Object Me: A Bad Boy Lawyer Romance

A
scholar had once instructed
the world to “never judge a book by its cover”. I, for one, agreed with that saying and all that it implies, but I knew the truth. That scholar lied. And they obviously had not been a female. If a person’s cover didn’t matter, then why did plastic surgeons make drastically more than teachers? Over the last week, I’d put a lot of effort into my cover. Wax. Paint. Pump out. Push in. Pout. I had to look good. For my first day at Hanson and Associates Law Firm, I’d made sure that everything about my cover screamed “read me”, “look at me”.

My strawberry blonde hair was smoothed perfectly into a neat bun at the nape of my neck, not a single fly away strand could be found. There was not a blemish to be seen on my round face, no pimples, bumps, or bruises, and the simple shimmery nude makeup colors that I wore only enhanced the perfection. I had strayed away from my frumpy well-worn slacks and slipped into a new burgundy pencil skirt, silky top accentuated with pearl buttons, fitted jacket, and matching kitten heels. I wanted to look sophisticated when I walked through the prestigious halls of the esteemed law firm.

The security guard licked his lips as I confidently walked through the revolving glass door. My heels plinked against the marble in the atrium of the gilded high-rise building, and I couldn’t help but look around me in awe.

“Good morning.” I said in my sweetest voice. “I think that I may need your help.” It’s good to be friendly with security guards. They knew things, and could find out things that others weren’t privy to. It’s even better if they think that you may let them get a whiff of your lady parts. The information that the slightest suggestion of a private pussy session or a good dick sucking could pry from a man could be invaluable.

“Good morning, ma’am.” he responded crisply, but then his eyes darkened a little and his voice grew softer. “How can I be of service to you?”

“I’m Yvette Morrison, and I need to get to the twentieth floor. Today is my first day as an assistant to Mr. Dylan Hanson.”

The flicker of playfulness that lit the guard’s eye was swiftly snuffed out at the mention of Dylan Hanson. The man became professional so quickly, it made me wonder if I had imagined the playful look in his eyes as he pulled out a key card for access.

“Thank you.” I said, pasting on a smile.

“You’re welcome?” he responded, not meeting my eye.

I had won the position by prevailing against several other top students in my graduating class, and I wanted the first day to be as perfect as possible. I had tossed and turned throughout the night imagining my sunlit top floor office with a hive of legal associates awaiting my strategies and support on cases. After all, the lawyers at Hanson and Associates had thought that I was good enough to become a part of their team. It no longer mattered that throughout college, I had been looked over for groups and teams because I wasn’t flashy enough. I was too plain. A new position though warranted a new wardrobe and outlook on life. A bolder one. Being smart had only gotten me so far. Far enough to get a door shut in my face by firms that I truly respected and wanted to work for. So I became a new hire stalker. I had to know who the companies were hiring. There had to be some reason why they weren’t hiring me. When I began checking new hire profiles, a glaring difference became obvious: the new hires were either gorgeous women or extremely photogenic men. By the time an opportunity to interview with Hanson came up, I had gone to the mall and surrendered myself and my credit card over to the clerk.

Mr. Dylan Hanson was nowhere to be found when I arrived on the twentieth floor. Instead, I was ushered on a brisk tour of the floor and bull pen where my cubicle was housed amongst nine other assistants to Mr. Hanson, by James—a tall, lanky guy.

“So what do I do?” I asked.

James violently shushed me and looked around the room.

“First of all, never ever ask that question.” He pulled me in close, his eyes wild as though he were hiding from the big bad wolf.

“Survival tip number one: If you are not busy, look busy.” He told me while his head still swiveled around the area. “Mr. Hanson has us working on important research right now.”

I dug my fingers through my bag and pulled out my notebook and pen. I was ready to work, to dig in and support the team.

“You must get these orders quickly and correctly and have them here before Mr. Hanson arrives, lest you wish to feel his wrath.”

“Orders? What kind of orders? Restraining order, protective order—”I asked eagerly ready to jot down the information and leap into action.

James blinked hard several times while adjusting his thick rimmed glasses as if he were trying to see the words I had just said to understand them better.

“What? No. Coffee orders.” he corrected. “Listen, because we don’t have much time.”

“How much time do we have? When will Mr. Hanson be arriving?”

“When he gets here. No matter what time he gets here, the coffee should be waiting when he steps foot onto the floor.” He responded as though I were an idiot. “Now listen.”

You only get one chance to make a first impression and obviously I wasn’t making a good one to my bosses.

It mattered what my bosses at Hanson and Associates thought of me. That’s why the pained expression on the barista’s face when I spouted off mispronounced drink specifications bothered me. It was my first day and the associates had given me the most menial of tasks. Tasks that I were already about to mess up.

“We don’t serve large.” She emphasized the last word as though it were bitter.

