Her dress was this light blue color, nice and snug from what I could see, with long, fitted sleeves. Her tits strained against the fabric, and while I tried my damnedest not to stare, every time she looked down at her papers, my gaze wandered back to them.
She closed her folder and leaned back in her chair.
Was she finally going to lighten up a bit?
Wonder if she wanted to get a drink later? Eh, she was probably married to some asshole lawyer. Or doctor.
“Thanks for this info, Brade. I think you have a strong case. We’re going to take good care of you. The brands using your music will have to stop, but they’ll also expect their money back from the royalties they paid. If all goes according to plan, the record label will have to absorb that.”
Yes.
I extended my hand. “Thank you. And again, sorry I didn’t know who you were at first.”
She shrugged. “That’s okay. It happens.” She stood to escort me out.
“You know, I was in a band in college,” she said.
Holy fuck.
Was she kidding?
“Get outta here,” I said, nodding. “That’s pretty badass. I didn’t know lawyer types—I mean, paralegal types—were rockers.”
“Well, Brade, you don’t know much about people in the legal profession, do you?”
Apparently, I didn’t. But I was sure as hell ready to learn.
Chapter 5
Maizy
God, what a douche Brade Darby turned out to be. Not that I was surprised.
The firm had done some work the year before with a late-night talk show host. I didn’t work on that client, and the people who did were not allowed to tell the rest of us who it was. But apparently, he was a total dickhead, too. I guessed that sort of thing was rampant among entertainers.
Lucky for me, most of the clients I dealt with were boring, old business people. Rich business people but still boring as hell. Which was fine. It kept the drama to a minimum.
But when I told Brade I’d been in a band in my college years, he looked at me differently. I guess that’s why I told him—so he’d see me as more than a law firm stiff. Not sure why I cared other than I wanted to be one of the cool kids, too.
Of course, he had no idea how bad my band was. I mean, I went to a crummy little college in a crummy little town in West Virginia. It’s not like there was much competition.
But he didn’t need to know that.
I was quite sure, as he followed me to the door, that his eyes would have burned a hole in the back of my dress if he’d had anything to say about it. Thank god, I’d worn my Spanx.
And Brade the rocker wasn’t so bad looking himself. He sort of had a Kurt Cobain thing going on with messy shoulder-length blond hair, a little facial scruff, and gray-ish eyes. He didn’t smile a lot, but when he did, he had a dimple on one side of his face. Pretty damn cute, if you asked me.
Anyway, what a dumbass he was to assume I was a secretary. Although, that wasn’t the first time. Wish I could have told him to kiss my ass. But in the world of working with clients, you kept thoughts like that to yourself.
Before he left, he gave me his cell number.
“We have a private show this week at a little place in Chelsea. Text me, and I’ll leave your name at the door.”
I glanced at his low-slung jeans, which showed off a very flat stomach framed by a huge rock-style belt buckle. My eyes wandered lower to further check things out…
“Oh, wow, that’s really nice. Thank you.” I doubted I’d take him up on the offer, but then a free concert was a free concert.
“And bring your husband. Or boyfriend,” he said.