𝐑𝐀𝐘𝐍𝐄 𝐌𝐈𝐋𝐋𝐄𝐑 is your average do-good lawyer on the rise to fame as a representative of young victims. Except her motivations aren't all that innocent. Rayne's only goal is to run from her past, to leave confrontation for the courtroom, no...
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A SERIES OF QUIET BUT VULGAR SWEAR wordsescaped her mouth before she could think to stop herself. The man, amused with her, grinned wider and casually sat deeper into the couch, manspreading. Agitation burned the inside of her throat as she snapped her lips shut and watched him roll up his sleeves with a look of impatience.
He was the reason she had been receiving dirty looks.
He was the informally placed new client.
Rayne shoved to her feet, careful to not embarrass herself further by hitting her head on the desk, and stepped over the mess, figuring she'd deal with it after the one sitting in front of her.
"What the hell are you doing here?—how did you even get in?"
His smile somehow grew, "It's interesting what you can accomplish with a bobby pin."
"So you broke in?" she crossed her arms, "I could have you arrested."
"Rayne, Rayne, Rayne," he stood and paused, "Can I call you that?"
"No."
"I'm sensing some hostility, Rayne," he mused, "What's that about?"
She narrowed her eyes, forcing her body to remain tethered and strong as he approached her. She already knew from the way he was lounging around her office that he was tall, but she hadn't expected to break her neck just to see his face this close.
His hands slipped into his pockets with ease as he stilled just a foot away from her. Amusement lived in his eyes like he was a five-year-old boy at a new playground trying out all the slides for the first time. Her eyes roamed across his stature, finding it rhetoric that he was as tall and intimidating as he was, yet had the personality of a toddler.
"Rayne, baby," he tilted his head down to catch her attention, "My eyes are up here."
Her eyebrow twitched as she looked back up under glowering hooded eyes, displeased that he had invaded her space and suddenly decided he commanded it all under three minutes. Something coiled deep in the pits of her stomach, something she couldn't detect and it was exactly his fault.
Underneath the swaggering levels of testosterone, past her brain's desire to feel otherwise about him, his aura seemed to be caressing her own—it felt safe and calm—like everything she had never put in the same sentence as anyone else, never mind a man.
And in his eyes, below the nicknames and thrill, they were an open door—inviting.
Rayne, against her better judgment, relaxed and lowered her voice to a softer octave.
