Off Limits

C
opyright
© 2016 by Lola Darling

All rights reserved.

Cover designer: Jennifer Watson, Social Butterly PR

Photographer: 
WANDER AGUIAR :: PHOTOGRAPHY
 

Cover Model: 
Jacob Cooley
 

Cover Designer Jennifer Watson, 
Social Butterfly PR
 

No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without written permission from the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.

"
O
ne more round everybody
, just stick with me!"

I tuck my hips and rest my hands on them, elbows sticking out in my best imitation of the toned and tanned woman on my flatscreen TV. When Suzie Steel does this move, she looks like a rockstar posing in front of her adoring fans. Me? I'm rocking more what looks like an awkward chicken dance.

This is why I don't go to the gym. I'll stick to embarrassing myself in the private of my own home, thanks.

"Knees bent, remember, and stick that butt out. Now, we're going to try a modified squat here. As you come out of each one, I want you to rotate those hips—remember, rub it in!" she calls with a gleeful smile as she demonstrates the move, which will no doubt set my ass on fire, yet looks effortless when she does it.

I grit my teeth and join her in the next set.

"Yes, ladies, right there. Circle those hips, rub it in good."

It takes all my concentration not to burst into laughter, especially given how uncoordinated I feel to begin with.
Rub it in. Yeah, okay Suzie.

"Better sore than sorry!" she adds with a painfully cheerful grin as I dip into the next set of squat-stand-rotate. My thighs ache, and my ass, sure enough, burns like hell.

I'm going to regret this when I have to haul said ass to work in less than an hour. Especially given the heels I’ve chosen to wear today. But hopefully, if I can keep this up for the next couple of months, I might be decently toned in time for the summer. Lazing on the beach looking even remotely as svelte, flat-stomached and sexy as Suzie Steel—despite the fact that she's at least twenty years older than me—will be totally worth it.

Right, Chloe,
a little voice at the back of my head interrupts the daydream.
Like you're going to have time to relax on a beach. Or anywhere, for that matter.

I suck in a deep breath and hit the next squat hard, trying to force that voice out of my head. Okay, true, I've been a little overworked for the last . . . several years. And yes, last summer I basically forgot to take a vacation. And yes, I backed out of going to my best friend Heather's summer beach house not once, but three times.

But this is a new year. New me. Look, I'm even rocking this whole working out thing.

"Five more reps, ladies! Excuses burn zero fat per hour, remember that."

I narrow my eyes at the screen and bend my knees again, my thighs shaking with effort. "I'll give you excuses, Suzie," I mutter under my breath. Okay, so rocking it is an exaggeration. More like staggering through it like an ungainly imbecile. But I’m doing it! That’s what counts, right?

God, how many more days of this?

“Your ass isn’t going to tone itself when you sit on it,” Suzie says, as if she heard me thinking. Damn her. “Come on, with me, last two reps now. And rock those hips, shake it out, now rub it in.”

This time I really do let an unladylike snort escape as I rock my hips in motion with hers. Honestly, I love Suzie’s workouts, but the cheesy one-liners kill me at times. Maybe that’s the point? Distracting me from the
hellish pain that is my ass right now?

“Aaaand, done. There we go, how do you feel?” Suzie asks the screen with a painfully sincere, huge smile.

I glare at her. “Like death warmed over in the microwave,” I mumble, leaning over to stretch my legs as best I can.

The video leads me through a few cool-down exercises, and I follow for as long as I can before the clock catches my eye. Crap. I’m going to be late if I don’t jump in the shower now.

I shut off the video with a sigh.

Hmm. I do feel a little more awake than usual, though. None of that post-exercise endorphin high that the girls at work talk about getting at the gym—to be honest, I’ve never experienced anything post-workout besides the crushing urge to lie in a hot tub—but I am kind of proud of myself. I woke up an extra hour early for this and everything.

Today is going to be a good day, I tell myself as I step out of my sweaty yoga pants and into the warm embrace of my shower. I can just feel it.

