Filthy Lawyer (The Firm #1) Read Online Whitney G

Categories Genre: Alpha Male, Contemporary, Erotic, New Adult Tags Authors: Series: The Firm Series by Whitney G
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Total pages in book: 52
Estimated words: 52699 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 263(@200wpm)___ 211(@250wpm)___ 176(@300wpm)
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Rumor had it that he was investing two million dollars in the firm’s furniture. And that was just for his floor.

I watched as he exited a coffee shop and moved near his custom luxury car.

Like I’d done several times before, I waited for him to rev the engine and put the car in drive. The moment he pulled onto the street, I jumped in front of his vehicle, making it seem like he’d hit me.

Falling to the asphalt, I grabbed my shoulder and moaned in pain.

He turned off his engine and stepped out of the car.

I watched his leather shoes walk toward me, and then he looked down.

“Are you alright, sir?” he asked.

“You hit me.” I moaned again. “I need an ambulance, and I think my shoulder is broken.”

He sipped his coffee.

“Hurry up and call for help, or else.”

“Or else what?” He continued sipping, and I realized he was one of the more stubborn lawyers and may need some additional convincing.

“It hurts so bad,” I said. “God, I can’t believe you hit me.”

He lifted his foot and kicked my shoulder. Hard.

“What the fuck?” I jumped up. “Why did you do that?”

“Wow.” He smiled. “It’s a miracle.”

“Now it’s an additional assault charge…”

“You’re a very good actor,” he said. “I’m impressed and thoroughly entertained.”

“I’m not acting.” I grabbed my shoulder. “I’m willing to settle this accident without any third parties if you’d like.”

“Oh, really?”

“Yes.” I eyed his custom watch, wondering how much it was worth. “Give me all the money in your wallet and we’ll call this even.”

“How about I give you something better?”

“Like your watch?”

“No.” He smiled and pulled a custom billfold from his pocket, but he held it up instead of giving it to me.

“Ten of my associates have won double their usual amount of cases this year,” he said.

“Good for them.”

“But they’ve all found evidence in a way that doesn’t quite fit their character,” he said. “It’s made me very suspicious.”

“Thank you for this pointless story about your feelings, Mr. Hamilton. I just want the wallet.”

“I’ve seen you at the courthouse for months, handing off files to lawyers who don’t seem as smart as you are,” he said. “You seem desperate as hell to make a dime, so that tells me that you’re wasting your talent at Bowles & Bushman.”

“Okay, look. I don’t want to—” I paused. “How do you know where I work?”

“Here’s a better question,” he said. “How much money do you need to make a month?”

“Sixteen thousand.” Half for me, half for Michelle.

He arched a brow. “You’re risking your law license and freedom on fake accidents for sixteen grand a month?”

Okay, fine. “Ideally, I’d like to make a million dollars as fast as possible,” I said, thinking of Michelle’s college fund and the monthly anonymous support checks I sent to her family. “It’s not just for me.”

“That would take you six and a half years at your current firm with bonuses, maybe less if you make partner, but you know that’s not going to happen,” he said. “How about you come work with me instead?”

I waited for the catch.

“I just started my firm, but we’re fast growing and I have a good feeling about you, so…” He tapped his chin. “I’d start you at nine hundred thousand a year—plus bonuses—given that you’ve already been an incredible asset to my team.”

My jaw dropped.

“We’re working from a leased space right now while they renovate a building up to my standard, so come find me this week if you’re interested.”

“Oh, and here.” He tossed me the wallet and returned to his car.

I opened it as he drove away, and there was nothing inside except an “I love Daddy” drawing and a business card.

Welcome to the firm.

GIFT (N.)

THE VOLUNTARY TRANSFER OF PROPERTY (INCLUDING MONEY) TO ANOTHER PERSON COMPLETELY FREE OF PAYMENT OR STRINGS

ELIZABETH

Michael was treating me to a gourmet dinner at my apartment tonight. I’d left the door open for him hours ago, and the scent of pasta greeted me when I came back home.

“You’re here on time.” He kissed my forehead as I set down my briefcase. “I’m still not done with the Italian rolls.”

“I can wait.”

He took off his oven mitt and sighed. “Can I ask you something personal?”

“Anything.”

“Do you still think about Damien Carter?”

Every night. “No.”

“Are you sure?”

I shook my head, but the truth escaped my lips. “Yes, but I don’t want to be with him. I just need a little more time to get over him, that’s all.”

“I appreciate the honesty.” He kissed my forehead again. “You want white wine or red?”

“Red.”

Ding! Dong!

“Be right back.” I walked to the door and a delivery driver held out a small box with a purple ribbon for me.

Confused, I untied it and saw a piece of metal and the silver “H” from the center of a Honda steering wheel.

There was a note at the bottom.


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