“Are you gonna stop staring at me sometime soon?” Abbie asked impatiently as she scrolled through the emails on her computer. “I have other clients to meet today.”
Ichabod Crane’s eyes blinked rapidly as he pulled himself out of the daze he’d unknowingly entered. He was new at the law offices of Irving, Corbin, & Mills, ICM as he’d taken to calling it. Abbie was one of the three partners of the firms and he would be shadowing her for the month to get used to things.
“My apologies, Ms. Mills. I was only wondering if one of those clients was Henry Parrish.” He’d recovered nicely. It would hardly do for him to be caught ogling his boss. To be quite honest, he could hardly help it.
Abbie Mills was confident, intelligent, and sharp as a tack. When he’d stepped into her office he noticed she wore a quarter length sleeve dress that fit as if it had been poured on her skin. It stopped just below her knees and was paired with cream-colored heels that made her come up to chin. He assumed she must be much shorter without them. There was no ring on her finger and no pictures on her desk of anyone significant in her life save for August Corbin, Frank Irving, someone who bore a strong resemblance to her (probably a sister), and another woman Crane assumed was a friend.
Her face was another thing altogether. She was positively radiant. Her deep brown eyes were bright and inquisitive, taking in all the information they could at all times. Her hair was straightened and placed into a meticulous top bun with bangs covering her forehead. She wore mascara, eyeliner, and a lipstick that somehow matched her dress exactly.
Ichabod was absolutely captivated by her.
“I have the Parrish case, yes. Why do you want to know?” Her eyes narrowed at him slightly as she appraised him.
“He looks guilty.”
“I’m sorry, did you graduate from Yale’s law school for constantly stating the obvious?” Her tone was mildly biting as her brows furrowed in mock confusion. “Mr. Crane, I’m well aware of what it looks like my client did. However, it is my job and yours to assure a jury cannot see it that way.”
He tried to hide the excitement that bloomed inside him. “Mine? Are you putting me on the case too?”
Abbie rolled her eyes. “Is there another firm partner in this room taking one of the biggest case of her career with an assistant who speaks in two dimensions?”
She was prickly. But he could see she cared about her job and that mattered more. Ichabod had heard a lot about Abbie Mills even before he’d ever gone to law school. She was legendary, a genius even. Abbie had graduated from high school at the age of sixteen and undergrad at Harvard at twenty, finished Oxford Law at twenty-three, and became a partner of ICM at twenty-seven.
“Thank you so much, Ms. Mills. You have no idea how much—“
“Yes, I know. You’re welcome. Now, I need you to bring in every single file we have on Parrish and his involvement with David Moloch. We’ll need to go through it with a fine tooth comb. If there’s anything in there that makes Parrish look like a fucking Girl Scout I wanna know.” Abbie replied, firmly interrupting him.
Ichabod stood and bowed slightly in response. “I shall have them here within the hour, Ms. Mills.” His hand was on the door handle when she stopped him again.
“You might wanna call your boyfriend or girlfriend and let them know you’ll be working late. This will probably take all night, Mr. Crane.” Her eyes probed him, for what he couldn’t be sure.
“I think my dog might be terribly disappointed but I suppose I could phone my neighbor and ask him to feed and walk her.” He smiled briefly and exited her office.
Abbie smiled wryly to herself. He doesn’t have anyone either , she thought to herself. If his electric eyes and toned figure didn’t make her mouth water then it most certainly was that Oxford accent of his. Ichabod Crane was crushingly gorgeous and she saw no use in denying it.
She would keep things strictly professional, of course. She would never jeopardize her integrity or his if it ever came to it. But she could window shop. Besides, it wasn’t like she had any other fine ass men she could look at to distract her from what it felt like to sleep in a bed too big for her.
“Strictly professional,” Abbie said to herself. “Nothing more.”
And she meant it.