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miles per hour when
he was in a fifty-five mile per hour zone.
    So, yeah… I
landed this case because seven other attorneys had turned it down.
They all said it was a dog… said there was no chance at
victory, which is depressing to say the least. But I am not ready to
give up.
    I admit the
speedometer is an issue, and I haven’t quite figured that out
yet, but I did blow their claim clear out of the water that the
headlights weren’t on. I hired an expert that studied my
client’s headlights. He said the bulbs unequivocally proved the
lights were on because the filaments were bent, indicating there was
a heat source on at the time of impact. Had the lights been off and
thus cold, the filaments wouldn’t be so ‘bendy’—my
words, not the expert’s—and would have shattered instead.
    Score one for the
recent law school grad who has only one case to her name and plenty
of time on her hands to try to figure this shit out.
    On my third day at
my new law firm, I have a lovely conversation with my client’s
wife, Miranda, and tell her about my move to Connover and Crown. I
usually talk to Miranda because with Larry’s head injury, he
can’t remember three-quarters of the stuff I tell him anyway.
It’s a tragic side effect, and one that cost him his job as an
electrical engineer, which he had worked at for thirteen years. We
chat for quite awhile and then I sign off, promising to call her the
following week with an update.
    Putting Larry’s
case aside, I pull out a thick stack of files that Lorraine wants me
to review for her—back to the grunt work. It’s at times
like this I could kick myself in the ass for ever wanting to be a
lawyer.
    I get immersed into
the scintillating world of corporate finance—aka drool-inducing
law—and am just considering a break for a cup of coffee when
someone knocks on my door. I don’t even look up from the
arbitration clause I’m reviewing for like the hundredth time
because it’s so boring and merely say, “Come in.”
    “Got a
minute?” Matt says.
    My head snaps up and
I put on my mental boxing gloves, prepared for him to jab me with a
scathing remark, or God forbid, call me doe-eyed. Which, if he does
that, may cause me to need my literal boxing gloves.
    I don’t
respond, just look at him in question with my head tilted slightly.
    He takes my silence
as acquiescence, and let’s face it… he’s the boss
so he can come and go in my office as he pleases. When he takes a
seat opposite my desk, I take a moment—just a few seconds
really—to appreciate the hotness of Lawyer Matthew. He looks
utterly resplendent in his dark gray suit that is perfectly tailored
to fit his frame, and he’s rocking a buttery yellow tie with
gray striping. His hair is perfectly styled, but there is a tiny hint
of stubble on his chin. He appraises me with his golden eyes, and I
wait patiently to see what he wants.
    After glancing
around my office and taking note of my bare walls, he says, “Aren’t
you going to decorate in here?”
    Shrugging my
shoulders, I say, “Sure… one day.”
    He’s quiet for
another few moments, and then his eyes finally settle on mine with a
look of frustration. “Look… I want to apologize for what
I said the other day. I was more than a little unsettled when you
walked in, and it had nothing to do with that bullshit about you
being ‘doe-eyed’. In fact, I’m not even sure what
the hell that means myself.”
    I snicker to myself
but don’t let him see anything more than genuine interest on my
face. It certainly will not help my boss to know I find him adorable
in a weird sort of way.
    “It’s
important to me that my business stay business, and my personal
remain personal. Understand?”
    “Totally,”
I say in firm agreement.
    “I mean…
the other night, we were explosive,” he adds.
    “To the moon,”
I supply.
    “And that has
no business in this office.”
    “No place at
all.”
    “No matter how
hot that experience was.”
    “It’s
not