Attracted to her 💘

Chapter 2

BRENT

I've seen my last name inscribed on libraries, hospital wings, and the like, but there's an extra thrill seeing it on the Law Offices of Becker, Mason, Santos & Shaw. Because it's mine, not my family's, something I did on my own. When you grow up in the shadow of all the accomplishments of those who came before you, that's a big deal.

Jessica, our summer minion—also known as an intern—welcomes me with starry eyes and a stack of messages. "Good afternoon, Mr. Mason."

I take the messages and avoid eye contact, keeping my face neutral. It's a well-practiced move. Because interns are hungry, enthusiastic, willing to bend over backward.

And that's particularly true of Jessica. The way she stares, the way she accidentally brushes her tits against my arm, the way she walks by my office when I'm working late, says she's willing to let me bend her any which way I want. And Jessica's not your average-looking minion—tall, redheaded, with hips every man would imagine holding onto doggie style. She's hot.

She's also twenty-four. I don't know when twenty-four became too young—I just know it is.

"Thank you, Jessica."

I walk up the stairs to the top floor. Dark-wood floors, original crown moldings, and bold-toned window dressings give the area a professional, historical elegance. Two desks—one occupied by our secretary, Mrs. Higgens, and one for our paralegal—are stationed along opposite walls, with two long, brown leather sofas facing each other on the remaining ones.

I nod to Mrs. Higgens and head into my office to work the rest of the afternoon.

• • •

At four o'clock I stick my head outside my office door to collect my client, Justin Longhorn. He's a typical millennial slacker—brown messy hair, beat-up skinny jeans, a retro Nirvana T-shirt over a lanky form, his thumb busily sliding over the latest iPhone.

Before I can greet him, sixteen-year-old Riley McQuaid walks down the hallway. She's been working here a couple of hours a week this summer. Riley is the oldest of the six McQuaid kids.
Jake's McQuaid kids.

If you don't understand the significance of that, you will in a second. Because what happens next feels just like watching a car crash in slow motion.
Or the mating dance of pubescent ostriches. There's some really weird stuff on YouTube.
Their eyes drag over each other, head to matching-Converse-sneaker-covered toes.

Justin lifts his chin. "Hey."

No good can come of this. And I'm not the only one who thinks so.

"Heeey," Jake says—in a low growl from his office doorway—where he looms large with crossed arms and quicksilver gray eyes.

Jake Becker is a hell of a guy, one of my closest friends. He can also be a scary overprotective motherfucker when he wants to be. The scowl he's sending my client's way has reduced older, larger men to tears.

But Justin doesn't see it—because he's too busy checking Riley out.

"I have some filing for you to do, Riley." Jake jerks his thumb over his shoulder. "In my office."

"Okay. Coming." But she doesn't—at least not right away. Not until after she bites her lip Justin's way and utters the classic, "Later."

Justin nods. "Definitely."

Huh. Never would've pegged Justin as the suicidal type. But I guess you just never know.