Текст книги "Friction"
Автор книги: Sawyer Bennett
сообщить о нарушении
Текущая страница: 2 (всего у книги 18 страниц)
CHAPTER 1
LEARY
An orgasm crashes through my body, causing my back to arch in my chair and my fingers to pull hard at the hair of the man who’s working his tongue between my legs. A groan pours out of me, and he lashes his tongue against me harder yet.
“Enough,” I command, because I don’t beg well, and I push his head away. Ford sits back on his haunches, grinning up at me. He’s in my office, kneeling before my chair, while my skirt is hiked up around my waist and my thong is pulled haphazardly to the side to give him access. My suede ankle-strap Alexander McQueen pumps are perched on the edge of my desk, and my knees are spread wide, baring myself to Ford’s fantastically gorgeous face and his shiny, wet lips.
“Feel better?” he asks with a grin, because I was having a craptastic day, which he’d keenly picked up on. But then again, Ford knows all of my moods, and yes, I do feel better, so apparently he knows how to bring me out of a funk. A shattering orgasm does the trick.
“Much better,” I say with a grin and pull my legs off my desk, setting my four-inch heels on the hardwood floor on either side of Ford’s hips. I vaguely notice figures moving around out in the Pit, just outside my glass-paned office wall, which is now grayed out with smoke so no one can see the nasty things Ford and I are doing. My door is unlocked but I’m not worried. No one but Midge would dare walk in here without a knock, and Midge has never once stepped foot in my office since I moved in here almost two years ago when I made junior partner at Knight & Payne.
Wiping his mouth with the back of his hand, Ford asks, “Wanna feel even better?”
“You know I do,” I say as I stare at the massive bulge behind the zipper of his Hugo Boss pants. Ford is as serious about fashion as I am, and we’re well suited to each other in other respects, too. We’re pretty much in line with our tastes and proclivities, and he’s the closest friend I have in the world.
He reaches in his pocket and pulls out a condom, handing it to me. I tear it open with my teeth as he unzips his pants and pulls out eight gorgeous inches of “wanna feel even better.” Leaning forward, I roll the condom over his straining erection, loving how after five years, he still groans when I touch him there. Placing my hands on his shoulders, I pull myself from my chair and squat down over him, bringing the tip of his cock in perfect alignment with me.
I sink down slowly onto him while his hands help to guide my hips. When I’m fully seated, we both give a moan of appreciation, and then I start to rock.
Using my hands on his shoulders for balance, I pull myself up . . . push back down. Over and over again, I fuck the man who used to be my boss when I first started here but is now my good friend, close legal confidant when I need to strategize on a case, and occasional lover when I’ve had a bad day.
Like today.
Because some asshole attorney thinks he can try to screw me over on one of my cases, but he has another thing coming. Right after I come again, and get Ford off as well, I’m going to come up with a stellar plan to mop the floor with this douche. I’ll make him regret crossing me, that’s for sure. Midge would be proud of my moxie.
“Where’d you go?” Ford pants as he nuzzles his face into my neck and tilts his hips upward as I push down.
“Nowhere,” I assure him and pick up the pace.
He seems to accept my word, because he murmurs, “Feels good, baby.”
It does . . . feel good.
Damn good, but then again, Ford has always been able to push all my buttons. Ever since my first day on the job here at Knight & Payne, when Danny took me from Midge’s office back through the Pit to a desk outside a large office in which a man was talking on the phone.
The man was Ford Daniels, and he was to be my supervising attorney.
He glanced up and saw Danny standing there with me, then motioned for us to come in. His eyes ran down my body briefly, but he never gave any other indication of interest. I was fresh off my meeting with Midge, and my mind was buzzing. I immediately wondered if I should use these extra talents Midge seemed to think I possessed on my newest boss but then thought better of it. I wasn’t cut out just then to be a sexy seductress. Oh, I intended to learn, but I knew I was an amateur, at best, at that point in my life.
I couldn’t deny my attraction to Ford. At thirty-four, he was ten years older than I was. Light-brown hair, maybe dark blond in the right light, that was slightly wavy with natural curl. He had dark-brown eyes and a strong jawline, was tall, and wore his suit in a way that told me he was built underneath.
