Forever Blake (Once Upon a Player Book 3) Elena Matthews (read e book TXT) 📖

“Well, that’s what I’m here for—to make your day with my shortcomings,” I deadpan as she accepts the handkerchief from me and starts wiping around her eyes.

“Thanks…but just FYI, my dad carries handkerchiefs in his pocket too.”

“It came with the suit,” I bite back, smirking.

Once she calms down, she looks at me, still with a hint of humor glittering in her eyes.

“You finished?”

“You’re the one who started spouting metaphors at me. It’s not my fault you came to the conclusion that my father is rubbing off on you.”

“I’m going to have to reinvent myself now. Shit, I knew it wasn’t a good idea to hire you.”

She can tell by the softness of my voice that I’m just kidding.

She blows out a subdued laugh. “Just chill with the metaphors, and you’ll be fine. Now…let’s get back to work. This case isn’t going to win itself.”

I just gawk at her for a minute, kind of in love with her bossy side. “You know, I have an assistant who bosses me around.”

She flicks her hair over her shoulder. “Well, now, you have an intern who bosses you around, too.”

She winks, and for a moment, I forget how to breathe—to the point that I literally choke on my own saliva. Standing, I take the few steps toward my desk and take a couple of sips of my water.

“So, how do we find a paper trail?” she asks as I set my bottled water down, oblivious that a simple wink in my direction had such an effect on me.

“I’m one step ahead of you,” I say, thankful that it comes out smooth and not gravelly.

Unplugging my laptop, I grab it and bring it over to the table. Instead of taking the seat I was originally sitting in, I bring the chair out beside Reagan and sit next to her. Immediately, her sweet scent engulfs my senses, and I swear, it goes straight to my head, making me a little light-headed.

What is this woman doing to me?

Pushing my lust for Reagan to the side, I focus on the job at hand. Sliding my laptop between us, I open up the file that my client sent to me this morning. Bank statements pop up into a new window.

“This is our paper trail,” I tell her. “We start from the beginning and see if we can spot any irregularities with any payments. You ready to get to work?”

The smile she throws my way is nothing less than enchanting. “Hell yes.”

After about twenty minutes of going through the bank statements and giving Reagan plenty of teachable moments regarding money laundering, I have to attend an urgent meeting with another client. I leave Reagan working through bank statements and invoices in my office, telling her I should only be a couple of hours.

That meeting turns into a lunch, and lunch turns into a meeting with another client. It’s now nearing seven p.m., and instead of going home like I desperately want to, I have to return to the office to do more billable work. I’m pissed I haven’t been able to work on any pro bono cases today, but some days are just crazy, and today is definitely one of those days. Knowing I’m going to be in the office for at least another few hours, I decide to pick up some food from my favorite Thai takeout before returning to the law firm.

As I near my office, my ears prick up at the sound of music and soft singing filtering out of the door—or lack thereof since there isn’t an actual door there. As I step up to the threshold, I can’t keep the smile from my face as I watch Reagan, who is sprawled on her stomach on the floor by the sofa, looking intently at the laptop screen while she belts out with Whitney Houston to some cheesy ’80s ballad coming from her phone. I’m not sure how long I stand there and just watch as she painfully butchers the song, but for some reason, I can’t pull my gaze from her.

She might have a terrible singing voice, but damn it, she’s never looked so pretty to me until this moment. Perhaps it’s that she looks so at home in my office or that she isn’t the same made-up woman from this morning. Instead, her hair is pulled up into a messy bun, her high heels are on the floor, her legs are up, and her bare feet are crossed at the ankles. Just as she hits a high note, I’m about ready to cover my ears when she glances up and startles in her own skin as she notices me leaning against the doorframe.

“Shit!” she exclaims, hand to her chest.

“Hi,” I greet with a huge grin as she takes a steady breath before reaching for her phone and quickly turning the music down.

“How long have you been there?”

Taking two strides inside, I say, “Long enough to know that you’re picking the right career path as a lawyer. A singer? Not so much.”

Sitting up to a cross-legged position, she tilts her head with a glare in my direction. “In my defense, you weren’t supposed to hear me.”

“Oh, I’m glad I did. I have something at my disposal to tease you with now,” I tell her, setting my takeout bag on my desk.

She rolls her eyes while brushing her hair behind her ear.

“Why are you still here? I thought you’d be working a shift at Happy Hours tonight,” I say as I shrug off my jacket and settle it behind my desk chair.

She glances down at the watch around her wrist and blanches a little at the time. “Whoa, I didn’t realize it’d gotten so late. And no, I didn’t need to work tonight. I wanted to wait until you got back…and then I guess I just lost track of time. I found a few irregularities with the bank statements.”

“You’re an intern. We don’t