Practice...Wednesday nights are always ballet practice...

***

“Mr. Hamilton?” My secretary stepped into my office the next morning.

“Yes, Jessica?”

“Mr. Greenwood and Mr. Bach would like to know if you want to participate in the next round of intern interviews today.”

“I don’t.”

“Okay...” She looked down and scribbled something onto her notepad. “Did you at least look over the resumes then? They have to narrow it down to fifteen today.”

I sighed and pulled out the stack of resumes she’d given me last week. I’d read through them all and written notes, mostly—“Pass” “Double Pass” and “I don’t feel like reading this.” All the remaining applicants were from Duke University, and to my knowledge, we were the only firm in the city who accepted pre-law and law school applicants for paid internships.

“I wasn’t impressed with any of the applicants.” I slid the papers across my desk. “Was that the entire selection pool?”

“No, sir.” She walked over and placed an even larger stack in front of me. “This is the entire selection pool. Do you need me to do anything else for you this morning?”

“Besides getting my coffee?” I pointed to the empty mug at the edge of my desk. I hated that I always had to remind her to bring it; I couldn’t function in the morning without a fresh cup.

“I’m so sorry. I’ll get that right away.”

I turned on my computer and scrolled through my emails, sorting them all by importance. Of course, Alyssa’s latest email was pushed straight to the top.

Subject: Get Over Yourself.

Thank you for the childish picture text of the white dust that was outside your condo this morning. I really appreciated it, but I can assure you that that is NOT what the inside of my vagina looks like right now.

Not that it’s any of your business, but I don’t need to get laid every other day to satisfy my needs. They are WELL taken care of with a VARIETY of tools.

—Alyssa

Subject: Re: Get Over Yourself.

I sent you two pictures. One of the white dust and one of a dried up lake with dying animals. Was the second picture more accurate?

The only tool your pussy needs is my tongue. It’s here whenever you want it, and it works in a “VARIETY” of ways.

—Thoreau

“Here you are, Mr. Hamilton.” Jessica suddenly set my coffee on the desk. “Can I ask you something?”

“No, you may not.”

“I thought so,” she said, lowering her voice and looking into my eyes. “I know this is a bit unprofessional, but I need a date for the gala next month.

“Then find a date for the gala next month.”

“That was my way of asking you to be my date...”

I blinked. I needed to find a way to word this “Hell no” very carefully.

Jessica was fresh out of college—way too damn young for me, working here because her grandfather started this firm, and looking for much more than I’d ever be willing to give. I’d overheard her several times on her lunch breaks, talking about how she wanted to be married before she turned twenty five. She also apparently wanted to be a stay-at-home mom with six kids, and live in a house in the suburbs.

In other words, she was completely out of her fucking mind.

“So, what do you say?” She smiled.

I tried not to roll my eyes. “Jessica...”

“Yes?” Her eyes were full of hope.

“Look, sweetheart. Not only would it be highly inappropriate for the two of us to ever engage in any type of relationship outside of this office, but I’m not the man you’re looking for. At all. Trust me.”

“Not even for one night?”

“The words ‘one night’ in my book hold certain expectations that you couldn’t possibly meet. So, no. Go do some work.”

“Is ‘one night’ a code for sex?”

“Why are you still in my office?”

“I wouldn’t tell anyone if we had sex,” she whispered. “I’ve actually fantasized about it since we first met. And, since you never have any calls on the books from a girlfriend, I’m assuming you’re available.”

“I’m not.”

“I walked in on you while you were in the restroom once... You’re at least nine inches I think.”

What the fuck?!

I was five seconds away from recording this conversation on my phone and emailing it to her grandfather.

“I’m really good at giving blowjobs,” she said. “I’ve been doing it since high school. All the guys I’ve blown have said my mouth is amazing.” She bit her lip.

“Is there super-glue on my floor? Is that why you’re still standing there?”

“If you were my date to the gala and we ended up having a good time, you’d be the first man I’d actually went all the way with.” She blurted out, blushing. “I’m still a virgin, down there.”

“Then I’m definitely not the man for you.” I rolled my eyes. “Now, leave before I call Mr. Greenwood and tell him that his precious granddaughter is offering to suck my dick over morning coffee.”

Shocked, her cheeks tinged red and she quickly walked to the door. Then she looked over her shoulder and winked at me—fucking winked at me, before stepping out.

I immediately typed a note into my planner: Find a new secretary—an older, married one...

Before I could finish organizing my inbox, my cell phone rang. Alyssa.

“I’m busy,” I answered.

“Then why did you pick up the phone?”

“Because the sound of my voice makes you wet.”

“Funny.” She laughed. “How’s your morning?”

“Typical. My secretary just came onto me for the third time this month.”

“She sent you another ‘You and me belong together’ note with chocolates?”

“No, she offered to suck my dick.”

“What?” She gasped. ”You’re kidding!”

“Unfortunately not. After that, she told me she was willing to give me her virginity. Needless to say, I’ll be posting a replacement ad pretty soon. Anyone from your office want to work for a better firm? I’ll double the salary.”

“How do you know that my firm isn’t better than yours?”

“Because you call and ask me for advice on cases all the time—silly cases at that. If your firm was better, you’d never have to ask.”

“Whatever.” She groaned. “Have you bucked off the online dating wagon yet?”

“Bucked? Wagon?” I could never understand her little Southern metaphors. “What the hell does that mean?”

“Ugh, god...” She sighed. “It means you didn’t update me about your date last night so I guess it was a bust, which means you haven’t slept with anyone in over a month. That has to be a record for you.”

“It is.”

“Do you want some advice?”

“Not unless you want to come to my office and tell me in person.” I smiled.

“No, thanks. Speaking of advice, I’ll need your help Friday night.”