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This Could Be Trouble by RP Fischer (1)


One

Melanie- Present


Okay this is bad. 

Shit, this is very bad. I can't believe we went there. 

I wake up with a heavy, muscular, and dark haired arm around my waist, pulling me tight against a very warm body. The sun beats through my eyelids making me all aware of where I am and what happened last night within seconds. I can't believe how much we had to drink. We were celebrating the end of a two year multi-million studio retaining contract coming to a close with a great reputation addition to our firm. 


I've still had the crush on him from afar, even after the rejection I faced. Knowing he was twelve years my senior did absolutely nothing to stop the fantasies that burned in my brain. I did my fair share of stalking over the last few months to find out he had been divorced almost ten years now and had no kids, which was the cause for the divorce. His ex-wife had apparently hidden an alcohol problem causing them to lose two babies because she didn't take care of herself. This was all just office gossip mind you, but from the lack of photos in his office and the empty left ring finger, some gossip just might be true. At least about the divorce part.


We've been at a truce for the last four months, building and maintaining a small professional friendship. Whenever he looks at me or calls me dear or babe on accident, my heart flutters. I know he does it for every female in our building, but I can't help but tune it out, wishing it was just for me. Whenever I feel the brush of his hand on my shoulder when he's trying to get my attention when walking by, it leaves a reminder the rest of the day until I get home to add on to the fantasy in the privacy of my bedroom. Sometimes I wish the hand would spin me around in my chair as he kneels in front of me, yanking my ass to the edge of my chair, spreading my legs, and feasting on every part of me. It's only when I feel my head hit the back of my chair that I wake from the fantasy, realizing I actually hit my head board. Sadly, this fantasy has happened on more than one occasion.


This fucking sucks, but I digress. Lets get back to the present. The present of me being naked as the day I was born against the tiny hairs of his big beautiful chest that I no doubt traced with my tongue and his monster of a dick poking in between my legs. His other arm is rest under my head where I woke to mine being held inside of. I swear this man is big all over. I'm five foot nine and he still towers over me. 


Fuck, this is not good at all. I remember most of what happened at the party last night but I could swear he walked me out the front door to call me, myself, and I alone a cab. Did I really have that much to drink or this stemming from a sex coma? 


As I try to shove his arm from around me, my ass digs more into his crotch causing me to let out a tiresome groan. I ache all over knowing my pussy was very well worked if his size is any indication. 

 

He stirs a bit while I grab the silk burgundy sheet and wrap it around myself before heading to the closest door, which turns out to be the bathroom on the first try. God everything about him is drop dead sexy, even his bathroom. His and hers slate 


I splash some water on my face, dig around for toothpaste in the cabinets, and scrub my teeth with my finger. I try and tame my hair just a little bit, but give up and just throw it up in a ponytail using the tie I always keep around my wrist. I use a little tissue paper to clean the eye make up residue so raccoon lady disappears. 


I have got to find an escape route before he wakes...."MELANIE!"


Ahhh fuck...the monster is awake. I hear his footsteps pound downstairs and his voice echoing through the bathroom door.


"Mel, where are you?!"


I make my way through the bathroom back in his room as he lands back in the entrance.


In a voice I don't recognize, I scratch out, "I'm still here Shane. I was in the bathroom."


He falls to his bed in a thud, still naked in all his tall, big, tanned, and manly glory. "Fuck baby, I thought you had left."


Still clutching the sheet as I sit next to him, I reply, "To be perfectly honest with you, I was planning my escape route before you had woken up, but I can't really do that since I don't see my clothes anywhere in here."


A growling laugh comes from his handsomely lickable features, "That's because I just saw both of ours scattered across my kitchen, living, and dining room floors."


Jaw dropping at the mess, "How in the hell did we manage to do that?"


He lies back on his oversize bed with his hands behind his head and his erection is pointing straight up to his navel. Oh that's just yummy. And so completely unfair.


He catches me staring, but instead of teasing me, he explains, "It seems as if we started in the kitchen, tried the dining room, and finished in the living room with the clothing tornado before coming upstairs." 


He sits up and faces me, his expression uncharacteristically soft in his dark eyes. He gathers my face in both of his big hands, "Mel, I think we both know what happened last night and I get you are probably freaking out based on my past comments and actions, but I do not regret it for one minute. Yes, you are a lot younger than me and I know I said I wouldn't take the chance, but there is an attraction here and I'm done fighting it. I know it and you know it that we've been dancing around each other for months. I'm so fucking sorry for being the jackass who has pushed you away and rejected you the way that I did. I'm glad I took the chance. Last night was probably one of the best nights of my fucking life."


