Page 18 of Breaking the Lawyer

But then I see his reaction—the way his breath seems to catch, how he grips his coffee mug—and I realize I'm not the only one out of control here.

Just as he starts typing, someone appears at his office door. A man in an expensive suit knocks, and Christian waves him in, not before shooting me a look that could melt steel.

I watch through the glass as they have what looks like a brief conversation. Christian checks his watch, nods, and the man leaves. The whole exchange takes maybe two minutes, but it feels like an eternity while I'm sitting here with my heart trying to escape through my throat.

Christian looks back at his screen and starts typing. I lean forward like a desperate teenager waiting for a text back.

Christian Johns:We should stop this.

My stomach drops. Well, that's not what I was hoping for.

Brooks Lang:Why?

There's a pause, and I can see him run a hand through his hair. He looks like he's sighing, which from this distance makes him look even more attractive. How is sighing hot? Since when do I find sighing hot?

Christian Johns:Because I have a meeting to go to, and I can't exactly stand up right now.

Holy. Shit.

He's hard.

Imade him hard.

Christian Johns is sitting in his fancy see-through office with a hard-on because ofme.

I'm staring at the screen, trying to formulate a response that won't get me fired, when another message appears.

Christian Johns:I'm serious, Brooks.

The use of my name makes my pulse spike. Even in written form, it feels intimate somehow, like he's saying it directly into my ear.

My fingers move before my brain can stop them.

Brooks Lang:How about we meet tonight?

I hit send and watch Christian's face through the glass. He starts typing frantically, and I panic, adding:

Brooks Lang:To set some ground rules.

He stops typing and stares at his screen. From here, I can see his jaw working like he's having an internal debate. God, he looks good when he's thinking. Hell, he looks good when he's breathing. This is becoming a serious problem.

The pause stretches on forever. I'm pretty sure I'm holding my breath the entire time.

Finally, a message appears.

Christian Johns:7pm. The Lagune. You know where it is?

I don't have a clue, but Google exists for a reason.

Brooks Lang:Yup.

Christian Johns:See you there.

Another pause, then:

Christian Johns:God, I hope I don't regret this.

He closes his laptop with more force than necessary, stands up, and puts his jacket on. I hold my breath again, waiting for him to look at me, but he doesn't. Instead, he walks out of his office without so much as a glance in my direction.

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