When You Give a Lawyer a Kiss (Aspen Grove)

Chapter 7

TWO WEEKS LATER

T he past two weeks have been an adjustment at work, with me having to learn to balance reporting to both Rob and Dawson.

They are complete opposites. Rob is rude and demeaning, always assigning me pointless tasks and calling them urgent. Whereas Dawson values my time and gives me meaningful work that challenges me. And unlike Rob, he hasn’t raised his voice at me once.

I can’t deny that I enjoy our daily exchanges and verbal duels. Even on the longest days, I look forward to our interactions—strictly in a professional capacity, of course.

If only that were true.

Dawson occupies my thoughts more often than I care to admit. Whenever we’re in the same room, my gaze drifts to him as if he’s the sun and I’m caught in his gravitational pull, unable to break free. I wonder if he feels the same magnetic draw toward me or if it’s all in my head.

This is why working together was a bad idea.

The fact that my desk is on a different floor is my one reprieve, keeping our encounters somewhat limited.

This past weekend away from the office also served as a nice distraction, even though it passed in a blur. I had to cancel my Saturday study session with Noah when a pipe burst in my kitchen. Unfortunately, it had to be replaced, and I was forced to call an emergency plumber that put me out eight hundred dollars. On the bright side, I was able to visit Grams and join her at Oak Ridge’s weekly bingo night.

The ding of the elevator brings me back to the present.

On my way to the office this morning, I had to stop by a bakery on the other side of town to get Rob’s breakfast.

I stop short when I notice Stacey, a receptionist from another department, sitting at my desk, typing on her laptop. All my things are missing, and my mind is racing as I glance around to make sure I’m in the right place.

Rob was angry when Dawson had me spend yesterday afternoon on research for the Irving case instead of helping him sort through stacks of outdated legal briefs and preparing document summaries. I wouldn’t put it past him to have me fired, but the pressing question is whether he’s actually succeeded in doing so.

I’m doing my best to refrain from panicking when Rob storms out of his office. Steam is practically coming out of his ears as he snatches his cappuccino and jelly-filled donut from my hand. I wince when a splash of coffee burns my finger.

“You’re late,” he barks.

I frown, glancing at the clock. I’m ten minutes early, but it’s no use arguing with him when he’s in one of his moods.

“Can you tell me why Stacey is at my desk?” I ask, broaching the subject tentatively.

He fixes me with a glare over his cup while slurping his coffee. “Because I don’t have time to make the trip upstairs whenever I need something from you,” he sneers.

I furrow my brow. “I’m sorry, I don’t understand.”

He exhales sharply. “Dawson informed me this morning that you’re moving to his floor. Apparently, he can’t be bothered to track you down whenever he needs something but expects me to,” he whines. “Don’t for a moment think you’re off the hook. You’re still my paralegal, is that clear?”

“Crystal,” I deadpan.

Confrontation is something I usually like to avoid when the outcome could lead to unnecessary conflict. It’s why I’ve seldom pushed back against Rob—it’s not worth the hassle. But today, I’m feeling especially daring and give him a piece of my mind.

“Your attitude is unacceptable. If you think—”

“Reese, there you are.” Dawson cuts Rob off as he strides down the hall toward us.

Rob scowls, clearly irritated by the interruption.

A group of first-year associates scramble to clear a path for Dawson, and everyone at their desks avoids looking at him. It’s obvious that apart from me, everyone in the office is petrified of him and doesn’t dare to get in his way. Even Rob’s bravado visibly wanes as he shrinks back when Dawson approaches. It serves him right for throwing his weight around and acting like he’s in charge.

Dawson gives Rob a pointed glare. “Why are you loitering in the hallway? Don’t you have work to do?”

“Rob was just telling me I have a new desk assignment,” I interject.

“ Someone has been monopolizing your time and forgets I’m the lead counsel on the Irving case. I need you close by to help keep it running smoothly,” Dawson says, casting a disapproving glance at Rob, who remains silent like the coward he is. He has no qualms about talking badly about Dawson behind his back, but when push comes to shove, he folds like a cheap suit. It’s almost laughable. “Come, Reese, I need you upstairs,” Dawson adds, turning on his heel toward the elevator.

