Darling Lola - Scandalous -

SCANDALOUS
A FILTHY OFFICE ROMANCE
LOLA DARLING
LOLA DARLING BOOKS
CONTENTS
Author’s Note
Prologue
1. Chloe
2. Max
3. Chloe
4. Max
5. Chloe
6. Max
7. Chloe
8. Max
9. Chloe
10. Max
11. Chloe
12. Max
13. Chloe
14. Max
15. Chloe
16. Max
17. Chloe
18. Max
19. Chloe
20. Max
21. Chloe
22. Max
23. Chloe
24. Max
25. Chloe
26. Max
27. Chloe
28. Max
Epilogue
His Naughty Intern
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
Chapter 25
Chapter 26
Chapter 27
Chapter 28
Chapter 29
Chapter 30
Chapter 31
Chapter 32
Teacher’s Pet
Harper
Jack
Harper
Introducing Roxy Sloane
1. Jase
2. Chloe
3. Jase
About the Author
Also by Lola Darling
S
Author’s Note
CANDALOUS was previously published as OFF LIMITS, but has a sexy new look
now. It is a full-length, stand-alone novel with a happily-ever-after, over 70,000
words.
As a special bonus, I’m also including my romance HIS NAUGHTY INTERN,
which is another 68,000 words, and should start at around 50%.
Thanks so much for reading!
“T
PROLOGUE
here is a charm about the forbidden that makes it unspeakably desirable.” —
Mark Twain
"O
1
CHLOE
ne more round everybody, just stick with me!"
I tuck my hips and rest my hands on them, elbows sticking out in my best
imitation of the toned and tanned woman on my flatscreen TV. When Suzie Steel
does this move, she looks like a rockstar posing in front of her adoring fans. Me?
I'm rocking more what looks like an awkward chicken dance.
This is why I don't go to the gym. I'll stick to embarrassing myself in the private
of my own home, thanks.
"Knees bent, remember, and stick that butt out. Now, we're going to try a
modified squat here. As you come out of each one, I want you to rotate those hips—
remember, rub it in!" she calls with a gleeful smile as she demonstrates the move,
which will no doubt set my ass on fire, yet looks effortless when she does it.
I grit my teeth and join her in the next set.
"Yes, ladies, right there. Circle those hips, rub it in good."
It takes all my concentration not to burst into laughter, especially given how
uncoordinated I feel to begin with. Rub it in. Yeah, okay Suzie.
"Better sore than sorry!" she adds with a painfully cheerful grin as I dip into the
next set of squat-stand-rotate. My thighs ache, and my ass, sure enough, burns
like hell.
I'm going to regret this when I have to haul said ass to work in less than an hour.
Especially given the heels I’ve chosen to wear today. But hopefully, if I can keep
this up for the next couple of months, I might be decently toned in time for the
summer. Lazing on the beach looking even remotely as svelte, flat-stomached and
sexy as Suzie Steel—despite the fact that she's at least twenty years older than me
—will be totally worth it.
Right, Chloe, a little voice at the back of my head interrupts the daydream. Like
you're going to have time to relax on a beach. Or anywhere, for that matter.
I suck in a deep breath and hit the next squat hard, trying to force that voice out
of my head. Okay, true, I've been a little overworked for the last . . . several years.
And yes, last summer I basically forgot to take a vacation. And yes, I backed out of
going to my best friend Heather's summer beach house not once, but three times.
But this is a new year. New me. Look, I'm even rocking this whole working out
thing.
"Five more reps, ladies! Excuses burn zero fat per hour, remember that."
I narrow my eyes at the screen and bend my knees again, my thighs shaking
with effort. "I'll give you excuses, Suzie," I mutter under my breath. Okay, so
rocking it is an exaggeration. More like staggering through it like an ungainly
imbecile. But I’m doing it! That’s what counts, right?
God, how many more days of this?
“Your ass isn’t going to tone itself when you sit on it,” Suzie says, as if she heard
me thinking. Damn her. “Come on, with me, last two reps now. And rock those
hips, shake it out, now rub it in.”
This time I really do let an unladylike snort escape as I rock my hips in motion
with hers. Honestly, I love Suzie’s workouts, but the cheesy one-liners kill me at
times. Maybe that’s the point? Distracting me from the hellish pain that is my ass
right now?
“Aaaand, done. There we go, how do you feel?” Suzie asks the screen with a
painfully sincere, huge smile.
I glare at her. “Like death warmed over in the microwave,” I mumble, leaning
over to stretch my legs as best I can.
