“I’d do him in a heartbeat,” she regularly admitted. Lois’s face showed her disgust. She believed she’d just read exactly how Gina would “do” him.
After fishing the note from the wastebasket, Lois hurried to the restroom. I’ll flush it down the toilet . . . make sure no one else reads it. Passing the mirror on the way to a stall, she saw her reflection and stopped.
She stepped toward the glass, put a hand to her face. Her fingers idly stroked the smooth tanned skin, thin lips, and puffy cheeks. She stepped back, cocked her head, and saw breasts that were too small and hips that were too big. I’m average-looking, she concluded, before going into a stall and flushing the note. “Average, but decent,” she whispered, watching the torn paper pieces swirl around and go down the toilet. And probably the only thirty-one-year-old virgin in Chicago. A virgin whose body now shivered from the impact of the words contained in the note she’d just destroyed.
2
Personal-injury attorney Chaz Covington was a household name. His television commercials were legendary: actual testimonies from rags-to-riches clients whose cases he’d won, followed by an impeccably dressed, confident-looking Chaz delivering the tagline straight into the camera: If you don’t get paid, I don’t get paid. Today, Chaz entered the office wearing a tailored navy suit, expensive cologne, and an award-winning smile.
“Good morning, boss,” Gina said, not even trying to hide her lust.
“Good morning, Gina,” Chaz replied, with a wink.
“Good morning, Mr. Covington.” Lois’s face was somber as she handed Chaz his mail. “I’ll get your coffee.”
“Make it green tea,” Chaz replied. When Lois looked questioningly in his direction—because she couldn’t look him in the eye—he added, “Trying to cut down on the caffeine.” Chaz took a step toward his office and then turned around. “Are you all right, Lois?”
“Uh, sure, Mr. Covington. Why do you ask?”
Because you can’t look at me, is what he thought. “Just checking,” is what he said, accompanied by his signature killer smile. He looked intently at Lois another moment. “On second thought, I’ll skip the tea for now. Come into my office and give me today’s schedule.”
Lois grabbed her iPad and followed Chaz into his office, noting a broad back and long legs that supported a six-foot-two-inch, mocha-colored frame. She took deep breaths to still her pounding heart and tried to put a casual look on her face, to act as if it was just another Monday—business as usual. A difficult task, since every time she looked at Chaz, she saw the acts described in the letter she’d destroyed.
“What are we looking at so far?” Chaz asked. Always the multitasker, he turned on his computer and checked e-mails while listening.
“You have two conference calls and a Skype meeting with the litigator for the Jimenez case,” Lois began, forcing herself to focus on the task at hand. “The interview with Roy Jones is scheduled for one o’clock this afternoon—”
“Police-chase victim, correct?” Chaz scrolled through his e-mails, deleting several without opening them.
“Yes,” Lois answered. “And then there’s the celebratory meeting with Mrs. Smith at three o’clock.” Delicia Smith had been severely injured due to a machine malfunction at the plastics manufacturing company where she’d worked. She’d lost the use of her left hand, but gained two and a half million dollars.
“Did you order the champagne?” Chaz clicked on another e-mail, his finger hovering over the DELETE button as he scanned its contents. “What the . . .” Chaz sat up and straightened an already perfectly aligned designer tie.
Lois’s heart raced. Did the person who sent the nasty letter e-mail him, too? The ringing office phone interrupted her thoughts. She reached over and picked up the call from Chaz’s desk. “Covington Law Offices, this is Lois. How may I help you?” She
After fishing the note from the wastebasket, Lois hurried to the restroom. I’ll flush it down the toilet . . . make sure no one else reads it. Passing the mirror on the way to a stall, she saw her reflection and stopped.
She stepped toward the glass, put a hand to her face. Her fingers idly stroked the smooth tanned skin, thin lips, and puffy cheeks. She stepped back, cocked her head, and saw breasts that were too small and hips that were too big. I’m average-looking, she concluded, before going into a stall and flushing the note. “Average, but decent,” she whispered, watching the torn paper pieces swirl around and go down the toilet. And probably the only thirty-one-year-old virgin in Chicago. A virgin whose body now shivered from the impact of the words contained in the note she’d just destroyed.
2
Personal-injury attorney Chaz Covington was a household name. His television commercials were legendary: actual testimonies from rags-to-riches clients whose cases he’d won, followed by an impeccably dressed, confident-looking Chaz delivering the tagline straight into the camera: If you don’t get paid, I don’t get paid. Today, Chaz entered the office wearing a tailored navy suit, expensive cologne, and an award-winning smile.
“Good morning, boss,” Gina said, not even trying to hide her lust.
“Good morning, Gina,” Chaz replied, with a wink.
“Good morning, Mr. Covington.” Lois’s face was somber as she handed Chaz his mail. “I’ll get your coffee.”
“Make it green tea,” Chaz replied. When Lois looked questioningly in his direction—because she couldn’t look him in the eye—he added, “Trying to cut down on the caffeine.” Chaz took a step toward his office and then turned around. “Are you all right, Lois?”
“Uh, sure, Mr. Covington. Why do you ask?”
Because you can’t look at me, is what he thought. “Just checking,” is what he said, accompanied by his signature killer smile. He looked intently at Lois another moment. “On second thought, I’ll skip the tea for now. Come into my office and give me today’s schedule.”
Lois grabbed her iPad and followed Chaz into his office, noting a broad back and long legs that supported a six-foot-two-inch, mocha-colored frame. She took deep breaths to still her pounding heart and tried to put a casual look on her face, to act as if it was just another Monday—business as usual. A difficult task, since every time she looked at Chaz, she saw the acts described in the letter she’d destroyed.
“What are we looking at so far?” Chaz asked. Always the multitasker, he turned on his computer and checked e-mails while listening.
“You have two conference calls and a Skype meeting with the litigator for the Jimenez case,” Lois began, forcing herself to focus on the task at hand. “The interview with Roy Jones is scheduled for one o’clock this afternoon—”
“Police-chase victim, correct?” Chaz scrolled through his e-mails, deleting several without opening them.
“Yes,” Lois answered. “And then there’s the celebratory meeting with Mrs. Smith at three o’clock.” Delicia Smith had been severely injured due to a machine malfunction at the plastics manufacturing company where she’d worked. She’d lost the use of her left hand, but gained two and a half million dollars.
“Did you order the champagne?” Chaz clicked on another e-mail, his finger hovering over the DELETE button as he scanned its contents. “What the . . .” Chaz sat up and straightened an already perfectly aligned designer tie.
Lois’s heart raced. Did the person who sent the nasty letter e-mail him, too? The ringing office phone interrupted her thoughts. She reached over and picked up the call from Chaz’s desk. “Covington Law Offices, this is Lois. How may I help you?” She
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