Not That Kind of Girl (8 page)

Eli looked down at her. Because his eyes were shaded by the brim of his silly hat, she didn’t have a clue what was going on with him. Suddenly, he burst out laughing.

“What?” she asked, surprised by his reaction.

“I believe we’re headed into unknown territory,” he said.

“Seriously?” Roxie frowned up at him, a little disappointed. “So Lilith and I are an extreme case? You don’t have experience with this sort of thing? I thought you were some kind of guru or something.”

He brought his hand to the small of her back and escorted her across the street, chuckling the whole way. When they reached the opposite curb, he smiled down at her. “I’m just a man, Roxie. But I’ll give it everything I’ve got.”

*   *   *

Sometimes, he marveled at the depth and breadth of his abilities. If there ever was a man who could make things happen simply by the force of his will, by the power of his mind, it was he, Raymond Julius Sandberg, Esquire. On occasion, it felt as if the world itself unfurled at his feet, a ruby-red carpet of possibility spread out to the horizon. All for him. Just him. Damn, but he loved this life he’d created for himself. It felt awfully good to be him.

“Christ,” he muttered, a lightning sting of pain shooting down the side of his neck. The doctors had told him how lucky he was—the vicious she-devil of an attack dog had ripped some skin and a little muscle but had miraculously avoided tendons and arteries. Truly, he couldn’t have asked for a more jury-ready injury, a savage and hideous-looking bite wound that caused no permanent damage. Wasn’t that interesting? Even this nasty slice out of the right side of his neck was to his benefit. It might be slightly uncomfortable, but it would allow him to pull the plug on that fucking Roxie Bloom bitch forever.

Raymond sighed with satisfaction. He led a charmed life. No doubt about it. A life where even his physical pain led to personal gain.

“Is the light sufficient?” he asked his assistant. “Natural light is always best—is there enough? Should I turn a bit to the left?” Raymond adjusted his position to catch the maximum sunshine from his office suite window, suddenly doubting his new employee’s ability to execute this particular assignment. “Are you sure you know how to use a digital camera? These images will prove vital to my complaint. They must show how bruised and swollen I am, even two days after the stitches. Are you getting the caked blood?”

Her response was borderline disrespectful. “Bruising and swelling, check. Caked blood, check.”

Raymond rolled his eyes at the subpar attitude of his latest assistant. She was young. Extremely hot. Smart. But surly. Why did the hot ones always have attitude problems? Awkwardly enough, he suddenly couldn’t remember her name. It was Ricky or Randy or something inanely boyish, that he knew, because he’d almost condemned her résumé to the shredder pile when his eye caught reference to her four years in Stanford’s women’s tennis program.

Looking at her now, in a tight little skirt and blouse, he could say with confidence that there was nothing boyish about that ass. She was all girl. All over.

He smiled at her. “Maybe you should scoot over here and get a closer shot, Ricky,” he said, hoping his tone was at once suggestive and authoritative.

“Dusty,” she said flatly. “And the zoom worked fine. Here.” She handed him the digital camera.

Raymond felt a sudden hot rush of uncertainty. What was he supposed to do with the camera? He didn’t see any pictures on the screen! How was he supposed to find the pictures? How did he turn the fucking thing on? It enraged him that she’d seen his obvious lack of mastery over his own digital camera.

“Ahh,” Ricky said, ripping the camera from his hand. She hit a few buttons. “There you go.” She shoved it back at him. “Click this arrow and you’ll see every picture I’ve taken, in the order taken. Can I go now?”

Raymond’s lip began to twitch. Who did this little bitch think she was? He’d hired her from a pool of thousands of applicants. She was nothing. She wouldn’t even graduate for another two weeks. She wouldn’t start law school for another three months. Didn’t she know who he was? Didn’t she realize he could crush her? Ruin her before she even got started?

True, she looked nothing like Roxie. This Ricky girl had curly reddish-blond hair and the palest gold eyes he’d ever seen. She was all peachy and perky and freckly, with a set of big tits and legs honed to perfection by Division 1 varsity tennis. Roxie, on the other hand, had been leaner and taller, and her looks were at the opposite end of the spectrum—strikingly dark hair and eyes and porcelain skin. Roxie’s boobs had been a nice handful, but they were at least a cup size smaller than this girl’s. Yet there was a similarity between them. Maybe it was the ridiculous, flippy sound of their names. Maybe it was the disrespectful attitudes.

