Colton scratched the side of his jaw, deep in contemplation about something. Something else.
“Hey, this is serious. Would you listen to me?” She poked his shoulder.
He glanced down at the spot she’d touched as if she’d violated his VIP airspace. “I’m not sure what this is really all about—some strange fantasy of yours or obsession you have with me—but I’m not into you. So if you don’t mind,” he leaned forward off the car and started walking away, “I have important business to take care of.”
Wow. What a jackass. “I’m trying to help you. And don’t you think you could show a modicum of respect after the other night?”
His back to her, he stopped dead in his tracks and swiveled slowly on the heel of his black biker boot. “What do you mean ‘the other night’?”
Her jaw dropped. “Seriously?”
He stared blankly.
“The club. Friday night.”
He shook his head no.
“Oh, come on.” He had to be messing with her. On the other hand, by the genuine blank look on his face, she didn’t get the impression he was acting.
“The red dress?” she offered in a final attempt to jar his memory, but he continued staring as if he had zero clue.
PRAISE FOR MIMI JEAN’S HAPPY PANTS SERIES
“Smart, heart-wrenching and wonderfully sexy, this is contemporary romance at its finest. Pamfiloff pulls expertly at the heartstrings with a sassy heroine and the most compelling hero I’ve read in years.”
—USA Today bestselling author Lauren Layne on Tailored for Trouble
“Swoony, sexy, and laugh-out-loud funny! Bennett Wade is an absolutely delicious hero—and this book left me wanting more.”
—New York Times bestselling author Laura Kaye on Tailored for Trouble
“Tailored for Trouble is fast-paced romantic comedy at its best. Laugh-out-loud moments, sizzling chemistry, and a rollicking journey around the world with a sexy billionaire who’s so much more than the size of his…wallet.”
—USA Today bestselling author Kylie Gilmore on Tailored for Trouble
“Pamfiloff’s skilled pacing ramps up the tension and attraction between Bennett and Taylor as they crisscross the globe together, and their consummation feels like a well-deserved payoff for them and the reader.”
—Publishers Weekly on Tailored for Trouble
“A quick read that will have readers laughing at the witty heroine and her series of misadventures, and relishing the tension between the sexy protagonists.”
—Patricia Smith, Booklist on Tailored for Trouble
OTHER WORKS BY MIMI JEAN PAMFILOFF
THE HAPPY PANTS SERIES
(Standalones/Romantic Comedy)
The Happy Pants Café (Prequel)
Tailored for Trouble (Book 1)
THE FATE BOOK SERIES
(Standalones/New Adult Suspense/Humor)
Fate Book
Fate Book Two
THE FUGLY SERIES
(Standalone/Contemporary Romance)
fugly
it’s a fugly life
IMMORTAL MATCHMAKERS, INC., SERIES
(Standalones/Paranormal/Humor)
The Immortal Matchmakers (Book1)
Tommaso (Book 2)
God of Wine (Book 3)
THE KING SERIES
(Dark Fantasy)
King’s (Book 1)
King for a Day (Book 2)
King of Me (Book 3)
Mack (Book 4)
Ten Club (Book 5)
THE MERMEN TRILOGY
(Dark Fantasy)
Mermen (Book 1)
MerMadmen (Book 2)
MerCiless (Book 3)
THE ACCIDENTALLY YOURS SERIES
(Paranormal Romance/Humor)
Accidentally in Love with…a God? (Book 1)
Accidentally Married to…a Vampire? (Book 2)
Sun God Seeks…Surrogate? (Book 3)
Accidentally…Evil? (a Novella) (Book 3.5)
Vampires Need Not…Apply? (Book 4)
Accidentally…Cimil? (a Novella) (Book 4.5)
Accidentally…Over? (Series Finale) (Book 5)
LEATHER PANTS
The Happy Pants Café Series
Book Two
Mimi Jean Pamfiloff
A Mimi Boutique Novel
Copyright © 2017 by Mimi Jean Pamfiloff
Kobo Edition
All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed, or transmitted in any form or by any means, including photocopying, recording, or other electronic or mechanical methods, without the prior written permission of the writer, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical reviews and certain other noncommercial uses permitted by copyright law.
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, brands, media, and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. The author acknowledges the trademarked status and trademark owners of various products referenced in this work of fiction, which have been used without permission. The publication/use of these trademarks are not authorized, associated with, or sponsored by the trademark owners.
Cover Design by Earthly Charms (www.earthlycharms.com)
Creative Editing by Latoya C. Smith (lcsliterary.com)
Line Editing and Proof Reading by Pauline Nolet (www.paulinenolet.com)
Formatting by bbebooksthailand.com
Like “Free” Pirated Books?
Then Ask Yourself This Question: WHO ARE THESE PEOPLE I’M HELPING?
What sort of person or organization would put up a website that uses stolen work (or encourages its users to share stolen work) in order to make money for themselves, either through website traffic or direct sales? Haven’t you ever wondered?
Putting up thousands of pirated books onto a website or creating those anonymous ebook file sharing sites takes time and resources. Quite a lot, actually.
