Total pages in book: 92
Estimated words: 89820 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 449(@200wpm)___ 359(@250wpm)___ 299(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 89820 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 449(@200wpm)___ 359(@250wpm)___ 299(@300wpm)
Tenley ducks into the conference room, slamming the door hard behind her. If she’s mad at me or embarrassed about having an audience, it’s anyone’s guess. Probably both.
Opening the door, I wave goodbye to a few of the other staff members and follow her in. Then I close the door and lean against it, assessing her. Her face is red, and she’s practically panting. I think she knows she ran her mouth a little too loosely back there and she’s regretting it. This isn’t going to bode well for her promotion.
So of course, I have to call her on it.
“I don’t hook up with co-workers,” I say. “And I’d never touch an intern.”
She’s busy shuffling through papers and doesn’t say anything.
“I told you not to bullshit me, Gentry,” Tenley says with a sigh.
“Did someone say I slept with them?” I can’t let this go. Not when my reputation’s on the line.
“Can we skip this conversation that we both know isn’t going to go anywhere and just get to work?”
“Fine.” But only because she has a point. The sooner we work, the sooner we can get out of here, and that’s the only thing I want to do.
The second I grab my phone from my pocket to text Ellie that I’ll be home late, Tenley fixes me with her signature death glare.
I hold it up. “I’m going to silence it, but if we’re going to be stuck in this hell on a Friday night, can’t we at least order food?”
She gives me a barely noticeable shrug. “Fine. Thai.”
“Thai it is. What do you want?”
“Pad Thai.”
I order two cartons of Pad Thai, text Ellie that I’m going to miss dinner but will bring them back something, and deposit my phone back into my pocket.
About five minutes later, when I’m deep in the transcript of Courtney Perry’s testimony, Tenley says, quietly and out of nowhere, “I’m sorry if I was uncouth before. James Perry is such an asshole, and I just really want to win this case. If we could keep to being professionals…”
I’m stunned for a moment, surprised by her admission.
Is she softening? Is she going to let her guard down for once?
“Understand and agree,” I say, though as a skilled attorney, she could very well be manipulating me into a more docile state. I can be cordial, but I can’t let my guard down around her. Not yet. Not when this promotion’s still on the line. “Can I just state again, for the record, I don’t sleep with colleagues or interns. Ever.”
“If you say so,” she says.
“They chase me.”
“Sure.”
“You sound like you don’t believe me.” I know better than to let this bother me, but I can’t help it. I’m a stickler for the truth—and for justice—especially when it involves a career I’ve worked my ass off to have.
“Because I don’t.”
“And why not?”
She places her pen down. “Fine. You want to know why I don’t believe you? Because it’s the same reason you can go into a courtroom and automatically win before you say a word. You smile, you wink. You use your body language. And that’s enough. You may not think you’re trying, you might not think you’re doing anything… but you are. Trust me. People fawn over you like you’re some kind of celebrity. You’d have to be a psychopath not to take advantage of that.”
“Really? Because I think a psychopath would take advantage of that.” She’s not completely wrong. My entire life there’s been something about me that instantly puts people on my side. Aside from living off the grid or intentionally disfiguring myself, I don’t know what she expects me to do.
“Can we please focus on this.” She taps the paperwork in front of her and cracks open her laptop.
“Sure,” I say, “after we finish this conversation.”
Tenley rolls her eyes.
“So according to your logic, women take one look at me… with my magic, mysterious, indefinable magnetism… and they just want to drop their panties? And I go along with it because I’m just an average, red-blooded guy who lacks self-control?”
She types her password into her computer, answering me with silence.
“Why do you hate me so much?” I ask a question I’ve always wanted to ask but have never had the chance.
“I don’t hate you. I don’t hate anyone.”
“Could’ve fooled me.”
“Does it bother you that I’m not fawning over you like everyone else?”
“Not at all,” I lie. It bothers me. A little. “I’m curious though. If I’ve ever done something to offend you, I’d like to know.”
“You’re just… not my cup of tea.”
I sniff. “That’s such a cop-out answer.”
“Fine,” she says. “I don’t respect you. Is that a better answer?”
Ouch.
“Why?” I ask.
“For starters, you went to Yale on an athletic scholarship and you look like you just walked off a Versace billboard in Times Square. Everyone loves you for literally no reason at all. Like I said, you’re not my cup of tea. I don’t know why that bothers you so much. Let it go.”