Bosshole Lawyer

BOSSHOLE LAWYER A DAD’S BEST FRIEND, FORCED PROXIMITY ROMANCE BELLA BRANDON Copyright © 2023 by Bella Brandon All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without written permission from the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review. Created with Vellum CONTENTS 1. Aubrey 2. Liam 3. Aubrey 4. Liam 5. Aubrey 6. Liam 7. Aubrey 8. Liam 9. Aubrey 10. Liam 11. Aubrey 12. Liam 13. Aubrey 14. Liam 15. Aubrey 16. Liam 17. Aubrey 18. Liam 19. Aubrey 20. Liam 21. Aubrey 22. Aubrey 23. Liam 24. Aubrey Epilogue Also by Bella Brandon CHAPTER 1 AUBREY I swear whenever something is time sensitive or important the universe decides to shit on me. Today is both of those and I’m currently stuck in a traffic jam, which is eating up the time I have left to get to the office. I left a whole hour early, and yet some idiot has decided to cause an accident and the freeway is clogged up for miles. At least that’s what it feels like. Maybe it isn’t miles, but I have just been sitting here on the same stretch of road, creeping forward inch by inch for the last forty-five minutes. I don’t have time for this, I glance at the minutes on my dash’s clock as they count down further to my failure of a morning. My fingers tap an impatient beat on the steering wheel as I turn up the radio and listen to the negativity spilling from the droning voice of the newscaster. The news is a poor decision to try and use as a distraction, but well, you live and learn. I squint at the road ahead as traffic looks like it’s finally clearing up, and as I pass by an unfortunate wreck of twisted metal, I sigh in relief. In the end, I’m able to zip past the congestion that held me captive for so long. Though I try to keep my speed under control, I can tell I’m pushing the limits of legality. God, Dad would be so angry right now. I swing into a parking spot as soon as I find one in the structure and then rush through the sliding glass doors of the firm’s building. My stomach twists as I check my watch and notice I have around eight minutes left. How did it get this late? I jam my finger against the elevator’s button multiple times, hoping like some sort of child it will make it arrive faster. The slow glow creeps down the numbers while it descends toward the ground floor, and I silently curse the steel box for taking its sweet time. My mental frustrations are interrupted when a man steps up beside me. I feel the heavy weight of his gaze dragging over my body, observing every twitch of my anxious muscles until the doors in front of us finally open. “Floor?” He asks as we step inside. “Oh! Ummm, twelve,” I murmur, my words jittery. I brush my hands over my hair to make sure any flyaways go back in place. Still sensing his eyes on me, I finally glance over and get a good look at the man. His hair is dark blonde, cut slightly longer but swept away from his face, a perfect look for a businessman. His charcoal suit looks expensive and brings out the dark green of his eyes, making them glimmer almost like gems. I drop my attention, unable to continue to stare at him due to my nerves, back to my watch, and then glance quickly back at the numbers showing how close we are to the office. If we don’t hit any delays, then I should make it with two minutes to spare. “Running late?” He asks, betraying a hint of mirth. I turn to him once again and he has the most annoying and condescending smirk on his face. I think this is the first time in my life I’ve hated someone on sight. It seems like he’s mocking my pain. I sneer, my lip curling back from my teeth, even though I know, I know, it will probably come back to bite me in the ass. He’s going to the twelfth floor too since no other button was pressed, and he’s very likely a client. But the fact he feels the need to point out the obvious, the stress that’s pressing into my back, makes me snap back. “Not necessarily.” I resolutely stare at the doors in front of me, silently counting down the seconds in my head as I wait for the telltale bell of arrival. I can feel his attention still settled on me, but I refuse to acknowledge it. However, I can’t help the sassy remark that rolls off my tongue. “If you’re so interested, why don’t you take a picture? It will last you longer,” I mutter, just loud enough for him to hear. It’s a lame retort, but this stranger is bringing out the childish defiance in me. He laughs, a low rich sound that sadly has my toes curling in my shoes. Damn, if he wasn’t such an ass I could see him being attractive. Don’t lie to yourself, that incessant thought that loves to point out how wrong I am, says. He’s still gorgeous even with his attitude. It seems I can’t get away with anything today, not even in the safety of my own mind. I breathe a sigh of relief as a soft chime announces the twelfth floor, and the doors slide open. I nearly run out before I remember to slip into work mode, and carefully walk as fast as physically possible—closer to a jog— down the corridor to the secretarial desk. I barely look up until I hear Derek’s voice. Derek is bubbly, a ray of sunshine in a world of shades of gray, and