Ford was very professional those first weeks of our working relationship, and by professional I mean he never made an untoward move. He looked plenty, particularly when by the third day of employment I’d ditched my conservative polyester suits for a chic, casual office wardrobe, convincing myself it was a wise use of my money. I traded in Walmart for Burberry and Elie Tahari, making sure my clothes showed off my assets, as Midge had instructed me to do.
I cut three inches off my dark-brown hair to just below my shoulder blades and wore it long, loose, and layered with softly curled waves. I learned how to put on makeup to accentuate my golden-brown eyes and full lips, and I walked the Pit with confidence.
By my third week of employment, Ford and I were sleeping together, and I never had a moment’s regret. I didn’t have sex with him for any gain within the firm. I made it clear to him that sex had nothing to do with work. It did, however, have everything to do with the fact that I wanted to explore my sexuality, which was something I’d never had need of prior to my employment at Knight & Payne. I’d lost my virginity my senior year of high school, and I’d had sex with a few men since then, but I never viewed sex as all that important in my life. Maybe because it never rocked my world. Maybe because they never told us in law school that it could be a tool.
After Ford, I needed it. Not only did he teach me that sex felt damn good and was a great tension breaker but that I had power, and it had everything to do with the fact that I had boobs and a vagina. Ford taught me how to be sensual, which I used in small doses when the time called for it. My sensuality has served me well the last five years.
“I’ve lost you again,” Ford growls before biting at my ear.
“Ouch,” I whine as I jerk against him, which causes him to go in deeper and then fuels him to pump into me faster.
“Well, damn, Leary . . . you’re not paying attention here,” he complains, still heaving upward into my body.
And he’s right.
My mind is wandering more and more lately, and I feel restless. While Ford tends to be a great diversion for me, he’s just that . . . a diversion. He’s my friend, occasional lover, and confidant. He knows me probably better than anyone at this point, and yet Ford will never be anything more than an occasional fuck, a great colleague and a guy I can pal around with sometimes. We just don’t have that burning, deep connection that compels us to want to be around each other all the time. We use each other as a sounding board, as a cheerleader in our work lives, and to get our rocks off if the occasion calls for it.
My stomach bottoms out when Ford surges to his feet, his powerful legs easily pushing both of us up from the floor while his hands support me under my ass. He turns, dumps me on my desk, and with the stapler stuck in my lower back, starts to really pound me hard. He’s doing this as a way of keeping my attention, and damn . . . it’s working. From this angle and the way he’s driving into me, I can’t think about anything other than the way he feels and the second orgasm firing up low in my belly.
He senses my body getting ready to unleash and he picks up the pace.
Then I’m flying apart, and so is he. My day is definitely a little bit better than it was before.
Condom disposed of, my fringed Tory Burch skirt pulled back down, and Ford sitting across from my desk, you’d never know that we were both fucking like animals just five minutes ago. God, it was good. It had been a long time in coming, too—no pun intended—because Ford had been in a relationship with a physical therapist for several months, and one thing we didn’t do was cheat if either of us tried to date someone else. In the past five years, neither one of us has had a relationship that stuck, so we always end up becoming fuck buddies in between our failed attempts to find love. Ford broke up with that woman last week, and I knew it was only a matter of time before we hooked up.
Today just happened to be that day. He poked his head in my office and said, “What’s up?”
I growled at him because I was frustrated with this douche of an opposing attorney, and he knew exactly what I needed. He didn’t even say a word. Stepped in, closed my door, hit the smoke button on my desk, and went down on me.
It was sublime.
“So what’s wrong with you?” Ford grumbles as he watches me carefully from across the expanse of my desk.
Leaning back in my chair and fiddling with a paper clip, I shrug my shoulders. “Not sure what you mean.”
Ford cocks an eyebrow at me, one of his patented moves that I adore and that always makes me smile because of his skepticism. “Cut the shit, Leary. You’re edgy, tense. This case has you worked up, and it’s not even that big of a deal.”
I glare at Ford and stick out my lower lip. “It is too a big deal. I don’t like this jackass nipping at my heels like a little Chihuahua who thinks he has balls the size of Texas.”
Snickering at me, Ford casually crosses one leg over the other. “He’s filed a motion to dismiss. Big deal. Happens all the time.”
“Yeah, but not to me. Most attorneys know not to screw with me over something so trivial.”
“He’s new to the area. I’m sure he hasn’t heard of your greatness,” Ford says in a mocking tone.
