Chapter 1

Chapter One

“ Y ou look perfect. Stop fidgeting already,” Jules scolds me for straightening my hemline for the millionth time.

“Are you sure? What if it’s too tight?” I ask. The dress I’m wearing is office appropriate. There are no humps or bumps showing. It’s a simple beige square-neck that reaches the top of my knees. It hugs my hips and there is a small slit that runs halfway up the back.

“It’s perfectly appropriate. Now, if you don’t hurry up and leave, you’ll be late. You do not want to be late on your first day,” she reminds me.

“Thank you. You’re the best.” I pull her in for a hug. My sister is exactly one year and six months younger than me. We’re often mistaken for twins. She’s more than just my sister though. She’s my best friend.

After our dad went away when I was sixteen, Mum had to sell our house. We moved to a new school, and a new life. One with less finery than we were accustomed to. Jules and I didn’t make new friends easily. There were one or two here and there over the years, but for the most part, it’s just been us. Together.

It’s not always easy being the daughters of a known criminal. Our dad’s trial was widespread news at the time. I think it’s pretty safe to say that most people still know the published details if the case were brought up—although I don’t think they’d make the connection that Oliver Johnson is my father. We’re lucky that the surname is common enough.

My dad was innocent. He is innocent. His business partner, his most-trusted friend, betrayed him. They shared the empire they built together fifty-fifty. My dad was the CEO and Mark Kemp was the scientist behind the creations of Kemp Johnson’s Cosmetics. As it turned out, Mark was cutting corners, falsifying test results. A lot of people were hurt by the age-defying face cream that Kemp Johnson launched on my fifteenth birthday. A year later, my dad took the fall for everything while Mark Kemp got off scot-free.

My father’s name, our family’s name, was smeared. In the beginning, Mum, Jules, and I received death threats from many of the victims of the cream. I felt for them, still do. Why they thought coming after us was okay, I’ll never understand. Jules and I were just kids. We had absolutely nothing to do with the company. My mum never even worked there. Up until the day everything changed, she was a doting wife and mother. Now, she works as a school administrator. It took her a while to get back on her feet. My dad was her whole world.

And my dad… Well, he didn’t cope with jail. After just six months of a twenty year sentence, he committed suicide. I will never stop looking for a way to redeem his name. As long as I’m breathing, I’m going to make it my mission to find evidence, proof that it was Mark Kemp who instrumented that whole disaster. He should have been the one locked up. Not my dad.

“Bentley? You okay?” Jules asks.

“Ah, yeah, just thinking about Dad,” I say, shaking the negative thoughts from my head.

“He’d be so proud of you, Bentley.”

“I know.” I smile. “I really do need to go. Meet me after work at that little bar near the office?” I ask her.

“I’ll be there,” she agrees, and I rush outside.

Mum stops me just as I’m getting into my car. “Good luck today, baby. Go knock ?em dead,” she calls out and waves from the front door.

“Thanks, Mum. Talk later. I gotta go.” I wave back before shutting myself inside my car.

My nerves are kicking in as I pull into the underground carpark of the skyrise building I’ll be spending all my time in from now on. I’m not na?ve. I know if I want to be the best, I have to put in the hours. I have to put up with arrogant, cocky bosses like Nathan Miller. There is no other option. This is the top firm in Melbourne. There’s a reason these three lawyers are known as the best. It’s because they are the best, which is especially impressive, considering their young ages—well, youngish . From my research, I’ve gathered they’re all in their early-thirties. Which puts them at around ten years my senior.

The ride up the lift is excruciatingly long. Or it may just be the fact that the closer I get to the top floor, the more I think I’m going to throw up. I don’t know what’s wrong with me. Two months ago, I was addressing the whole university, giving my valedictorian speech. Now, I’m getting stage fright at the thought of walking into the office of the law firm that hired me. It makes no sense. Unless you account for the fact that I’m insanely, inappropriately attracted to my hot boss.

I have to get myself under control. It’s not like I haven’t been around good-looking boys before. Though I doubt there is anything boyish about Nathan Miller. A smile reaches my lips as I think about how he’d respond to being called a boy. His words have been haunting me for two months.

“My expectations are that you follow every single order I give you.”

My initial reaction to that was: yes, sir . But that’s not what he meant. He’s not going to order me to my knees, or tell me to spread myself over his desk with my ass in the air for him.

Have I thought about all of the above? A little too much, and mostly at night when I’m alone with my handy little buzzing devices.

It’s wrong, and I can feel a blush starting to creep up my face with the knowledge that I’ve been masturbating to fantasies of my boss. It’s mortifying really, and the only thing I can think of as I step out of the elevator and make my way to the receptionist is that she knows . They all know. They can tell that I’m nothing but a dirty little whore, dressed up to appear like a good girl. Or, at the very least, that my alter ego is a dirty little whore who wants her boss to fuck her six ways till Sunday. Me? I don’t want anything to do with Nathan Miller unless it’s learning from him. About the law, and not whatever bedroom skills he’s honed over the years.

Fake it till you make it. I just need to get through this first day without making an utter ass of myself, and everything will be fine.

“Hi, I’m Bentley Johnson. I’m starting here today, under Nathan Miller,” I tell the very pretty blonde receptionist. “ With , not under. Well, shit… I’m going to stop now,” I mumble out after I realise what I said.

“Hi, Bentley. I’m Hannah. It’s nice to meet you,” she says and stands. “Follow me. I’ll take you to Mr Miller’s office.” She guides me passed a wall of opaque glass that looks directly into open office space, where people are busying themselves with the day’s tasks. “Good luck,” Hannah says, after knocking twice on a frosted door.

“Enter,” a rough, gravelly voice yells out. I look behind me to see Hannah practically running back to her station in the reception area.

Here goes nothing. Straightening my shoulders, I push the door open and walk into the lion’s den. Fake it till you make it, Bentley , I remind myself for the millionth time.