* * *

M
y brand
new Louis Vuitton heels clack on the marble floor of our office as I scroll through my Blackberry, typing addendums to my schedule as needed.

9:30 a.m. – meeting with boss.

10:15 a.m. – meeting with my client.

11:20 a.m. – meeting with Cheryl from accounting to talk about invoicing issue.

12:13 p.m. – leave to hit bank in time.

12:30 p.m. – lunch with Martha—mental note: make sure to ask how her son is doing, and also if she’s had a reply about the Daniels’ case?

I’m still adding notes when I nearly stride right into the glass door of the meeting room adjacent to my boss’s office. I smooth my Armani skirt with one hand, hoping nobody in the hallway noticed that slick move, and then I push through the door into the room.

Paul’s not here yet, which is good. Tardiness is one of his personal pet peeves, so I always try to arrive at least a couple minutes ahead of schedule for our catch-ups.

Which is why I’m surprised when, after five minutes of me shuffling the files I’ve brought with me around, there’s still no sign of him emerging from his office. I check the delicate gold watch around my wrist subtly.

Or so I think.

“Hope I’m not detaining you from anything more important,” my boss’s familiar voice interrupts just as I look at the watch. Most people would freak out to hear him say that—Paul Greaves has a way of setting even the partners on edge, and not just because his father founded his law firm fifty-some years ago.

But I’ve worked alongside him long enough by now to know his moods. He’s not annoyed. There’s an almost playful smile hanging on his mouth, which is mostly hidden behind an XL cup of Starbucks.

“Just worried you might have triggered the apocalypse is all. I don’t think I’ve ever seen you this late,” I reply, a hint of teasing in my voice, considering it’s only two minutes past the hour.

“Yes, I believe the end is nigh. My end, anyway, if this morning’s headache is anything to go by.”

I frown. “Are you feeling okay? We can reschedule if you’d like; I have an opening tomorrow morning, or—”

Paul waves an impatient hand in my direction. “Good lord, you sound like my daughter. I’m fine, it’s just a headache. Nothing a few mugs of this won’t cure.” He hefts his Starbucks with another smile, though this time, now that I’m watching closely, I can see the faint wince behind it.

I chew on the inside of my lip, where he won’t be able to see. To be honest, Paul worries me sometimes. He doesn’t take care of himself, and he’s not exactly a spring chicken anymore. He’s been a close friend and mentor to me ever since I set foot in this company and he took me under his wing—I’d hate to see anything bad happen because he’s too distracted with work to worry about his own health.

But I can tell that pestering him about it right now won’t get us anywhere. So I flip open the file on top of my stack instead. “Right, so, the Daniels’ case,” I say, one hand unconsciously reaching to readjust my glasses as I read. Each of my files for the case are neatly stacked, labeled with color-coded sticky notes, and organized in alphabetical order. “I’ve got a few things I wanted to go over with you, if that’s all right? I had a question about the court report from—”

“Chloe.”

I pause and blink at him. First the being late, then the headaches, now the interrupting me? Normally with Paul, the best approach to take is to get straight down to business. No small-talk, no waiting for him to take the reins. He appreciates an employee who is forthright, and who comes into a meeting with their own agenda.

Something seems off today. More than just his mood.

“Yes, Paul?” I try to keep the note of trepidation from my voice.

My stomach tightens. This is an unfamiliar sensation for me. I’m always on-point—work is the one thing in my life that’s completely, totally, perfectly on track. There’s already been whispers around the office that the reason Paul likes me so much, meets with me so often, even though he has at least 5 other direct reports, is because he’s grooming me to take his place. It’ll be a couple years yet, before he’s ready to retire and a new spot for a partner opens up, but I’m only thirty now. If I could make partner before I even hit my mid-30s . . .

Except. Now he’s frowning at me. “I’m moving you off of the Daniels’ case. Please compile your notes and pass them over to Rich this afternoon.”