“Don’t be condescending,” I chastise him. “Besides, this case is important to me. You know that.”
He nods because he does know how important this case is. Other than Midge, he’s the only one who knows about my past and why I have so much riding on this lawsuit. This case is a means to help absolve me of my own sins, and if I can’t get salvation with it, I’m doomed to a life of guilt.
Midge.
I smile inside—sometimes on the outside, too—whenever I think of her. While I’m very close to Ford, Midge has always been there for me, too, although almost all of our communications are through e-mail or phone. But she had an influential hand in helping to shape me my first few years at Knight & Payne. She gave me advice and guidance on cases and taught me how, as a woman, I could be the best possible attorney.
Midge once confided in me, during one of those rare occurrences when we sat in her office, sipping on whiskey, “Leary, I want people who are risk takers. People like you, who are not afraid to push the envelope, stretch boundaries, get their hands a little dirty.”
“Cheat?” I asked her with a smile.
“If necessary,” she said without cracking one.
“Lie?”
“In the right circumstances,” she confirmed.
“Use my womanly ways?” I asked with a grin.
“Always,” she murmured, and we clinked our glasses together in celebration while we laughed.
Yes, Midge Payne shaped and molded me into a fearless attorney who acted like she had the biggest balls in the state. I took risks, I lied and cheated sometimes, and I used my female charms over and over again to daze and confuse my opponents. Her advice served me well, but most important, it served my clients well. I do work that has meaning. I represent people who have been beaten down. I offer protection and advice to those who would otherwise be taken advantage of by the system. I uphold the common man’s constitutional rights. I do all of this because I know all too well what it’s like to feel powerless. I have made a profound difference in other people’s lives, and I’ll never apologize for using every trick in my bag to get the job done.
Ford stands and leans over my desk. “Do you want any help brainstorming how you’ll argue the motion tomorrow?”
Shaking my head, I say, “No. I’ve got it.”
And I do. It’s a simple motion that shouldn’t take more than ten minutes, but it pisses me off I even have to argue it at all, that I’m being made to waste my time just so my opposing counsel can bill a few more hours to his client.
“Are you sure you’re okay?” he asks, his eyes roaming over my face.
Smiling, I say, “I’m sure. More than okay after the way you just made me come.”
Laughing, Ford turns his back on me and heads for my door. “My pleasure, babe. I’ll catch you later.”
And just like that, Ford is gone and I probably won’t see him for several days because we’re both so busy with our practices. However, if I ever needed the man, he would drop everything to be by my side.
As a friend, and only as a friend . . . sex benefits aside.
Sighing, I reach out and open the binder sitting on my desk with the words LaPietra v. Summerland General Surgery. It’s the case for which I’ll be arguing against a motion to dismiss tomorrow morning. Opening it up, I briefly scan the motion. The defendant’s counsel is asking the court to dismiss my case because I’ve failed to state a claim upon which relief can be granted.
Which is total and utter bullshit.
The complaint I filed in superior court was cogent and clear, and left no doubt in anyone’s mind that I’m suing the prick, Dr. Garry Summerland, and his medical practice for butchering my client in a breast-reduction surgery gone bad.
Jenna LaPietra came to me over a year ago, distraught over the fact that when Dr. Summerland got done with an operation to reduce her from a double D to a moderate C cup, she was left with boobs of two different sizes and one nipple pointed north and the other pointed southeast. It was a horrific result, and she’s had three subsequent reconstructive surgeries to try to minimize the damage. Unfortunately, there’s too much scar tissue to completely fix the deformities. Her nipples still point in different directions, and she has large, puckered sinkholes around the fleshy globes of her breasts.
Kind of a big deal to a twenty-four-year-old topless dancer without a high school education who strips to put food on the table to support her disabled son.
Acid burns in my veins as I think of all the ways that Jenna has struggled, trying to make ends meet since losing her job at Pure Fantasy. She went from bringing home two grand a week to living in the back of her car and stealing food from convenience stores to feed her kid. All of her money was paid under the table, so she can’t claim unemployment. Her kid’s father is a heroin junkie who hasn’t been seen in two years and is presumably lying dead in a ditch somewhere. She has no family and no friends, and I put my law license at risk when I put Jenna up in a low-income apartment and provided a bank account in which I deposited money every two weeks so she could eat and pay rent. That was a huge no-no to the North Carolina State Bar, but fuck ’em. I’m not about to let that family live out of a car and off stolen food.
