We are getting a sexy new standalone from Julie Morgan—part of the Misadventures collection of spicy stories, each written or co-written by some of the best names in romance—and I have the cover for you, as well as a sneak peek.
Saturdays were meant to be spent on ourselves, doing things like going to the gym, catching up on laundry, and watching college football. I worked all week so I could enjoy the weekends, yet here I was again driving to the office on a Saturday.
I spent countless hours running my practice. Empires weren’t built overnight, after all. Running a successful law firm meant long hours and, sometimes, blood, sweat, and tears. I was no one’s bitch when it came to law, and I damn well wasn’t going to work for someone else. I was too much a hard ass and too confident in my own abilities.
As the doors to the elevator opened to my floor, I prepared myself to review the notes Ainsley would have left me regarding any information and evidence she had found. I would then prepare what I needed for Monday, with her assistance whenever she decided to show up, an then we’d reconvene in court on Monday and prove Lance’s innocence. Bam, done. Celebrate and get laid.
I stepped out into the bright open area of the empty reception of my firm’s office, again appreciating the cleanliness. First impressions were important. Some of my clients might be shady, but it didn’t mean my office had to be.
To maintain a pristine environment, I expected a lot—or maybe more accurately, nothing—from my staff. Don’t bring your problems to work. And don’t wallpaper anything with photos of your family. My employees were here to do a job, not take away from the professional environment by posting pictures of dogs, cats, and however many kids they had.
I loved my family and my niece and nephews, sure, but no one would find their pictures plastered anywhere in my office. Some called me a cold, callous asshole, but if that helped me win my battles, then I was all for it.
When I pushed my key into my personal office door, surprise rolled through me to find it unlocked.
What the hell? Did Ainsley forget to lock my door?
Upon opening it and entering my office, my senses were assaulted by the strong scent of…Scotch? I frowned and looked around the room. Piles of papers were stacked here and there, and food containers littered my table. And there, head down on my desk, was a passed-out Ainsley Speire.
In one hand she held a glass with just about enough liquor left for a shot. In the other, she held the quill pen I had brought back from a trip to Venice. Next to her was my most expensive bottle of Scotch, completely drained. And partially tucked between her arm and the desk was a handwritten letter addressed to me.
Everything I loathed about dirtiness crept over my skin like a centipede on a leaf. A growl erupted from Ainsley, and I frowned. Was that a snore?
Her hair fell in tendrils over her face, and she looked peaceful. I moved a few strands of her hair, and repugnance pulled at my lips. She had been drooling.
On my desk. Perfect.
I moved her hand, causing the pen to fall to the floor, and then I pulled the paper out from under her arm and held it up.
“Dear Mister Chase Newstrom,” I started out loud.
Maybe Ainsley would wake before I got to the end. I lifted my brow and adjusted my stance. I glanced down at her, then continued to read while she slept off the booze.
“You, sir, are an asshole.” I paused and looked down at her again. “Asshole, huh?”
I returned to the letter and read to myself about the wedding events she had planned to attend starting yesterday.
Shit. I forgot about her wedding plans. Okay, I may be an asshole. Well, she could have reminded me, so really, whose fault was it?
“Thanks to you, my friends will never forgive me.” I snorted. “Yeah, whatever. Your friends will get over it.” I skimmed down until the word ass grabbed my attention.
You walk in here with that tight ass of yours, in your designer clothes, and you smell so good. Even the days you come in with your workout clothes on. The sweaty clothes cling to your body like some sort of drive-me-crazy carnal paint.
This last part made me chuckle. I continued reading to myself.
You take my breath away when you step into a room.
I paused and looked down at Ainsley. Had she always felt this way? How had I not seen it? I turned my back to her and paced the room as I read.
Your eyes seduce me in ways that only my erotic dreams can handle. You make me weak in the knees, and I can’t look at you longer than a few minutes for fear of lunging into your arms.
I stopped once more. I’d had staff members crush on me before, but not quite like this. I continued her letter until the end, raised my brows, and folded the paper. I paced for a moment until I heard movement from the desk.
I turned to face a waking Ainsley slowly rising from her slumber. I glanced down at the letter and read a choice excerpt.
“So maybe the joke’s on you. Why don’t you take your tight ass and your well-built body I could bounce a quarter off of and go to hell. Go jerk off to whatever woman is floating your boat this week. I’ll pray for you that your dick doesn’t shrivel up and fall off! And no, I’m not going to buy you more booze. So go fuck yourself, Chase, because you’ll never get the chance to fuck me. I would have gladly bent over your desk, but that ship has fucking sailed! Never to be yours.” I paused and met her gaze. “Ainsley Speire.”
I folded the note, smirked, and took a step forward.
She looked down and slowly swiped her sleeve across the drool she’d left behind.
“I—” A blush crept up her neck to her cheeks.
“Nice letter,” I said and took another step toward her. “Did you enjoy my Scotch?”
Her skin flushed further with a bright shade of red. “I’m sorry,” she whispered.
“No you’re not. If you were sorry, you wouldn’t have raided my liquor cabinet.”
“Am I fired?” she asked.
Ainsley met my gaze once more and bit her bottom lip. Her shirt was disheveled. It was what she had worn the day before, and the first few buttons were open. The top of her breasts barely crested the material, but it was enough to send a thrill of erotic thoughts through my mind.
How had I not seen Ainsley like this before? Yes, she was a woman, but I’d never seen her as anything but an employee. She had just taken her bar exam, and I guessed a part of me had looked at her as someone green, someone who knew nothing about nothing, and I liked my women smart. I wanted someone who understood their body and knew how to use it, not someone new to sex who had no idea what it meant to be sexy.
Was this the real Ainsley? Was I only now seeing her for the first time?
“We will see, Ms. Speire,” I finally answered. “We will see.”