I knew his use of my nickname in every sentence was an attempt to goad me off-topic, so I didn't indulge him.
"It was Jill. I don't need to stoop to screwing paralegals," he admitted softly after a few seconds of a staring contest, which I obviously won, like always.
I nodded my head before getting out of my chair and walking to the window behind me, twenty-five floors above the bustling streets of Midtown.
I wished I could say I could feel his eyes making their way from my ankles over my bare calves and up to my gymnast butt inside my pencil skirt, but I'm not that good, yet. I couldn't feel them, but had no doubt that's what they were doing.
"What did you have in mind for an arrangement to persuade you to assist your girlfriend with my brother's divorce?"
Not all questions in a nego
