Page 22 of Not Mine to Rescue

He glanced down. “You mad?”

“No,” I lied.

A little laugh escaped him. “Funny, I’d be pissed as hell. I bet Jimbo called you to tell you his side chick is having your baby, didn’t he?”

I froze, trying to figure out if he’d said that or if I’d twisted the words around. A squeak leaked out instead of the acidic words scrambled in my brain.

Wombat bent down a little so we were eye to eye. It didn’t take more than a slouch of his shoulders because we were near the same height with my heels. “That was an asshole thing for me to say, wasn’t it?”

I nodded, still not trusting myself to speak. I finally managed a weak, “You shouldn’t talk about customers that way.”

“You pay Lemon, he doesn’t. I suppose you’re going to pay the late fee for that dick, too, aren’t you?”

Of course I was. It was my name on the contract. The reminder wasn’t pleasant.

Wombat straightened. “Word of advice, don’t.”

Something like a laugh came out. “Are you telling me what to do?”

“Yeah. Make the asshole pay. It’s his fault, not yours.”

If only I could make him pay for all of it. “That’s not how civilized people settle their differences.”

His lips curled. “Fuck civilized.”

“You don’t even know him.”

“Are you making excuses for him?” The words were angry, Wombat’s expression was angrier.

I took a step back. That wouldn’t do. I was a top-notch attorney. I was well-versed in verbal combat. I gauged what would silence him but not enrage him. “Are you still on probation?”

He deflated. “You should know, you arranged it.” He took a step or two away and straightened Molly’s leash before handing it off. “Here. I’ll get her things.”

He disappeared into the house and came back with her scent blanket.

DA saw the fabric and whined.

“Shut up, Dumb Ass. She leaves every day.” Wombat shook his head.

Molly watched DA and let out a little whine of her own. “I think they’re getting attached to each other.”

Wombat followed the connection from Molly to DA. “They’re just friends.”

I stared at the angry set of his shoulders. “Are we friends?”

Our eyes met. “If you weren’t my lawyer, and I was richer like Jim-dick, we’d be more.”

“Are you sure about that?” I countered.

He squared off to study me. “How many times have you orgasmed in the last five months, not counting solo excursions?”

That was crude and sledgehammer blunt. I responded with some bluntness of my own. “Make it a year and a half, and that would be zero.”

“Jesus.” His sharp gaze softened. “What about in two years?” His eyes glittered as he studied my face. I swear his eyes stalled on my lips.

“Twice,” I admitted. Then I was reminded that it really wasn’t. “Maybe.”

He made a rude noise and caught my chin again to get my attention. “There’d be no maybe with me. And I can guarantee if you give me a half hour, I’ll make twice a solid certainty.”