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I spent all morning frantically preparing for a meeting at Michael Rayburn’s law office boardroom. The meeting was about a criminal who is posting embarrassing images on the internet and involved tracking him down. Possible outfits were strewn all over my bed. If I got the case, I could afford to keep my office, not to mention my apartment. Otherwise…
Sometimes a girl needs a zipless f***. No names, no emotional involvement. Just sex. Oh, and an affirmation that life would go on. In the bar, I started watching men who were watching women’s body parts. And there he was, sitting at the far end, ogling any exposed female flesh.He was short and stocky. The kind of man who could carry two of me for a mile without breaking a sweat. His hands were either pale white or covered with black spots—the hands of a man who worked with automobile engines all day but had spent an hour trying to clean the oil and grease off his hands. The hard work explained the muscles, the efforts to clean the hard work off his hands indicated a man who might be an attentive lover. Like me, he was wearing jeans and a tight Tshirt.I walked up to him and pulled my shoulders back to stretch my Tshirt tight across my breasts. “Would you like to f***?” I asked.He looked at me over his nose. “Would you like a drink?”“No.”“But you want to f***?”“Yes.”“Where?”“My hotel room.” I dangled the key.