she laughed.

My phone rang and I could see that it was the judge’s office number.

I answered the phone.

The afterglow from our awesome sex session was short lived. The voice on the other line disturbed me. The words that she spoke perturbed me.

“The judge has honored the opposing counsel’s motion to expedite the case.” The secretary to the Honorable Carl-Ray Allister Bosh, or C.R.A.B as I called him, spoke curtly into the phone.

“That’s bullshit.” I barked into the phone.

Yvette’s head swung in my direction as she mouthed the word “What?”

“The case will be heard in two days instead of two weeks.” The secretary’s voice became extra nasally and irritating.

“Put Bosh on the phone.” I demanded.

“Judge Bosh.” she corrected.

“Transfer the damn call.” I requested.

“He’s currently in session right now.”

It wasn’t the words that she said, but the sarcastic tone in which she said them, that made me sure that she was taking pleasure in my misery.

I ended the call.

The woman was useless. Berating her wouldn’t change the judge’s decision. CRAB prided himself on being an asshole. That fact hadn’t bothered me one bit before. In the past it had always been in our favor.

My father and I had known CRAB for years. When he was assigned to this case, I thrilled with the excitement of how much money the victory would bring in.

“Are you all right?” Yvette asked, stepping closer to me.

“Get James. We’re in deep shit and it’s time to start digging.”

“I still haven’t found my—”

The glare that I shot her caused her to eat the rest of those words.

Yvette and James were back in the office lightning quick.

I was already seated at the conference table and was working on a strategy to avoid a catastrophe as they timidly stepped to the table.

James pulled out a chair at the conference table.

He froze. His eyes rounded with shock as he looked over at Yvette and then back to me.

Yvette met his gaze and knew instantly what was in the chair.

Yvette sheepishly stood and reached down into the chair.

James looked away, as though something interesting had appeared on the wall.

Yvette pulled on the pair of underwear quickly as the color drained from her face.

James calmly took a seat.

“Must belong to the cleaning lady.” James smirked with a wink.

“Let’s get to work.” I said.

There wouldn’t be a firm for Yvette to be worried about working for if we lost this case. And it was in that moment that the lawsuit took on a different meaning for me. I had to be sure that I wouldn’t lose Yvette as well as the case.

* * *

T
he two days
flew by with James, Yvette, and I burning the midnight oil to find a way to protect the firm. Everything that I could think of had either already been done or would take too long. I had done everything right, so we worked tirelessly to craft statements that would both wow and convince.

On the day of the hearing, Judge CRAB wobbled his rounded body up the three steps to his bench. His face, set in a permanent scowl, was stern as he called the court to order.

Yvette handed me a blue folder so I could review the well-constructed opening as the judge laid the ground rules for the hearing.

Instantly, I knew something was wrong.

It was the wrong folder. We had prepped everything, every response, every word nearly. James wrote them and Yvette later typed them. She placed them in a green folder. I distinctly remembered Yvette saying “green for go”.

When I opened the folder, there were notes for the case she had been working on separately inside. The case that wouldn’t tank the company whether we won or lost. The case that I had given her to occupy her time and her mind.

If I could have yelled, I would have. I needed to maintain my composure.

“Where is the green folder?” I asked in a hushed harsh tone.

Yvette gulped and her face flushed.

“I wanted to pack light because of the metal detectors.” she winced. “This is all that I brought.”

I looked over at James who was at least flipping through his brief case. I knew he wouldn’t find anything, but at least he was in action.

Tears welled in Yvette’s eyes.

I looked over at the opposing counsel. There were seven of them, all poised and sure, while I had Curly and Moe, minus Larry.

I shook my head. I could see the money, the firm, and Yvette slipping away.

I
felt
like the biggest idiot in the world. I was so intent on making sure that we had the right wording, the right cases to reference, and the right paperwork filed, that I didn’t grab the right fucking folder. All that work, all that thought, and all that research was sitting on my desk in my office mixed with the files for the easiest case I’ve ever worked on in my life.

“I’m sorry.” I whimpered.

Dylan’s face was irrefutably angry, twisted with a slight look of disgust mixed in with a dream crushing disappointment.

I gulped hard.

His eyes narrowed in my direction.

I rushed from my seat ready to run through the doors and rectify the situation.

I just needed to make it to my office. Everything would be better if I could just catch a car, get into the building, and grab the information.

Dylan caught me by the waist with a forceful grip.

“You stay here. You watch what happens.” he seethed through gritted teeth.

