Total pages in book: 29
Estimated words: 26992 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 135(@200wpm)___ 108(@250wpm)___ 90(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 26992 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 135(@200wpm)___ 108(@250wpm)___ 90(@300wpm)
When I park in front of Dove’s building, Abel yells out the window, “Pepper’s got great hair. The best!”
“Whatever, dude.” I flip him off and head toward the bank of elevators. It’s only ten, but surely Dove can take off early to get some lunch. Miller, Thomas Dunn & Graham is on the tenth floor, and it smells like a law firm. There’s something musty about it—old money and old books maybe? Who knows, but I don’t like it. Being here makes that spot between my shoulder blades that is hard to reach itch like hell. I’m an outdoors person, not a library person. I lean on the marble counter. “I’m here for Dove Evans,” I tell the receptionist.
The woman rubs her lips together and leans forward until her shirt gapes, and I can see cleavage. “Do you have an appointment?”
I turn away and stare into the empty, glassed-in conference room. Is this how they run shit here? I don’t like it. Not one fucking bit.
“Yeah,” I lie. “At ten to discuss some legal matters.”
“With Ms. Evans?” The receptionist sounds skeptical, as if Dove never has appointments. That is not a bad thing from my point of view. It means she doesn’t have to sit out front with low cut shirts, flashing her cleavage to any guy who walks in.
“Yeah. I’ll just wait over here.” I take a seat on some nice leather chairs and text Abel that I’ll be down in five.
“Sir? I understand you have a meeting with Ms. Evans?”
I look up from my phone to see a suit-wearing man looming over me. “Yeah.”
“I’m Thomas. May I ask what this is about? Perhaps I could help.”
“My meeting is with D—Miss Evans,” I quickly correct myself.
He gives me a once-over, taking in my dusty boots, my cargo pants that are almost worn at the knee, and my plain gray T-shirt with the swoosh logo over the breast pocket. He doesn’t think I belong here or could pay the bills if I needed his services. He’s right on the first count, but not on the second. I could buy this firm, sell the assets off for junk and still not notice the dip in my bank account.
“Dove doesn’t hold meetings. She’s not a lawyer.” The man smirks, and that tells me everything I need to know. Lawyers are the epitome of everything I dislike about humanity and why I spend so much time photographing animals, nature, and abandoned cities. I wonder how much she loves her job here because it doesn’t seem like the greatest work environment. The itch in my back intensifies. I know, though, if I fight this guy, it’ll make things worse for Dove, and I have a feeling things aren’t great here as it is.
I get to my feet. “All right. Tell her Jay Anderson was here, and that I’m sorry we weren’t able to have our meeting.”
The lawyer starts to leave and then stops, his eyes narrowing. “Jay Anderson the documentarian? Pulitzer Prize winning photographer Jay Anderson?”
I’m half tempted to deny it because he’s only going to suck up to me in ways that make me more uncomfortable than when he thought I was less important than the dirt under his shoes, but I also want to check up on Dove. Someone so light and cheery being stuck in this hellhole has to be some kind of misery.
“Yeah. I’m that Jay Anderson.”
He shoves his hand out. “Damn. I’m a real fan of your Canis Lupus series, although I admit I’m a little skeptical of your pack dynamic analysis.”
“Lots of people were.” Especially men. They really loved the idea of the alpha, beta, whatever hierarchy when real packs weren’t like that. This dude watched my five-episode series and despite watching nearly ten hours of footage, he’s still a doubter because it doesn’t fit into his world view.
“Still, gorgeous work and the Pulitzer. Not many people can say they have one of those.”
Silence stretches out between us as he waits for me to say something, but what’s there to say? That he’s right? Not many people do have that prize. Yes, thank you for stating the obvious. “So what was it that you wanted to chat with Dove about? Like I said, she’s not a lawyer, and I’m sorry if you got the impression she was. However, we here at Miller, Thomas, Dunn & Graham are fully equipped to provide any service you need.” He tucks a busines card into my shirt pocket.
It’s on the tip of my tongue to tell him that the things I need can only be provided by Dove, but I don’t like the way he’s talking and don’t want to reduce her to some kind of weird sexual object for him. “Nah, I’m good. Thanks anyway.”
“Wait. You said you needed to talk to Dove? Let me get her. In fact, it’s already time for lunch, isn’t it? Bethany, what do I have on my schedule?” he asks the receptionist.