Alphas by Harper Bliss
tw: jen top / soft bdsm
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Jennie’s hair looks meticulous again. I wonder if she stops at the hairdresser every morning before work. It must be statistically impossible to have a good hair day every day of the week. Does it fall as gloriously on Sundays—
“Roseanne?” Bruce cocks up his eyebrows.
“Yes,” I say quickly, not having a clue what they’re discussing.
“You and Jennie will work this case together.” He aligns the stack of papers in front of him without taking his eyes off me. He gives me a swift nod to indicate his word is final.
“Of course.” I hide behind my best poker face. The last time Jennie and I tried a case together, I had to hit a punching bag for at least an hour every night to decompress. The woman is a delight to look at but a pain to work with. It’s obvious that she thinks having the cheekbones of an angel makes her the best lawyer in the firm.
I can’t stand her, but I can’t keep my eyes off her either. Every day she wears another pristinely starched designer blouse, open at the throat, and while I’m sure the direct view at the hollow of her neck influences some jury members, I wouldn’t exactly call it expertise.
“I look forward to it.” Jennie shoots me a mechanical smile—she saves the heartwarming ones for court. Today’s blouse is baby blue, bringing out the clear colour of her contact lents.
I vow to not let her boss me around this time. To not let her take control the way she always does.
“That’s settled then.” Bruce ends the staff meeting. Chairs scrape against the floor. I take a deep breath before standing up.
“My office in ten?” Jennie asks. She towers over the table. I follow the line of her cleavage because it’s impossible not to. It doesn’t give anything away though. Jennie is all about suggestion.
“Sure.” At least I’ll have a few minutes to compose myself and check which case we’re meant to crack together.
I shuffle out of the conference room behind Jennie and can’t help but inhale a whiff of her perfume. I’ve been trying to figure out which one it is—sniffing endless scented paper sticks at Sephora—but I’m a much better lawyer than I am a detective.
Nine minutes later I knock on her open door.
“Come,” she says, her voice measured and authoritative. She sits behind her desk like a queen on a throne, illuminated by light streaming from giant windows. Jennie started at the firm barely a month before I did, but she’s always had a knack for securing things well above her status. My office is spacious and light, but not nearly as big and bright as Jennie’s. No matter how hard I try—and sample different dry cleaners—my suits are never as crisp as hers. And my nerve always seems to crumble when I’m within three feet of her.
I sit down in a chair opposite her desk without being invited.
“Would you mind closing the door, please?” Jennie’s eyes rest on me, a tight smile tugging at her lips. I know she waited for me to sit so she could ask me to get up again. It’s how alpha females like Jennie assert their power—with the small things that get under people’s skin the most.
“Sure.” I stand and turn. Before I head for the door, I tug my skirt down to draw her attention to my legs. In situations like this, they’re the only thing I have going for me. My legs are the reason why I so easily agreed to meet in Jennie’s office. I’ll get to cross and uncross them while on full display, as opposed to hidden under a desk.
