Here's a treat for my lovely readers: Tom Hardy. ♥♥♥

Song for the mood: My Oh My by Camila Cabello. The YouTube clip is very much Vera. A snippet of the lyrics:

A bad reputation
Insatiable habits
He was onto me, one look and I couldn't breathe

Vera

Tuesday, April 12

Great. Fucking great. I felt another migraine coming, like a wave of pain slowly washing my brain, starting from the left near my temple.

I needed sleep after pulling an all-nighter on another sexual harassment and unfair dismissal case. My client came to me in tears, alleging that her former boss sexually harassed her and made her uncomfortable with racist remarks; he fired her shortly after she objected.

It was a good thing that she had evidence; we had voicemails and text messages, including a dick pic-unimpressive but highly offensive.

I took a sip of my lemon-infused water and removed my reading glasses. On came the headphones, and I swam into my world of music.

Last weekend was a blast, but kicking Mister X out of my bed was no joy. Not being one to cuddle after a one-night stand, I sent the boy home, reminding him to take his mask. Alistair Scott intrigued me, though-I couldn't get him out of my head.

It was nearly noon, and my empty stomach grumbled, warning me that I needed lunch. I switched the music off, removed my headphones, and opened my eyes to the view of...a crotch.

Expensive dark-blue pants covered that crotch. The pants' owner swayed his hips back and forth, arms bowed out, and hands shoved in his pockets.

Fuck me blind. Why was I staring at this crotch?

Mind you, it was wrapped in fine Italian wool-I mean, the guy had excellent sartorial taste, but it was still a crotch. I scooted my chair away from my desk, pushing the wheels back.

"Do you mind?" I huffed, leaning back and folding my arms.

My gaze traveled from the crotch up to a slim torso, clothed in a crisp, white shirt and a dark jacket, then upward to broad shoulders and tanned neck above the thick, light-blue silk tie.

Now we're talking! Nice body.

The man's deep chuckle resonated, drawing attention to his face...wow! I blinked twice at what I saw. This was no ordinary fellow.

Accentuated by golden highlights, his light-brown hair featured curls decorating the nape of his neck. He must have been blond when he was a boy, and the world probably believed he was an angel of God.

His skin was smooth and tanned, no doubt from a recent sunny vacation in Florida, Spain, or some exotic island. I craved touching his skin and exploring every muscle of his body.

When our eyes locked, I knew he was no angel. His viridescent eyes gleamed with lust, and his lips curved upward into a wickedly seductive grin.

"So, you're the recruit," he commented, swinging his right foot back and forth. His hands were still in his pockets.

"And you must be Santa Claus," I retorted, hoping that the man would bite. I loved a challenging fight, especially with good-looking strangers who invaded my space.

"So, has Christmas arrived? Have I been a good girl? Do I get my bonus?" I teased with a naughty smile.

"Oh, you'll get your bonus, Mona Lisa." The sexy stranger's mouth twitched to reveal a lopsided grin.

Nice teeth, straight and white. Always check that the man has no missing teeth.

"Mona Lisa? And you're Leo?"

"It depends on which one you're referring to-DiCaprio or da Vinci?" Angel Eyes replied, taking one step forward. I caught a whiff of his fresh scent, which screamed out edgy masculinity and sweet temptation.

I tilted my head and glared at the handsome stranger, arms still folded. No pretty-boy face could fool me. "I'm busy. If you're skirt-chasing, you're barking up the wrong tree-"

Mister Gorgeous cleared his throat, squared his shoulders, and shifted his stance to proclaim dominance, glancing pointedly at my nameplate. "Vera Richland. Hmm. Do you know who I am?"

"Sure, you're Alistair Scott. This building is named after your grandfather, and your family is connected to every business in Lester Harbor, including this firm."

"Wow, I'm impressed! How did you know?"

I rolled my eyes. I Googled "Alistair Scott" on Sunday afternoon because I was curious about the man behind the mask-he bought me champagne, after all. "Darling, I know everything because I'm a goddess."

"Ah! A goddess of what, may I dare to ask?" Alistair tilted his head as he swayed on his feet. His dewy-green eyes twinkled when he smiled, exposing his pristine teeth again.

I stared at him for a long minute before my laughter erupted, ripping apart the silent air.

"I'm the goddess of badass fuckery. Now, if you don't mind, Mister Scott, I have real work to do. Unlike some people, I don't have delusions of grandeur."

Alistair's eyes crinkled in amusement, then he laughed. "Delusions of grandeur? Wow!"

"Mister Scott, I have to work to earn money like other everyday people in this city."

"Scotty, is Vera distracting you?" Oh crap. My boss, Brenton McCormick, stepped into my office, giving me a cold stare.

