Total pages in book: 79
Estimated words: 76539 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 383(@200wpm)___ 306(@250wpm)___ 255(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 76539 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 383(@200wpm)___ 306(@250wpm)___ 255(@300wpm)
I quickly look away. Holy hell, that man is beautiful, and it’s really not fair that he loves to walk around without his shirt.
“Since when do you know anything about avoiding reality? Did you get a psych degree on the streets of South Philly?”
“Something like that, actually.” He leans toward me. “You think I don’t know how people work? My whole job is knowing what makes guys tick, how to motivate them, how to push their buttons, how to lean on certain angles to get what I want. And not just my guys either, but my enemies too. I need to see how people think and figure out what they need.”
“You think you figured out what I need?”
“You need a release, that’s what you need.”
I roll my eyes. “Typical.”
“I mean it. Do you have any hobbies? Any interests outside of work?”
Anger begins boiling my skin. What the hell does this guy know about me? All he can see is the lawyer version of me, but there are dozens of facets to my personality. But as I open my mouth to rebuke him, the words slowly fizzle out on my tongue.
Because he’s right.
It’s not that I’m only a lawyer—but I don’t do much outside of work these days.
I wasn’t always this way. I love movies and music and reality TV and podcasts, and I used to consume so much media I was like a whale swimming around swallowing as much stuff as possible. But ever since I took on this job, I’ve done nothing but stick to the lawyer-Sara to the detriment of all the other versions of me. I used to love going for runs and hikes and walks, and when’s the last time I took a few hours to head out for a six-mile jog? When’s the last time I went to a movie or saw a show or went to a concert? Heck, I barely ever go out to eat anymore, except for when Brice and Robyn and Cassidy force me.
Angelo’s right that I don’t have much of a life, but I’m doing it on purpose.
It’s just the job. It demands so much, and if I want to get ahead, I’d better give it everything I have.
“I don’t need to justify myself to you,” I say, still itching with anger. “You don’t understand what it’s like.”
“Enlighten me then.” He shifts closer, staring into my eyes. “Come on, princess. Tell me why you work so fucking hard.”
“Because I need to be twice as good,” I say sharply. He barely reacts, and I keep going as something inside of me begins to unwind. “You don’t get it. The law world’s been opening up for a long time, women are respected, we’re not treated like cute little sideshows anymore. But at the same time, it’s still a boy’s club, still a bunch of old guys and their buddies all getting the best cases and sitting at the top of the firm. If I’m not perfect, I’m nothing. Yeah, things are better than they used to be but they’re still not equal and I don’t think they ever will be. So while I’m not complaining, this is what I signed up for, I still won’t let you patronize me for working so hard. I have to work this hard.”
He absorbs my speech with a deepening frown. When I’m done, his head tilts to the side, and he looks at me like he barely recognizes the woman sitting across from him. I sink back against the couch and clamp my jaw shut and try not to scream.
I hate opening myself up to him like this and I don’t know what it is about Angelo that makes me do it. If I could, I’d keep all this inside, keep it all locked up tight where it belongs. I hate complaining and whining and admitting that I’m weak.
But I’m weak. I’ve always been weak. Only I keep it hidden.
“You don’t have to prove yourself to anyone, princess,” he says quietly.
“Easy for you to say.”
He gets up from his chair and comes toward me. I stare as he sinks down to his knees a few feet in front of me, right on top of some crime scene sketches. He moves forward, staring, and my heart’s racing.
“Who are you trying to impress?” he asks. “Are you doing all this for you? Or for everyone else?”
“I’m doing it for me.”
“Then why do you beat yourself to hell?”
“Because that’s the only way I can get ahead.”
He leans closer, hands gripping the couch on either side of my thighs, and I’m pinned back and my chest is thumping wildly. “Who says?” he whispers. “Who are you trying to impress? You keep going this way and there won’t be much left of you when you finally get what you want.”
“Stop it,” I say and lean forward. I put my hands on his chest and try to push him away, but he doesn’t budge. “I don’t know what you’re doing, but stop it.”