by Natalie Wrye
Several hours later, after the sun has already set, I step inside the Manhattan penthouse I’d left behind, shedding my clothes like an unwanted skin. I loosen the tie, drop the slacks, ditch the shirt. Naked, I march over the marbled tile and inside of my polished glass shower door. Shutting it behind me, I let a stream of scalding hot water, bear down on my body, beating the emotion out of me.
The water is scorching. Searing. Steam builds up like a billowing smoke, and through the heat and haze, all I can think about is the strawberry-haired siren I saw just this morning in the King & Sparrow offices.
Violet fucking Keats.
The bane of my sorry existence.
In a pure white blouse and blue pencil skirt, looking every bit of a fucking fantasy, the feisty lawyer—and object of my unadulterated lust—was a sight to behold, a beauty that was unfairly unforgettable.
What’d we had in one night was fierce—fiery. Exactly eleven months ago, at Elsie and Brett’s unexpected engagement party, we’d danced, drank and dove into each other like there was no tomorrow, shallow breathing as we drowned in each other all night long.
The sight of her, standing there in a silk-lined red dress, showing off those long toned legs, is enough to make me unreasonably hard, and amongst the scouring water, I stroke one steady hand across my shaft. Needing to relive it. Needing that same release that always evades me every time I see her.
One hand against the hard black tile, another across my cock, and I remember what it was like to lay Violet Keats down, to kiss my way across her skin, to lavish her smooth body with my tongue.
Violet.
Sweet to the taste. Soft to the touch.
Violet.
Smelling as sweetly floral as her name, her fuckable mouth open to me as she accepted whatever I had to give, my hardness slipping between her cherry-red pair of lipstick-lined lips as she gazed up at me openly—her blue eyes wide.
I’d set her ankles across my shoulders, filled her to my heart’s content.
Hotly silky and disturbingly sensual, I’d given Violet Keats, Esquire, the good, the bad and the better in my bed—taking her body to new heights, crushing her sexy cries with my mouth as I kissed, sucked and tasted each inch of beautiful bow-shaped mouth.
It’s the thought of her mouth that sends my rigid erection into granite territory, and I pump myself harder among the scalding spray of the shower, imagining her plush pussy wrapped around me. Squeezing. Stroking. Loving every inch of me from the inside out.
A moan makes its way out of me, and the pressure inside me builds to painful levels, the need to sink myself into Violet Keats more visceral and violent than ever before. I slam one wet fist against the wall tile, an orgasm threatening to tear me apart until the sound of a slamming door shocks me back from the precipice of a climax, the unexpected noise knocking me violently back down from the peak of unattained pleasure.
I freeze, dropping my cock as I turn.
A growl from just beyond my bathroom doors sends my nerves to new heights, and I swing open the glass door—soaking wet, storming out of my gleaming black and marble-lined bathroom only to find myself face-to-face with a pair of razor-sharp teeth.
Baring…at me.
The snout above the angry sneer sniffs and as the growl through the air lowers to a gravelly rumble, I catch Brett turning the far corner, heading in my direction, his hand reached out to the huge dark gray dog staring at me.
He grabs the monster animal’s collar—pulling.
“Shush,” he hushes to the humongous creature. “It’s okay, Tank. It’s okay.”
“Tank?” I question, dripping all over my cream-colored carpet. I point towards the panting brute. “That’s Marilyn’s dog?”
Brett smiles. “I know. It’s been a while since you’ve seen him.”
I look back down at the beast. “Yeah. Almost a year. Fuck, I didn’t know the damned dog could get that big.”
Brett pets him, soothing him, his hand swiping along the American Bully breed’s fur. Tank calms, but never stops staring at me—his gray eyes wary, a faint growl still in the back of his thick throat. He regards me closely. And I watch him right back—aware of my every movements. Water pools beneath my body, soaking the expensive fibers beneath my feet, when Brett finally speaks up.
“Uh, Sparrow?”
“Yeah?” I say, continuing to keep my eye on Tank.
“You want to put some clothes on, man? Your sword is swinging at me, for crying out loud.”
