Nikki stepped into the office, standing tall before him, her confidence wavering slightly under his penetrating green gaze.
"Good afternoon, sir," she said, her voice smooth, even as her breath hitched under his scrutiny.
For a moment, he said nothing. His eyes, sharp as blades, roamed over her like a courtroom exhibit.
From the sleek waves of her hair to the vivid blue of her irises, her soft pink lips, and the delicate curve of her neck.
His gaze lingered on the swell of her chest, the curve of her waist, the flare of her hips, and finally, the length of her legs.
She tilted her chin up, holding his gaze with a confident smirk. To show she wasn't rattled, she gave a slow twirl, her heels clicking with deliberate precision as she turned.
"Do you like what you see, sir?" she asked with a teasing edge.
He didn't crack a smile. Instead, he gestured to the chair across from him with the tip of his pen. "Sit."
His tone brooked no argument, and for a brief moment, she felt like a scolded puppy.
But she complied, sitting gracefully, crossing her legs with deliberate slowness, hoping to provoke a reaction.
Nothing.
He simply flipped through her papers, his expression unreadable, and she resisted the urge to roll her eyes.
"Miss Nikki Rogers," he began, his voice smooth yet impatient. "Born in Atlanta. Raised in Atlanta. Graduated from the prestigious École de Mode et Design in Paris. Formerly a supermodel."
His gaze, cold and unforgiving, locked on hers.
"Is there a problem?" she asked, her voice dropping to a sultry purr even as her heart raced.
He leaned back in his chair, radiating the kind of confidence she rarely encountered in men. "Yes. Why is a supermodel applying to be a paralegal?"
Her stomach clenched. Shit. He had done his own research. The file on his desk wasn't even hers. He hadn't touched the fake credentials Antonio had given her.
She forced a smile. "Well, I've always wanted to be a paralegal. It's my dream," she said, batting her lashes.
"Bullshit," he snapped, his voice cutting through her façade.
Her smile faltered. She shrugged, knowing there was no point in lying to a man who could see through her as easily as glass.
"Fine. Maybe I heard there was a hotshot lawyer here and wanted to work for him," she said, leaning forward, her voice dipping into a seductive whisper. "Work him too, if he wanted."
Still, no reaction. His expression remained stone-cold, and her patience wore thin.
"Honesty is necessary in this job, Miss Nikki," he said, his tone as firm as his jawline.
"Then I'll be honest," she shot back, letting her pen slip from her hand. She bent down to pick it up, ensuring he got an unobstructed view of her cleavage.
When she straightened, she leaned across his desk, placing the pen between his lips, her eyes locking onto his with a predatory gleam.
"Since you already know I'm a porn star, it means you've been watching my videos," she purred. "Tell me, Mr. Big Shot Lawyer, did I make you cum while you watched?"