When You Give a Lawyer a Kiss (Aspen Grove)

Chapter 1

Three Months Later

R ob spits out the bite of the scone as if it were spoiled. “What the hell is this?” he demands, wiping his mouth with a napkin. “I specifically asked for cranberry orange. There’s no orange in this.” His tone drips with disgust as he pushes the pastry aside.

He slouches back in his chair, his appearance reflecting his sour mood—thinning hair slicked back, his stomach straining against the buttons of his white shirt, and a rumpled suit that looks like it’s seen better days.

“They were out so I ordered the closest thing they had,” I rush to explain.

It’s my first week working for Rob, and I already loathe him. Now if only I could express my frustration without risking my job.

He rolls his eyes. “Does it look like I care? Your job is to assist me, and so far, you’re doing a shitty job at it.” He leans over to toss the scone into the trash.

My stomach tightens as I watch him discard perfectly good food. In my rush to get to the office this morning I skipped breakfast and couldn’t afford the ten-dollar pastries from the fancy bakery he sent me to. He requires that I show him the receipts to make sure I don’t buy anything for myself, even though he uses a company card. His reasoning is that it’s only for partners at the firm, and lowly paralegals like me aren’t entitled to the same perks.

“I’ll make sure to get you a cranberry orange scone next time,” I assure him.

“See that you do,” he snaps. “How can I trust you with confidential client files if you can’t even handle a simple task like getting my breakfast order right?”

I clench my fists at my sides and bite my tongue. Fetching his breakfast isn’t in the job description, but he’s had it out for me since my first day when I corrected the misspelling of a client’s name on an important document he asked me to file. In the past five days, he’s punished me by assigning me menial errands instead of letting me do my actual job.

I might not like the guy, but the last thing I need is to get fired on my first week because I mouthed off to my new boss, especially after all the effort I put into landing this job.

For the past year, I worked as a paralegal at a small law firm on the West Side. After applying for several positions, I was elated to land an interview with Thompson apparently he’s as ruthless as they come. There’s no photo of him on the company website so I’ll have to take Grace’s word about him being attractive.

“That’s okay.” I offer a reassuring smile. “I’m not here for the eye candy anyway, so it’s for the best.”

After my disastrous date with Kevin three months ago, I deleted the dating app from my phone and don’t plan on going on another date anytime soon.

“Well, I’m glad we met. If you need anything, just send me a message on our chat system,” Grace says before she turns her attention to the front of the room as the meeting starts.

Growing up, I was a hopeless romantic. I dreamed of grand gestures and the perfect fairytale ending. However, after a painful breakup in high school and a string of disastrous first dates, like the one with Kevin, I’m questioning whether that ideal romance is a fantasy.

That hasn’t stopped me from thinking about Cole, the hot tattoo artist. I shift in my seat as I recall the feel of his mouth against mine. He was the first person I’d kissed in ages, and it was the most exhilarating kiss I’ve ever experienced.

I’ve considered going back to the tattoo parlor to explain why I left, but he seemed like the kind of person who’d probably forget about me the moment I walked out the door. Which makes it even more humiliating that the moment we shared remains so vivid in my memory.

A deep, familiar voice interrupts my thoughts, and I furrow my brow in confusion. Did I bring my daydream to life? I look up from my notepad, where I’ve been doodling flowers—a habit of mine when I need a distraction.

My breath hitches when I spot those unmistakable blue eyes.

Oh my god.

It’s Cole. What is he doing here?

Grace leans over to whisper in my ear. “Girl, are you okay? You look like you’ve seen a ghost.”

I swallow the lump in my throat, collecting my thoughts. “Who’s that speaking?” I nod toward Cole.

“ That’s Dawson Tate. I was right about him being eye candy, huh?” Grace says with a hint of mischief.

I nod. “Uh-huh.”

The last thing I want is for my new coworker to discover that I’ve made out with our boss. Although he wasn’t officially my boss then. I doubt it would matter—I’ll still be shown the door.

Grace settles back in her chair, attention on Dawson .

Why would he use a fake name?

He hasn’t noticed me yet, and I’m too stunned to formulate a discrete exit strategy as my surroundings start to blur. I can’t quite grasp that Cole from the tattoo parlor is actually Dawson Tate, managing partner at Thompson & Tate.

Maybe I can go undetected. Dawson doesn’t strike me as someone who spends a lot of time with the paralegals, and we work on different floors. If I sit in the back during meetings, there’s a good chance he’ll never notice me.