“But—” I protested. I wanted to make things right. I needed to prove to him that I wasn’t a complete screw up. I had to show him that he was right to trust me with the job, that I was more than just my face. More than just my ass.

His icy glare cut through me.

I withered down into the chair, convinced by his one look that following his every order would be in my best interest.

“Sorry.” I muttered again.

Dylan looked over to James.

“I got it.” James responded with a nod of his head.

In seconds, James had gathered his items, sprinted down the aisle dividing the courtroom and exited through the double wooden doors.

Dylan sat and then returned his gaze to me.

The entering judge saved me from Dylan’s dissatisfied eyes.

“
G
ood Morning
.” The judge’s deep and stern voice filled the room.

Everything in the court room seemed to freeze. No one spoke. No one moved, it seemed. Everything and everyone was somber and still. A passerby could have easily mistaken the room as a moratorium for joy.

Dylan’s balled hands flinched in a fist as his jaw set.

The fact that Dylan was an attractive man was undeniable.

His night coal black suit fit his tapered build precisely and matched the intensity of his sharp stare.

I couldn’t choose which urge was stronger. The one to cough and scratch my throat, touch the emotionally retreating Dylan, or run to my escape from the tense situation.

The black cloaked judge moved his chair closer to his elevated mahogany bench, but didn’t say a word.

“Make sure you have the motions ready.” Dylan warned me in a flat voice.

I nodded and hurriedly busied myself as quietly as possible with files and papers.

The white-haired judge eyed the two large lawyer’s tables separated by a large aisle. The one aisle led to an exit that I yearned to walk down.

“Got them.” I whispered.

The sound of a rattling paper in the empty air shook me from my trance-like state. I realized that my hands were shaking as questions flooded my mind. Questions like: “What if Dylan lost the case because of me? Would that mean that I would lose him? Would I lose my job?” These and more shook my sense of security.

“Get it together.” Dylan whispered into my ear. “Stop making us look like amateurs.”

Taking a few breaths, I stilled myself. It was already done. I couldn’t go back and change anything.

I looked over at Frank Stroh and the several lawyers that he had brought along with him. They all sat straight in their chairs each with a smug air of confidence.

Judge Carl-Ray Bosh explained the proceedings to the jury and then called for opening statements.

Dylan stood, straightening his jacket and stepped forward from behind the table with sure, measured steps.

“You can do this.” I encouraged, with a certainty that I didn’t really feel.

Dylan didn’t acknowledge my cheer but I knew that he had heard me.

I could only watch with worry and hope that everything would work out in the favor of the firm.

“I used to believe a saying ‘What you don’t know won’t hurt you’” Dylan started.

He walked toward the jury and eyed them; making sure to acknowledge the presence of each one.

“I’m sure most of you have heard that before.” He stated.

Several of them nodded. Just like that they were hooked. Just like that Dylan had made himself relatable.

I didn’t understand at first, why he had chosen to have a trial by jury instead of a trial by judge. With a jury, he would have to convince several people versus one judge.

But sitting here, observing the people watch him, his choice made all of the sense in the world. The varied group of men and women watched with the same curious interest that I did. They fastened on to his movements and mouth as though gold were being spun.

Dylan placed a hand in his pocket before he began.

“Brandon Hunter and three hundred others thought that they knew Menory products and prescriptions. Brandon Hunter and three hundred others thought that the information the company published, the clinical trial documentation, the doctor endorsements, and the data describing positive results, were all of the information that Menory had and all that they needed to know.” Dylan dazzled.

The other lawyer, Frank Stroh sat forward and cleared his throat loudly and purposefully. This did nothing to steal the favorable momentum that Dylan was building, nor did it split the attention of the jury.

“Brandon Hunter and three hundred others did what people all around the world do every day.” Dylan slowed his pace to emphasize his words. “They took the information provided from various outlets: friends, television, brochures, doctors, and made a decision. They made a decision to trust Menory products with their lives.”

Dylan looked over at Stroh and his table of associates and then back to toward the jurors.

“You’ll hear some things today about these people: who they were, who they are, how they were impacted, why they were impacted. Remember that Brandon Hunter and the three hundred others, who either lost their lives or endured a significant loss of life function, did so due to Menory’s muddled research and false perpetuation of product possibilities.”

There were a few soft grunts of acceptance and nodding heads from both the spectators and the jury.

Dylan moved his large hand to his chin as though he were thinking.