The video leads me through a few cool-down exercises, and I follow for as long
as I can before the clock catches my eye. Crap. I’m going to be late if I don’t jump in
the shower now.
I shut off the video with a sigh.
Hmm. I do feel a little more awake than usual, though. None of that post-
exercise endorphin high that the girls at work talk about getting at the gym—to be
honest, I’ve never experienced anything post-workout besides the crushing urge to
lie in a hot tub—but I am kind of proud of myself. I woke up an extra hour early for
this and everything.
Today is going to be a good day, I tell myself as I step out of my sweaty yoga
pants and into the warm embrace of my shower. I can just feel it.
MY BRAND new Louis Vuitton heels clack on the marble floor of our office as I scroll
through my Blackberry, typing addendums to my schedule as needed.
9:30 a.m. – meeting with boss.
10:15 a.m. – meeting with my client.
11:20 a.m. – meeting with Cheryl from accounting to talk about invoicing issue.
12:13 p.m. – leave to hit bank in time.
12:30 p.m. – lunch with Martha—mental note: make sure to ask how her son is
doing, and also if she’s had a reply about the Daniels’ case?
I’M STILL ADDING notes when I nearly stride right into the glass door of the meeting
room adjacent to my boss’s office. I smooth my Armani skirt with one hand, hoping
nobody in the hallway noticed that slick move, and then I push through the door
into the room.
Paul’s not here yet, which is good. Tardiness is one of his personal pet peeves, so
I always try to arrive at least a couple minutes ahead of schedule for our catch-ups.
Which is why I’m surprised when, after five minutes of me shuffling the files
I’ve brought with me around, there’s still no sign of him emerging from his office. I
check the delicate gold watch around my wrist subtly.
Or so I think.
“Hope I’m not detaining you from anything more important,” my boss’s
familiar voice interrupts just as I look at the watch. Most people would freak out to
hear him say that—Paul Greaves has a way of setting even the company partners
on edge, and not just because his father founded his law firm fifty-some years ago.
But I’ve worked alongside him long enough by now to know his moods. He’s not
annoyed. There’s an almost playful smile hanging on his mouth, which is mostly
hidden behind an XL cup of Starbucks.
“Just worried you might have triggered the apocalypse is all. I don’t think I’ve
ever seen you this late,” I reply, a hint of teasing in my voice, considering it’s only
two minutes past the hour.
“Yes, I believe the end is nigh. My end, anyway, if this morning’s headache is
anything to go by.”
I frown. “Are you feeling okay? We can reschedule if you’d like; I have an
opening tomorrow morning, or—”
Paul waves an impatient hand in my direction. “Good lord, you sound like my
daughter. I’m fine, it’s just a headache. Nothing a few mugs of this won’t cure.” He
hefts his Starbucks with another smile, though this time, now that I’m watching
closely, I can see the faint wince behind it.
I chew on the inside of my lip, where he won’t be able to see. To be honest, Paul
worries me sometimes. He doesn’t take care of himself, and he’s not exactly a
spring chicken anymore. He’s been a close friend and mentor to me ever since I set
foot in this company and he took me under his wing—I’d hate to see anything bad
happen because he’s too distracted with work to worry about his own health.
But I can tell that pestering him about it right now won’t get us anywhere. So I
flip open the file on top of my stack instead. “Right, so, the Daniels’ case,” I say,
one hand unconsciously reaching to readjust my glasses as I read. Each of my files
for the case are neatly stacked, labeled with color-coded sticky notes, and
organized in alphabetical order. “I’ve got a few things I wanted to go over with you,
if that’s all right? I had a question about the court report from—”
“Chloe.”
I pause and blink at him. First the being late, then the headaches, now the
interrupting me? Normally with Paul, the best approach to take is to get straight
down to business. No small-talk, no waiting for him to take the reins. He
appreciates an employee who is forthright, and who comes into a meeting with
their own agenda.
Something seems off today. More than just his mood.
“Yes, Paul?” I try to keep the note of trepidation from my voice.
My stomach tightens. This is an unfamiliar sensation for me. I’m always on-
point—work is the one thing in my life that’s completely, totally, perfectly on
track. There’s already been whispers around the office that the reason Paul likes me
so much, meets with me so often, even though he has at least 5 other direct
reports, is because he’s grooming me to take his place. It’ll be a couple years yet,
before he’s ready to retire and a new spot for a partner opens up, but I’m only thirty
now. If I could make partner before I even hit my mid-30s . . .
Except. Now he’s frowning at me. “I’m moving you off of the Daniels’ case.
Please compile your notes and pass them over to Rich this afternoon.”