Pushing the binder aside, I know I’m better served to study my opponent than the law, because the law is clear and in my favor. Tomorrow’s courtroom battle will be nothing more than my swatting away this annoying flea and making it clear he doesn’t want to fuck with someone like me.
I pull up the law firm of Battle, Carnes, and Pearson on my computer. It’s a powerhouse defense firm that’s the polar opposite of Knight & Payne. Whereas we fight nobly to save the downtrodden, Battle Carnes sits in a gilded roost and only represents the nation’s elite one percent.
I navigate their roster of attorneys and click on the link for Reeve Holloway. He’s pretty damn good-looking. Dark, wavy hair that’s cut short on the sides and back, with the top just slightly longer, and very JFK Jr. His eyes are light colored, but I can’t tell if they’re blue or green, and his lips are sensual. He’s actually really hot. His online profile states he’s been practicing for eight years, which puts him at about thirty-two, and he just started with the firm six months ago. Prior to Battle Carnes he was working in foreign acquisitions in New York City, which sounds slightly boring and nauseating to me.
The rest of his profile reveals the most important piece of information I can glean, though.
He’s single, and while it truly doesn’t matter if he’s married or not, I can definitely work much more quickly against a single guy than someone who’s bound by commitment.
An idea starts brewing in my head.
CHAPTER 2
REEVE
Glancing down at my watch, I see that I have plenty of time to make it to courtroom 21A on the twenty-first floor of the judicial building to argue my motion to dismiss. It’s a bullshit motion.
I know it.
The judge knows it.
My opposing counsel, some guy named Leary Michaels, knows it.
Everyone who’ll be standing in courtroom 21A knows this is a bullshit motion, and that after just a few minutes of argument, Judge Henry will deny me. The only reason I’m heading to court on this seasonably warm October day is because my new employer, Battle, Carnes, and Pearson, has an unspoken policy to bilk our corporate clients for as much money as possible. Seeing as how I bill $300 per hour, preparing for and arguing this unwinnable motion hearing will bring in about $1,200 to my esteemed employers. Doesn’t matter that I’ll lose—it will earn money for the firm, and our client is too rich and self-absorbed to question the billing or why I’m arguing a losing motion.
My phone buzzes from my jacket pocket, indicating a text. Pulling it out, I smile when I see it’s from one of my buddies inviting me for a few beers tonight. As I walk toward the courthouse, I shoot a quick return text that I’ll see him later.
Just as I hit Send, I slam into something extremely soft and very movable, and my hands come out to grasp at whatever I hit before it can get knocked over. I wince at the cracking sound my phone makes as it hits the sidewalk, and my fingers clasp toned arms encased in red silk.
I hold on firmly to what I now realize is a woman who I easily could have slammed to the ground because I wasn’t watching where I was going. When my cognizance kicks in full force, I find myself looking into a pair of amber-colored eyes set into a stunningly beautiful face.
Flawless skin.
Full lips.
Perfectly arched eyebrows.
Dark hair pulled back into a sleek ponytail that rests at the back of her neck.
She exudes a chic, confident style in her power suit, with a tasteful but narrow pencil skirt in cherry red and a matching formfitting silk jacket with notched lapels. Her long legs are encased in sheer black stockings, with the fucking sexiest black pumps ever made to walk across a man’s back.
Utter perfection.
“I’m so sorry,” I tell her, refusing to let her go just yet.
She smiles at me with genuine warmth, and chuckles. “It’s all good. I wasn’t watching where I was going, either.”
I stare at her, unsure of what to say next. It’s a rarity that I’ll lose my tongue around a woman, but damn if her voice isn’t smoky rich, sexy beyond belief, and fuck . . . she even smells delicious from where I’m standing.
“I’m afraid you may have broken your phone, though,” she says as she looks pointedly at the ground.
“Shit,” I mutter as I release her and bend to pick it up, glaring at the shattered screen. Looks like I’ll be making a trip to the store rather than the gym and drinks with the boys tonight.
Shoving the phone in my pocket, I grab the courthouse door and hold it open for her. Giving her a “no worries” smile, I motion for her to precede me in. She inclines her head in thanks and walks in, carrying an expensive-looking, black patent-leather purse over her shoulder.
