Captivated Love. Yasmin Sullivan Y.

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      Then again, Darien James was still a nondrinking, nonpartying, veggie-burger-eating stick-in-the-mud. Chocolate hottie though he may be, he was still too conservative for her. He wanted her to slow down rather than quench her needs, and she wasn’t having it. Slow just wasn’t her pace.

      Safire opened the door to the main office at the Heritage Center only to find that there was no one at the receptionist’s desk. Offices surrounded the reception area, but most of the doors were closed. She listened for a moment and heard no signs of movement, so she called out.

      “Hello. Is anyone here?”

      “Just a minute,” a voice called back.

      Then Darien’s head popped out of a door. He had a phone to his ear and gestured for her to wait. Then he strode out from the office. He was wearing black jeans and a black T-shirt with a white shirt on top of it, and over that he wore a silver vest with words like freedom and respect embroidered in black thread. Around his neck he wore a leather rope with wooden beads that had a fist handing down at the center. Safire looked at him and couldn’t help smiling. Now that he wasn’t wearing a suit, he looked the part of an artist. His long braids were tied back at the nape of his neck, as usual, and his astute brown eyes stood out among his chiseled chocolate features, good enough to nibble on.

      “Ms. Lewis,” he said and held out his hand as he approached her.

      “Mr. James,” she returned. “Why so formal?”

      “I didn’t want to make any assumptions.”

      “Safire is just fine. I’m here to—”

      “To do the interviews for the Legal Assistance Program. I know. I’ll be serving as your staff liaison this afternoon, and you’ll be using my office.”

      “Oh, I didn’t know. Your office?”

      “Come with me.”

      Safire had grown up in North Miami and had come to a few events at the Heritage Center, but she’d never been inside the administrative suite.

      Darien led Safire to his office, which held a large wooden desk and two facing chairs with another chair in the corner. There were paintings of every kind all over the walls, some clearly by children. The shelves were lined with art books and sculptures made of wood and clay and ceramic. There was color in every conceivable corner. The file cabinets were covered with images—mostly watercolors—held on by magnets. Around the room were framed posters of events that had been held at the Heritage Center.

      In addition to a computer and printer, the desk was strewn with papers, books and various art supplies.

      “I just have to get a few things that I’ll need out front, and I can make some room for you to work,” Darien said, gathering things and clearing a space for her. “The first clients are in the small conference room across the reception area. I’ll bring them in when you’re ready, and I’ll be at the reception desk to greet the next ones. We set appointments at the top of each hour, and you have four this afternoon.” He nodded at her. “Just let me know when you’re ready.”

      Darien took his things and went out to the reception area.

      Safire pulled her portfolio and the needed paperwork out of her briefcase, including interview checklists, legal glossaries, a notepad and a pen. She spread out her things and made herself comfortable at the desk. Then she got up to find Darien.

      “Is your receptionist off today?”

      “We don’t actually have a receptionist right now. We have a couple of student assistants, but they come in after school in time to service the after-school programs. We all do a bit of double duty around here. Are you ready?”

      “Yes, I am.”

      Safire winked at Darien and headed back to his office. In a couple of moments, he brought in a family of three—two parents and their son. The son, who was fourteen, had been beaten up by a bully at school. The family was struggling and had no health insurance, and they wanted to sue for medical and dental fees resulting from the incident.

      Anything involving children moved Safire’s heart, filled her with conviction and focused her on the task at hand. This was the kind of case she wanted as her own, the kind of case she would study law for.

      Having a little brother—one so much younger than she was—helped inspire that passion. She would have a fit if anyone was picking on little Philly. In reality, she had stepped out of the way to make sure that her older sister could look after her younger brother after their mother died. Angelina had to be free to concentrate on Philly. That was another reason she was on her own. She had to make sure that she was all right so that Angelina could go on making sure that Philly was all right. In fact, she had to be ready so that when Philly went off to college, she could pitch in when needed. So far, her plan was working, but it took grit and determination. And it took even more to have a life on top of that. It took being fierce. Now she wanted to go back to school. Hopefully, this plan would work, as well.

      With only an hour, Safire had to make good time, so she let the young man describe the incident and then launched into questions. Near the end of the hour, she took their contact information and said that she would call them with an appointment for the proper attorney. She got up to shake the parents’ hands and give the young man’s shoulder a gentle squeeze.

      “I’ll be calling you tomorrow,” she said and then smiled.

      Darien came in to see if she was ready for the next client. She gestured toward the nearest chair and continued with her notes.

      “I need to make some brief notes after each interview. It’s standard practice. I’ll only take five to ten minutes. That’s why I ended a little early. Next time give me an hour and a half—at least—for each interview. In fact, it might work best if you call me with a general description of the issue when you’re scheduling so I can estimate how much time I’ll need.”

      Darien had taken the seat she’d pointed to. He propped one of his ankles on top of the other thigh and settled back. “We can do that.”

      Safire finished her notes and checked her watch. She had a few minutes to spare, and with Darien so nearby, she was itching to play for just a little bit. This wasn’t like her. She liked to play, but not at work. Something about this man drew her to the chase. She tucked her notes into a folder, labeled it and stowed it in her briefcase. Then she got up and rounded the desk, settling back against it and crossing her legs in front of her.

      “Are you ready for the next client?” Darien asked.

      “Almost,” Safire replied. “Tell me a little about them. Or do you know?”

      “This one I do. Miss Levita Smalls has had her daughter in programs at the Heritage Center for about two years.”

      As Darien talked, Safire bent forward and touched the lettering on his vest, running her hand over his shoulder and down his chest as she read the words she was tracing with her fingers. He sat up in his chair but continued talking about Miss Smalls.

      “She’s been divorced for the last year and is struggling to keep afloat financially.”

      Safire bent farther forward, resting her hands on Darien’s open thighs. With her so close, his voice quieted to a low bass.

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