Cash (Sexy Bastard #2) Read Free Page A

promotion
at work, and I fucked up my love life. If anyone is going to make big
things happen, it’s me.
    Briggs, Meyers, and Associates occupies
four floors in a high rise in downtown Atlanta, with sweeping views
of the city. This is our base of operations, and I may as well be a
four star general. The receptionist looks up at me when I enter, and
I give her a small wave.
    Our Entertainment Division is a long
corridor. We handle everyone from musicians, to rising film stars, to
DJs—and we’re the best in town.
    “Coming in late this morning,
Savannah?” Richard asks. He’s already got his suit jacket
off and his sleeves rolled up. He’s the competition. I’ve
been holding the department together after our boss retired, but
Richard—or The Dick, as I personally prefer to call him—has
been angling for the spot that should be mine.
    I’ve been coming in early to get
a head start on work, and I have to admit, it’s amazing how a
lack of sex life makes you more productive. Despite the number of
dates I’ve been through in the last few months, nothing has
been worth taking home, let alone sampling. Good for my clients, bad
for me.
    “Good morning to you too,
Richard.” I watch him struggle through another set of boxes.
“Can I help you with something?”
    No reason the department should go down
on my watch, regardless of our rivalry.
    “Just going over the last few
clauses in a contract and I wanted to look at something Meyers had
written several years ago. He mentioned it yesterday when we were
going over…” He drops off, probably because I wasn’t
supposed to hear that Meyers—a partner—was going over his
work.
    Meyers is a misogynistic pig who only
hired me because Briggs interviewed me and did it behind Meyers’s
back. The Dick is Meyers’s favorite. The only reason I wasn’t
given the position after the first month was that Meyers wanted to
give The Dick a chance. Because the five years he’d already
been here weren’t evidence enough of his incompetence.
    “Get a paralegal to do it.”
I don’t want to work with him. In
fact I’d like to fire him, but for the good of the team I play
nice and bide my time until I can boot his ass to the curb. I don’t
love being a bitch, but sometimes, in this business, even southern
belles have to show their balls .
    “I want to make sure my client’s
receiving the personal touch,” The Dick says, his gaze flicking
up and down my body. Ugh.
    “Okay, then you go ahead and do
it. But they’re not billable hours.” I turn on my heel
and sweep down the hall, trying not to think about The Dick’s
eyes glued to my ass.
    I’d hook up with Cash before I’d
let The Dick bill a client for time spent looking up an obscure quote
that he wouldn’t let a paralegal touch. At least I’d get
the better end of the deal.
     
    Rob’s outside my office with a
stack of contracts in one hand and a green tea latte in the other.
Rob’s been with me since I started here, and he’s the
type of assistant I would go to the mat for. And it’s not just
because he knows my coffee order. Rob knows how to handle difficult
clients, ferret out information, and he can read contracts so well I
suspect he may have negotiated his own birth.
    I take the contracts and the latte and
he follows me into my office, going over messages.
    “We haven’t
heard back from Davies, so I—”
    “You sent the flowers to him and
the—”
    “Bourbon—to
Mathias, yes ma’am.”
    I glare at him. Rob’s one flaw in
my opinion is the ‘ma’am.’ The tips of his ears
redden. He grew up in the country, or as he says, just to the left of
the middle of nowhere—and it was the kind of old-fashioned
place where everyone was ma’am or sir if they held a position
over him. He moved to the city to find more open-minded people, and
somehow he found us. I’m glad he did. Wherever he wants to go,
I will move mountains to help him get there.
    Flipping open the first contract, I
start scanning it while