Mack, p.5
Mack, page 5
Judging by the way she gave that little attitude of hers right back to me, I bet she’s wild as shit in bed. Nobody could fuck her the way I could. It would ruin her for any other man, which is also a strangely satisfying thought.
She’d never forget the way I dominated her in the courtroom and the bedroom.
That little good-girl, save-the-world attitude of hers is doing something for me.
Fuck, my dick gets hard again. My balls ache just from the thought of her. How is this possible?
It literally doesn’t matter. She thinks you’re fucking Barbara and she hates your guts.
Challenge accepted.
I’m Mack Mitchell.
If I want to fuck her, I will.
She has no idea what’s in store for her.
Presley Griffin
My feet are killing me. I can’t remember if I ate lunch today.
In other words; it’s been a typical court day.
But I need to stop by the office on my way home to pick up some documents and check my messages.
Funny. As I pull into the parking lot behind the shabby, brick building that is my workplace, I can’t help but compare it to some of the high-rises downtown. The big, fancy buildings where the attorneys charge huge hourly fees. Buildings where the plumbing actually works, where the heating is reliable, and the windows don’t get stuck.
Well, high-rise windows probably don’t open, but the point remains. Here we are, busting our asses every day to make life better for our clients, and it’s generally a toss-up as to whether we’ll need to wear our coats and gloves inside in the winter.
It’s not winter now, thank God. The weather’s been gorgeous lately, which helps my mood as I walk through the lot and into the building. The sun’s setting earlier and earlier, telling me Fall’s on the way.
Inside is general chaos, as always. The phones are ringing off the wall in at least four or five offices while another three conversations happen all around me as I walk down the hall to my cubicle. The scarred metal desk I call mine is heaped with folders, as always, and there’s a large envelope waiting on my chair.
“Oh, there you are.” Janet blows a strand of auburn hair out of her eyes as she walks over. “I wondered if you’d be in today. Figured I’d have to drop those papers off at your apartment.”
“No worries. I wouldn’t make you go out of your way.” I pick up the envelope and have a seat, opening it to review what the judge’s office sent over. Everything looks to be in order, but I’ll read it more closely at home before signing and dropping everything off in the morning.
“How’d it go today?” She putters around, straightening my desk and tossing out the paper cups I forgot to throw away yesterday. I was running late and had to dash out before I could clean up after myself.
“Same as always.” I slide the documents into my briefcase before turning my attention to the slips of paper tucked under the phone sitting on my desk. It’s a dinosaur, one of those old-school models with buttons for every extension in the office. The only problem is, I never remember which button connects to which phone. It’s easier to shout down the hall.
“Oh, I had something to tell you.” She perches at the edge of my desk, arms folded, smirking. “What was it?” She taps her chin a couple times. “Oh yeah. You got three calls from Mack Mitchell today. I took a message each time.”
Just when I thought the day couldn’t possibly get more tiresome. “You’re kidding.” And now I know why my faithful assistant found it necessary to clean up my office right now instead of when I was out of the office.
She wanted to be standing here as she delivered the news.
“Nope.” She hands them over. “Here you go.”
“No, thanks.” I don’t take them from her. “I have actual important things to attend to.”
“You have to take your messages.” She thrusts them into my hand, grinning the whole time.
“Fine.” Instead of reading them, I crumple the three Post-its and toss them in the trash can.
She winces, snickering. “He must be a fun one.”
I love Janet. Don’t get me wrong. She’s a terrific assistant; smart as a whip, sharp as a tack, and all the other age-old sayings. There’s zero chance I’d be able to handle as many cases at once without her staying on top of filing dates, double-checking for typos, fielding phone calls and new inquiries from potential clients in desperate need of representation.
That doesn’t mean I love it when she gives me the raised eyebrow, like she knows something I don’t. I haven’t even told her anything about the asshole opposing counsel.
