Page 28 of Bad Situation

He’s really comfortable and after a few moments, I relax into him farther.

“You like the Mavs?” I ask without looking away from the TV.

“They’re okay. I’m a Bulls fan.”

“Oh, yeah. Chicago.”

“You probably run in the same circles as Marc Cuban, huh?”

I turn to look up at him because I can’t decide if he’s joking or if that was a serious question.

He looks at me and frowns. “I was kidding. You really know Cuban?”

I give a little nod and look back at the game. “Only because we’re in the same philanthropic circles. I’ve met him a few times but it’s not like I’m eating Tex-Mex with him or anything.”

“That’s good.” He gives my waist a squeeze before sliding his hand down to my ass and leaving it there.

I know he can feel it when I smile against his chest because his lips come to my forehead where his voice dips as he gives my ass a squeeze. “That took me less than five minutes.”

I try to wipe the smile from my face but it’s hard. Instead, I take a sip of my beer before settling in, enjoying his hand on me.

Elijah Pettit is an ass man.

Good to know.

Chapter 8

Game Changer

Bree Newman

I should have pushed harder … should’ve gotten a warrant to search her home as well as her office. I need more evidence.

More something.

Over my dead body will Jensen Montgomery get out of this. I’ve worked too hard and too long on this case for her to get off free and clear. I need this indictment under my belt to put in for a promotion. I’m sick of being stuck in white-collar crimes. I might not have a dick hanging between my legs, but I can work a real case. Something besides pushing papers around a desk.

This case was supposed to be a game changer for me. Putting a Montgomery behind bars would carry me a long way. Especially since they brought in Pettit. In just a couple weeks, he’s overshadowing everyone and they’re bowing down to his greatness, kissing his ass, or maybe sucking his dick just to get a piece of the man who made the biggest RICO case in decades.

It’s closing in on midnight when the heavy industrial garage door lifts from under the building where Jensen Montgomery lives. I’d planned to give it up around one o’clock anyway. The woman is boring as shit. Besides hitting the bars once, she doesn’t do anything outside of work. I’m not officially on surveillance since no one knows I’m here, but I’m desperate. I even drove my personal car. I need to see if she’ll do anything outside of the ordinary since she thinks our case is made and it’s handed over to prosecutors.

A nondescript truck pulls out—a Chevy, maybe five or six years old. No way would a Montgomery be caught dead in that ride. She drives a Land Rover and has a Benz. Once in a while that old guy who seems to be a catch-all employee drives her around in the Caddy.

No one has come or gone, so when the truck pulls up to the stoplight at the intersection, I pull out my binoculars to get a closer look.

Shit. It can’t be.

He’s looking down, so I can’t be sure and, besides, we’re downtown. There’s still a lot of traffic even at this time of night.

When the light finally changes, he looks up.

“What the hell?” I mutter to no one.

He puts a wrist to the top of his steering wheel and smiles.

I’ve never seen him smile before.

When he pulls through the intersection in front of me, I scoot down in my seat.

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