I try my damnedest not to think about her, but it's like trying not to breathe. Elena Linwood is temptation incarnate, not to mention being sweet and competent and thoughtful. She'd brought me tea this morning, voluntarily. I survive the entire day, managing to do my job despite fantasizing about the sexiest paralegal I've ever met.
At ten o'clock, I decide I've worked long enough today. Raisa is still in her office when I shut the door to mine. I can tell by the light leaking out around her office door, though she's turned the windows opaque so I can't see into the room. My hopes of skulking out of here without needing to speak to her are shattered when I'm halfway to the elevator and her office door opens, spilling light across the array of cubicles and all the way to the elevator.
"Chance," Raisa calls out. "I need to speak to you. Immediately."
I growl, too softly for Raisa to hear. Why hadn't I left five minutes earlier? She might not have noticed then.
"I'm knackered, Raisa," I say as I turn sideways to glance at her. "Whatever it is can wait until morning."
She disappears into her office for a few seconds, long enough that I almost believe she's given up. Then she emerges again, her purse slung over her shoulder, and shuts off the light. Only the ambient glow from outside the windows illuminates the space as she trots down the center aisle of the cubicle farm and straight to me.
"Let's have dinner in your hotel room," she says. "We can talk there."
"No. This is my relaxation time." And my time away from her. "I'm off the clock until morning."
She makes a noise that implies I'm an idiot. "Lawyers are never really off the clock."
"This one is."
"Don't be this way, Chance." She runs her hands up and down my lapels, inching closer and closer until her body almost touches mine. "After a long day of working, we both need to blow off some steam. And you have a nice big suite right across the street."
When I'd first met Raisa, she had been the sexiest woman on earth to me. These days, I can't look at her without remembering the things she did to drive me away. I don't want to speak to her, much less take her to my hotel room.
All I want is Elena.
"Forget it," I tell Raisa. "That ship sailed and sank a long time ago. The me who wanted you drowned in the wreck."
I might have stretched that metaphor a bit too far.
Raisa moves to kiss me.
"Leave off," I say, pushing her away. "Try to remember I'm doing you a favor by working here."
Her expression hardens, the way it always does when I deny her something she wants. "Who are you sleeping with, Chance? You must be doing someone."
"Even if I am, it's none of your concern." The fact that I frequently want to throw Elena over my desk and ravish her has no bearing on this conversation. "Good night, Raisa. I'll see you in the morning."
Thankfully, the elevator doors slide open.
I step into the car.
And thankfully, Raisa doesn't follow me.
Like a pathetic, divorced man, I spend the evening eating pizza and drinking beer, then drop onto the bed and fall asleep on top of the covers. I don't get drunk. That's not what a trustworthy lawyer does at night, not even when his ex-wife has tried to seduce him and the woman he wants in his bed has said no. Two beers is my maximum. I sleep on top of the covers strictly because I'm too exhausted to give a damn.
Naturally, I dream of Elena.
I wake up harder than usual in the morning and need a thirty-minute shower to get rid of my lust for the delectable paralegal. I rub one off three times before I feel ready to face the world.
And the woman whose voluptuous body caused the problem.
When I arrive at work, Raisa is the only one there. She's in her office with the door closed, and I do not bother saying good morning. After her actions last night, I have no desire to see or speak to her. I've just gotten my cuppa from the break room when Elena turns up. Some of the other employees got here a few minutes before her, though she's still early. The workday officially starts at nine, but she's here at eight.
Elena smiles brightly at her coworkers, laughing and talking with them while she makes her way to her cubicle while carrying a Starbucks cup in her hand. She's beautiful. Alive. Sexy. Elena Linwood burns like a brilliant flame, and I want to bask in the heat and light she gives off.
Apparently, I've turned into a bad poet as well as a smitten fool.
Locking myself in my office seems like the best course to avoid a sexual harassment charge. If I speak to Elena, I might not be able to stop myself from telling her how desirable she is.