Not that I’m stuck on that or anything. I couldn’t care less about overhearing him with some random woman. Doesn’t mean a thing. “He’s not worth discussing. Let’s put it that way.”
Her soft laughter tells me she has other ideas. “Says you. From what I’ve heard, he’s gorgeous.”
I cant my head slightly at her. “Does that matter?”
“You know what I mean.” She nudges my leg with hers. “And when you react the way you are, it’s to avoid a subject.”
“Have I ever told you how annoying it is when you shrink me? You should’ve gone to med school instead of studying law.”
She laughs, and as usual I have to laugh with her. She’s that type of person, somebody who’s so sunshiny and upbeat even when we’re up to our armpits in work. I need someone like her working with me, since I tend to get a little… intense. She lightens the mood.
“He’s an utter and complete asshole.” I can’t help but glance toward the crumpled-up messages. “In fact, don’t waste your time taking messages or fielding calls from him. I’ll reach out to his office if there’s anything I need regarding the Winslow case.”
“You got it, boss.” She hops up, already hustling her way out of the room. I’m no slouch, don’t get me wrong, but I’d kill for her energy. She’s five years younger and it doesn’t sound like that much, but damn, I think it is once you start pushing thirty.
I should be thinking about the documents ready for my review. Or about my other cases, of which there are many. The mountain of files on my desk stands in mute testament to this.
But oh no. Of course not.
Naturally, my mind is on Mack. He lives in my head rent-free. Why the hell was he calling? I know it wasn’t about the case.
It’s typical. Men like him can’t handle rejection and I rejected him. What did he think was going to happen? He knocked coffee all over me and didn’t apologize or offer to clean it up. Acted like it was my fault! And I’m just going to suddenly go to dinner and fall at his feet? Please. It’s been a while since I had anything resembling a dating life, but I’m not that desperate. I hope I never will be. I have ethical and moral boundaries I won’t cross, and Mack Mitchell is a poster child for everything wrong in the world.
I’ll just ignore him. Now, he’ll be the one who can’t let it go. Good. I’m the one living rent-free in his head. We’ll see how he likes it.
And I have officially spent too much time thinking about him today.
It’s dark by the time I leave the building, and most people have already called it a day. But they’re all just like me: hard-working, dedicated, laser-focused. I’d be willing to bet many of the lawyers who work with our group put just as much time in at home as I do.
The sound of my heels hitting the broken concrete echoes in the evening air. As I head down the dark street, I have my keys fisted in my palm. They’re sticking out, ready to be jabbed into somebody’s face if they make the mistake of approaching me. I’m so tough. This is the most terrifying part of my days, actually.
So when I hear the skittering of loose stones somewhere to my left, like somebody kicked them as they were walking toward me, my heart lodges itself in my throat and I grip my keys even tighter than before. My blood pumps, adrenaline already kicking in. It’s like a feeling of impending doom crashes into my chest. I pick up the pace, sweeping the area around me with my eyes, so close to the car. Just a few yards…
It’s when my hand touches the door that I hear a voice.
“Slow down. What the hell?”
I spin around, keys sticking out, ready to slice and dice.
And when I see the person who just scared me half to death, I’m not completely sure he doesn’t deserve the slicing. “Are you fucking kidding me?” I fall back against the door as the air leaves my lungs all at once.
Mack Mitchell stands not twenty feet from me, his bright white teeth flashing a smile in the moonlight.
What the hell is he doing here?
“Sorry if I scared you.” Nobody has ever sounded less sincere in their life.
I let out a breathless chuckle intended to hide my shakiness. “Sorry? You’re sorry for sneaking up on me in a dark parking lot when I’m all alone?”
He stares inquisitively. “Maybe you shouldn’t be all alone in a dark parking lot.”
“Maybe you need to mind your—” I wave the keys around in the air, at no one in particular. “Business. Unless you want to pay a bodyguard to escort me everywhere.” Now that my fear has passed and I can breathe without it feeling like there’s a ton of bricks sitting on my chest, blood rushes back into my brain and things start to come into focus.
