Page 23 of Good Boy
I reached my office door, wrenching it open before slamming it shut once Darius and I were safely inside. I exhaled a shaky breath, the weight of our secret pressing down on me like a leaden blanket. I pulled out my laptop, my eyes hard on the screen, trying to focus on the work that awaited me.
"Weston," Darius said, his voice low and sultry, sending a shiver down my spine.
I didn't look at him; I couldn't. If I did, I'd lose myself in those hazel eyes and forget all about the client waiting for me.
“Later," I growled, my fingers flying across the keyboard, trying to regain control over the chaos that threatened to overtake me. As the minutes ticked by, the craving for him grew stronger within me. A dark, insatiable hunger that would not be denied.
Darius stood idle in front of my large wooden desk, his eyes searching for something—anything— to occupy himself with. "Weston," he said again, breaking the silence that had fallen over us like a suffocating shroud. "Can I get you anything?"
"Coffee," I said, my voice terse as I continued to pretend that the words on the screen actually mattered.
He nodded and left the room, leaving me to wrestle with the demons that threatened to tear me apart from the inside out.
With less than three minutes to spare, he returned, a steaming cup of coffee in his hands. I could smell the rich aroma, the intoxicating blend of dark roasted beans and just a hint of sweetness. It was exactly what I needed to clear my head, to regain control over the maelstrom of emotions that swirled within me.
"Follow me," I ordered, snatching the coffee from Darius’ grasp, then thrusting a leather-bound journal and a black Montblanc ballpoint pen into his hands. "Keep up."
As we made our way through the labyrinthine of hallways of the law firm, my mind raced with thoughts of the morning's illicit activities. The taste of his lips, his hazy gaze and the sound of his moans as he took me in his mouth— all of it haunted me, forcing me to ignore him out of self-preservation.
The conference room was cold and sterile, a stark contrast to the heat of our earlier encounter. I watched as our new client, a twenty-eight-year-old tech whiz, slouched in his chair with an air of indifference. He had made millions but now found himself facing a messy divorce from a woman he'd married on a drunken night in Vegas. As I began to outline the process we would follow, I couldn't help but feel a twinge of envy for the young man's carefree existence.
"Look," the client said, cutting me off mid-sentence, "I just want this over with, alright? I barely know her."
Darius, who had been silent until that point, chimed in. "Dude, I get it. You just wanted a wild night, not a lifetime commitment." He leaned against the table, casual yet confident. "Weston here will make sure you don't lose everything you've worked for."
I raised an eyebrow, surprised by Darius’ ability to connect with the client. He had no formal legal training, yet his grasp of basic law jargon was impressive. I felt my body react to this unexpected display of competence, not to mention respect for my abilities, and heat pooled in my groin.
"Exactly," I agreed, trying to regain control of the situation. "We'll ensure that your assets are protected and negotiate a favorable settlement."
"Thanks," the client nodded, visibly more at ease, thanks to Darius’ intervention. "I just want to get back to focusing on my business."
"Understandable," I replied, internally cursing the desire that threatened to derail my focus. It was both infuriating and intoxicating, this undeniable attraction to him. I needed to maintain my composure, but the memory of his lips wrapped around me lingered like a persistent echo.
As the meeting progressed, I found myself watching him more closely than necessary. The way he held the Montblanc pen between his fingers, jotting down notes in the leather-bound journal, stirred something within me. It was as if our earlier encounter had unleashed a beast that refused to be caged again.
"Alright," I concluded. "We'll get started drafting the necessary paperwork and keep you updated throughout the process."
"Sounds good," the client replied, shaking my hand before leaving.
As the door closed behind him, I turned to Darius, my voice low. "You did well in there."
"Thanks." He gave a wry smile, clearly aware of the effect he had on me. "I'm just trying to keep up."
"Keep it up and there might be more than garage blow jobs and coffee runs in your future."
I dragged Darius to the next meeting, his presence a constant reminder of our filthy secret. The conference room was bathed in sterile fluorescent light, making the scene feel colder than it should have been. He took a seat across from me at the sleek table, his eyes darting between me and the other lawyers every few seconds.
"Alright, let's get started," I announced, forcing myself to focus on the agenda at hand.
As the meeting progressed, I couldn't help but steal glances at him, watching the way his fingers tapped against the leather-bound journal, and the way he pulled his bottom lip between his teeth whenever a thought entered his mind.
"Weston?" someone called out, snapping me back to reality.
The meeting continued, boring as ever, and I talked over nodding heads as the paralegals hung off every single word I said. Fuck, this was exhausting. Once that meeting was over, I was pulled into another, Darius following behind me every step of the way. This one was shorter but no less intense, each tick of the clock serving as a reminder that time was not on our side.
"Jesus fucking Christ," I said as the last meeting finally ended. My stomach rumbled. I hadn’t eaten anything since breakfast. I retreated to my office, collapsing into the large leather chair behind my desk as I scrolled through my phone.
"Hey, asshole." Cole barged into my office. "You look like shit. Let's grab some lunch."