“We are not here because a mistake was committed. We are here because a cover up of that mistake was committed. A cover up that denied the families of the victim’s justice and some slight reprieve through compensation.”

James slid back in without anyone noticing. All eyes were glued to Dylan as he scanned the room.

“In the matter of Brandon Hunter and the three hundred others, ignorance is not bliss. Not when lives matter. Ignorance due to withheld information, in this case was death or impairment. What a company keeps from you can kill you.”

Dylan finished amid an electric vibe. The room was humming with thought. In that moment I wished that brains were closed captioned like television. I was in awe, and despite the obvious look of wonder on the faces around me, I still wanted to know exactly what they were thinking.

Nodding his head and bending forward in a slight bow, Dylan thanked the jurors and judge for listening with an open mind and heart before making his way back to his chair next to me.

James slid the once forgotten folder over to Dylan with a respectful glance.

I placed my hand over his arm and he didn’t flinch or retreat.

“That went well.” I whispered. “You were able to nail all of the points we planned even without the notes.”

Dylan inhaled deeply and let his hand lay across mine.

He didn’t say anything, but his touch was enough. I wouldn’t lose him. He may be angry with me, but it would pass.

Frank Stroh unfolded from the opposing table with a forced smile.

When he strode past our table toward the jury, he looked toward Dylan with a sneer.

Stroh was inadequately charismatic. He was expensively dressed but it was more braggadocio than stylish. His brown-dyed hair was gelled, combed over and slicked back. His beady, close set eyes, and weak chin, didn’t compliment his wide nose and beefy neck. I didn’t know the man at all, but before he even spoke, it felt like he was going to tell a lie.

“I don’t have a lot of pretty words or euphemisms for you today. I can’t recall any special home spun knowledge that applies here.” Frank stopped in front of the jury and took a firm stance. “What I do have for you are the facts.”

He emphasized the last word with a pound of his fist against his hand.

I rolled my eyes.

“My counterpart would lead you to believe that the Menory companies are run by a bunch of heartless liars who would knowingly allow faulty materials and medication to be distributed to innocent, unsuspecting patients.” He pulled up his long crooked pointer finger and threw it in the direction of our table. “This law firm, who stands to make millions from the demise of Menory, wants you to believe that there was a conspiracy to intentionally harm people.”

Frank let his arm drop and shook his head.

“As a business man, I wouldn’t do something in direct opposition of my mission statement. As a business man, I wouldn’t do something that could possibly damage my company’s reputation irreparably. Menory has top of the line researchers, years of clinical trials, and mounds of data to support that they produce quality products. The opposition has speculation. The opposition has angry patients. The opposition has a history of going after major companies for major money. Today, you will hear the truth and not tales. You will hear facts and not fiction. You will hear practical data and applied principles and not poetic assumptions based on stories from grieving, disgruntled families.”

Stroh stopped and scanned the room in a similar fashion that Dylan had earlier. The audience wasn’t as glued to his every word as before, but there was interest.

“We are here today to make decisions based on the details and not delusions. Listen carefully and I know that you will come to the right conclusion.”

Frank Stroh missed his calling as a conductor, because after his opening, he directed what seemed like an orchestra of witnesses and documents through the court room as though it were second nature.

Dylan objected to each and every witness and object presented.

“We were not properly notified or made aware of such evidence!” he all but yelled at the unwavering judge.

Frank grinned as he produced yet another courier signature page. “This information was signed for by an employee named Norma.”

“Objection Overruled.” The judge repeated for what seemed like the millionth time.

Dylan slammed his hands against the table and pushed himself up.

“Rules of disclosure require that parties share their own supporting evidence without being requested by the other party. Failure to do so should preclude that evidence from being used.” he huffed.

“I know the law Mr. Hanson.” The judge drawled out. “You should know your employees and who is signing for documents. And, if you don’t want to get to know the inside of the jail cell, you’ll sit down.”

I sighed, finally understanding why we couldn’t find anything wrong in the documentation that we had. We didn’t have all of the information.

Every witness and piece of information that Stroh provided made it seem as though Sherry Hunter knowingly gave her husband an overdose of the Menory drug and killed him for the life insurance. The nurses that testified couldn’t account for medication and verified the times that Sherry was alone with Brandon Hunter in regards to his death. The case fell apart quickly. Brandon Hunter was the string that tied everything together, and once his death was unraveled as a murder, all of the other cases dissolved as well.

Menory won. It was over and we had lost.