I drag my hand across my face, exasperated. How could he interfere… again? It’s not like I enjoy working with Rob, but Dawson keeps steamrolling my choices. I wish he could see that my input matters. This is my job, and I’d rather not be caught in his constant tug-of-war with Rob.

“Are you coming?” Dawson calls over his shoulder.

I adjust my purse on my shoulder as I rush to catch up, finding it challenging to do so in heels.

When we reach the elevator, he gestures for me to enter first, placing a hand on my lower back as he ushers me inside. My traitorous heart races, and heat spreads across my cheeks.

Any other person would reprimand him for infringing on professional decorum, yet my body responds to his touch like a moth to a flame. My logical side reminds me that the man touching me is my boss—my off-limits boss.

As much as I try to push it aside, my mind replays our kiss at the tattoo parlor like it has thousands of times before.

Dawson’s hands band around my waist as he tugs me close to his chest. He kisses along my jawline, flicking his tongue along the seam of my lips, coaxing me to let him in, and the warmth of his mouth… It’s incredible. The way he growls makes my pulse quicken, a dangerous thrill running through me.

I revel in the way my legs feel wrapped around his body, his strong hands holding me in place, like a promise not to let me go. God, the way his cock feels rubbing against my core, and my nipples grow achy, desperate for his touch.

I’m jolted back to the present when the elevator doors close. When I notice that Dawson and I are alone, I take a deep breath and ask, “Why did you move me to your floor?”

He turns toward me, his eyes meeting mine. “Like I told Rob, I want you there so you’re close when I need you.”

A shiver ripples through me. He only means in a professional capacity, but there’s something in his voice that I can’t quite place—a mix of authority and unspoken desire. Which shouldn’t send heat rushing to my cheeks, but I feel the warmth spreading regardless. Being around him always leaves me feeling both unsteady and exhilarated, and I look away, hoping he doesn’t notice my reaction.

I smooth down the crease in my skirt and say, “It would have been nice to know about being reassigned to a different floor, that’s all.”

Dawson lets out a sigh. “Why does it feel like you’re unhappy about something I’ve done every time we’re alone?”

I tilt my head to face him, finding the courage to speak my mind. “Must be your talent for getting under my skin.”

He reaches out to gently place his hand on my arm. “I’m only trying to help you.”

I scoff. “Help me? What you’re doing is causing me more problems.”

His brow furrows. “How so?”

His interference not only aggravates Rob, but I’m worried it could lead others to question the nature of our relationship since I’m new and already getting preferential treatment. Especially given that Dawson never escorts anyone to his office unless they’re about to be terminated or face serious disciplinary action.

“My god, you’re infuriating, Red,” he mutters when I don’t answer. “Most paralegals would jump at the chance to work with a managing partner, yet here you are, trying to escape me every chance you get.”

I blink rapidly and pull back, moving my head to look at him. “Lucky? Do you realize how it looks for a new hire to receive special treatment?” I inquire with a humorless laugh. “The last thing I want is to risk my reputation by being shown favoritism from the boss.”

“What if that’s exactly what’s going on?” His tone is sincere.

My breath catches. “Explain.”

He hesitates, his gaze lingering on my mouth for a long moment. “I like being around you, Ms. Taylor, and if you haven’t noticed, I can’t stand most people,” he says with a half-hearted chuckle. “Frankly, I don’t give a damn what other people think, and if there’s someone that I trust and enjoy spending time with, I’m going to have them report directly to me. It’s that simple.”

My mouth falls open in disbelief that Dawson Tate, of all people, just admitted that he likes having me around.

I should probably be upset that he openly admitted I’m being treated differently. From a professional standpoint, it’s inappropriate. Yet, it’s impossible toshake the butterflies that take flight in my stomach when I hear that he might care more than he should.

Seeing a glimpse of his unguarded side makes me want to share something in return.

I let out a long breath and glance over at him. “When I found Stacey at my desk this morning, I thought I might have been fired.” My voice comes out in a whisper.

“Shit, I’m sorry,” Dawson says, pausing to run a hand through his hair. “That wasn’t my intention. I was worried if I told you ahead of time, you would have said no,” he admits.

“And what if I had?”

He closes the gap between us. “I would have kept trying until you said yes.”