Shit. I glance down at my naked body. “Fuck, I’d almost forgotten. It’s hard not to…when you think you’re going to be eaten alive.”
My best friend laughs. “Tank doesn’t like the taste of dickhead, Heath. You’ll be fine.”
I take the few steps inside my bathroom, reaching for the nearest dark towel. Wrapping it around my waist, I point Brett towards the kitchen as he escorts Tank into the corner of the living room, and with a lofty sigh, my business partner sinks onto a stool, a tired smile on his face, his skin pale underneath a myriad of colorful tattoos.
He glances up at me across the marble kitchen counters, a strain on his face that I hadn’t seen until now. He exhales soundly, appearing almost small beneath a black Tee and pair of blue jeans.
“I’m sorry for bursting in like this.”
“Looks like the only one who was going to be sorry was me. After Tank bit my ass.”
Brett grins. “But I had no other avenue. Elsie and I have had Tank. Ever since the…” he hesitates, “Marilyn and your dad’s accident.”
“I know.” I nod.
“But we can’t take care of him right now. Not with all the press and reporters harassing us because of my dad’s case. Not with all the travel before the wedding. We have so much to get squared away. Tattoo Gods has another season I’m producing. The ink shops are in great shape, but business has become overwhelming for the managers. The Manhattan location is being bombarded by the same media following after my father. It’s a mess.”
I stare at Brett. “I know. If you recall, brother…this is not my first rodeo.”
He laughs on a dry scoff, his head hanging as he mutters under his breath, his voice softer than a sigh. “And you never let me forget it.”
I lean forward. “What was that?”
“It’s just that…” Brett stares back up at me, his blue and green eyes gazing into mine. His voice is gritty. “You know, you didn’t have to pull out as a producer of Tattoo Gods. We could have run the show together.”
I snort. “That was your thing.”
“Yes. And it could have been ours.” Brett shakes a head of brown hair, the strands falling over and into his eyes. His jaw pulses. “I know I started the show without talking to you. Without bringing you in from the beginning. But cutting yourself out like that? Moving to Hollywood?” He crosses his hands. “You barely have any stake in our tattoo shops as it is, and what little emotional investment you do have is mainly for criticizing our staff.” Brett watches me as I stroll towards the stainless steel fridge, opening its door. His words are strained, almost soft. “You shut me out.”
I turn. “I didn’t shut you out. I just did my own thing.”
“I know.” He shrugs. “You always do. But don’t you think you could afford to give a damn about something that’s not all about you? Take Tank, for instance. Have you even offered to see what your sister needed? Or were you worried about making sure she was alright so you could be on the next plane smoking, leaving everyone behind?”
I practically snarl. “Don’t you dare talk about me and my family, you son-of-a-bitch. You know nothing.”
“I know that you’ve fought hard to forge your own path without your father’s help. Carved out your own career in investing in the right businesses. And yes, your dad abandoned you in many ways, made you the black sheep. Treated you like the bad seed and prodigal son, I get it.”
He stands from his stool. “But he’s also a man who ended up here. In a hospital room alone. Divorced. B
itter. Broken in so many ways.” He closes his eyes before opening them again. He stares at the ceiling before directing his glare at me. His strangled words drive the point home. “Dammit, Heath…” He huffs. “I know your father made you feel as though you weren’t worth shit because you didn’t follow in his lawyer footsteps. But that doesn’t mean you have to step on the rest of us.” He points towards his chest, breathing heavier than before, his entire body heaving with the effort. “I talked to the hospital staff. Have you visited your father in his room even once?”
I grab a beer from the fridge, fumbling with its tight cap. I form a fist around its neck so tight I could break the glass. My eyes are cold as I return Brett’s stare. “That’s none of your concern.”
“Like hell, it isn’t. I’m your friend. Your family…” He trails off. “And if you keep at this self-made man bullshit, you’re going to find yourself without both.” He glances over at Tank, his shoulders tight as he rotates towards the door. “I’ll be back to deliver Tank’s things later.”