"Oh, no. Not at all, Brent. I like your new office environment. It suits your firm." Alistair turned to address Brenton.

"Shall we go for lunch?" Brenton asked, directing his question at Alistair.

"Sure," Alistair said immediately. "There's a great place by the riverside-a Michelin star restaurant. It's run by an Italian chef, a fellow by the name of Pietro, who's known for his signature sauces. It's my shout for lunch."

He placed his hand on his friend's shoulder as they walked out of my office. As soon as Brenton was out of sight, Alistair stuck his head back in the doorway, winked with a wicked grin, then disappeared.

I looked down on my desk and noticed his business card-when had he done that? I flipped the card over and saw his scrawl on the back: coffee date? Then I glanced at my messed-up business card holder; he took one of my cards in exchange.

Card hostage? Okay, two can play that game.

***

Alistair

Later that evening

Vera Kathryn Richland.

Twenty-seven years old.

She was born on April 1, which made her an Aries-a passionate and independent trailblazer. Aries women were magnetic, fiery, and temperamental, reflected in their sexual prowess. Lord have mercy; she was a little fireball ready to explode, and I wanted her.

Her mother's heritage was English-Portuguese. Her father, an American, died from cancer when she was five-the bloody disease didn't differentiate rich from poor, or good from bad.

Ah, here was a copy of her high school report card from her senior year. Nearly straight As, except for Christian education: a C. "Vera is a warm, enthusiastic, and delightful young lady," her teacher wrote. "However, she has a slight tendency to be dramatic. Nonetheless, she excelled in public speaking and debating."

Remind me never to get into an argument with Mona Lisa.

I took a sip of my whiskey and continued reading her file; it came to me this evening in a single envelope. Money talks; that's all I'll say. Her brother...interesting. Julian Carpenter Richland, a professor at Montville State University's archaeology department.

Wait a minute...shit!

I closed the file and rubbed my forehead. Of all the bad luck in the world, this one just hit me. Julian was my ex-wife Saira's lover. A hired lover. A gigolo.

I wondered if Vera knew her brother's secret. I sighed, leaned into my lounge chair, and downed the rest of my whiskey. I felt the rich blend of the single malt wash away my worries, then continued reading.

Her mother did a terrific job raising both kids alone and got them into excellent Catholic private schools through a scholarship program that supported low-income families. Kudos to single parents.

Vera excelled in contracts in law school. Hmm, I needed a good in-house lawyer. I could offer her a job, or I could just ask her out on a date.

There wasn't a problem I couldn't fix, so I picked up the phone.

"Hello?" Vera's voice, a blend of biting sweetness, responded at the other end.

Shit. I lost my vocal cords for a second, and it wasn't from the whiskey.

"Hello? If this is a sick joke, you can hang up now!"

I cleared my throat and adjusted my collar. "Hello," I managed to say.

"Hello? Who is this?"

"It's Alistair."

Silence filled the air.

"You took one of my business cards. They're for clients," Vera snapped.

"Hmm, well, I could be a client. I'm gunning for full custody of my son," I replied.

"Oh. Are you not happy with your lawyer?"

"I am happy. In fact, Brenton's representing me as of today."

"So, that's why you had lunch together?"

"Among other things. Listen, look. Can we meet up for coffee or dinner?"

"When?"

"How about Friday after work?" I suggested, hoping it wasn't too soon.

"Where?"

"Arrivederci by the riverside? It's where I took your boss for lunch today, and-"

"No." That was a quick response from Vera.

"No?"

"I slept with the guy who runs the place, so no."

"Oh," was all I could manage to say, feeling jealous.

"How about we try a place called Whistler's Cove?" Vera suggested. "They have prime steak and craft beer."

"Sure. Shall I pick you up from work at around six p.m.?"

"Make it seven. I won't finish until seven tomorrow."

"Seven it is! Don't be late."

"Sure thing, Alistair. I'll see you then."

Just as I ended the phone conversation, I received a text message from Erin.

> When can I see you again? I love you.

I deleted the message. There was no time for the past or for regrets.

I had killed two birds with one stone during my visit to Brenton's office today. He would help me win full custody of my eleven-year-old son, Damian, and I met a wonderful woman who had a bright future.

I wanted to get to know Vera Kathryn Richland and get her brother out of whatever deal he had with my ex-wife. Knowing Saira, she would have every person close to Julian under her watch, including Vera.

Saira was bad news for Vera.

A/N: Vera needs to be strong for what's coming up in the story. Instead of fearing strong women, let's appreciate them. ❤️

💝 Do you know of strong women in your life who inspired you, passed on their wisdom?

Please comment and vote; it motivates me to keep writing. Thank you for the boost.⭐️