The floor drops out from under me. It’s hard, for half a second, to catch my breath. Luckily I’m quick at recovering. “Can I ask why?” You can hardly even hear the tremor in my voice, I tell myself. There’s no way he can tell that my throat is closing in on itself. Not at all.

I’ve spent the better part of three months on the Daniels’ case. I’ve done everything by the book, made all the right calls, kept everything shipshape. We’re almost ready to go to trial next month, and I might even have been able to push up the court date the way the client wanted. And now—

“Because I need you working on something bigger right now.”

I pause mid-mental-freak-out. Er . . .
What
? I pause to take a slow breath—
at least he’s not mad at me
—but even with that long pause I still can’t think of anything more poised to say. “What?” I ask, feeling stupid.

“Don’t worry,” he says with a hint of a knowing grin in his eye. Dammit. I guess my freak-out
was
that transparent. “It’s a good thing. This is a high-profile case. We need our best people on it. I would have taken it myself, except I’m still tied up with Murphy. This is the kind of case that can really prove to the partners how dedicated and poised some of our associates are. The kind of case that can point out who might be . . . well. Partner material, some day.”

My heart skips a full beat in my chest, I swear to god. I can practically hear the blood swimming in my ears, trying to keep up with the stutter.

Yes, I’ve
suspected
Paul might be grooming me before. But he never actually comes out and says it—he never says
anything
, really. He plays his hand close to the chest, and he’s taught me to do the same. If he’s saying this now, revealing the partner-potential card, he has a reason. I might not understand it yet, but . . .

“Sounds like I’ll love it,” I hear myself saying, before I even have time to think it over. Who cares what the case is? I’ve tackled so many in my years here, I’m confident I can handle anything he throws at me.

“I think you will.” He nods. “There’s just one small thing.”

I hardly even register the hesitation in his tone anymore. I’m too far gone. Too far ahead in mentally planning how I’m going to own this case—whatever the heck it is. I’ll pull double-time, work weekends, I don’t care. I’ll do whatever it takes to knock this one out of the park. These make-or-break career opportunities only come around a couple times in a lifetime, and at times like those, you need to just push everything else out of your way, knuckle down and work your butt off until you win.

“Due to the, ah . . . very public nature of this case, and the fact that it will likely attract at least some media attention—and due to the fact that, as I said, we won’t be able to have a partner on the case directly—we would like to really make sure that every angle is considered, every potential taken into consideration. We feel it would be best to have as many experienced, trusted eyes on this as possible, so with that in mind—oh, here we are.”

I blink, startled at the sound of the office doors clicking open again behind me. I spin around in my chair, and frown in confusion at the man standing just inside the glass doors now.

I know Max Davis, of course. Resident cocky asshole, bent on singlehandedly seducing our entire female staff. Everyone in the office knows all about Max fucking Davis, and his various sexcapades. Yes, plenty of people sneak around the non-fraternization policy we have here, but he makes a damn contest of it, I swear. If there’s a single woman in this company he hasn’t banged or tried to bang, I’ll eat my shoe. Hell, he tried to get me to fall for his shit when he first started. Thank God I make it a policy never to mix business and pleasure.

It doesn’t help that he’s ridiculously, stupidly, unfairly good-looking. Hudson Pierce good-looking. Even right now, at 9:45am on a Monday, he’s got effortlessly tousled black hair falling just far enough into his dark green eyes that it makes it seem like he doesn’t try to look this hot at all, it just sort of happens. Ugh.

I’m still staring at him in confusion as Paul keeps speaking behind me. “We would like the two of you to partner on this case.”

Say what now?
the part of my brain not distracted by warring sensations of disgust for and attraction to Max.

“You two are the most promising young litigators we have here at Greaves, Morrell and Stuyvesant, and all three of us are confident that you will bring two differing, but equally important work styles and views to this case. Really, it’s a perfect partnership, I think.”

Oh hell no
. No, I am not sharing this case—this make-or-break, could land me on the partnership track case—with Max Davis. He’s the last person I would want to co-host a general office meeting with, let alone work on a case that could change my entire career.