He turns and walks away, heading out the front door, and I’m tempted to stop him. But years of unexpressed repentance and regret fix my feet to the floor. I open the beer bottle, alone as ever, draining its contents, marveling at how—somehow, someway—I’ve ended up like my father after all…
Chapter 11
VIOLET
“He’s late,” I whisper twenty-four hours after David’s surprise meeting.
“Are you surprised?” She paces the floor. “I don’t know what David was thinking even telling us. Now we’re all wound up, trying to figure the mystery out.”
I shake my head, eager to run my fingers through my slicked-back bun. I wring my fingers. “It’s like my mind has been put into a blender.”
“Exactly,” Em says from her seat in my office. “And David’s the one who put it there. I can’t believe he’s not going to be our Managing Partner. I mean, who is?”
“Beats me,” I scoff. “This isn’t the best idea.” I snatch a pen off my desk, tapping it to my teeth. “Bringing a stranger in? Giving him the top spot? I wonder if I can plead with David to cancel, make him see that the integrity of this law firm is worth more than a spot in the sun.”
No matter how much I need that spot.
Truth is, the pressure is killing me. And our law firm needed the Chris Jackson case like a shot of adrenaline. The firm had always been on firm ground, but we were competing with the best firms with the best reputations in the country.
Every case, every won client, was a battle against the best in business. I’d somehow turned into a magician in the last eleven months.
Pulling every trick out of my rabbit hat wasn’t hard, but I had to admit: my rabbit was getting a little long in the tooth.
I tap my silver pen against my teeth, contemplating my next trick when a small rapping at my office door matches the rhythm of my nervous knocking. The door opens, and David—seemingly flustered and out of breath—takes a step inside.
“Violet.” He looks right at me. “Emily.” He notices her. His voice lowers as he glances my way. “I need you to come to the Red Oak conference room.” His eyes flit to her and then back. “Just you, Vi.”
My heart stops. The mystery guest must be here.
David steps back out into the hallway, closing the door. I look directly at Em, biting my lower lip as she stands. She reaches the door before I do and when I follow right behind her, she throws it open, allowing me to stroll out, my chin high, my black pencil skirt and baby blue shirt flapping in the breeze I’ve created as I storm down the hallway, ready for anything.
Ready for anything but the man sitting down in the first seat in the conference room. Right in front of me.
I turn the corner and nearly trample into him. He sits with his stance wide, his large muscular body taking up half the room as he glances up and meets my gaze with his.
Cocoa-colored eyes stare back at me from the middle of a handsome face.
“Hello… Keats,” he says. He stands, and I can barely breathe. I lose what’s left of my already-choked voice, barely having the energy to cough. I stare up at him.
“What—What are you doing here?”
“Well, a minute ago,” the brown-eyed man comments, “I was sitting in my seat and now I’m standing here, talking to you.” His stormy eyes smile. “Would you like a seat?”
Seat? There are seats?
I can’t take my eyes off him, but I nod, wordlessly, allowing him to escort me into nearest office chair, my body brushing his as I move to sit down. Sparks shoot from every contact point, and I have to fight to keep my skin from shuddering. Not from the cold, but the heat—the pure fire that is this man’s broad chest.
It sweeps against mine briefly, but it is like a flame, kindling everywhere at the same time. I slide inside the softened seat, swallowing hard. I sweep an errant lock of hair behind my ear before speaking.
“Where’s David?” It almost feel silly asking. He smirks.
“He’ll be back. He just took a call.”
“Oh.”
“A call from a client.”
I nod. “Okay.”
“How are you?” he asks.
I wet my suddenly dry lips. “I’m fine.”
“You know,” he comments casually, “I went to the Rainbow Room.” He sucks his teeth briefly. “Not really my taste…but I can show you what is.” He shrugs. “Sometime.”
Just then, David turns the corner. He clears his throat as he waltzes into the room.
“Heath.” He throws a glance at the well-built man. “Oh, I see you’ve already met Violet.”
The small statement makes the man I know as Heath Sparrow smile. He looks my way.
“Yes.” His silken voice deepens. “Yes, I have.”
