My office is getting spoiled. Screw that, I’m getting spoiled.

She’s taken over going through my depositions and highlighting anything that’s off.

Christ, I walked in on her yesterday schooling Mike, one of my best lawyers, on environmental law. He had to ruin it by asking her out. I almost fired him on the spot, but he was saved by Raven saying she had a boyfriend.

Boyfriend.

It’s almost comical. I guess that’s me. Considering how many hours we spend together, you’d think she’d start to aggravate me. I adore Rebecca, but even with her I have a ten-minute tolerance time span. After that, I’m done.

Apparently, that rule doesn’t apply to Raven. The more time I spend with her, the more I like her. And this is not just her tight pussy. I’m borderline obsessed with her mind. She’s incredibly sharp. She keeps up with me, challenges me, then submits.

My phone vibrates. I look over at her, typing on her laptop as she glances up and flashes me a smile that makes my chest hurt.

The fuck is happening to me? I’m hardly a kid. These kinds of things like smiling and touching are for other men, not me. She’s wearing her hair down today. Long, dark chocolate waves spill over her shoulder. My hand almost tingles with the need to touch the silken strands.

Goddammit, my cock is hard, again. I shift in my chair. This is getting out of hand. I just dragged Raven into the shithole public bathroom not twenty-five minutes ago. I fucked her up against the door.

Epitome of class, Jett.

Shaking my head, I glance at my phone. Rachel. I hit decline. What the hell is she thinking calling me? She should know I’d be in court, or maybe not. Raven and I have been staying out late and getting up early… When’s the last time I actually sat and had a conversation with her?

Jesus Christ, I’m a dick.

I look over at my client. He’s a big star, but had an older client not asked me to represent him as a favor, I would have said no. It’s easy money, though. Cut and dry. A stupid actor getting caught with ecstasy, first offense.

Bobby leans over. “How much longer do you think? And with the community service stuff, can I pay someone to do it for me?”

I stare at him. Good thing he made it. He’s stupid.

“No, you can’t pay someone to do your community service, and if I were you, I’d stop laughing at your phone and focus on looking mournful.” He looks at me blankly, and I marvel at Hollywood. Only industry in the world where you can literally be an idiot and a drug abuser and get paid for it.

“She’s looking at us,” he whispers.