Mercer sighed as he hung up the phone on his soon to be - one can only hope - ex-wife's annoying attorney. As a lawyer himself, he knew his type a mile away, and he knew from experience that anyone who would call their own practice 'Harry's Advocates' clearly wasn't in this for, I don't know, the justice. Mercer wasn't a man that worked for the sake of the weak or defenseless, but he wasn't a dick such as him. At thirty-five, he was built sharply, a clean cut black haircut, and a goatee. He'd also made the mistake of knocking up a random college slut AKA Bitch of the Year during his first year at Harvard Law, and had ended up with twins.<br/><br/>Jack, his son, looked exactly like him when he was at the ripe young age of seventeen. Which meant he looked pretty damn awesome. His daughter... Well, how could he describe his daughter without sounding like a dirty pervert? Luscious curves, perfectly shaped breasts just made for grabbing, a nice big ass, and full lips that was just asking for a dick in them. Yup, not perverted at all. He looked at his desk lamp and at the handcuffs that hung off of the top. He'd gotten it from his father who got it from his father who retired at sixty and as the chief of police. Hmm. He wondered how it would look like shackled around his daughter's milky skin while he... Damn it, Merc. He scolded himself for thinking of his<i>daughter</i>in such a way.<br/><br/>Damn, this was troublesome as fuck, he thought as he rested against his leather chair. [/i]