One to Chase - Tia Louise Page 0,51

confidential.”

“You mean attorney-client privilege? You’re not my client.”

Crystal eyes cut to mine. “In this situation, I could be. You’ve even been paid.”

I almost laugh. “Nice try. I could be disbarred accepting sexual favors as payment. Possibly jailed.”

“Then we won’t tell anyone.” Her hands lower, and instead of a threat, I see teasing in her eyes.

I decide to tease right back. “For a minute that sounded like blackmail.”

“How negatively you think of me. I’m only asking for your word.” An exaggerated sigh. “Come on, Marcus. I’m not that bad.”

Jaw clenched, I lean back again. “No, you’re not. It’s just shitty timing. I’m sort of... seeing someone.”

“I’m sorry my problems don’t fit your busy schedule.”

“Paige—”

“Look, I don’t like it any more than you do.” Her eyes return to her nails. “If you can come up with a better idea, I’m all ears. I’m seeing someone I like as well, and if he finds out about all this shit... I’ll tell him eventually, of course. If I decide he’s worth it.”

We’re quiet a moment, and I think about Karen. She’s such a fucking cunt. Then I think about Amy. She won’t understand. Not that I owe her an explanation after the way she’s acted, slamming all the doors shut in my face. Anger sparks in my chest anew. She said she wanted space, not me.

Then I think about the woman sitting before me, asking this bizarre favor.

“Why did you do it?” Her brows rise, and I clarify. “You’re a beautiful woman. You’re smart. Why go the porn route?”

Her expression relaxes into a smart grin, and dammit. I’m so fucking right. Paige is legitimately gorgeous. She could’ve done anything she chose.

“I appreciate your saying I’m smart.” She takes a breath and studies the book on my desk. “The truth is, I’m dyslexic.”

“Dyslexic.” I filter through what I know. “I’m not up on learning disabilities, but I’m pretty sure schools have programs for that.”

“I didn’t come from a privileged background.” She turns her palm up and opens it, then closes it into a fist. “Hell, Marcus, I came from a trailer park. A single mom raised me. She didn’t know how to get help for me. Shit, she probably had the same disability.”

“So...” I’m trying to think of a diplomatic way to say it. “You did poorly in school?”

“I flunked out. When I was sixteen I just said fuck it and walked away, started doing whatever I could to make money.”

An entirely different light is shed on Paige Goldfarb. She’s not just gorgeous, she’s a fucking survivor, and she wants something better for her life. Even more, she wants something better for her kids.

She wants the American dream, and so far she’s close to getting it—if not for bigoted trust-fund hypocrites more concerned with exclusivity than fidelity.

We’re sitting, facing each other, and she’s waiting for my answer. God dammit, I’m going to help her. And damn it again, she’s right. I won’t be able to tell anyone about this—including Amy.

My jaw is tight, and my forearms rest on my desk. “When do we start?”

* * *

Amy

The woman following Marcus into his office is stunning. I don’t recognize her from the old Chicago group, but she clearly has money. A tinge of something I don’t like moves across my chest. I refuse to call it jealousy—especially after our discussion yesterday. I won’t call it an argument, even though Marcus was clearly pissed with me.

So what if I’m hacking into the office server to check his calendar? I’m not stalking. I’m curious, that’s all.

He doesn’t have anything scheduled for this morning, so it must be a personal visit. Leaning forward in my chair, I try to peek down the hall when my phone goes off. I scream and cover my mouth quickly.

Snatching it up, I slide a finger across the face. “What is it?”

“Damn, girl, bitch much?” C.J.’s voice feels too loud for my snooping, so I cross the conference room to slide the glass doors closed.

“Sorry, you caught me off-guard.”

“Banging the sizzling-hot lawyer you ditched me for Friday?”

“You said not to worry about you.” I walk to the conference table that doubles as my desk, my back to the doors.

“I love how you have such a phonographic memory when I’m being ironic.”

“Is phonographic memory a thing? I’m pretty sure you made it up.”

I can practically see C.J.’s hand wave through the line. “Whatever. Are you his secretary? Have you broken in his desk yet?”

As a matter of fact I did. A flash of what we did