Roxie hadn’t always been that way, he knew. She’d started off in awe of him. She’d done whatever he said. She’d looked up to him. She’d admired him and catered to him and talked about having his children.

Then she’d made it her life’s work to fuck him over.

“You’re fired,” he told the disobedient Ricky.

“Whaa—” she choked. “But … what did you just say, Mr. Sandberg?”

“I said you’re fired.” Raymond tossed the camera to the leather inlay surface of his desk and rather jauntily circumvented his office suite, as if deep in thought. He headed for the door and put his hand on the knob. “Get out.”

Ricky or Randy or whatever her name was, bless her little feminine soul, started to cry. She was sputtering and spewing and whimpering and her emotional implosion was just the kind he preferred—all helpless limbs and big, scared eyes.

Raymond let his shoulders droop dramatically and nodded, as if he’d reached a difficult decision. He crossed over to where she stood on her three-inch heels, looking a bit shaky. He slid a hand around that firm waist and let it slide along the curve of her perfect hip. With his other hand he gestured for her to sit on the sofa.

Once he got her snuggled up in the cushions, he joined her. Then he reached into his pants pocket for a clean, starched, monogrammed handkerchief, and noticed his dick was harder than Chinese calculus.

“You are a very intelligent and capable young woman, Randy,” he murmured, insisting she take his hanky. “I chose you to be my assistant because I saw great potential in you. But the way you just spoke to me is unacceptable. Do you understand that?”

She nodded, dabbing at the mascara pooling under her eyes. She looked like a twelve-year-old kid who’d just been yanked into the principal’s office.

How perfect. He wanted to rip her clothes off.

“I’m sorry, Mr. Sandberg,” she said, sniffling. “Please give me another chance. I … I just get a little woozy at the sight of blood, that’s all. I thought I was going to help with litigation when you hired me to be your assistant. You know, do legal research and draft briefs and stuff. I guess I got mad that you called me in here just to take pictures of your dog bite.”

Raymond chuckled softly. He reached up and stroked her curls. She flinched, but just barely. He smiled at her, noticing how she’d started to breathe fast. He watched those luscious tits move under her blouse.

“Randy, I
am
this firm. This is
my
creation. Sandberg and Associates would not exist if it weren’t for my reputation and skill. I am king here.”

She nodded.

“Your entire future is in my hands. If I like the work you do, you’re set for life. I may even hire you right out of Stanford Law as an associate. Someday you could even be a partner! But if I’m not pleased …” Raymond trailed his fingers down to her collarbone. He watched her eyes flash, but she didn’t move away. This was all very promising. “If I’m not pleased, I’ll fire you. For real next time. And I’ll make your life a living hell if you try to practice law in this town.”

She gasped. But it was a small gasp. She’d obviously tried to suppress it.

“If you are to be my assistant, you will remember all that I’ve just explained to you, and you will afford me the respect I deserve. Do you understand?” Raymond let his hand fall to the top button of her blouse, and he insinuated a finger down into her cleavage. Her mouth dropped open.

“Well, do you?” he repeated.

“Yes,” she said meekly.

“And, should there ever be any kind of unpleasant misunderstanding between us, no one would ever take your word over mine. The idea is laughable.”

She stared at him, but he knew she got the message.

“Good.” Raymond removed his hand from between her perfect tits and then gave her knee a friendly pat. He stood up and smiled at her. She looked baffled. Once more, her mouth hung open.

Raymond liked the view from where he stood, looking down on her young, pretty, confused face—and open mouth. It wouldn’t be long before she spent most of her time on her knees exactly like this, with his dick between her lips. Just like all his other assistants.

“How would you like to help me prepare for vicious dog court?” he asked her brightly. “It will be our job to convince the hearing officer that the horrible animal who did this to me should be destroyed.”

Ricky’s brow crumpled. “Destroyed?”

“Euthanized. To protect the public from further attacks.”

She bit her lip. “Uh, well, okay, I guess,” she said.

“It was a pit bull, you know,” he added.

“Oh,”
Randy said, nodding, as if that explained everything. “What exactly do you want me to do, Mr. Sandberg?”

