Page 2 of Drilled

“My bad, this is Barrett,” Silas corrected.

“Glad to see you finally made it, Barrett and Silas,” I said absentmindedly, moving right past them and waving my tote over my shoulder. “I trust you boys can find the bathroom within the next hour or so. Try not to break anything.”

Then I was out the door, practically flying down the stoop, my boots slapping against the stonesteps, frantic and uneven as I tried to make up time. I felt like I’d dissolved into a blur of tailored wool, caffeine and adrenaline when the bubble suddenly burst.

A deafening roar accompanied the smell of burning rubber and I stumbled to a stop as a gleaming motorcycle, obnoxiously loud enough to rattle my teeth, banked hard toward the curb I’d been seconds away from crossing. It screeched to a halt mere inches from my exposed shins before skidding into the gap beside the Cornerstone truck, kicking up a spray of slush that narrowly missed my skirt.

“Watch yourself, asshole!” I yelled, checking my bags and clothes to make sure I was mud-free. Fury heated my words, the cold wall I’d been building against that anger now at melting point. “You could’ve taken my legs off!”

When I finally looked at the rider, he didn’t so much as flinch. He kicked the kickstand down with a heavy, practiced thud and dismounted in one fluid motion. He was still wearing his ridiculous helmet as his head moved infuriatingly slowly from my ankles to my shins, then my waist and back again.

I tightened the grip on my tote, angry and annoyed all at once.

“Now that would’ve been a real shame,” he said, his deep voice somewhat muffled through the helmet before he removed it. My mouth went dry at the lazy, lopsided smirk that tugged at his mouth. “Those are some really pretty legs.”

His face was all hard edges, his cheekbones hollowed and heavy jaw squared off, topped by a smooth shave that just about staved off the five o’clock shadow. His eyes were deep-set, selfish in what they observed but refused to give. His hair was clean on the sides, tapering into skin while the top was side-swept and neatly styled but still somehow a little rough.

But even beyond all of that was his body—it was clear that despite the layers of clothes he was wearing, he was athletically dense, carrying his broad-shouldered weight with the lazy, dangerous grace of a predator who knew exactly how much space he took up.

And for once, I couldn’t speak. Couldn’t even buy a syllable.

Why were the hot ones always dicks? I was still trying to formulate a thesis on that, when he simply walked right past me, heading straight for my house. And that’s when the penny dropped…this man was the third contractor.

I spun around, watching him disappear behind the front door before I managed to get back on track and make my way to the station. Just then, Sandy’s front window rattled as he threw it open and popped his head out.

“Lane! That truck is double-parked in a tow-zone! I’m calling it in!" he shouted.

I didn’t even look back as I rounded the corner to the L station. “Write me up, Sandy. I don’t have time for this!”

Even from this distance, I could hear him slam the window shut.

*

“Morning, Counselor. Don't look at your watch, it’ll only hurt your feelings. Focus on this.”

I was met with the most delicious aroma of freshly brewed coffee as the Daley Center’s elevator doors opened before me. Nancy stood like an angel, wafting a cup under my nose and I stifled a groan as I swapped out my empty travel mug for the new drink. I took a long, nourishing sip as we fell into step together.

“I found the 2018 precedent on the Miller case—turns out the defendant has a history of 'forgetting' to file tax returns. I’ve flagged the pages in your binder. You’re in Room 2402 in ten minutes,” she said.

“Only ten?” I asked, turning my head to face her in surprise.

“I may or may not have helped buffer the client,” she said nonchalantly. “She’s nervous for today. Turns out people don’t mind waiting a bit if they get to vent.”

“I owe you my first-born,” I said solemnly.

“Lovely offer but I’d have to decline in honor of a letter of commendation. Or a dinner at the Sterling & Oak,” she said, clicking the pen she always carried around and wielded like a physical grammatical flourish. “During steak night.”

“Done and done.”

“I love a mutually beneficial friendship. And anyway, it’s not exactly your fault when your renovation crew turns up late.”

The thought of that prick on the bike immediately brought a warmth to my face that had me cuss under my breath. But ever the detective, my reaction didn’t escape Nance’s notice. She tilted her head, the tell-tale sign that she had sniffed out a lead she was going to chase to the very end.

“Hmm. And that look?” she asked.

“What look?”

“You know Lane, for a pitbull of a lawyer you sure are a terrible liar,” she said. “At least to me. You never blush. Not even when you’re pinned in a courtroom with a squad of overpaid parasites on the opposing counsel. This is new.”