I keep my head down, and lose myself in my thoughts as I doodle in my notepad to ease my nerves, barely registering what’s being said in the meeting. By the time it wraps up, I’m practically on the edge of my seat, anxious to return to my desk.

Despite my attempts to ignore Dawson, I can’t help but glance at him one more time. It’s a decision I immediately regret as his gaze locks onto mine. He studies me with a hint of amusement before his face reverts to its inscrutable mask.

Before anyone can exit the conference room, Dawson clears his throat. “Reese Taylor, I’d like to see you in my office,” he announces, motioning toward me. Every head in the room swivels in my direction with a combination of shock and intrigue, their whispered speculations filling the air.

It’s obvious that a summons to see him means someone’s in trouble. For me, it’s a simple case of bad timing and my inability to control my reaction to his striking looks.

Dawson doesn’t wait for my response before collecting a stack of documents from the conference table and striding out of the room, leaving me to find his office on my own.

I stand, shifting from foot to foot as I fidget with my hands. I’m almost certain I’m about to be fired. There’s no chance Dawson will let me stay. It would be a nightmare for HR, considering he’s the managing partner of a multibillion-dollar firm, and I’m just a paralegal.

As I muster the courage to confront the situation, I notice Rob storming toward me with a scowl on his face.

“How do you know Dawson Tate,” he demands when he reaches me.

“I don’t,” I lie.

Dawson doesn’t strike me as someone who shares his personal life with his employees, so I keep the truth to myself.

Rob’s eyes narrow. “You better not embarrass me,” he warns. “Dawson might be in charge, but my uncle is the founding partner. If I decided to have you terminated, you’d be gone by the end of the day.” He punctuates his words with a snap of his fingers.

“I believe you.” His empty threats are the least of my worries, but that doesn’t stop me from trying to appease him.

“I expect a full report when you get back to your desk.”

“Rob, aren’t you late for meeting with the other associates?” Grace interjects, as she comes to stand next to me.

“Mind your own business,” he snarls.

Grace rolls her eyes as he pushes past us, storming out of the room.

“He’s such a jerk, but don’t worry, he’s all talk and no action,” Grace says. “Are you okay?”

“I’m fine,” I assure her with a smile. “Is it true Rob’s uncle owns the firm?”

“Yeah, his name is Maxwell. I’ve worked here for three years and haven’t met him once. From what I understand, he doesn’t interact with clients directly. There’s even a rumor going around that he was involved in a financial scandal, and Dawson reportedly had to fix it to keep the company from going under.” She leans in closer and lowers her voice. “Apparently Rob resents Dawson because the firm started as a family business, and he thinks he should be a managing partner despite his lack of experience.” She pauses, glancing at her watch. “You better get going. The boss doesn’t like to be kept waiting.”

“Where is Dawon’s office?”

“At the end of the hall on the left.” She points, motioning in the general direction. “Good luck.”

“Thanks,” I say, heading out of the conference room.

My heart pounds with every step closer I get to Dawson’s office. I swallow thickly when I arrive, staring at the closed door while gathering the courage to knock. After three tentative taps, his voice filters through from the other side. “Come in.”

When I open the door, I find him sitting at his desk, focused on his laptop, his fingers flying across the keys.

“You asked to see me?” I say, feigning confidence.

“Shut the door,” Dawson orders.

My hands tremble as I obey, the click echoing throughout the office as the door latches. Despite the urge to cower under his intimidating gaze, I straighten my spine and purposefully stride toward him, stopping in front of his desk.

The room is spacious, with rich mahogany bookshelves holding an extensive collection of legal volumes. Across the room, a leather couch sits beneath a piece of contemporary art, and a well-stocked bar cart is positioned in the corner. Large windows provide a sweeping view of the bustling city below.

Dawson rises from his leather chair, coming to stand in front of me. My earlier confidence evaporates from being in the same space as New York’s most feared lawyer.

I’m a skeptic who values business above all else and I have a reputation for making grown men cry.

Now I see that Dawson’s words from the night we met had a double-meaning. I assumed he was talking about his work as a tattoo artist, but it’s clear now he was referencing in part his ability to make the toughest men to tears during negotiations.

As the air between us thrums with an invisible energy, my skin prickles with anticipation. I square my shoulders and meet his gaze with an unwavering resolve, readying for whatever comes next.