Diana knew, better than anyone, how persuasive Margie could be—long before she’d ever been a lawyer. And she won, yet again.
“Fine,” she muttered, holding up a finger. “No asking questions and no slinking by outside Ayers’s office, trying to sneak a peek.”
Margie gasped, pressing a manicured hand to her chest in feigned offense.
God, this girl.
“Me? I will be on my absolute best behavior—even better than when Sister Winifred gave that speech about the fires of hell devouring the genitals of those who diddle themselves.”
The elevator dinged, the doors opened, and Diana couldn’t hold back the roar of throaty laughter the flew from her chest. She’d never been a quiet laugher, much to her mother’s dismay. Her laugh had once been compared to a fog horn fucking a goose, but that didn’t stop her from letting it loose once in a while. Like when her best friend in the whole world reminded her about their high school ethics teacher—Winnie the Woody Killer.
Sucking in a quick breath, she stepped off the elevator, a huge smile on her face, and nearly slammed right into the most beautiful man she’d ever seen.
She stared hard, unable to find her voice. Which was uncharacteristic of her.
Steel gray eyes surrounded by long eyelashes that matched the almost raven color of his professionally styled hair. His nose was long, Roman, perfectly proportioned, like an arrow pointing down to the real prize. Diana’s gaze dropped to his mouth. Also perfectly proportioned—and edible. His mouth looked soft, almost as if it should belong to a woman, but on him, it was pure smirking sin. Lips like those were probably capable of sliding oh so gently over the sensitive flesh of her neck. And since he was taller than her by at least a foot, all he would have to do to slide that luscious mouth over her skin was bend forward…just a little—
It was Margie’s nudge that made Diana realize what an utter idiot she must look like, snapping her out of her stunned spell of stupidity.
“So-sorry, sir. I wasn’t looking where I was going,” Diana said, drawing her shoulders back to push some strength into her next words. “I apologize.”
The man quirked his sexy as hell lips and pinned her with those steely eyes that made her stomach jackknife into her uterus.
His gaze was bold, intent, assessing her frankly, starting at her feet then slowly ascending her body, catching, only for a second, on the bulging fabric of her borrowed blouse before finally landing on her face. She held her breath—and she didn’t know why. Hell, she knew why. She knew what he was seeing when he looked at her; pretty in face but fluffy everywhere else.
The urge to wrap her arms around myself, to put up a wall between herself and the sensual magnetism flowing from him, nearly undid her. She had never felt so exposed, and she was fully dressed—except for that damn shirt.
A glint sharpened his eyes, and Diana wondered if he knew what he was doing to her. If he could sense how he was dismantling her inner professional piece by piece.
He shrugged broad shoulders, breaking the tightly strung tension. “No apology necessary.” His voice was like melted chocolate, flowing over her like a slow, delectable deluge, and it didn’t help that his accent was so delicious. “I can see you were…distracted.” He glanced at Margie and gave her a curt nod and a quick, polite smile before sliding his big, long-fingered hands into the pockets of his pressed slacks and walking around them—Diana’s eyes glued to his fantastic ass—and into the elevator. Thank God he seemed preoccupied by a large envelope under his arm because he would have caught her gawking at him.
God, Diana! When did you become such a thirsty bitch? Snapping around, Diana took off toward her office—a small, somewhat closet-like room—not even bothering to see if Margie was following. By the sound of heels clacking against tile behind her, she knew she was, and she immediately regretted allowing Margie to talk her into letting her come to her floor.
“Was that him? The guy Ayers was meeting with?” she whisper-shrieked, rushing into Diana’s office and shutting the door behind her.
Diana caught her breath and pressed a shaking hand to her cheek. She felt as though she’d run a marathon while wearing leg weights; her body vibrating with waves of weakness that made her lean down and plant her hands on her desk for stability. Why were her hands shaking? Why was her body acting as if it had lost its damn mind? One run-in with a sexy man shouldn’t make every cell in her body turn to jelly.
“I don’t know. The meeting was supposed to be at one-fifteen…then again, Ayers is known for allowing his better clients to change their appointment times on the fly. Makes him more of an appealing attorney, apparently.”
Margie took out her cell, her thumbs flying over the screen. “Omigerd, omigerd,” she muttered.
Suddenly panicked, Diana blurted, “What? What’s wrong?”
As answer, Margie turned her phone and showed her what she’d been doing.
It was a picture of the man she’d nearly collided with. Mr. Sexy as Sin.
“So what? That’s the guy we just saw,” she said, easing down into her desk chair slowly, so as to not pop any of the buttons on her borrowed blouse.
Margie looked fit to explode. “So what? Don’t you know who that is?” she blabbered shrilly.
Diana shook her head, knowing she was about to get an earful on the guy. “No.”
Margie threw her hands into the air and let out a grunt. “Where have you been hiding? How can you not recognize David Brenner?”
The name was familiar, but she couldn’t place it. She worked, a lot, and didn’t have much time for TV watching—aside from the syndicated shows she binge-watched on occasion, internet sleuthing, or gossip.
Margie probably saw the lack of recognition on her face because she held
