The firm was so selective that they conducted four rounds of phone interviews, three online tests, and required each applicant to complete several essays before the final interview with the partners.

I’d soared through the phone interviews and the exams, but the essays— regarding hundred paged case files, were something that I hadn’t expected. I’d even thought they’d sent me the wrong packet so I called to say, “I believe my packet was switched with the law-school level intern application.” The secretary simply laughed at me.

She’d said the firm expected all of its interns—law school level and undergraduate level, to fill out the same packet to the best of their ability.

“Don’t worry,” she’d said. “We’re not expecting perfection from you. We just want to see how your mind works.”

I grabbed the case file that was giving me the most trouble and placed it into my lap. Then I went to the GBH firm’s website and familiarized myself with the three partners who would be interviewing me.

Greenwood, the founder of the firm, was a salt and pepper haired man with wiry framed glasses. He touted Harvard as his reason for being so demanding and thorough, and boasted that in his thirty years of practicing the law, he’d attained one of the highest victory rates in the country.

Bach, partner of the firm for over ten years, was a bald man in his early forties, though he looked a bit older. He’d worked his way up through the firm, and since he was “such a hardworking individual with unparalleled passion,” Greenwood had no choice but to make him his first partner. He had one of the second highest victory rates in the country.

Last was Hamilton—Andrew Hamilton, and he was...He was sexy as f**k. I tried to focus on his biography and ignore his picture, but I couldn’t help it. His deep and piercing blue eyes were staring right at me, and his short, dark brown hair was begging my hands to run through it.

He had the face of a Greek God—evenly tanned, perfectly symmetrical, strong and chiseled jawline, and his full lips were curved into a slight smirk.

Even though the picture only showed the top part of his body, I imagined that by the way he filled out his navy blue suit that there were hard and defined muscles underneath it.

I was getting wet just looking at him.

Focus, Aubrey...Focus...

Strangely, his bio was the shortest one of them all. It didn’t list his education, his background, or the year he became partner. It was just a bunch of filler words about how “the firm was so honored to have such an esteemed and proven lawyer” on their team. Oh, and he enjoyed eating chocolate.

How informative...

I copied and pasted all of their bios into a word document, and then I called Thoreau.

“Good evening, Alyssa,” he answered, making me melt with his voice as usual. I swore he could talk me into doing anything—almost anything.

“Hey, um...”

“Yes?”

God, I loved his f**king voice... He hadn’t said much of anything and I was already turned on.

“You called so I could listen to you breathe?” He had to be smiling.

“I did, actually.” I rolled my eyes. “Are you enjoying my sounds?”

“I’d enjoy them a lot better if you were underneath me.”

I blushed. “Um...”

“The case, Alyssa.” He laughed. “Tell me about your latest case.”

“Right, um...” I cleared my throat. “Long story short: My client carried a gun into a federal bank and forgot to turn on the safety lock. Someone bumped into him and his hands instinctively went to his pocket, and the gun fired—shooting him in the leg.”

“Since when do you practice criminal law? I thought your specialty was corporate.”

Shit... “It is, it is. I’m taking this case for a friend, pro bono.”

“Hmmm. Well, your friend is looking at two to five years in a federal prison if he doesn’t have any priors. What part of this do you need help with exactly?”

“The pleading part. He didn’t hurt anyone but himself.”

“Did he have a license to carry?”

“No...” I looked through my notes.

“Then I’m sure the prosecution will convince the jury that he carried that gun into the bank with the intent to harm someone other than himself. Take whatever deal they offer.”

“Well, I...” I looked at what the assignment sheet said. “What if I already rejected that deal?”

He sighed. “Call the prosecution and try to get it back. If they say no, plead no contest.”

“No contest? Are you out of your mind?”

“Are you? What type of corporate lawyer agrees to take an open and shut criminal case? A fairly inexperienced one at that...”

“For your information, it’s an assign—” I coughed. “Never mind. Telling me to plead no contest is pretty much the same thing as telling me to plead guilty.”

“If that was the case, I would have said plead guilty.” He sounded annoyed. “No contest is your client’s best option, and any real lawyer would know that. Are you sure you passed the bar exam?”

“I wouldn’t have been invited to join LawyerChat if I hadn’t, would I?” I felt my heart ache with that lie. “I’m just trying to avoid my client being sentenced to prison.”

“Then you really should stick to corporate law.” There was a smile in his voice. “Your client is going to prison and there’s nothing you can do about it. The only negotiable thing about his case is how long he’ll spend there. Anything else I can help you with? Do I need to lecture you on the difference between guilty and not guilty?”

I rolled my eyes and put the file away. “Thank you for your condescending help as always.”

“My pleasure,” he said. “I need to ask you something important.”

“About my case?”

“No.” He let out a low laugh. “What do you look like?”

“What?” I could barely hear my voice. “What did you say?”

“You heard me. Since I may never get a chance to see you, I’d like to know. What do you look like?”

I stood up and walked over to my mirror, letting my eyes roam over my reflection. “I’m not sure how I’m supposed to answer that...” I needed to change the subject, fast. From everything he’d told me about his dates over the past few months, he definitely had a type he liked best, a type that intrigued him like no other: Blonde, slightly curvy, full lips...

Me.

I’d tried to envision what he looked like plenty of times. Dark haired, maybe? Dirty blond? A mouth made for kissing with deep green eyes? Six pack, no, eight pack that leads down to a lick-able V?

He does mention working out every day...

I was more than certain that he was attractive—he had to be if so many women put up with him on those dating sites, but each time my mind drew a picture, I’d convince myself that I had him all wrong.

“You know what?” I said, snapping out of my thoughts. “I’ve never been good at describing things. What do you look like?”

“I look like a man who wants to f**k you.”

Tingles ran up and down my spine. “That’s not a description...”