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Chapter Two

Buffy couldn't get over how incredibly—well, HOT, William was. She'd always known he was good looking, but back when she'd been an annoying teenager, he was just William. Like an uncle to her. And, in her opinion back then, kind of a nerd. She remembered him wearing glasses and now he didn't, so she surmised he'd gotten contacts. Good thing too. Those incredible blue eyes did not need to be hidden. They deserved to be showcased along with those chiseled, razor sharp cheekbones and lush mouth. She bit her lip and looked up at him from where he sat across from her at the dinner table.

His eyes met hers and he smiled warmly.

She smiled back and looked back down at her plate. He was her father's best friend and he was going to be her employer for Christ's Sake. It would do no good crushing on the guy. It was pointless and besides—he was fifteen years older! She looked back up at him; he only really looked about six years older, not fifteen. All right so maybe that was stretching it a bit but –

"So Buffy, were you very homesick?" William asked her.

She looked back up at him again and forced back the response that was on the tip of her tongue to that question, and instead smiled graciously, "A bit, yes."

He smiled, "I know your dad's happy to have you home. He raves about you every chance he gets."

"I'm sure he does," she said sweetly, thinking she wanted to spit. Her father had been less than thrilled when she'd told him she was coming home. He'd calmed a bit when she told him she was going to BC, but only a bit.

"Buffy was quite the popular girl over there in California. Part of every club, excellent grades and it seemed she was always out," Joyce gushed, taking a sip of her wine. Her eyes looked slightly glassy. Buffy frowned. Great, just how much had she had?

"So you must have left a trail of broken hearts back there," William said, staring at her.

The look he was giving her made her feel hot and uncomfortable. She shifted in her seat and took a sip of her water. "Not really," she said evasively, thinking of her good friend Riley, who'd apparently been harboring feelings for her because he'd begged her to stay when she'd told him she was leaving.

"Not really? Sounds like there might be," William said, grinning good-naturedly and darting glances from Hank to Joyce. He almost looked nervous.

She shook her head, evading the question, feeling her face turn hot. One thing Buffy Summers was not good at was dealing with the opposite sex; especially if she was attracted to them. Her anger at her father for getting her a job, even though he wouldn't admit to it, had spurned her on to grill William earlier, but now, under his scrutiny, she was fighting the urge to flee.

The memory of her mother's earlier question to him sparked in her mind and she smiled slyly. Well, turnabout was fair play.

"What about you? With as busy as you are, there must be a trail of broken hearts for you as well."

Hank chuckled, "If you consider a trail his –"

"Hank," William cut him off abruptly, an edge to his voice.

Buffy raised her eyebrows. Interesting.

He looked back to Buffy and then at Joyce apologetically. "You know how it is with large offices. People talk."

"But you work downstairs from my dad," Buffy pointed out.

William narrowed his eyes, "The firms are close."

She nodded and said innocently, "I see. I'll be sure not to be part of all that crazy gossip."

He gazed at her warily and she fought the urge to laugh. Throwing him off
balance was just too much fun. She knew from stories she'd heard from her father and from around town that he was an excellent lawyer, not easily shaken. She wondered how she was able to have that power.

And she hoped she'd continue to have it.

***************************************************************************

William was wondering what had happened to the flaky girl of the past who seemed at best unobservant to anything beyond hair and make up. He almost longed for her back.

If only because this Buffy was dangerous to him. Dangerous because every challenge she posed, he wanted more. He could already see her in a courtroom, like a lion, all glorious and radiant. He bit the inside of his cheek hard, disciplining himself from thinking about her in such a lustful manner. He'd laid eyes on her for the first time in two years and in less than an hour and a half, had managed to turn him into a poncy school boy all over again instead of the powerful attorney he was. How in the bloody hell had that happened?

He fought the urge to bury his head in his hands and moan in agony. This girl was going to be working for him. She was fifteen years younger than he was, she was the daughter of his best friend and she was his employee now.
Oh yes, she also made his blood rush to certain parts of his anatomy that she'd probably be disgusted to learn he even had. He was probably just an ‘old guy' to her. For crying out loud, he could have changed her diapers at one point.

Get a grip, he told himself.

Wait—Hank had told him he didn't have to coddle her. Well, he'd said it in so many words when he'd told him he was objective. That meant he didn't have to pussy foot around this arrangement. No way. No mixing business with pleasure—not that he would, EVER, but that just meant that in the work place, she was Buffy Summers, his employee and outside she was Buffy Summers his mate's daughter. So he could be as hard on her as he was on any new person that started. Buffy had to prove her salt just like the rest. He could multi task in this: Mold her into a ruthless attorney and maybe, in the process, drive her away from his firm so he would no longer have to deal with the dirty thoughts he was currently entertaining about her.

**************************************************************
Sneaking away for a smoke before dessert, William puffed on that cigarette as if it were the last one he'd ever had. He felt as if he'd been given one last request and this was it. A cigarette. An image of Buffy infiltrated his mind and he no longer wanted the cigarette, he wanted Buffy's body under his, hot and yielding to him. Then perhaps he'd ask for the cigarette.

"Will?"

He spun, to see Buffy coming out to join him.

"Uh, hi Buffy."

"I wanted to talk with you about the job."

He nodded, "Okay, what do you want to know?"

"What exactly is the nature of my job? I mean, I know I'm going to be
working at the firm, but am I actually working with you or with one of your
partners? Am I going to be responsible for putting paper in the copier, or
something more? I just want to know what I'm walking into."

"Well, you may be starting out with filling the copier with paper at first.
Just to get your hands wet and then from there, we'll see what comes up."

She nodded, "Makes sense. I should let you know that I know how to do
simple things like put together a letter. I can take dictation and all that."

"Were you working in California?"

"I was, at a law office."

"Oh, I didn't know—your dad never told me."

"Yeah, well-"she stopped and shook her head, appearing slightly
aggravated and he wondered what was going on. "He probably forgot," she
looked up at him. "I was a receptionist. They were starting to train me on
other things so I've taken dictation and put together letters and such. I just
figured I'd give you a base as to what I've done."

"Thank you," he said nodding, "That helps."

"So, if you don't want me working directly with you due to a conflict of
interest or whatever, that's fine. As long as your partners will have me. Or,
I could be an assistant to your assistant."

William smiled at her, "We'll work it out Buffy. I'm not too worried."

"Maybe you should call me Elizabeth at work."

"What?"

"Well, I'm just thinking that Buffy sounds so . . . immature. I want to be
taken seriously."

William smiled, "Buffy, with your attitude, I don't think you have to worry
about that."

She gave him a funny look, "My attitude?"

"Not that it's bad, just saying you're already pretty uh, forceful."


She smiled, "I like that."

"How about in the presence of others I call you Elizabeth? When it's just
you and I, I can call you Buffy?"

She smiled, "Sure. So, what are my hours?"

"What can you do?"

"I can be there at two every day."

"How about we ease you—"

"Will, you're open to what time?"

"Five."

"I can handle three hours a day every day."

"See? There you are, being forceful."

"Sorry," she said and blushed.

"Don't apologize," he looked at her sheepishly, "I like it."

She shifted and looked back at the door, appearing to be done with the
conversation. "Okay, well, I'll see you tomorrow at two then?"

He nodded. "Perfect."

She stuck out her hand and he pondered pretending he didn't see the
gesture. But then his hand was reaching out as if it had a mind of its own
and needed to know just how soft her hands were. Their hands slipped into
each other and he felt a jolt of energy go up his arm. He didn't want to let her hand go, but when she forcibly yanked her hand out of his grasp, he scolded himself.

Yep. He was in big trouble.





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