Of course, I see everything I noticed the first time we met. That ridiculous jawline of his, those brilliant eyes. A full mouth that tends to form itself into a smirk like that’s its natural position. Maybe it is.
Why is it so hard to function when he’s around? It’s ridiculous. And he knows how he’s affecting me too. I guarantee he does. I bet I’m hardly the first girl to ever lose her mind in front of him, but I’m too busy noticing how much hotter he is with the top two buttons of his shirt undone, and how impossible it is to keep from running my fingers over that scruff-covered cheek.
God, I hate him.
“Why didn’t you call me back?”
His question catches me off guard and I bark out a disbelieving laugh. So that’s why he’s here? I can’t help but expect him to crack a smile, like this is all a big joke.
When he doesn’t, I find myself feeling a little sweaty under the collar. Cold sweat, the sort of sweat that only appears during one of those deer-in-the-headlights moments. I feel like I’m back in school and my professor called me up to the front of the room to make an argument. Only I’m completely unprepared.
But this isn’t school, and he’s no professor. As far as I’m concerned, we’re complete equals—when I’m feeling generous, anyway. If I’m being honest, I can’t help but think I’m much better than him for having integrity, for not selling my soul for wealth and status.
That’s what stiffens my spine, lifts my chin. I’ve got the upper hand. He came to me, not the other way around. “You’re literally stalking me because I didn’t return your call?”
“So you think I’m stalking you now?” He takes a step toward me, then another, hands in his pockets.
I wish he would stop because now I can smell his cologne and it’s doing more for me than some men have been able to do with their tongue. Damn it, wasn’t I supposed to have the upper hand?
Of course, with the car against my back, there’s nowhere I can go without looking like I’m retreating. I won’t do that. I won’t let him see how he unnerves me. “You called three times in one day and followed me to my car. What would you call it?”
“Maybe I don’t appreciate rudeness.”
I laugh. “That’s rich. Maybe you should stop being so rude.”
He finally stops, just a few feet away, but close enough that he’s looking down at me. “Why didn’t you call me back?” He pauses for a long second. “Presley.”
I almost shiver the way he says my name like that, but I manage to keep the reaction bottled up. “I was in court all day. Some of us work for a living.”
He glances over at the building I just walked from, the one that houses all the attorneys for the non-profit.
The look in his eyes says it all. The difference is so stark. His suit probably cost a month’s salary for me, if not more. I’m not even sure I want to know what kind of car he drives, but I would be willing to bet it’s newer and flashier and runs better than a decade-old Toyota Corolla. He’s never had to cross his fingers on a cold morning and hope it would run.
“You weren’t going to call me back though, were you?” His gaze swings back to me and there’s an almost effortless charm about him now that I really wish he would dial back on. There’s something about the look in his eyes, the devilish grin that has me wanting to squirm a little. I’m not sure how much more of this I can take while still maintaining my dignity.
Fine, I’ll give him a little honesty. “Nope.” I fold my arms, cocking an eyebrow the way he did. Your move, Counselor.
“Why not?” He takes another step closer, closing the short distance between us, and my chest ratchets up just a little more. My heart will burst out of me soon if this doesn’t stop.
I have to lick my lips since they’ve suddenly gone dry. “Because I don’t know you. And because you’re an asshole.”
“Which is it? You don’t know me, or I’m an asshole? You can’t have it both ways.”
“Maybe I heard things.”
“Oh, I bet you did. I bet you hear all kinds of things about a guy like me.”
My eyes widen a little at how close he is. “I’ve seen things, too. I have a mind of my own. You’re an asshole, and you embrace it.” Oh my God, he’s so close. Too close. He’s overwhelming me with his size, his scent, the energy radiating from him. Dark, intense, enough to curl my toes and leave me wondering who stole my breath.