So who are these people? Do you think they’re decent, ethical people with good intentions? Why do they set up camp anonymously in countries where they can’t easily be touched? And the money they make from advertising every time you go to their website, or through selling stolen work, what are they using it for? The answer is you don’t know. They could be terrorists, organized criminals, or just greedy bastards. But one thing we DO know is that THEY ARE CRIMINALS who don’t care about you, your family, or me and mine. And their intentions can’t be good.
And every time you illegally share or download a book, YOU ARE HELPING these people. Meanwhile, people like me, who work to support a family and children, are left wondering why anyone would condone this.
So please, please ask yourself who YOU are HELPING when you support ebook piracy and then ask yourself who you are HURTING.
And for those who legally purchased/borrowed/obtained my work from a reputable retailer (not sure, just ask me!) muchas thank yous! You rock.
The unauthorized reproduction or distribution of a copyrighted work is illegal. Criminal copyright infringement, including infringement without monetary gain, is investigated by the FBI and is punishable by fines and federal imprisonment.
DEDICATION
To DJ Princess Snowflake and Mini, my Happy Furry Pantsers.
You don’t actually wear leather pants, or any pants at that, but if you did, they’d be happy because you two are goofy as hell.
(And please stop stealing my breakfast while I’m writing. That’s just not cool.)
CONTENTS
Cover
About the Book
Praise for Mimi Jean’s Bestselling King Series
Other Works by Mimi Jean Pamfiloff
Title Page
Copyright Page
Dedication
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Chapter Thirteen
Chapter Fourteen
Chapter Fifteen
Chapter Sixteen
Chapter Seventeen
Chapter Eighteen
Chapter Nineteen
Chapter Twenty
Chapter Twenty-One
Chapter Twenty-Two
Chapter Twenty-Three
Chapter Twenty-Four
Chapter Twenty-Five
Chapter Twenty-Six
Chapter Twenty-Seven
Chapter Twenty-Eight
Chapter Twenty-Nine
Chapter Thirty
Chapter Thirty-One
Chapter Thirty-Two
Chapter Thirty-Three
Chapter Thirty-Four
Chapter Thirty-Five
Chapter Thirty-Six
Chapter Thirty-Seven
Chapter Thirty-Eight
Chapter Thirty-Nine
Chapter Forty
Chapter Forty-One
Chapter Forty-Two
Chapter Forty-Three
Author’s Note
Playlist
Quick Note About the Story
Excerpt from fugly
About the Author
LEATHER PANTS
CHAPTER ONE
No. Fuck no. Not this guy again. The Honorable Sarah Rae Alma of San Francisco County Superior Court blinked at her trial schedule, hoping and praying with every fiber of her being that her overworked eyes were playing tricks.
With hesitation, she glanced at her paperwork again.
Dammit! Someone must’ve switched her schedule at the last minute. She quickly went into panic mode, resisting the urge to pinch her cheeks or reach into her robe for a boob-perk, all to feel marginally hotter—the best a woman could hope for when wearing a black muumuu—for the man, the god, the legend about to enter her courtroom.
At least I’m appropriately dressed for my own personal nightmare, she thought, vowing not to think about what happened last time.
Career-cluster to the F-th degree.
Sarah straightened the pale-blue scarf around her neck and smoothed back the loose strands of her frizzy ponytail, preparing for his entrance. An entrance that melted panties, made women ovulate in triplicate, and sent any alpha males in the vicinity scurrying for the closest rock.
Why didn’t I put on makeup? Or touch up my roots? She was naturally a brunette, but had decided on a whim last month to go redder, hoping it might bring out her blue eyes and amp up her sex appeal.
Useless.
Men still treated her like a bucket of crusty scabs. All because she had the power to put them in jail for life. Losers. Like she’d ever do that unless they showed up in her court, guilty of felony charges. But something about dating a woman with that kind of power freaked men the hell out.
Speaking of freaking out, why didn’t I shave this morning? She could never be at her maximum confidence with hairy legs.
All right, Sarah, enough. You don’t really care about looking hot. You can’t stand bad boys. You crush them into tiny pieces and feed them to the legal system. You make them cry for their mothe—
“Your Honor?” snapped Maria Gomez, the bailiff, who was a five-foot-five, middle-aged mother of two and one tough nut. Nobody messed with Maria. The beige uniform made her look especially intimidating.
Sarah whipped her head up to find the entire courtroom staring, including the jury, while the closed-circuit camera rolled in the back.
With her long black sleeve, Sarah mopped the sweat from her brow and then inched her index finger at Maria.
“Me?” Maria glanced side to side and pointed to herself.
“Yes, you,” Sarah whispered.
Maria hitched up her heavy belt that included mace and a revolver and approached the bench.
“Why the hell wasn’t I told that he’d be coming to my court again?” Sarah grinned through clenched teeth.
Maria shrugged. “I don’t know, Your Honor.”