I smoothed out a rumpled piece of paper that was slightly damp from the perspiration that had plagued my hands since I’d walked through the revolving door of the firm. James had sent me on a coffee run for a meeting that had no start or end time with an uncertain number of participants but was highly important. The entire walk over I practiced pronunciations and reviewed the massive order over and over while waiting in the snail paced line.

“That’s what he said.” I had specifically wrote down the word large.

“Do you want the Grande or the Venti?” she relayed through twisted lips.

“Which is the largest?” I inquired. A knot of frustration crept up in the back of my throat as I took in a deep breath. My job depended on that stupid order, and I knew nothing about the high priced coffee franchise. College life for me, both undergraduate and graduate, had not included the luxury of over-priced coffee, but it seemed that the men and women of the law firm indulged.

The woman wiggled her lip ring around as she rolled heavy black lined eyes in my direction.

“Just hand me the paper.” she huffed.

Twenty minutes later, I scooted through the glass revolving door, fished out my key card from my dangling purse, and balanced my way to the bank of elevators where a group of official looking people looked and smelled important.

“That’s a point that we should bring up, Dylan.” An older gentleman said in voice that rolled like thunder.

My face nearly dropped to the ground along with the three carriers full of the coffee I was juggling. I had to get the coffees to the floor before my boss.

I strode to the stairwell and kicked off my shoes. I would come back for them later. Screw what I looked like right now, I needed this job.

I moved with haste up the thick concrete stairs, thankful for my frequent participation in step aerobics. When I burst from the stairwell entrance all red faced and with slightly untidy hair, heads turned.

In six steps, I make it to the elevators where James was already waiting, probably ready to tell on me if I hadn’t arrived.

The elevator made a dinging noise before the doors opened.

“Made it.” I huffed in rhythm with my thumping heart.

James found Dylan’s coffee from the group of carriers and held it out for my new boss, as the rest of the group flocked to the conference room as though James and I were invisible.

Mr. Hanson’s disapproving radiant blue eyes raked over me and my shoeless, disheveled appearance. I wanted to cry. I had to dazzle this man somehow. I had studied his cases in class, researched statistics, and memorized the history of the firm’s massive rise to greatness under his father’s guidance. I had worked too hard to get this position to lose it over coffee.

I made my face as pleasant as possible with a wide smile.

The handsome Mr. Hanson only grunted in my direction, and then turned with his coffee in hand to meet up with the others.

I could only sigh.

After successfully retrieving my shoes from the floor of the stairwell, I dredged up the courage to find my long legged host, James. He had looked as pleased with me as Mr. Hanson. The pictures of Dylan Hanson online and in magazines did not do him justice. He was definitely a man best experienced in 4D. Sight, Sound, Touch, and Smell. The musky sweet smell of him still lingered with me even now.

“James.” I whispered to the intently focused man. His cubicle was small and bare. No pictures, quotes, plants or sports memorabilia. All of the cubicles were that way, I noticed.

He jumped in his seat and turned to face me with an annoyed look. He returned his gaze to the computer
’
s screen quickly.

“What are we researching?” I questioned, careful not to ask “what do I do now?”

“That’s none of your concern.” he replied in a near monotone voice. “If the meeting lasts another 20 minutes, you should be concerned with making your way to the Chai Thyme Station for coffee refills. Both Hansons like fresh coffee every hour during a meeting.”

I sighed, hoping that fate would be kind and that the suited group of men and women would trickle out of the room in 19 minutes or less.

“Can’t I just buy it in a gallon size, keep it in the break room, and warm it up as needed?”

The collective eyes of the members seated in the bull pen cubicles turned against me. I felt their hot gazes on my skin and started to panic.

I ended up making three runs to Chai Thyme, sneaking looks at what the group of assistants that stayed were diligently working on.

I saw words like “medical side effects”, “counter reaction products”, and “pharmaceuticals”. Every time I got a little closer to figuring out what the hell I was hired to do, it was nearly time for another stupid coffee run.

The meeting eventually ended, and the grouped dispersed with quick steps and murmured conversations.

The rest of the day was spent researching court cases against pharmaceutical companies
,
resolving not to piss off anyone else. The day had been an epic fail. Even after I had adjusted my clothing and fixed my hair following all of those cardio sprints for coffee, I hadn’t been able to do anything but my intern duties. I needed to get the attention of Dylan Hanson in a positive way and fast. I’d heard some whispers in the break room that some new hires don’t even make it a week. James had been the longest surviving assistant with a whopping record of six months.

Just as I was packing up to leave, James walked over to me. His face was neutral as usual, but his tone was sympathetic.

“Mr. Hanson would like to see you in his office before you leave.” he informed me. Averting his gaze, James moved away from me with the rest of the group in complete silence.

I didn’t know why Mr. Hanson wanted to see me, but I was sure that it couldn’t be because he was amazed with my legal mind.

I sighed, and slipped the dancing daisy I had decorated my desk with, back into my purse.