God, he loved his life.

*   *   *

Eli hadn’t planned for this.

It seemed that beneath all of Roxanne’s anger lurked a smart and sensitive woman. The way she’d described her perfect relationship with her dog had been the most insightful answer he’d ever received from a prospective client.

And he wasn’t comparing it to the real doozies he’d gotten over the years, either, like the guy who thought having control over his Doberman pinscher in public would make chicks dig him. No, Roxanne’s answer was the best—period.

She didn’t mention control. She didn’t say she was embarrassed or ashamed of her dog. She didn’t need to prove anything to herself or others. She simply wanted peace to replace the struggle, so that there would be room for happiness.

He hadn’t expected an answer like that from Roxanne. Eli was aware that there was more to Roxanne than her Web site or her anger, of course. Everyone had multiple aspects to their personality. It was what made us human. And Bea had given him a heads-up the other day by assuring him that Roxie was a pussycat in a porcupine suit. He smiled at the memory.

But from what he could tell, Roxanne was far more complex than he realized. In addition to the father issues and bad dating karma, she happened to be funny. She possessed a deep compassion for her dog. She truly cared for her friends. She was willing to try something new. And when Roxie smiled …

Eli glanced at her sitting next to him on a bench overlooking Dolores Park, the dog park where Roxanne and her friends met up three mornings a week. The afternoon sun was on her face. She looked composed and beautiful. He was almost relieved she didn’t look overly happy at the moment, because when that girl smiled, he could barely breathe. When she laughed, it was if his whole being strained to get closer to the sound.

“What?” she asked, now frowning severely. “Are you getting ready to tell me how much this is going to cost? Is that it?”

He laughed. “Uh, no. That’s not what I was thinking, but I suppose we should get that out of the way.”

As she probably already knew from her Internet browsing, Eli’s customary fee was between seven-fifty and three thousand, not including travel, and it could go much higher depending on the number of dogs in the family, the aggression level of the dogs involved, and whether he would be called to testify at a civil or criminal court hearing. Under normal circumstances, Roxie and Lilith’s case would land at the high end of the spectrum, because it involved a rescue dog with longstanding aggression issues, a dog bite case, an already scheduled appearance in vicious dog court, and probable civil action. But as Eli looked into those dark, doubtful eyes, he knew nothing about this case was normal. There was only one price he could charge for this assignment, and that was nothing at all.

They were acquaintances. She was a friend of Rick Rousseau’s, and Rick was his boss. Plus, there was something real interesting going on between Roxanne and himself, something that had to be resolved. So money would only muddy the waters. Money didn’t have a place here.

Besides, he’d never gone into a case with the dual hopes of saving the dog and bedding the owner, and if he were to be honest with himself, that’s exactly what was going through his head. No, it wasn’t a smart move, but he’d already admitted to himself that smarts had nothing to do with his instinctive response to Roxanne.

“I know you’re expensive,” she said, her voice sharp. “I don’t want any favors. Just tell me how much.”

Eli draped an arm over the back of the park bench, fully aware of how Roxie flinched at his friendly maneuver. He’d been studying her during their walk. She was about five eight, lean, with an elegant neck and liquid black eyes flecked with tiny sparks of gold. She had the sweetest little chin, and stunning cheekbones. Her waist was toned and she had the nicest kind of female bottom there was—not flat but not too big, not too wide but with a good amount of flair to the hips. And her hair—now that was really something extraordinary. It was long and shiny and black and he licked his lips at the thought of how it would feel cascading across his bare chest as she rolled with him, naked.

Yep, Roxanne Bloom was an exceptionally pretty woman—but she was wound up tighter than a two-dollar watch. He could see the spring-loaded tension in her shoulders and back. He noticed that even her most relaxed sitting posture featured balled fists and tightly crossed legs. Her jaw was clenched most of the time. She had a variety of nervous gestures, including sighing, flipping her hair over her shoulder, fiddling with the antique ring she wore on her left hand, swiveling her neck around until it cracked, and, on those occasions when she did relax her fists, she ended up drumming her nails on whatever surface was available—the tabletop, her thigh, the bench slats. Eli thanked God Roxie didn’t chew gum, because he was sure she’d be a smacker and a popper.