Free Quid Pro Quo by Roxie Rivera

Table of Contents
    CHAPTER ONE
    CHAPTER TWO
    CHAPTER THREE
    LEGAL BRIEFS EXCERPT
    ROXIE'S BACKLIST
    ABOUT ROXIE
    Quid Pro Quo
    Copyright © 2012 by Roxie Rivera
    This book is a work of fiction. The names, characters, places, and incidents are products of the writer's
    imagination or have been used fictitiously and are not to be construed as real. Any resemblance to persons,
    living or dead, actual events, locales or organizations is entirely coincidental.
    All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced, scanned, or distributed in any manner
    whatsoever without written permission from the author except in the case of brief quotation embodied in
    critical articles and reviews.
    QUID PRO QUO
    ROXIE RIVERA

    CHAPTER ONE

    "I need money, Greg."
    His gaze jumped from his laptop screen to my face. Surprise brightened his face. He blinked a few
    times. "How the hell did you get in here?"
    I flashed the house key he'd given me a few months ago. "I rang the doorbell, like, five times but you
    didn't answer."
    "Sorry." He sighed loudly, sat back and wiped a hand down his face "I've been mentally replaying the
    call from this afternoon and checking the transcripts."
    I stepped into his home office and noticed he still wore his all-black uniform. The harsh-looking
    material and military style lent an intimidating air to Greg. Apparently his latest SWAT shift hadn't gone
    well. I'd learned to recognize that haggard, pained look on his face as the one he often wore when calls
    went south. It wasn't an easy job, that's for sure.
    "Bad call?" I walked behind his desk and leaned back against it. I didn't miss the way his gaze zeroed in
    on my bare legs and the taut, slim-fitting cut of my too-short skirt.
    He didn't answer the question. Instead, he frowned and gestured to my skirt. "That's too short, Nez."
    "I don't like it any more than you do but it's the uniform all the waitresses wear."
    "I don't like you working at that place. It's dangerous and the clientele is low-rent."
    My lips twitched with amusement. Greg had been looking out for me since I was thirteen. He'd made the
    mistake of dating my nutjob mother for a couple of weeks. She'd tried to pull her usual con on him but he'd
    been too smart. One morning a few weeks after they'd stopped seeing one another, I'd woken up in our
    crappy little apartment to discover she'd split. Next thing I knew I was in Houston's foster care system. Not
    exactly a great place to be but not as bad as living with my erratic mother, all things considered.
    Greg had made a point of getting to know my social worker and had kept an eye on me as I bounced
    from house to house and group home to group home. I'd taken heart in the knowledge that I always had
    someone to trust and turn to if things got ugly. He'd never failed me. That's why I'd come to him tonight.
    "Well you don't have to worry about me working there anymore." I rubbed the back of my neck and
    sighed. "I got fired tonight."
    His brow furrowed. "Fired? For what?"
    "For punching some jackass who thought it was okay to stick his hand up my skirt," I explained matter-
    of-factly.
    "What?" Rage filled his voice. "One of those low-life scum bags touched you?"
    "Only once," I replied. "Believe me. He paid for it."
    Greg's gaze fell to my left hand. He picked it up and gazed at my swollen, bruised knuckles. "You need
    to ice this."
    "I did on the bus." I waited for him to start in on me riding the bus this late at night but he didn't. He
    surprised me by lightly tracing the bruised ridges of my hand. The soft touch made my belly flutter. I'd tried
    to convince myself that my attraction to Greg was some kind of hero worship but deep down inside I knew
    it was so much more than that.
    But he was nearly forty years old and I was just nineteen. He was a decorated SWAT cop. I was an art
    student. We were two different people in two different worlds. We could be friends but I couldn't see how
    it could ever be more than that.
    Greg's gaze slid