To my horror, he leans in, stopping just short of brushing his lips against my ear before whispering, “You’re damn right I do.”
I close my eyes, determined to ignore the quivering below my waist.
By the time I open them, he’s backing away, wearing that smirk of his again. Like he knows what he just did to me and loves every second of it.
“I’ll get a date with you. Trust me.” He turns on his heel and strides across the lot toward a new Tesla.
Not as flashy as I expected, but still flashy.
“Whatever, psycho!” My words echo off the walls. It’s all I can manage to get out in between gasps for air. His laughter floats back to my ears though he doesn’t bother looking back over his shoulder.
I quickly realize even though I’m short of breath, and just yelled “psycho” across the parking lot, I’m smiling while I do it.
Ugh! I wipe the smile off my face, get into the car, and slam the door.
Damn him, and damn me for being so susceptible. He’s going to be major trouble. He already is.
God, if he were anyone else, I’d probably already be in his bed. I know I would be.
But, he’s not someone else.
And there’s no way in hell he’s getting a date with me.
Mack Mitchell
“Did you run your errand?” First goddamn question out of Barbara’s mouth the next morning.
Why do I get the feeling she knows more than she should? We’ve worked together long enough for me to pick up on her tone of voice, her inflection. Her skill at asking one thing when she means something else. Women do this shit all the time and it’s exhausting; just say what you mean.
Sure, I ran my errand. And I’m just as frustrated with Presley Griffin as I was before, though it was exhilarating watching her squirm like she did. She loved every second of that shit, I don’t care what words came out of her mouth in protest.
“Yep.” I nod as I pass Barbara’s desk on the way to mine. In my experience, the less I say, the better off I am. I’m going to hear about it eventually anyway.
I’m not really sure how I feel about how that all went down. I was expecting to get an opening to just—fuck, I don’t know—explain what she thought she heard on the phone. It’s insane. I’m acting like a child, I realize this. I have no idea why I care at all what that woman thinks of me, but I do. I should give zero fucks.
I take a seat behind my desk and pick up where I left off last night, before I drove over to check out that rundown building she calls an office. Maybe they should work on marketing for more funding, or wine and dine some politicians to shake them down for some grants. That place should be condemned, fumigated at the least. I’m not sure where the rats and roaches would live if they tore it down, though.
I don’t really care that it’s a shithole, but she shouldn’t be walking out there at night by herself. How stupid can she be? Turning around with her keys poking out of her fingers. I almost laugh, thinking about it. She thought she looked so menacing.
Fucking hell, she may be the most naïve smart person I’ve ever met.
I turn and stare down at this pile of unfiled documents on my desk. I remember that bit she said about “actually working for a living”. I snort. Like I don’t work. She was probably heading home for a nice relaxing bath and some Netflix, while I was right back here at the office last night. That’s what’s so insufferable about her. She thinks she’s the only one who does anything worthy in this world, and she’s full of shit. Goddamn victim complex, virtue-signaling, sack of—I glance up when I realize my face is probably red and I’m squeezing a highlighter on my desk so hard it’s about to snap. Fuck, was I mouthing that sentence to myself too?
“You okay?” Barb grins, her head poked inside my door.
“Fine.” I move my eyes back down to a page I need to review.
“She’s getting to you.”
I hold up a hand but don’t bother to look. “You’re doing this.” I open and close my fingers like a duck quacking. “Do this.” I close them.
I hear her laugh, but I don’t even bother to look, or respond.
Presley Griffin is like some kind of bug under my skin, and I can’t stand her being there. I want to claw her out of me. It’s what she thinks she knows about me. She doesn’t know shit. She just doesn’t.
She’s not interested in the truth, either, as much as I’m sure she preaches justice to everyone she talks to. So full of it. Stubborn, stuck-up, and righteous. Thinks she’s some warrior for the people and I’m the big, bad corporate attorney.
