Chapter 55

"Then just think of me as a client who's paying per visit," I suggested with a calculated smile. "I come once, you deduct the fee once. Straightforward enough."

Noting her flustered expression, I reconsidered my approach. "Would booking him for a full day suffice to get through to him?"

After a moment's calculation, I transferred another substantial amount to the firm's account. The final total made me inwardly wince. Pursuing Hunter had certainly become more expensive since our college days.

"So it's settled," I concluded, handing her the breakfast bag. "This is for you. Call his other clients and reschedule."

Without awaiting her response, I strode purposefully toward Hunter's office, knocked once, and pushed the door open before he could respond.

Hunter looked up from his desk, his expression darkening instantly upon seeing me.

"Attorney James, please don't disturb my work. I believe I made myself clear last night," he stated, his voice glacial.

Undeterred, I circled behind his chair and wrapped my arms around him, gently nipping his earlobe. "I've booked your entire day," I whispered, forcing playfulness into my tone despite the anxiety fluttering in my chest. "You're all mine until closing time."

Hunter pried my hands away with firm determination. "What exactly do you mean?"

"I mean I paid for your time," I explained, swiftly settling myself on his lap and resting my head against his shoulder. "Twenty thousand an hour—double your usual rate. As a VIP client, shouldn't I receive special treatment, Attorney Huxley?"

"This is preposterous," he muttered, reaching for his desk phone. I quickly pressed the disconnect button before he could summon security or his secretary.

"No refunds accepted," I insisted firmly. "You've taken the fee. Now you have to serve your client."

"Serve...?" Hunter's expression darkened ominously, and I knew my deliberately provocative word choice had hit its mark.

He stood abruptly, nearly toppling me from his lap, and gripped my arm firmly as he marched me toward the door. He was actually going to throw me out!

Just as his fingers closed around the doorknob, I spun around and pinned him against the door, arms encircling his neck. I nestled my head against his chest, deliberately softening my voice.

"Hunter, don't be angry. I'm sorry, okay?" I murmured, gazing up at him with genuine regret.

"What do you have to be sorry for?" he replied icily. "We're just having fun, aren't we?" He pushed my hands away and reached again for the door.

The sting of hearing my own words reflected back at me was sharp—I suddenly realized he was throwing last night's comment in my face! I pressed my palm firmly against the door, preventing him from opening it.

"If I have nothing to be sorry about, why are you so angry?" I challenged, bracing my hand beside his head as I stared directly into his eyes.

"Go find other men to play with. Don't hover around me," he said darkly, attempting once more to open the door.

I blocked the door handle again, frustration and desperation mounting within me. "Who was it that insisted on playing with me a few days ago? Now you decide you're done, and that's it?"

"Don't you have plenty of men to choose from? Get out," his voice cut like ice.

Seeing his unwavering expression, I made a split-second decision. "Fine. If sweet talk won't work, I'll have to try something else!"

Without warning, I pressed my lips against his, deliberately sliding my hand up his thigh with teasing slowness. Despite his resistance, I felt his body responding, and when he pushed me slightly away, I immediately reclaimed his lips, slipping my hand beneath his shirt to caress his skin.

"Jane," he growled, his voice dropping to a rougher register as he pushed me away more firmly. The heat radiating from his body betrayed the conflict between desire and restraint.

"What is it?" I asked, tilting my head with feigned innocence. "Are you sure you don't want to play anymore? Because your body seems to be telling me—"

"Get out," he interrupted, yanking the door open and physically propelling me into the hallway before slamming it shut. The definitive click of the lock echoed in the corridor.

Standing outside, I jiggled the handle awkwardly, confirming what I already knew—he'd locked me out. I grimaced at the door, wondering: Was he truly angry this time? Was last night's dinner with Lucas really such a trigger?

Turning around, I noticed several colleagues openly staring. I forced a confident smile and waved casually. "Your Attorney Huxley needs to work on his client service skills. He could use some training. Don't stare—get back to work!"

Hunter's secretary approached apologetically. "Attorney James, Mr. Huxley asked me to refund your payment."

"No need," I replied breezily. "Keep it for next time. Just deduct according to the time used." With that, I walked away, catching her mutter behind me: "With that much money and less than twenty minutes used, we'll be deducting forever..."

Outside the building, I shielded my eyes against the harsh sunlight, exhaling deeply. Hunter was evidently more upset than I'd anticipated.

"Mary even knows to record conversations as evidence now. I definitely can't approach Lucy or John again, or I might end up in jail myself," I murmured, concerned about another obstacle in my father's case.

Just then, my phone rang. Lucas's name illuminated the screen.

I returned to Sullivan & James Law Firm. Despite my personal troubles, my shoulders remained straight. Hunter's rejection still stung, but work had always been my sanctuary.

"Jane, you've been gone all morning. There's a client insisting on seeing you," Lucas informed me, his tone carrying a hint of exasperation. "I recommended other attorneys, but he refuses to work with anyone else. Says you've already taken his retainer, so you're obligated to handle his legal matters personally."

I nodded briskly. "No problem. I'll take care of it."

Though I replied confidently, I hesitated as I stood before Lucas's desk. "Is something else bothering you?" Lucas asked, perceptive as always.

I took a deep breath, deciding to address at least one of my problems head-on. "Lucas, I think we should stop pretending to be a couple. I don't want my mother to continue misunderstanding our relationship."

Continuing this way would only add unnecessary complications to my already complex life.

To my surprise, Lucas didn't immediately agree. Instead, he leaned forward slightly, his expression thoughtful. "Your mother is in a vulnerable state right now. Telling her our relationship isn't real might upset her further."

I considered his words. He had a point. Mom was already devastated by Dad's arrest and all the accompanying stress. Learning that her daughter had been lying could be another blow she didn't need right now.

"You're right," I admitted reluctantly. "But this pretense is becoming increasingly difficult to maintain."

"Then perhaps we compromise," Lucas suggested. "I'll simply avoid meeting with her for now."

"That would work," I agreed, feeling some relief at this solution.