Page 24 of Some Like It Hops

“He is,” Chris chimes in.

I look at the younger attorney and scowl. “Not yet.”

“It’s a matter of time, Mr. Lane.” He taps his middle finger against the documents I was served earlier. “She’s alleging that you took advantage of her when she was intoxicated. You need to take this seriously.”

I clench my hands beneath the table. “You think I don’t take this seriously? Look around you. I built this fucking company from the ground up. From the very first batch of shitty beer I brewed in my garage, to the empire you see today. And now, some jilted fuckingassistantwants to threaten me?”

“We’re far past threats, Griffin.” Javier sighs. “This is a lawsuit.”

“I’m aware of that, Javier.” My jaw tightens.

“Did you touch her?”

I roll my eyes and wave my hand in the air. “Yeah, I fucking touched her. She practically threw herself on me, climbed over the fucking console and straddled my goddamn lap.”

Chris shakes his head and my hands clench into fists beneath the table.

“How far did it go?” Raina asks.

I turn to look her right in the eyes. “She kissed me. Hard. I kissed her back. I shouldn’t have, I know, but I did. For maybe, three, five minutes, tops.” I shake my head. “Then I stopped her, Raina. I swear to you.”

The older woman just nods and types into her tablet.

“How did you stop her?” Javier asks.

I roll my neck from side to side. “I grabbed her shoulders, then sort of guided her back into the passenger seat.” I rub my hand down my face. “It was hard, I’m not going to lie. She’s fucking gorgeous, and she wanted me.” I shake my head. I’m so fucking stupid. I have a contact list full of beautiful women in LA who would be at my door in under ten minutes, ready and willing, yet I could lose it all because I let my employee grind in my lap for five fucking minutes.

“How did she react when you stopped her?” Javier tugs on his bushy eyebrow.

I snort. “How do you think she reacted? She was pissed. She called me a few colorful names, and I told her something like she’d be happier in the morning if we ended it when we did, then she got out of the car, slammed the door, and went inside her apartment building. She was back at work Monday morning, sitting right there at that desk.” I point toward the reception desk that sits between my office and Brad’s.

“How was her behavior?”

“She’s been short with me ever since, doesn’t look at me the same way, but her work wasn’t affected by it, and I just figured she’d get over it.”

“She definitely didn’t get over it.” Chris chuckles and I nearly fly across the table. “She’s suing for damages.”

“Damages? What the fuck does that even mean?”

“Emotional damages.”

I scoff. “A mill and a half foremotionaldamages? For some stupid shit that happened six fucking months ago?”

“There’s no expiration date on trauma,” Chris says.

“She’s worked here every day since just fine becausenothing happened—other than her ego was bruised.” I push up out of my chair and slam my hands onto the table, glaring down at him. “You work for me. Don’t sit here in my fucking office at my fucking conference table and talk to me about emotional fucking trauma.Shecame on tome. I turned her down. End of story. The only emotional trauma here is her bruised fucking ego and the fact that I stand to lose every goddamn thing I’ve ever worked for in my life.” I slam my mouth shut as the words send a rush of agony through my body. When the feeling passes, I lift my hands off the table and straighten my shoulders. “If you don’t believe me, you have no fucking business representing me or this company.”

I breathe deeply through my nose, then fasten one button of my suit jacket and incline my head toward Javier. “Take care of this shit, Javi. It’s what I pay you for.”

Chapter Thirteen

Charlie

Stupid. It’s what he is, and what I allowed myself to be because of him.

At nine-thirty, after sending one last text, this time to tell him off, I finally force myself to change out of Jo’s little black dress and uncomfortablecome-fuck-meheels. Clearly, no one is “coming to fuck me” anytime soon. I hang the dress up in my closet, then slip into my black leggings and a vintage band tee I stole from my dad’s closet the last time I spent the weekend out at his place.

I lock the front door, put what’s left of the second bottle of wine away—while frowning at how much I drank while I waited for Griffin to no-show—and I turn off the lights as I make my way to the couch, two cold slices of pepperoni pizza in tow.

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