I’m not a southern man, having been born and raised in the small but great state of Vermont, so it certainly wasn’t due to ingrained manners that I opened the door for her. I merely wanted to get a gander of her ass in that narrow skirt.
Just kill me right now. I groan internally because her ass is slammin’ and her sex appeal is ramped up by the fact that those sheer stockings have a thin black seam running up the back of each leg.
We reach the elevator at the same time, and she pulls out her own smartphone to study something. She hasn’t given me a backward glance, so I use the opportunity to continue checking her out. This woman oozes sophistication; her eyes—from what little I was able to see—hold intellect and maybe even a bit of cunning.
I wonder what she’s doing in the courthouse, because while her cherry-red suit is professional, it also shows a hint of cleavage and borders on just a tad too sexy for an attorney, and besides, she’s not carrying the telltale briefcase that would give her away as one of my legal brethren.
When the elevator doors open, she doesn’t even lift her eyes, but we both wait for it to empty. A young guy in a short-sleeved shirt and skinny tie, whom I peg as an overworked, underpaid clerk, joins us, and then all three of us enter for the ride upward. I immediately walk to the back of the car and lean my back against the wall, setting my briefcase on the floor.
The guy pushes the second-floor button, and I roll my eyes. Lazy ass, can’t walk up one flight of stairs?
The woman in red pushes the button to the twentieth floor, and I say to her, maybe in a vain attempt to get her attention, “Number twenty-one, if you don’t mind.”
She cuts her eyes at me with a small smile and hits the button, then ignores me as she steps to the wall to my left and studies her phone.
The ride to the second floor shouldn’t take any time at all, but these old elevators in the justice building seem like they’re powered by hamsters or something. After several seconds of chugging upward, the car slowly stops and the dude exits. No one else joins us, which isn’t surprising because it’s late Friday afternoon and the courthouse is pretty much dead at this time. There are only a few judges milling around hearing stupid motions like mine, with the other courtrooms usually cleared of the dockets by Thursday.
As the elevator starts its slow ascent again, I can’t help but notice movement from the vision in red. She glances down at the side of her leg and whispers, “Shoot.”
My attention moves with laser focus, and I watch as she drops one hand down to the side of her right knee, fingering the material at the hem of her skirt. Against the dark shading of her stockings, it’s not hard to see that she has a tiny tear in the silk, and I have to wonder if my briefcase snagged up against her when we ran into each other.
I expect her to just drop the hem of her skirt, but instead she raises it a few inches higher, tracing the path of the run that’s creeping up her leg. My breath catches in my throat as she slides the edge of her skirt up an inch, two, three . . . right to midthigh, and yet the run seems to go higher than that.
I silently beg her to keep going, but she drops the skirt and looks up at me with a sheepish grin. “Well . . . that just won’t do at all.”
I open my mouth to say something that I’m sure will be full of wit and charm while trying to figure out how I can get her phone number, but she stuns me when she holds out her phone to me.
“Here . . . if you don’t mind holding this.”
I push off from the wall and accept her phone under no volition of my own. She smiles at me coyly and I return the smile with uncertainty.
She stuns me yet again when she puts all her weight on her left leg, balancing herself with one hand on the wall. Lifting her right foot up and back, she bends to the side and takes off her shoe, dropping it the floor.
Shocked is not the word I would use to describe my feeling when she shoots me a grin and then starts to lift the hem of her skirt back up with both hands. She slides the silk material up her thighs and I’m helpless to look away as it climbs higher and higher. Right to the fucking tops of her stockings, which are trimmed with black lace and tiny red bows and clipped into place with red garters.
Swallowing hard, my pulse hammering madly, I watch as she uses her perfectly manicured hands to pop the clips holding her stocking up.
I see the pale, smooth skin of her upper thigh, and if she’d move that fucking skirt up just another two inches, I’d get a peek of what I’m betting is matching black lace covering her pussy. But no such luck. She then deftly hooks her thumbs under the lace edges of the stocking and slides the offending ripped silk down her leg.
Vaguely, I hear the chiming of the elevator as it passes floor after floor. My heart is galloping over the thought that the car could stop at any moment to let another passenger on, but she doesn’t seemed to be fazed in the slightest by undressing in a public place in front of a perfect stranger.
Right about the time the silk travels down over her knee, I start imagining what it would be like to have my tongue trace that same path, and I start to get hard.