The floor drops out from under me. It’s hard, for half a second, to catch my
breath. Luckily I’m quick at recovering. “Can I ask why?” You can hardly even hear
the tremor in my voice, I tell myself. There’s no way he can tell that my throat is
closing in on itself. Not at all.
I’ve spent the better part of three months on the Daniels’ case. I’ve done
everything by the book, made all the right calls, kept everything shipshape. We’re
almost ready to go to trial next month, and I might even have been able to push up
the court date the way the client wanted. And now—
“Because I need you working on something bigger right now.”
I pause mid-mental-freak-out. Er . . . What? I pause to take a slow breath—at
least he’s not mad at me—but even with that long pause I still can’t think of
anything more poised to say. “What?” I ask, feeling stupid.
“Don’t worry,” he says with a hint of a knowing grin in his eye. Dammit. I guess
my freak-out was that transparent. “It’s a good thing. This is a high-profile case.
We need our best people on it. I would have taken it myself, except I’m still tied up
with Murphy. This is the kind of case that can really prove to the partners how
dedicated and poised some of our middle managers are. The kind of case that can
point out who might be . . . well. Partner material, some day.”
My heart skips a full beat in my chest, I swear to god. I can practically hear the
blood swimming in my ears, trying to keep up with the stutter.
Yes, I’ve suspected Paul might be grooming me before. But he never actually
comes out and says it—he never says anything, really. He plays his hand close to
the chest, and he’s taught me to do the same. If he’s saying this now, revealing the
partner-potential card, he has a reason. I might not understand it yet, but . . .
“Sounds like I’ll love it,” I hear myself saying, before I even have time to think it
over. Who cares what the case is? I’ve tackled so many in my years here, I’m
confident I can handle anything he throws at me.
“I think you will.” He nods. “There’s just one small thing.”
I hardly even register the hesitation in his tone anymore. I’m too far gone. Too
far ahead in mentally planning how I’m going to own this case—whatever the heck
it is. I’ll pull double-time, work weekends, I don’t care. I’ll do whatever it takes to
knock this one out of the park. These make-or-break career opportunities only
come around a couple times in a lifetime, and at times like those, you need to just
push everything else out of your way, knuckle down and work your butt off until
you win.
“Due to the, ah . . . very public nature of this case, and the fact that it will likely
attract at least some media attention—and due to the fact that, as I said, we won’t
be able to have a partner on the case directly—we would like to really make sure
that every angle is considered, every potential taken into consideration. We feel it
would be best to have as many experienced, trusted eyes on this as possible, so with
that in mind—oh, here we are.”
I blink, startled at the sound of the office doors clicking open again behind me. I
spin around in my chair, and frown in confusion at the man standing just inside the
glass doors now.
I know Max Davis, of course. Resident cocky asshole, bent on singlehandedly
seducing our entire female staff. Everyone in the office knows all about Max
fucking Davis, and his various sexcapades. Yes, plenty of people sneak around the
non-fraternization policy we have here, but he makes a damn contest of it, I swear.
If there’s a single woman in this company he hasn’t banged or tried to bang, I’ll eat
my shoe. Hell, he tried to get me to fall for his shit when he first started. Thank God
I make it a policy never to mix business and pleasure.
It doesn’t help that he’s ridiculously, stupidly, unfairly good-looking. Hudson
Pierce good-looking. Even right now, at 9:45am on a Monday, he’s got effortlessly
tousled black hair falling just far enough into his dark green eyes that it makes it
seem like he doesn’t try to look this hot at all, it just sort of happens. Ugh.
I’m still staring at him in confusion as Paul keeps speaking behind me. “We
would like the two of you to partner on this case.”
Say what now? the part of my brain not distracted by warring sensations of
disgust for and attraction to Max.
“You two are the most promising young litigators we have here at Greaves,
Morrell and Stuyvesant, and all three of us are confident that you will bring two
differing, but equally important work styles and views to this case. Really, it’s a
perfect partnership, I think.”
Oh hell no. No, I am not sharing this case—this make-or-break, could land me
on the partnership track case—with Max Davis. He’s the last person I would want
to co-host a general office meeting with, let alone work on a case that could change
my entire career.
But Max just stands there, smiling at Paul—no, at me, his eyes are on me now,
and fucking hell, those have to be contacts, right? Nobody’s eyes are that green,
like shards of emerald got trapped in his irises. “I can’t wait to get started,” he
says, and just like that, I feel doom closing in on me.
