Misadventures with a Lawyer - Julie Morgan Page 0,1

day it would hold my own business cards, which would say Ainsley Speire - Attorney at Law.

I’d looked forward to this day since I was a little girl. I loved a good debate and would argue until my face turned blue. The only thing on the walls of my small office was my law degree from the University of Texas. My father had it framed a bit larger than it needed to be, and it took up much more wall space than it needed to. I didn’t care. I loved it.

I turned through the notes in my binder. Everything was leading toward a win for us. It was a matter of time before the prosecution rested their case and we took over and wrapped it up.

That was where Chase Newstrom, lawyer extraordinaire, always came in. He seldom lost a case, and as a defense attorney, that was a golden flag one would want to fly at the top of their pole.

He sat back in his chair and pressed the tips of his fingers together like a steeple. They rested against the tip of his nose, his thumbs pressed against his chin. His dark-brown hair was styled perfectly, his lashes long and thick, and his baby-blue eyes stared straight at the back of the city attorney’s head.

Chase was a beautiful man, and he knew it. He’d done a photoshoot for his firm, and I was honestly curious when GQ would come knocking on his door. Women hung on to every word he spoke, though more than half had no idea what the man was talking about. He was a tour de force of masculinity and brooding good looks. He was a successful defense attorney, wealthy, and had the beauty of a fallen angel and body of a Greek god.

Hell, beautiful didn’t describe him. I could have easily drooled over the man, but he had no idea who I was, other than an intern hoping to make a career for herself. I suppose I should feel fortunate he took me on, and I am grateful, but what I wouldn’t give for five minutes with the man.

While he was at the office, he was clean-shaven and took his appearance seriously. The man wore top-of-the-line clothing attire, whereas I bought my dresses and pantsuits from stores like Ross and Marshalls. It was what I could afford. Chase had every article of clothing custom-tailored to him, while with some of mine, the waist was too big or the pant legs or skirts were too long. I dreamed of the day I’d be able to have custom-tailored clothes.

Doubtful, but a woman could dream.

“Never miss a chance to make a perfect first impression” was one of the first things he said to me during my interview, while he took in my choice of clothes. He didn’t undress me with his eyes, though. He was more or less judging me for my lack of fashion sense. But I was here to hopefully practice law, not make a fashion statement.

I closed my eyes and thought about all the delicious things I would do to him and how he would ruin me for anyone else. I cleared my throat and opened my eyes once more to try to focus on the case instead of the scent of his cologne. It hypnotized me. I could bathe in it.

Some of the women I had seen coming and going through the office looked as if they were models who had just stepped off the runway. Tall and very slender with clothes that flowed from their toothpick bodies. Some were clearly fake and took an interest in Chase just because of his looks and money. It was sad, really. They reminded me of marionette dolls on strings, puppeted by an ego so thick they couldn’t see the idiocy of their own being.

The song from Pinocchio about having no strings to hold him down played through my mind.

I giggled at myself and hummed the tune in my head.

Then there was me. I was an average woman with a typical body. I wasn’t rail thin, but I was proportionate.

In the early morning hours, I would sometimes catch Chase after he finished up at the gym. He would come in with his workout clothes on, his gym shirt stuck to his sweat-covered chest and back and the shadow of the previous day’s growth on his cheeks and chin. I would try not to stare, but I couldn’t help myself. If he was facing me, his shorts were