“Don’t you ‘Your Honor’ me,” she hissed. “We had mojitos last night. And an entire jarra.” Maria held the unique honor of being one of Sarah’s closest friends and her landlord. About a year ago, Sarah had moved into the three-story Victorian, renting the one-bedroom apartment on the top floor. It was a steal of a price, close to the cable car line, and had a gorgeous view of the Marina District. Don’t forget the home-cooked meals. Another plus. Just last night, Maria and her hubby, Franco, had made Sarah an early b-day dinner because they couldn’t find a sitter for tonight’s official birthday outing. “We all know you’ll only stay out for forty minutes, anyway,” Maria had said last night, poking fun at Sarah’s stick-in-the-mudness. Sarah preferred the word responsible or focused. And staying out all night drinking to celebrate one more year on the planet? Waste of time. She had work to do, cases to review, bad guys to sentence.
Maria leaned into the bench a little closer toward Sarah. “I heard that he pulled some strings to get you.”
“Me?” Sarah whispered. “I don’t believe that.” Defendants didn’t get to pick and choose their judges. In any case, having him in her court again spelled danger for her career. The last time he had been here for auto theft—where a hundred-thousand-dollar Mercedes took a swim in a lake—resulted in three weeks of tabloid torture. “Judge Alma-drool.” “Judge All-buttered-up.” “Judge All-but-spread-her-legs.” The rag-mags had taken their teeth to her and masticated hard.
Hold it together, girl. You went to Harvard. You’re a judge. You. Are. Unshakable.
“I don’t know why he’d push for you,” Maria replied. “Maybe he thinks you’re hot. But Judge Wright will make sure you’re suspended if you lose it again, so stay calm.”
“I did not lose it!” she whispered. “The last time he was here I…” Sarah’s words faded as the doors to the back of her courtroom flew open and everyone fell into a deathlike hush.
“Wow,” Maria gasped.
Forget “wow.” Can I get a holy fuck?
Colton Young’s epic man-bod stood smack in the center of the doorway, his long waves of chestnut hair falling to his broad shoulders, his black leather pants slung low around his hips, and his espresso-colored T-shirt just tight enough to show off the lean hard body underneath. Colton’s arms didn’t have the requisite shoulder-to-wrist musician tattoos, but the man had muscle. Lots and lots of lean, hard muscle.
“He looks like a god,” Sarah muttered under her breath, unable to contain the pinball action in her stomach—pings and pops, little rubber flippers going crazy, and a steel ball ricocheting all over.
Colton whipped off his mirrored sunglasses, and his intense hazel eyes shot straight to Sarah’s face like a wolf homing in on an object it had yet to decide what to do with. Kill. Fuck. Ignore. Piss on.
Sarah gulped. God save me. Because this man…this man…He’s too sinful for words. Not that she was into him. She hated bad boys. They were smug and all talk until it came time for sentencing. She took a certain pleasure in watching them blubber like babies when they were found guilty and sentenced to prison.
But Colton Young could make her squirm merely by subjecting her to his hotness. Did he have superpowers?
“Your Honor? You okay?” Maria rasped while everyone watched Colton do his I-don’t-give-a-fuck strut toward the seat beside his legal counsel—some big lawyer guy in a fancy suit.
“Yeah. Yeah. I’m good.” Sarah bobbed her head and brushed a few wayward clumps of sad dull hair from her eyes with her trembling hand.
Maria’s left eyebrow did some acrobatics on her forehead and returned to neutral. “Okeydokey. Here we go.”
Maria faced the room, and the court cler
k kicked off the trial, reading the charges against the defendant.
Meanwhile, Sarah tried her best to divert her eyes from the man with the body that reminded her of how at the end of the day, she was an animal—no brains, no evolution. Just a savage she-beast wanting to bang her way to happiness.
“Your Honor?” Maria prodded for the second time.
Crap. I zoned out again. Sarah focused on the documents in front of her, frantically skimming the list of charges. What the hell? Assaulting an officer with a deadly weapon? Destruction of private property? Urinating on another officer, and public indecency? Jesus, this guy was out of control. Hot, but out of control.
See. He’s just another bad boy with no regard for others. Just pretend he’s not a famous rock star. With beautifully sculpted cheekbones. And a perfect square jaw. And pouty man-lips framed by a week’s worth of rich brown stubble perfect for tickling the inside of your thighs while he makes you come with that wicked mouth.
Sarah gulped and finished reading through the mandatory proceeding documents, informing the jury of the instructions, all without missing a step.
She looked up and met Colton’s steely gaze. Her heartbeat went into hummingbird mode.
“Mist-Mister Colton.” Sarah cleared her throat, her eyes still locked with his. “You may proceed with your leather pants—I mean arguments! The opening arguments.”
A chuckle erupted from the room and Colton gave her a hard look, as if to say: “Hey, woman, I am not your piece of meat!”
What’s the matter with me? Of course, there wasn’t a female on the planet who could remain calm in such a man’s presence—fifteen Grammys, including album of the year, abs of steel (as seen on his last album cover), and a set of dimples so deliciously deep you could practically take a bubble bath in them.
Not that she was interested. Because he’s just a big dick in leather pants. Of course, Sarah’s mind produced an image of exactly that. Ugh!