My heart is now a certified snare drum. It beats with a quick staccato rhythm and I cross my legs, hoping to calm the band currently playing beneath my breath. I can’t believe my own eyes and ears.
Heath Sparrow is the new Managing Partner? The man we’ve been expecting? A man I’ve insulted, snapped at…is now my boss? My eyes search the room.
“Is it just us?” I ask.
David sits. “No, Violet.” He looks at Heath. “Actually I’ve invited our other junior and senior partners on staff to meet with us. As you already know, our main decision-maker Fitzgerald Sparrow has been involved in a quite serious car accident, but he’s always entrusted me to make the best decisions for the firm…” He hesitates. “And I need my biggest team players to hold down the fort while speculation flies about the Chris Jackson case.” He motions to the man on his right. “And for Heath’s handling of it.”
Heath doesn’t smile. “Thank you, David.”
David’s eyes are cold. “You’re welcome.”
Another pair of footsteps join us. Soon, Bitchy Partner Number One enters the well-lit room, a smug smirk on her face. Joined by Asshole Partner Number Two, followed by Sarah Hardy, our head of Marketing.
They take the seats directly in Heath’s stoic line of sight, and before I can say a word, they are clamoring all over themselves to be the first to introduce his or her own royal highness, practically salivating at the chance to kiss Heath Sparrow’s notoriously well-formed ass.
Not that I’ve been looking that hard at his ass…
Bitchy Partner, of course, begins before anyone else.
She waves towards the front of the room. Like a kid introducing herself to the clerk at a candy store.
“Hi, I’m Kathryn. Kathryn Sandoval.”
Heath smiles. “Hello, Kathryn. Kathryn Sandoval.” Next to go is Seth and then Sarah.
Me? I’m sitting in the seat nearest Heath, trying not to pee in my wool-lined skirt.
My knees practically knock.
I’m almost close enough to reach out and touch Heath, and if I did… I’d remember what it was like to feel him two days ago. When he wrapped those thick fingers around my elbow. When his strong hands clasped over my skin, the heat of his l
arge body running red-hot.
I squirm in my seat, and David claps his hands.
“Alright, everything good now? Now that introductions are over, let’s get to the nitty-gritty. With Fitzgerald’s longtime, uh, friendship with Chris Jackson and Jackson’s connections to this firm, there will be speculation. Rumors about our involvement in his new legal direction. Court appearances begin next week. Our calendar is going to be jam-packed—a tight one. We’ll be the center of the press for the next week. Kathryn, Seth…” His eyes search for them. “I’ll need you two on both, respectively. I want us to be firm. And Sarah, you’ll put the spin on this. And Violet…”
His eyes shoot to me. “You’ll help Heath learn the ropes, show him what this firm can do. Show him what working for the best law firm in Manhattan is like. Make him as much a part of this as possible.”
Heath sighs. “Way to make me feel at home, huh?” He looks at David. “Just a few days back in New York, and I’m already being dictated to.”
David stares at him, his blue irises blanking. “I didn’t mean it that way.”
The bigger man leans back in his chair. “Of course you didn’t, David. But then again you’re not the big boss at this firm…are you?” He stands. “So, here’s how it’s going to go.” He straightens to his feet. “We’re not going to take interviews. Not going to give any morsels to the gossip rags or even the press. I’ll pick a person to handle all communication with the media. Someone very…” He shrugs, lifting his large shoulders. “Welcome-Wagon-y.”
He stands and grins, sweeping a hand over his thick, walnut-hued hair. The move tousles the carefully coiffed strands, and somehow with the mussed locks brushed aside, he looks even more handsome, his large hands grazing his strong jaw, his perfect fingers ruffling the dark hair of his shortened sideburns.
He turns and walks away. But when he reaches the door, he points at me. “And I choose Violet Keats to be that person.”
He walks the rest of the way out and we all watch him, our mouths hanging open, my own hanging just a little lower than everyone else’s as I realize that my tiny plan to help the firm start a civil case against the most corrupt businessman in New York just put the biggest law job I’ve ever had on the line.