I
2
MAX
t’s not like I’m any more thrilled about this assignment than she is, but Chloe
MacIntyre could at least pretend not to utterly loathe the idea of working with me
on this. I’m not sure whether to find it irritating or flattering—I honestly thought
the girl had a better poker face than this. She’s a shark in the courtroom, all fire
and fury. Not gonna lie, the one time I watched her speak, I had to sit hunched over
the whole time. Something about her soft, supple curves, combined with that fierce
mouth of hers makes the blood rush to my cock every time.
Anthony Stuyvesant, my boss slash mentor slash personal torturer here at the
firm insisted on sending me to watch every single one of my colleagues litigate over
the course of a year. Of everyone I watched speak, Chloe was the most memorable.
She had a way of twisting every eye in the room to her—and not even in a sexual
way.
Yes, she was drop-dead gorgeous, and between her petite yet striking frame—at
a guess, perfect B-cups, a tight ass, and shapely legs, made even shapelier by those
heels she insists on wearing every single day—her sharp hazel eyes and her head
full of riotous blonde curls, I’m sure she gets people staring at her on the regular
for more reasons than one. Not to mention the dark-framed glasses she wears,
which amp up the sexy librarian vibes by about a thousand.
But in the courtroom? She has a whole other level of energy. Every word out of
her mouth is calculated, precision-honed to pierce its target for maximum effect.
On the street she’s the kind of girl you’d hit on, then limp home after being shut
down, but in court, she’s goddamn terrifying.
I have no problem admitting that.
Unfortunately, it also makes her pretty judgmental of the rest of us mere
mortals. The first week after I watched her litigate, I asked her out for a beer after
work, mostly to pick her brain, look for pointers on my own game. To say that she
shot me down would be putting it lightly. She basically verbally eviscerated me.
So, okay, some part of me is enjoying watching the disbelief and dismay war on
her face as I pull out the chair beside her and plunk myself down across from Paul
Greaves. Turnabout is fair play.
The moment I sit down, she scoots her chair as far from mine as possible. Paul’s
still busy with digging around in his papers for some files, so I wheel my chair a
little closer to hers.
“I don’t bite, you know,” I murmur, low enough that only she can hear.
“That’s not what I’ve heard,” she responds without even a glance in my
direction.
I lift an eyebrow. “You shouldn’t believe everything you hear.”
“Oh I don’t. But in your case, the evidence is rather overwhelming.” Her lips
twist into a moue of distaste.
Fucking hell, she’s hot when she’s angry. It makes me want to piss her off more
often. It also makes me take a deep breath. Any more of that death glaring from her
and I’ll get hard right here.
“Whatever happened to innocent until proven guilty?” I ask.
Before she can reply, Paul finally withdraws the papers he’s been looking for and
slides them across the table to us.
“I’ve put together some basic details on the case,” he says.
Chloe pulls herself together enough to stop glaring daggers at me and picks up
her copy of the file instead. I page through mine, though truth be told, I already
have the details. Anthony gave me a heads-up in our catch-up this morning, about
an hour before he sent me over here.
This should be an interesting one.
“The client is Suzie Steel.”
Chloe’s eyes go wide. “The Suzie Steel? From the exercise videos.”
“That’s her.” Paul nods. “The one with all the catch phrases. You know, shake it
out and—”
“Rub it in,” Chloe supplies with a sarcastic smirk.
I can’t help it. I bark out a low laugh at that one. It only earns me an even
narrower glare from Chloe this time.
“Actually, that’s what the lawsuit is about,” Paul says, interrupting what was
shaping up to be a pretty interesting staring contest. I think it’s the glasses. Even
when she’s scowling Chloe looks hotter than anyone I’ve ever laid eyes on.
Or maybe I just think of hot librarians when she scowls at me. Please, Chloe, tell
me what you want me to do to you.
“Suzie trademarked that saying when she first launched her videos back in ’95.
But now there’s a new company that’s just started up, selling, ah, what’s it
called . . .” Paul rifles through his copy of the case document.
“The Rotator,” I supply without a glance at my own files. After all, I spent the
last hour researching it. “Not the most creative name ever. It’s basically just a chair
with a weight system attached. It’s supposed to work out your hip flexors and your
obliques when you, well . . .” I cast a sideways glance at Chloe before I rock my hips
around the office chair to demonstrate. “Rub it in.”
Her eye-roll is so strong it practically registers on the Richter scale. “Figures
you’d be familiar with that.”
“Hey, these washboard abs won’t maintain themselves.” I pat my stomach.
Even Paul laughs at that, though I notice he quickly tries to hide it by taking
another gulp from his coffee cup.
“Calm down, Gym Tan Laundry,” Chloe mutters. “Okay, so they’re using a
saying that’s too similar to hers, is that th...