Page 9 of Filthy Liar

“I’m going to have a woman-to-woman conversation with her and convince her how to solve her problem without hiring G.I. Joe,” Ellie retorts.

This is safer ground. I snap back at her. “We don’t do pro bono work.”

She stops in the doorway and looks back at me, her gaze piercing. “We do when it’s a good cause.”

“Socialites are rarely good causes.”

“An excellent point.” She spins around and leans her shoulder against the door frame. “Hey. funny story…”

She trails off as she realizes my gaze is locked on her legs. The swing of her skirt has settled back around her knees now, but as she spun, I caught the unmistakable sight of old-fashioned stockings hooked to a garter belt.

Silence falls between us.

I’m supposed to prompt her here. Ask her what the funny story is.

I don’t say anything.

She holds my gaze, and my cock thickens beneath my desk. “It’s almost lunch,” she says huskily. “Should I order something in?”

An hour later,takeout containers litter my desk and my jacket and tie have been discarded. Ellie is sprawled in the chair across from mine, her skirt carefully covering those stockings I caught a glimpse of, and she’s doing some healthy damage to the chicken adobo.

“Have you thought more about handling the Conroy inquiry?”

She wrinkles her nose at me. “It’s not my job.”

“It could be.”

“I like what I do. I don’t know if I want to take on more work.” She frowns. “Unless you’re not happy with—”

“God no. You’re the best thing that’s ever happened to this firm.”

“Thanks.” She gives me a soft smile, almost sad. “It’s a point of pride, I guess.”

I think I’ve stepped in something here and I should back the hell up. I sit up straighter. “You’re very good at it. You manage our different personalities well.”

“You’re as close as brothers. I don’t need to manage much. You’re…really a family.”

I’m surprised that she seems surprised. “You weren’t expecting that.”

She shakes her head, then leans forward to swap the chicken for the BBQ pork. “Nope.”

“What did you expect?”

Leaning back in her chair, she re-crosses her legs, and her skirt climbs up her thighs a couple of inches. “Ego clashes.”

“We have those sometimes.” My jaw twitches.

“But you’re the alpha.”

Damn fucking straight. “Sure.”

“Does that ever get old?” She blinks, and now she’s looking at me—really looking at me—and I’m blindsided. So much for her being soft and me stepping all over her feelings.

Sometimes I wonder if it’s Ellie who’s the secret alpha. “No,” I say carefully. “I knew what I was signing up for. We need to project a certain strength and it has to be authentic.”

She nods, accepting that answer.

But her next question is just as sharp. “Do you ever think about cutting loose?”

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