When the silk finally clears her foot—which I might add is a fantastically sexy foot with cherry-red nail polish to match her suit—I finally remember to pull a breath into my starved lungs before I suffocate.
Standing back up straight, the woman reaches her hand out with the stocking in it and says, “If you don’t mind holding this, please.”
I wasn’t going to say no, so I reach out and grab the delicate material from her, rubbing it in between my fingers as I bring my own hand back toward me. My cock is now pulsing in my pants, and pornographic images of me pushing her against the wall and hammering my way inside her flood my senses.
My eyes are burning as she reaches calmly into her purse and pulls out a spare stocking.
That’s handy.
She efficiently, but in no less sexy a manner, bends over and slides her foot into the silk, pulling the edges up her calf, over her knee, up that smooth thigh, while pulling the skirt up along the way, and then she’s clipping the lace with the garters again.
Fucking beautiful.
She makes a little bit of a show of smoothing the edges of the stocking against her skin, then she slowly lowers the material of her skirt. I take a quick glance and see we’re almost to the twentieth floor, and a sense of urgency takes hold of me as I realize this sexy-as-hell woman will be walking away from me in just a few moments. I want to slam my palm against the Stop button and demand that she change her other stocking, but that would, of course, be ludicrous.
Because there’s nothing strange about a woman stripping in front of me in the elevator, right?
She reaches down and picks up her shoe, puts it back on, and snaps her purse shut. Turning to me, she gives me another coy smile and says, “Can I have my phone back?”
I blink hard, just as the twentieth floor chimes and the car comes to a slow, grinding halt. I hold her phone out to her, and she takes it, scraping her pinkie nail across the back of my hand, which causes lust to bubble hot inside me and my dick to swell larger.
“Thanks,” she murmurs, and steps toward the doors as they start to open.
“Wait,” I call out, and she looks over her shoulder at me. Holding out her stocking that I’m now clutching quite tightly in my hand, I say, “Here.”
I can’t think of anything else to say, because most of my blood has congregated south of my waist.
She grins at me, gives me a quick wink, and says, “Keep it.”
My hand drops down, my thumb and forefinger rubbing against the soft material that I’m betting smells fucking delicious.
Turning away, she starts to walk out of the elevator car.
“Wait,” I call out again and slam my other hand against the button that keeps the doors open. She turns all the way around to me and tilts her head in curiosity. She’s a fucking vision. “What’s your name?”
Cocking an eyebrow at me briefly, she leans in slightly and whispers, “That’s for me to know and you to find out.”
She then walks away and doesn’t look back. A quick glance at my watch shows me I have about two minutes to get to the courtroom for my motion hearing, which means no time to chase her.
“Then how do I find you?” I call out to her retreating figure as she makes her way down the hallway, her heels clicking against the tile.
She doesn’t even turn around, but I distinctly hear her laugh and say, “Oh, I’m sure we’ll meet again. Karma has a way.”
I release the button to the doors, and they close slowly. I practically stagger backward against the back wall and involuntarily bring her stocking up to my nose. Hints of lavender and vanilla. Yup, fucking delicious. As soon as this motion hearing is over, I’m going back down to the twentieth floor and finding this woman. I’ll get her number, and if there’s a God, I’ll talk her into going out with me tonight. And if miracles really do occur, I’ll be fucking her, too.
Grinning stupidly, I shove her stocking into the side of my briefcase and try to banish my erection so it’s not standing out when I walk into the courtroom.
I can’t believe that just fucking happened to me.
Shit like that never happens to me.
Absolutely surreal.
It’s now five minutes past the time my motion hearing should be starting. The courtroom is eerily silent. It’s only me, the judge, and the bailiff, and we’re patiently—okay, not so patiently—waiting for Leary Michaels to show up. The judge doesn’t look too perturbed, but then again, Judge Henry has a reputation for being mellow and laid-back. He’s got his reading glasses perched on the end of his nose, scanning something on the laptop that sits in front of him. The bailiff looks supremely bored, but that’s par for the course. I can’t imagine his job is very exciting.
I didn’t think I had a snowball’s chance in hell of winning this motion, but if opposing counsel doesn’t show up, the judge will probably grant me the unexpected victory. Of course, the partners in my firm will go apeshit, because we’ll lose out on the opportunity to bill thousands of dollars in future legal fees to our client on this case. Quick victories don’t pay the bills.
