Total pages in book: 65
Estimated words: 60951 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 305(@200wpm)___ 244(@250wpm)___ 203(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 60951 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 305(@200wpm)___ 244(@250wpm)___ 203(@300wpm)
He walks in with zero hesitation, a laptop tucked under one arm, and makes a point of rolling up his sleeves as he sits, exposing forearms that could have their own OnlyFans. His suit fits perfectly, tighter at the biceps, and his shirt is a surgical white that only emphasizes his deep tan. James gives Brent a nod, then turns the full blast of his attention on me.
“Ms. Williams,” he says courteously, “good morning. It’s a pleasure.”
“Good morning, Mr. Grant.”
He flashes a smile that’s all wolf. “James, please. We don’t stand on ceremony here.” His gaze flicks down to my skirt and back up, slow enough to be noticed, fast enough that if I called him out on it, I’d sound paranoid.
I try to keep my nipples from hardening, but it happens anyways, and I swear the men can tell. They both smirk, flashing Crest-white smiles, and I quake in my seat. How can this interview be so out of control already? What’s going on? I curse my body, but force myself to smile professionally.
Mr. Grant sets down his laptop, and then leans forward, folding his arms on the table. The sleeves, rolled just below the elbow, showcase a constellation of faint scars—rugby maybe, or just a life lived at full tilt.
“Tell me, Ms. Williams,” he purrs, “how are you finding your second day?”
I glance at Brent, who’s watching me, then back at James, who’s also watching me. The attention is total, like two predators sizing up their prey.
“I’m enjoying it so far,” I mumble, trying not to sound like I’m begging for mercy. “Everyone’s been very welcoming.”
James tilts his head. “That’s not the word most new hires use. Most say ‘intense’ or ‘brutal.’ Sometimes even ‘terrifying.’”
I laugh, a little too high. “I suppose I’m still in the honeymoon phase. It’s only been two days.”
Brent shrugs. “Two days is enough. But you’ll find we value candor here, so don’t be afraid to tell us what you really think.”
My pulse hiccups.
“To be honest,” I say, “I’ve never worked in an environment this—well, this competitive. The drive here is palpable. I haven’t been here long, but I can feel it in the air, and I like it.”
James sits back, folding his hands behind his head. His shirt tightens across his broad chest, and for a second I can’t look away. He catches me, and the edges of his mouth curl up, just enough to say I see you seeing me.
“So, Ms. Williams,” he drawls, “walk us through your resume.”
I take a breath. This I can do. I recite my resume bullet points: college degree, good grades, classes I enjoyed most, and the previous firm I worked at, Carter Graywright. I ramble a little, saying the right things, but my skin feels too tight, like I’m wearing someone else’s body.
When I finish, James taps his pen on the table. “And why did you leave your last firm?”
A good question. The truth is “I got obsessed with my father’s case and had to get a job here.” But of course, I can’t say that, so I mumble something about “better opportunities” and “closer to my apartment.”
Brent’s eyebrows raise, but he says nothing.
James picks up the folder, scans it, then levels me with those dark eyes. “Do you have any trial experience?”
“A little,” I say. “We were in trial only once, and the entire team moved into the hotel across the street from the courtroom. It was crazy.”
He makes a small, approving sound. “Good. The quickest way to get tossed here is to be a lazy fuck, and obviously you’re not that.”
I nod, frozen.
Then James leans forward, bracing his arms on the table. The move brings his shoulders toward me like he’s about to tackle. “Let’s cut to it, Ms. Williams. Why us? With your grades, you could have gone anywhere. Why Gibson Grant?”
I take a half-second to calibrate, and then nod.
“Like I was telling Mr. Gibson earlier, your firm is renowned for its defense work. You take the hardest cases. You don’t back down, even when the odds are impossible. That’s not just reputation—that’s character, and I want to learn from the best.”
Brent’s gaze doesn’t waver. “Character is tested under pressure, sweetheart. You know that, right?”
I nod.
James’s fingers drum a slow, irregular beat on the table. “You seem very… deliberate, Ms. Williams. Some might even say guarded. Is there anything you’re not telling us?”
The question is so direct it almost short-circuits me. Who even asks this during a meet and greet? But I think of my father’s face, wild-eyed behind the glass, and my mother’s warning: “Don’t ever let them see what you’re after.”
I force a laugh. “Just nerves, I guess. You’re both a little intimidating.”
James grins, pleased with himself. “That’s fair. We work hard on our intimidation game.”
Brent almost smiles, but it’s more like a grimace.