I remove myself from his closeness and start pacing, still only wearing a sheet. "This is fucking crazy Shane. I call you Mr. Thompson or sir for goodness sake just to piss you off! I have rules I follow to tease you and to keep me from mauling you in the office!"


"Well if we did a little role playing, that could continue Melanie."


I grab one of the pillows off of the floor and slap him upside his head with it. I counteract, "No, because then I would have fantasies about it at work or get jealous when other women did the same thing. Oh fuck, what about work? I just made Junior Partner."


Taking my hands in his to get my attention, "Baby. Look at me." When I don't, he urges, "Melanie Cromwell, look at me goddammit! You've never backed down to me before, don't start now."


I give him my best death glare as he strokes my pony tail that's making me feel like a kid in his big frame, "There's my girl. Listen, it's obvious we need to discuss a few things. Why don't you grab a shower, process this, and I'll go down to gather our clothes and make us some breakfast?"


I concede. "Alright."


Dropping the sheet when I lock myself in the bathroom, I figure out his shower panel and attempt to start gathering my thoughts. This is still very bad. 


A knock sounds over the water, "Mel, I put some briefs and a t-shirt on the bed when you get out."


I keep my hair in the pony tail and wash myself quickly. I have an appointment to get my hair done later today anyway so I don't even bother washing it. I grab a big towel off the rack outside the door and it drapes over my body like a blanket. Of course, big man, big towels. The clothes are huge on me and I don't even bother with the briefs because the shirt reaches to my knees.


I go downstairs to not see a scrap of clothing in sight. My shoes are by the kitchen table and the sight in front of me restarts my libido despite my kaleidoscope brain. Shane's six foot three muscle bound body is clad only in a pair of cargo shorts while he's bent over the stove. He does not look close to 40 at all. He's built and all man. Smooth skin just calling out to me to savor with my lips.


Good lord that man could be trouble. Two

Melanie

Six Months Earlier


Another day in Law Gopher Paradise. That's what I've deemed myself and my spot here at work. Instead of Melanie Cromwell, Esquire, I am Melanie Cromwell, Law Gopher. 


And today, I would rather be anything but that.


Good thing I am wearing my favorite three inch black leather jeweled booties today. 


I have to take some case files to an office with the hottest man known to the earth. 


I've worked for the Carson Entertainment Group, CEG, for nearly two years since I passed the bar and I've already made a lasting impression if I do say so myself. My double undergrad degrees in finance and communications impressed the partners when I showed my interest in entertainment law. My tendency for OCD with details on contract negotiations and fact checking made me the most reliable gopher in the office. 


I graduated in top three percent of my class at NYU and top five percent of my class at Columbia Law so I demanded perfection of myself, but had no problems working my way up the ladder. Failure was not an option.


Being a gopher totally sucked. But so many of the senior partners liked my attention to detail and take no drama attitude, that gopher turned quickly into most demanded errand person in the office. If any project needed to get done, I was the one who helped them get started. There were already talks of making me a junior partner. 


Living in New York City, you find lawyers nine times as much as you'll find a Starbucks, but amazing entertainment lawyers take on a whole new realm of themselves. This entire firm works hand in hand throughout the entire world. CEG has offices in Paris, Los Angeles, Orlando, Toronto, Vancouver, and Tokyo. Strange mix, but it works in our line of work. We need all hands on deck around the globe to make sure everything from merchandising rights to intellectual property of movie scripts is handled properly and correctly. 


I'm mostly a gopher to specific senior partners and lately, they've started giving me smaller contracts to handle on my own, especially ones that involve budgets. Ecstatic doesn't begin to cover how I feel for being able to use my law brain.


I still answer to certain partners, but today is different. Luckily, I don't normally answer to the sexy man who has been here for nearly ten years and a senior partner for at least five of it. I have never worked directly under him on any contract or case, but his assigned junior partner is out sick, and I've heard he barely lets paralegals touch certain documents. My direct supervisor told me to hand deliver these at exactly one-thirty in the afternoon for a west coast conference call. 


I've never actually walked into Shane Thompson's office before. The smell alone coming from his office is enough to make me teeter in my killer heels. I've observed him in staff meetings and watched him several times talking to other associates, but our encounters are extremely few and far between. 


He's dark in his "I demand perfection from my entire staff and clients" way. His jet black hair rests short on the side and perfectly styled back on top, but not so long that he looks like a dippy hipster. A 1940s gangster is the first image that comes in my mind. Damn, he would probably look sexy dangerous in a pinstriped suit and fedora. His eyes, dark as night, contrast against the rest of his face because I've seen him smile and lord there are dimples. A person off the street would never know there's a shark lurking underneath.


