my spine, but I play it cool and twirl a lock of hair around my finger. “Are you sure you want me? I mean, it’s a lot of work and I have another office lined up so don’t think I’m desperate or…”
“Yes. I want you.”
Every bit of warmth rushes to my center, but I hesitate. Do I want the place bad enough to endure the torture of having Jake for a landlord? Sure, he’s been kind and helpful, but he clearly still hasn’t forgiven me. And maybe I shouldn’t be so quick to forgive him. How many times did I try to talk to him about what happened? How many times was I rebuffed?
Simply out of curiosity, I ask, “What’s the rent?”
“Whatever you want to pay.”
My eyebrow lifts and I fiddle with my hair, twisting it in a knot. “If I was interested, I would want to pay whatever you were asking of the other people who came to see the place.”
Jake names a figure I am sure is nothing near what he could get from someone else. I tell him so. He shrugs and says it isn’t negotiable. I offer what I was going to pay for the other office. His eyes harden and he lowers his initial offer. I begrudgingly capitulate and dance a secret inner dance of joy.
“You’re a dangerous man,” I say after we haggle through a few details. “First you convince me to leave my house and venture back out into the world. Then you convince me to start a business. And now, I’m renting the least likely place I ever expected to see myself running a law firm. What’s next?”
A slow, sensual smile curves his lips. “If I told you what I had planned, you’d run for the hills.” He closes the distance between us and runs his fingers through my hair, working out the tangle my fiddling has created as if he couldn’t bear to see it anymore. His touch is gentle, his breath sweet on my cheek. Maybe he doesn’t like tangles. Or maybe he needed to get that out of his system too.
***
“Move that ass, Westwood.”
Fuzzy bellows the order like a pumped-up drill sergeant and I join the class in yet another soul-destroying sprint across Redemption’s overly long warehouse.
Good as his word, Jake arranged with Max for the cost of my classes to be covered in exchange for my new role as Redemption’s unofficial attorney. Although Max already has a stable of attorneys at his beck and call to deal with his business matters, he spread the word in the gym that if anyone needs general advice, they can come to me.
And I already have one new client. Except now, instead of shuffling his feet and mumbling about needing an attorney because the bank is foreclosing on his parent’s house, Fuzzy is screaming abuse like he’s trying to get us ready for the front line instead of just getting us fit.
“Come on, ya buncha losers,” he screams. “Whaddya thinking? That we’re having an afternoon stroll with Grandpa? MOVE.”
My legs wobble as we turn and race across the mats. Foolishly, I slow my pace to catch my breath.
“Westwood. You’ve already had a warning. You need a kick in the ass too?”
“Gimme a break, Fuzz.” I whine a breath. “I’ve spent the last few years in a…”
“What did you call me?” His usually cheerful face turns an unusual shade of purple.
“Um…Fuzz?” A warning prickle creeps over my skin, and I look around for someone to tell me what I’ve done wrong. Curiously, the entire class is huddled down at the other end of the warehouse and looking in the other direction. A few fighters sparring on the mats smirk. Over by the free weights, a betraying Jake is talking to Obsidian when he’s supposed to be protecting me from Fuzzy’s wrath.
“In this class, you address me as Sir,” Fuzzy shouts.
Swallowing hard, I give him a mock salute. “Yes, sir.”
Fuzzy scowls. “Not funny. On the floor, gimme twenty-five push-ups. NOW.”
“Someone is suffering from delusions of grandeur.”
“FIFTY.”
With a loud sigh, I drop to my knees, lean forward, and place my hands on the mat. Fuzzy kneels beside
“Yes. I want you.”
Every bit of warmth rushes to my center, but I hesitate. Do I want the place bad enough to endure the torture of having Jake for a landlord? Sure, he’s been kind and helpful, but he clearly still hasn’t forgiven me. And maybe I shouldn’t be so quick to forgive him. How many times did I try to talk to him about what happened? How many times was I rebuffed?
Simply out of curiosity, I ask, “What’s the rent?”
“Whatever you want to pay.”
My eyebrow lifts and I fiddle with my hair, twisting it in a knot. “If I was interested, I would want to pay whatever you were asking of the other people who came to see the place.”
Jake names a figure I am sure is nothing near what he could get from someone else. I tell him so. He shrugs and says it isn’t negotiable. I offer what I was going to pay for the other office. His eyes harden and he lowers his initial offer. I begrudgingly capitulate and dance a secret inner dance of joy.
“You’re a dangerous man,” I say after we haggle through a few details. “First you convince me to leave my house and venture back out into the world. Then you convince me to start a business. And now, I’m renting the least likely place I ever expected to see myself running a law firm. What’s next?”
A slow, sensual smile curves his lips. “If I told you what I had planned, you’d run for the hills.” He closes the distance between us and runs his fingers through my hair, working out the tangle my fiddling has created as if he couldn’t bear to see it anymore. His touch is gentle, his breath sweet on my cheek. Maybe he doesn’t like tangles. Or maybe he needed to get that out of his system too.
***
“Move that ass, Westwood.”
Fuzzy bellows the order like a pumped-up drill sergeant and I join the class in yet another soul-destroying sprint across Redemption’s overly long warehouse.
Good as his word, Jake arranged with Max for the cost of my classes to be covered in exchange for my new role as Redemption’s unofficial attorney. Although Max already has a stable of attorneys at his beck and call to deal with his business matters, he spread the word in the gym that if anyone needs general advice, they can come to me.
And I already have one new client. Except now, instead of shuffling his feet and mumbling about needing an attorney because the bank is foreclosing on his parent’s house, Fuzzy is screaming abuse like he’s trying to get us ready for the front line instead of just getting us fit.
“Come on, ya buncha losers,” he screams. “Whaddya thinking? That we’re having an afternoon stroll with Grandpa? MOVE.”
My legs wobble as we turn and race across the mats. Foolishly, I slow my pace to catch my breath.
“Westwood. You’ve already had a warning. You need a kick in the ass too?”
“Gimme a break, Fuzz.” I whine a breath. “I’ve spent the last few years in a…”
“What did you call me?” His usually cheerful face turns an unusual shade of purple.
“Um…Fuzz?” A warning prickle creeps over my skin, and I look around for someone to tell me what I’ve done wrong. Curiously, the entire class is huddled down at the other end of the warehouse and looking in the other direction. A few fighters sparring on the mats smirk. Over by the free weights, a betraying Jake is talking to Obsidian when he’s supposed to be protecting me from Fuzzy’s wrath.
“In this class, you address me as Sir,” Fuzzy shouts.
Swallowing hard, I give him a mock salute. “Yes, sir.”
Fuzzy scowls. “Not funny. On the floor, gimme twenty-five push-ups. NOW.”
“Someone is suffering from delusions of grandeur.”
“FIFTY.”
With a loud sigh, I drop to my knees, lean forward, and place my hands on the mat. Fuzzy kneels beside
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