Page 12 of Maverick

Christ, the wave of hope that washed over me was like nothing I've ever felt before. Then Jonas had to open his fucking mouth and ruin the whole damned thing.

Did she light me up? Is that what that was? I don't have anything to compare it to, but maybe that's what it was. I know for damned sure I'm attracted.

And I also know for damn sure she's closed that door. Though maybe, if I want, I can try and push it back open.

But I don't know how. Or if it's even possible.

Or if it's even ethical.

I'm an attorney. I know damn well it's easy to cross the line between appropriate and inappropriate. Even if I made sure to not cross the line, it doesn't make it right.

And yeah, I'm okay with breaking the law if it suits me. But not when it comes to this. It would be so easy to get her info from her personnel file. I'd have my hands on her number and address in seconds.

Then what?

That way lies madness.

With a sigh, I open the folder Cara dropped off, forcing myself to focus on work. On the things I can control.

The rest will have to wait.

Hours later,I grab that same folder from the stack on my desk and head down the hallway to Ransom's office, yawning. It's been non-stop since I arrived this morning, barely a moment to breathe between phone calls.

I rap my knuckles against Ransom's open door before entering. He's seated behind his desk, his brow furrowed as he stares intently out the window.

"Hey, got a minute?" I ask, holding up the folder. "Need your eyes on this before I can call it a day."

Ransom blinks and leans back in his chair, stretching his arms above his head. "Sure, Mav. Toss it over."

I hand him the folder and collapse into one of the chairs opposite his desk. As he flips through the pages of documentation on the building, I loosen my tie and unbutton the top of my collar.

I know I don't have to wear them. A lot of my brothers don't wear suits. But I've always followed Ransom's lead in this area, and I see the benefits. People approach me differently when I'm wearing a suit. There's a level of respect and confidence that a man in an expensive suit commands, and I use that to my full advantage.

"Looks good to me," Ransom says after a few minutes, closing the folder. His face is impassive, but I still see the turmoil in him.

"Is it? Good, I mean?"

He taps a finger on the top of the blue folder, looking pensive. "Yes, it's a smart move. More space, quickly is good. We need it."

"But it's not what you imagined." Ransom’s original vision, of a brand new executive headquarters for us, complete with a garage space for Micah's custom work, was pretty epic. But it would be years before it was ready to move into.

He smiles, but it's weary. "No, but that's to be expected. Things are changing quickly. We have to pivot."

"Lots of change," I echo. "That doesn't even begin to cover it. It feels like we've dropped into an alternate universe."

He chuckles, the sound low and soothing. It's a sound that's always meant everything is going to be ok. "The women are a bit of an adjustment. Especially Becca. But that was bound to happen. Now we have a chance to build our new family all at once, rather than trying to integrate one person at a time over the next few years."

"One big painful adjustment period instead of a series of smaller ones."

"Exactly."

"My ass is twitching," Colton announces from the doorway.

I turn in my chair to get a look at him. He's still wearing his custom suit. He pulls off the look but it's grudging. And of course there's no tie. The scowl on his face makes my lips twitch. "There's medication for that. And just saying, keep that shit to yourself."

He looks at me like I'm the dumbest person on the planet. "Something is up. It's my spidey sense. Twitching ass equals shit's about to go down."

"Last time you complained about a twitchy ass, your favorite Chinese place closed down," Ransom says, like people talk about twitchy asses all the time.