I place my hand on his chest, my fingers linger on the top button of his dress shirt—torn between pushing him away and pulling him closer to get a better look.

With his striking blue eyes, tailored suits, and air of authority, he’s the epitome of sex appeal, and I wish he didn’t have such a profound effect on me.

Like he can read my mind, he shifts forward, his nose grazing mine, the air between us humming with electricity.

“I’m trying to be good, Ms. Taylor,” Dawson murmurs, his breath hot against my mouth, daring me to close the last sliver of space between us. My fingers curl into his collar and every fiber of my being tenses in anticipation, caught between a mix of excitement and trepidation.

Just when I think he might bring his mouth to mine, he reaches over to press the button for the top floor. “I almost forgot. Can’t imagine why,” he murmurs, an uncharacteristic smirk playing on his lips as the elevator begins its ascent.

I take a step back, visibly shaken.

That was a close call… too close.

I’ve got to get my hormones in check, or I’m going to be in serious trouble. There would have been no plausible explanation if someone had found me pressed against my boss with my hand on his collar.

I run my hand through my hair, doing my best to compose myself before we reach our floor. When the elevator chimes, the doors slide open, and Dawson holds out his hand. “After you.”

“Thank you.”

On my way to his office, I pause when I notice the desk and chair set up just outside. My belongings, including my laptop and monitor, are neatly arranged on top, accompanied by a glass vase of sunflowers, baby’s breath, and eucalyptus.

I gently touch a sunflower petal as I inhale the fresh scent. “The flowers are lovely.”

They remind me of the bouquets my grandpa used to bring home every Friday for me and Grams. He knew how much I loved them—I was constantly doodling flowers in my notebook and on my sneakers. Even when money was tight, he always made sure he brought an arrangement home for us both.

“I’m glad you like them,” Dawson says, the ghost of a smile on his lips. “Why don’t you try the chair.”

As soon as I sink into the cushion, I groan. “This is amazing. Who would have thought a chair could be this comfortable.”

“Last week, I passed your desk on the way to a meeting and saw that you were shifting uncomfortably in your other chair. I wanted to make sure you had something more comfortable. This one is ergonomic and custom-designed.”

I stare up at him, speechless.

He noticed?

On my first day, I had a decent office chair, but when Rob saw it, he insisted we swap. His chair was old and had little cushioning left. He could have asked for a new one but chose to inconvenience me rather than deal with the replacement process.

Dawson’s unexpected kindness is touching, and I shouldn’t read into it, but it’s hard not to. It’s another example of him going out of his way for me when he doesn’t extend the same effort to everyone else.

He is such a contradiction—a man who commands authority and berates those who fall short. Yet he orders me a custom chair and buys me flowers to make me feel more at home in my new space…

Dawson clears his throat, breaking the silence. “I have a call with a client. You should get back to work. I’ll let you know when I need you.” He strides past me, shutting his office door behind him.

Okay then.

A notification from our team chat system pops up on my laptop—it’s a message from Grace, the paralegal I met at the all-hands meeting during my first week. We chat occasionally during those rare lulls in between projects.

Grace: Glad we’re on the same floor now. It’s nice to have a friendly face around!

Reese: Thank you! Happy to be here.

Although I’m relieved to be away from Rob, my encounter with Dawson in the elevator proves that being near him every day isn’t a good idea. We’re strictly co-workers who kissed once and now almost a second time, but I’m determined not to blur the lines between our personal and professional lives further. Now, if only I could stop thinking about what might have happened if we had more time alone in the elevator.

Grace: When I went by your desk earlier, I saw the bouquet. They’re stunning.

Reese: Right? I think they add a nice touch to the space.

Grace: They are! Whoever sent them was very thoughtful.

Reese: Yes, they are.

I keep my response vague. I’m not about to tell her that Dawson bought me flowers.

Grace: I’m glad you’re not working for Rob full-time anymore. You deserve better.

Grace: But don’t let Dawson push you around either, okay?

Reese: I won’t.

Grace: I’ve got to run to a meeting, but let’s have lunch soon?

Reese: Looking forward to it.

Hopefully I can find the time. Between Rob and Dawson, my workload has significantly increased, and I have a feeling things at the firm are only going to get busier. Now if I could just focus my attention back on work, and not the lingering scent of sandalwood and leather.