Men normally don't make me nervous. In fact, I can never find one that can keep up wth me, but the idea of facing Mr. Thompson alone is making me a little wobbly.


I make my way up to his corner office, make polite talk to his secretary, Ms. Henson, and knock quickly on the door after she allows me through. 


A voice of deep soothing music to my ears tells me, "Come in."  


I slowly glance around the gigantic and amazing office with the most perfect view of the New York City skyline. A large giant dark cherry-wood bookcase holds some well used law books and files stacked in every available corner. There is absolutely nothing in here of personalization. My gaze falls on the man in the black suit with light gray shirt and purple plaid tie sitting at the matching cherry wood desk and large brown leather chair. 


"Miss Cromwell I presume? You may sit. I have a view more things to look over before we discuss this contract."


I look around the vast room, before I ask meekly, "Discuss the contract sir? I wasn't made aware this was a meeting, just that you needed this file for the conference call."


He looks up from his computer, dark eyes filled with emotions I can't quite pinpoint. It's like he's seeing me for the first time yet it quickly goes away before going back to his previous expression. Is he mad I didn't know about the contract? Is there amusement? Oh my, is that lust? 


He moves over from behind his desk, all six foot three of dark knight glory. His jacket is already unbuttoned when he perches himself on the corner of his desk. He crosses his ankles and folds his arms, but I only notice the bulge that sits in the center of him from his legs being crossed over. Heaven help me, I want to run my hands over every single inch of the muscles bulging against his suit. 


"Miss Cromwell. I've heard you're one of our rising stars here and with my junior associate out sick the rest of the week, I need someone to keep on this contract with the studio out in LA. Your other work is pushed off as this deal needs to be closed in the next few days. If we can get it done today then you're looking junior partner dead in the face sooner than you thought."


I reply with the utmost conviction and professionalism, "I promise to do my best Mr. Thompson. I'm sorry sir, but per the firm's rules, I have not read the contract as it was not under my direct supervisor. Do I have time to brief myself?"


"Yes, you do. Let me help you up, and we'll make our way over to the conference room."


As his hand grips into mine, I feel him pull me from the chair, only for my heel to get caught on the leg, and I stumble into him against the desk. He grabs onto my wrists, holding me in a way that seems more erotic than professional and he helps me lean away from him. Shane lets go of my wrists so that my hands fall on his hard and muscular chest.


I look up at Shane while he's gripping my hips to keep me from falling again and his darkened gaze beams right into me. Heat from his skin through his suit channels through my fingertips and I tighten my grip onto his jacket. 


Without hesitation or any idea for consequences, I take a chance, and kiss him. I sense shock from him, but for only a second before he's kissing me back, close mouthed before pulling away again. He helps me stand to our full heights. His hand is not letting go, and I don't know who leaned in first, but we are kissing again with plenty of people on the other side of the door. For a mere hot moment, the bulge of his erection moves against the tightness of my skirt, causing the fabric to inch up on my legs.


He whips his head back and lets out a deep set of breaths. His velvet voice is strained. "This can't happen. I'm not going to go through this bullshit again."


I look at him, hurt most likely evident on my face even though he's not even looking at me. I nod before I shakingly reply, "I understand. I apologize for being so forward sir. I was completely out of line."


He doesn't let me move. Instead, he grabs my hand to his chest again. His voice holds sympathy. "Don't take this personally. It's not you, I swear. I'd rather not be dealing with the drama again. Women think they can handle my life until the world starts interfering. I travel, I work nonstop, and I don't flaunt my money."


I scoff at the "it's not you" line before I reign in the sarcasm. "You obviously need to get to know me then. I don't let the world interfere with everything I've worked so hard for. All I've ever asked from anyone in life is a chance to prove myself. If you don't think I'm different then that's your problem, not mine. Chances are everything in this business."


He lightly pushes me back to slide to the side of his desk, back to his chair, and gathers up the files. He doesn't even look me in the eye for his statement. "It's a chance I cant take."


I move closer to the desk, planting my hands on the dark cherry wood. "Life is not worth anything without taking a few risks and chances. Surely you've learned that in our line of work sir."


For the first time he looks me in the eye and copies my stance. "You can say you're different all you want Miss Cromwell, it doesn't change the result. You'll leave just like the rest."


"Well, right now you're kicking me out so I don't really have any more say in the matter Mr. Thompson."


He picks up the files and walks to the door. It's like he can feel me staring at his back. He knocks his head against the wood. "Don't push me woman. Now let's get this deal done so you can focus on your career."


When he opens the door, I silently fume all of the way to the conference room. Knowing he's right about my career, I resign myself to staying focused. Still, it doesn't make the sting of rejection hurt any less. 

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