Instead, I turn halfheartedly to my newest client as I say his name, “Mr. Wigglesworth.”
When my gaze lands on him, a surge of adrenaline washes through me and my knees almost buckle as I see Evan sitting in a high-backed Victorian chair done in gray, mauve, and green paisley silk. He swamps the chair with his frame and looks completely out of place in his classic rocker wear. Faded jeans with a hole in one knee, black Chucks unlaced, and a dark gray V-necked t-shirt. He’s got a burgundy-colored beanie on his head under which his bangs are tucked, exposing the smooth lines of his forehead and making me take stock of his brilliantly expressive hazel eyes as they bore into me.
“What are you doing here?” I whisper.
“Having a consultation,” he says as he pushes up out of the chair. “I’m in the market for a new lawyer.”
My head snaps back to the receptionist, intent on glaring at her for letting a man into this firm who’s clearly not a Horace Wigglesworth, but as I look at Gloria with her gray-bunned hair bent over her computer and her old-fashioned reading glasses on, I realize she’d have no clue who Evan Scott was. As famous as he is, she’s not exactly his demographic of fan.
Taking two steps, I walk up to Evan. In a very low voice so Gloria can’t hear me, I tell him, “I’m sorry. I’m not taking new clients on, so if you’ll excuse me—”
Evan’s hand shoots out and grabs my upper arm. His head drops down, and he whispers back to me in a very threatening tone, “If you don’t meet with me about my case, I’m going to toss you over my shoulder and walk right out of here with you in tow. So to save yourself some embarrassment, how about finding us a nice, quiet conference room or something where we can talk civilly.”
A pure thrill of excitement runs through me over his words, and I find myself strangely not offended in the slightest. In fact, there’s something frankly wicked about the whole prospect of him doing such a thing.
I’m sure the folks at Crowley and Padrick, a firm that’s been around for over eighty years, would be completely scandalized if Evan did such a thing with me.
I would be completely scandalized. I’d be mad, affronted, and completely embarrassed. It wouldn’t be appropriate, completely unprofessional, and I wouldn’t be able to look any of my peers in the face for as long as I live if it happened.
So I square my shoulders, notch my chin up an inch, and glare at him. “I have nothing to say to you, so I’m going to ask you to leave.”
Evan’s eyes flash with challenge, and he emits a small growl of victory. Then my world is spinning as his shoulder goes into my belly and I’m flipped practically upside down over his back. His hand goes to my butt to hold me in place, and I can’t help the small shriek of surprise—no, happiness—that runs through me over his alpha ways.
I hear Gloria gasp in shock as Evan spins toward the door, and I raise my head up to look at her. She has her hand covering her mouth and her eyes are wide with surprised uncertainty. Her other hand hovers over the phone, and I’m pretty sure she’s thinking of dialing 911.
“It’s fine, Gloria,” I huff out since breathing is a bit difficult from this position. “Mr. um… Wigglesworth is an old friend. I’ll be back soon.”
“Don’t count on it,” Evan mutters as he strides right out the door and onto the sidewalk.
Without pausing, he turns sharply left and walks down the block with me bouncing on his shoulder, causing unladylike grunts to come out of me.
“For God’s sake, Evan,” I say as I slap at his back. “Put me down. I can’t breathe.”
I expect him to ignore me, but, to my surprise, he lowers me down, letting my feet touch the concrete gently. But then he’s got my hand in his and he’s dragging me back down the sidewalk.
For a brief moment, I think to be affronted, but I can’t bring myself to do it. For the past two months, I’ve kicked myself in the butt so many times for not reaching out to Evan, so now I couldn’t be any happier that’s he’s here. I have no clue why he’s here, but I’m just so freaking happy right now.
Evan turns left at the next intersection and marches me twenty yards to a black car parallel parked. He opens the passenger door and says, “Get in.”
So I get in.
I watch as he walks around the front, holding my breath until he slides into the driver’s seat and closes his door. He then turns to face me. “So will you take my case?”
I cock an eyebrow at him. “I don’t know, Mr. Wigglesworth. What’s it about?”
Evan smirks at me, and God… I missed his smirk. How can I miss a smirk?
“Tyler sued me for wrongful termination and breach of contract,” he replies.
“That asshole,” I exclaim with indignation.
“I know,” he says sagely. “And I refuse to pay him a dime. I’ll fight this to the death, and I need a really good attorney to handle this for me.”
He wants me.
Well, as his attorney.