Page 44 of Pride & Precedents

"That will be all," he says, swiveling his chair to the stack of files on the table behind his desk.

I leave his office, quietly shutting the door behind me. On the walk back to my desk, I make an effort to wipe the glower from my face and replace it with my usual neutral expression. Assoon as I close the door to my office, Camila enters and closes it behind her before leaning her hip against my desk. She says nothing but lifts an eyebrow in question.

"I just got called to the carpet."

Camila purses her lips.

"Did it have anything to do with you being an insufferable ass all day today?"

"Ms. Sanchez," I say in warning. She rolls her eyes at my blustering and takes a seat in the chair across from mine. She pulls a manila file from behind her back and hands it to me, nearly jumping in her seat with excitement.

"I checked Mr. Moore's financials again like you suggested, focusing on the property. You were right. He transferred ownership of a Chicago apartment to his college-aged nephew, a South Beach condo to his brother, supposedly as a wedding gift, and it looks like a Vermont house is now in his mother's name. None of these properties were included on the asset list from Ms. Watanabe's attorney in San Francisco, and all of these transfers happened in the last two years."

I jump out of my chair and run to Camila, pulling her up into a spin.

"Amazing work, Ms. Sanchez! I just knew there was something there." She laughs in my arms, pressing her soft, full breasts against my chest. I gently set her feet down on the floor before I get too excited.

"Thank you, sir," she says, with a smile that hints at the new dynamic between us. Thank goodness the door is closed. I clear my throat and move to sit behind my desk once more.

"Amazing enough to earn me another study session tonight?" she asks. Her deep brown eyes are full of sinful promise.

"Of course. Though, with work like this, you may not need as much help studying as you think you do."

She smiles again, and my mouth goes dry.

"I'm sure we'll figure out a way to pass the time."

Murray didn't bat an eye when Camila followed me into the car this evening. He simply closed the privacy screen and navigated us to her apartment. On the way there, I made a reminder to add yet another zero to his Christmas bonus. At this point, it might be easier just to sign my BBS&P bonus over to him directly, but he's well worth the cost.

Camila lets us into her apartment and kicks off her heels on the way to the kitchen. Once again, my pants tighten at witnessing the intimate act. To see her in her own space, a space that is so much like her—bright, colorful, distinctive—as she essentially undresses feels like being trusted with a secret: the real Camila.

Ms. Sanchezwears stilettos, whileCamilaprefers sensible heels, flats, or to walk barefoot.Ms. Sanchezwears her hair in an elegant French knot or loose curls that fall around her shoulders, whileCamilapulls it up into a bun or a ponytail with a scrunchy and barrettes.Ms. Sanchezorders ribeye or sushi for lunch, whileCamilamakes mofongo and roast chicken from scratch. Camila is relaxed and approachable, but no less devastating. I kick myself once again for missing what was right in front of me for so long.

"Dinner was delicious," I say, trying my best not to lick the plate. She might give Mom a run for her money in the kitchen department. When she starts to rise, I put my hand on her knee to stop her.

"I was taught that whoever cooks doesn't touch the dishes." She leans back on the couch, putting her elbows behind her head for dramatic effect.

"Ooh! Well, you'll get no argument from me. Dishes are one of the reasons I don't cook more often." She takes a drink of her club soda. "That, and there's no time because I'm stuck working late for a super demanding boss."

When I turn to look at her, she's smiling mischievously.

"Am I really that bad?" I ask. I roll my shirtsleeves up to rinse each dish before loading the dishwasher.

She lets out a bark of laughter.

"Hell yes, you are." She chuckles at the sight of my frown. "But that's the kind of boss you want. Someone demanding. Someone who pushes you to be better. You never let me skip professional development opportunities, and now you're helping me study for the bar. All of that is way more important than getting out of work at six on the dot."

Done with the dishes, I wipe off my damp hands and make my way back to the couch to sit next to her.

"Speaking of which, what do you want to start with today? Do you want to try a couple essay prompts, or would you prefer to work on some of the multiple-choice questions tonight?"

As I reach into my bag for my old study materials, a feminine hand comes to rest on my knee. Camila's fingers make a trail of featherlight touches down my leg until she's mere inches from my growing bulge. I tear my gaze from her wandering digits to stare into her eyes.

"Camila?"

"Wecouldstudy," she murmurs, lust written plainly on her face. "Or we could blow off a little steam to celebrate the break in the Moore-Watanabe petition."

She leans in closer, and her hand moves up another inch.

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