Page 9 of My Bossy Billionaire Attorney

“It’s fine. Thank you. I’m sure I’ll get to know everyone soon enough.”

If what she has to say about Peter is what everyone else has been saying for the past decade—that he’s smart and charismatic and good at everything he does—then she might end up seeing the ugly side of me, after all.

“I know you will. And you’ll be prepared, too,” she winks and returns to her phone.

I suck in a deep breath.

Michael Stone and Peter Richmond. When my stepbrother first came with his mom to live with us, I tried to like him. He was three years older than me, so I thought I was lucky to have a big brother.

It didn’t take long until it was obvious that he was good at everything. He worked hard in school and would come home eager to help out. Doing tasks nobody asked him to do.

Of course, my father took offense to it. He couldn’t understand why his stepson, would be better at housework than me. So, I had to double the effort I put in to avoid falling behind. I was three years younger, and I was competing with Peter for my father’s love and respect.

Not once did Peter notice that his actions made my life hell. And then, when he finally went away to college, he suddenly tried to act like he cared.

Even though he became a bit of a playboy, partying and hanging out with friends, my father did not care, as long as he brought home good grades. At some point, I began suspecting he did not get the grades from working hard.

It couldn’t have been his effort alone—with the kind of life he lived. So, I told my father what I thought, and he told me that I was half the student Peter was and that I should learn to be more like him.

As though I was nobody.

And now, Michael Stone. I knew he was hypocritical from the start and probably would have said worse things if I hadn’t stood my ground in his office that day. But knowing that he’s friends with Peter?

That places him high on the scale of terrible people I never want to encounter again.

And perhaps, if his relationship with Peter was all I knew about, I might have let it slide. But I have a bone to pick when someone acts one way in private and another in public, especially to me.

What was it that he said?

If I don’t perform well, I’ll get fired at the end of the month.

I push my chair back and get up.

“Where are you headed?”

“I’ll be back,” I say.

“Oh. Okay.”

I end up in front of Michael’s office, but Brenda, his secretary, is nowhere to be found.

Huh.

Curiosity gets the better of me, and I walk to Michael’s door, putting my ear against it to listen for any movement. I hear nothing, but the door is thick, so I place my hand on the handle.

Surprisingly, it gives way. My heart begins to pound as I push the door open. After a quick check to see that nobody is coming, I enter and close the door.

Michael’s office looks like a picture from the cover ofBusiness Weekly.With high-end furniture comprising of a large desk made from luxurious wood and a comfortable, state-of-the-art ergonomic chair.

A bookshelf to the left, filled with books with gold embossed lettering and unbruised spines. I walk behind the desk, looking down at the impressive view from so high. The backdrop of a bustling city with buildings of different architecture is mesmerizing.

I sigh.

This is the type of office that Peter will be working in soon.

While I share one with another colleague.

“He doesn’t deserve it,” I mutter under my breath. “I could have gone to law school, but he was already at the best one,doing well. And my father didn’t bother to be kind when I told him about my plans.”

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