Bad Boy Summer

e i g h t e e n

A/N: There is some sexy smexy content in this chapter. So when you see the little * feel free to stop reading if you're uncomfortable :)

"HEY EVERETT," I call him from across the space and he glances over his shoulder at me, "Can I smash his many framed doctorates with that golf club? Also his pictures of him and his damn Tesla." 

Chase gives me a passive look, "Jones, focus. We're here to look for shit to blackmail this asshole with." 

"Not even his Tesla pictures?" I question with a pout as Chase shakes his head. I sigh dramatically, "Fine! But if it somehow falls off his desk and shatters that's not my fault, okay?" 

"Okay." Chase chuckles as he returns to searching through the filing cabinet he had not so long ago broken into. I move back to searching through the bookshelf—which was mostly stuffed with books written by himself. 

I scoff. Of fucking course. 

We were going Mission Impossible on this motherfucker. He picked the wrong case to pretend to be the main psychiatrist. After we're done with him, he's going to need a psychiatrist. 

Dr Walter Bryan worked in a very futuristic building in downtown LA. The exterior was mostly made from glass and it was about five stories high. It was more tech-savvy than we were expecting so after a quick, panicked phone call to Noah, we were able to get in through the back and past any security cameras or electronically locked doors.

There was a security guard on this floor, but he was asleep on the waiting room couch when we tip-toed past so there wasn't any trouble there either. He also looked like a human Chief Clancy Wiggum from the Simpsons and I wanted to take a selfie with him, but Chase wouldn't let me. 

After finding absolutely nothing except pompous asshat-ness in the bookshelf, I go to the centre of the room where a  large glass desk sat. I suggested we go to the computer straight away but Chase assumed that this guy wouldn't be as dumb to put it on there. 

I beg to differ. 

I move the white leather desk chair out of the way and crouch down before begging to search through the drawers.In the top drawer, there was just boring shit in there; pens, staplers, a couple paper clips. But it got more wild as I went down. 

I found a couple business cards for strip clubs, toupee glue and a box of viagra pills. What the fuck were these doing in his drawer? 

I screw my nose up and I was just about to stand and move on when I noticed his trash can. I pull it out, the street lights that slanted through the blinds were somewhat helpful as I sifted through the crumpled up paper. It was just a couple of extra drug prescription sheets. 

I continue to search until I come across a small sticky note. 

"Hey," I call again as I rest my elbow on the surface of the glass, "What firm are the opposing lawyers from?"