Devil's Advocate
by M.J. Schiller
Book Blurb:
The verdict’s in. He’s guilty of falling for the opposing counsel.
Nick Adams doesn’t have time for the existential crisis he’s having.
But when I wind up being charged with contempt of court and discover her at the shelter where I’m serving community service, she brings out a side of me I’ve never seen. Could this be the true Nick?
B.J. McCaffrey doesn’t form attachments with anyone.
And playboy counselor Nick Adams would be the last person on the list if I did. But, then again, this isn’t exactly the Nick Adams that people have made him out to be.
Could he heal his broken heart by discovering that, despite outward appearances, she has one? One thing’s for sure. It’s hell being the DEVIL’S ADVOCATE!
Excerpt:
B.J.
I try to help a guy, and he jumps down my throat. Men were a perpetual disappointment to me. I don’t know why I even let my concern show. It was a weakness, and I prided myself on not having those. Or at least not showing them. I found, as a woman, I had to present a professional façade to be taken seriously. Although, I swear that sometimes inside I still felt like a little grubby-faced girl choking on coal dust.
And of all the people to slip in front of. Nick Adams. As pretentious as he was hot. Was it that physical attraction I felt that made me crack, or the fact that I sensed a little boy in him to match my little girl? I entertained myself briefly with the thought of a young Nick, drowning in his father’s suitcoat. I shook my head as my heels clicked along the crowded corridor of the courthouse.
He’s the enemy.
What a stupid thing to do. Open myself up, leaving me vulnerable to the punch in the gut he gave me.
Fool.
I’d actually felt tears spring to my eyes for a moment. Well, no more. Nick Adams was part of the loathsome Adams, McGuire, and Drew firm my practice was currently trying to take down. He’d get no more sympathy from me.
I looked longingly at my place across from the courthouse, wanting nothing more than to escape into the silky sheets that I had on my bed at the moment. But I dutifully took a left and plodded toward the office. I was nothing if not dutiful. The glare from the gigantic gold letters that obnoxiously announced the presence of my firm, Zonderbond and Associates, burned my corneas. As I entered, the security guard nodded at me, doing a very poor job of acting like he wasn’t checking out my legs. Old pervert.
The unexpectedly short day meant that I could work on some depositions and draft a settlement proposal. Although it was barely one, the office was unusually empty. But it was Friday. That meant something to someone who had a life. My boss, Greg Zonderbond, stuck his head into the hall.
“Hey, B.J., do you have a moment?”
We both knew it didn’t matter to him if I did or not. “Sure.” I checked around. A few people were still in the vicinity. I wasn’t totally alone with him. He gave me the creeps. There’d been one incident when he “accidentally” brushed my chest. And another, when he was drunk at a Christmas party, and he ran his hand up my leg, telling me he had “big plans” for me. Ugh! He’d made me a junior partner to keep me from leaving, but everyone knew who was in charge at the firm, and it certainly wasn’t me.
I purposely left the door open when I entered his office. He leaned casually against his desk.
“Well, come on over here.”
My heart beat erratically, but I tried to make sure it didn’t show on my face. I walked toward him.
“Come on. Have a seat.” He indicated a rolling chair less than a foot from his shin.
I attempted to be subtle as I sat, scooting the chair back as far as could be done naturally.
He shifted so that his legs were close to mine. So close, I could feel the heat emanating from his skin. “We haven’t talked in a while. How are things?”
“Oh, good. Good.” I hated the way my voice shook. “I’ve been billing a lot of hours,” I said more confidently.
“Oh, I’m sure you have,” he said dismissively. “How is the Mahafey case going?”
He wanted to hear about my pro bono case? Strange… I cleared my throat. “The judge dismissed it today without prejudice. I’ll have to file again as soon as possible.”
He frowned. “Why did he dismiss it?”
“Alvis Mahafey was drunk when he returned from lunch break.”
He smiled and lifted his gaze slightly. I twisted in my chair to try to catch what he was peering at. Our receptionist, Michelle, was holding up her nails and admiring them, having painted them on company time. It was common knowledge that the two were sleeping together. Michelle was an absolutely worthless receptionist. I was pretty confident she had some other skills that weren’t readily apparent to anyone other than Greg and any of the men she had bedded in the past.
Greg grasped my chin and rotated it so that I was forced to face him straight on. “Focus, B.J. Focus.” As he said the last, his attention wandered to my cleavage. I sat straighter and leaned away. He tilted his head, staring at me intensely, sending a shiver along my spine. It was that look I’d seen him use while cross-examining witnesses, making them come unraveled. He stood and turned his back to stroll behind his desk.
I began to breathe more freely.
“Nick Adams is representing the husband, isn’t he?” The information he gathered and retained never failed to amaze me. A strip of polished wood, front and center on his desk, read “Knowledge is power.” He could be subtle, but he always got his point across. He reminded me of a giant spider with his legs sticking in a myriad of pies. Not a spider, a centipede.
“Uhh, yes. Nick—”
“I understand that he recently went through a breakup with a woman he’d been seeing for several months. Talk has it he was even seen picking out a diamond ring for her.”
This surprised me. Nick had impressed me as the playboy type who could never be in a serious relationship. “I wouldn’t know anything about that.”
He leaned forward, lacing his fingers on his desk. “Adams, McGuire, and Drew have stolen several clients from us of late.”
From what I’d heard, it was more a case of us being unsuccessful in our attempts to steal their clients. Greg seemed to have an unusual preoccupation with besting Adams, McGuire, and Drew, especially Nick Adams.
“I need for you to do something for me, B.J.”
“Okay,” I responded tentatively.
He picked up a crystal paperweight and spun it in his hand. “Nick Adams is probably vulnerable right now.” He set the paperweight down suddenly and rose, going to the door to close it. I rotated my chair so as not to have my back to him. “I need for you to seduce him.”
Author Bio:
M.J. Schiller is a retired lunch lady/romance-romantic suspense writer. She enjoys writing novels whose characters include rock stars, desert princes, teachers, futuristic Knights, construction workers, cops, and a wide variety of others. In her mind everybody has a romance. She is the mother of a twenty-eight-year-old and three twenty-six-year-olds. That's right, triplets! So having recently taught four children to drive, she likes to escape from life on occasion by pretending to be a rock star at karaoke. However…you won’t be seeing her name on any record labels soon.
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