by J. Kenner
He was letting her in because he wanted to. Wanted her. Not forever—he knew well enough that couldn’t happen. But for right now, he wanted to be with her. Not sex—at least not necessarily. But her. He didn’t understand why, but she brought a wild joy into his life. The kind that he felt when he was working an equation and making progress, only more intense. And that kind of feeling was to be cherished.
“I love these,” she said as she picked up the Loaded Corona and slid into the seat across from him. From what he could tell, she wasn’t the least bit self-conscious about her speech around him anymore. “Thank you.”
“You’re welcome.” He lifted his empty bottle. “I love them too.”
“I’m sorry I disappeared. Griffin’s overly … protective of me.”
“He’s a good friend.”
“It’s more than that. He was in … a fire, and his face is pretty scarred. So he—”
“I understand,” he said gently. “He knows what it’s like to be self-conscious.”
She nodded. “And to be looked at like there’s … something wrong with … you. Like you’re less.”
“Anyone who thinks that about you is an idiot.”
She met his eyes. Held them. “That’s what he says.”
“Then I’ll like your friend just fine.”
She took a long sip of her drink then put it on the table. Then she reached over and took his hand, and it was as if the heavens opened.
He drew in a shaky breath, and met her eyes again, then felt as if he was drowning in those deep, brown pools. And, oh God, that shock of electricity that had cut through him with more intensity than anything he’d ever felt in his life.
She gasped, and he knew she felt it, too, as she held his gaze and said, very simply, “Hey.”
“Hey, yourself.”
For a moment, they just stared. Then, as if on cue, they grinned at each other.
Their stupid lack of words didn’t matter. The touch of their hands said everything.
Chapter Six
Present Day
Leopold felt the sting across his cheek, his heart shattering with the impact.
He hadn’t expected to see her at the bar. Skye Porter. The woman who’d stolen his heart—and whose heart he’d so recklessly broken.
For that matter, he hadn’t intended to go to The Fix at all—too many bittersweet memories. But he was staying in the LBJ Presidential Suite at Austin’s famous Driskill Hotel, and his corner balcony had a view of Sixth Street. He’d been in town for less than an hour, but once he’d caught a glimpse of the street and the bar … well, how could he not at least step inside and see if the place had changed?
Jürgen had pulled open the door, Leopold had stepped through, and joy had flooded him, the emotion so intense it almost knocked him backward.
It hadn’t, of course. Instead, her slap had done that.
Immediately, Karl and Fritz, two of Jürgen’s best bodyguards, stomped forward. Jürgen held up a hand, easing them to heel. With every eye in the place glued on him, Leopold moved closer to Skye, who’d backed away, eyes wide with shock, before the sting on his cheek had even dimmed.
He wore jeans and a black tee, as did the men who accompanied him, and Leo hoped that none of the patrons were such avid royal-watchers that they recognized him. He would hate to see Skye plastered across social media.
As he approached, she crossed her arms protectively across her chest. Her brown eyes shot daggers, though, telegraphing that she didn’t regret the slap at all.
Why would she?
He dipped his head in apology, then met her eyes. “Skye.”
“Don’t … don’t say …” She closed her eyes and he watched as she worked to control her breathing, his heart aching for her as she struggled with the words. When she opened her eyes again, the pain he saw there cut straight through his soul. “Don’t you dare say you’re sorry.”
“But I am.”
Her shoulders shook. “You’re an ass and a liar and you … you used me.”
“No, I—” But he cut himself off. Maybe she was right. Maybe he had.
“You made me into one of those women you…” She trailed off as if she couldn’t even voice the words, then she shook her head violently. “It doesn’t … matter.”
He glanced around the room. There were eyes on them, but that seemed to be more about the lovers’ quarrel than because they recognized him. He stepped toward her, his hand going to her upper arm before she shook it away. “Please, Skye. If we could just talk.”
She lifted her chin, looking sophisticated and in control. He knew she was a lawyer now, and she looked the part. Her gaze steady. Her chin firm. Her hair was longer and hung in waves to just past her shoulders. She projected sophistication and confidence, and he couldn’t be prouder.
But he couldn’t tell her that. Not unless he wanted her to slap the shit out of him again.
He started to speak, intending to once again ask her to give him just a few moments of time. But she got there first.
“I don’t know what you’re doing back in Austin, but do me a favor and stay far away from me. In case you’re confused, I’m not one of the party girls you hang with at all those villas across Europe.”
Her words came out slow and he knew she was working hard to speak as clearly as possible.
He almost smiled. At least she thought he was worth the effort. For whatever cold comfort that might provide…
“Skye, please. If we could just—”
“I’m leaving now.” She pushed past him and out the door, leaving the familiar scent of lavender in her wake.
God help him, he wanted to cry. Right then, he wanted to sink to the floor and bawl like a baby simply from the horrible pain of knowing how deeply he’d hurt her.
Most of all, he wanted to go after her. To explain. Hell, to grovel.
He almost did, but Jürgen stopped him. “There’s no point. Why hurt her more?”
“Dammit, Jürgen, I need to—”
“You pathetic son-of-a-bitch.”
He turned to see a familiar blonde standing where Skye had been. “Hannah. I—”
“Fuck you, Your Highness.” To her credit, she kept her voice low enough that it was meant only for him. “Although I suppose I should thank you on her behalf,” Hannah continued. “I mean, she learned a valuable lesson. Guess a girl like Skye wasn’t video-and-sound ready enough for a guy like you to have around.”
“No, I—”
“Prick.”
She paused as if waiting for him to defend himself. But how could he? He hadn’t left because of her speech. He hadn’t left because he didn’t want her. But he had left without saying goodbye, and in doing so, he’d hurt her. And that really did make him a prick.
“She fell in love with you.” Hannah’s voice was softer, the words pushed out with emotion. “Being with you … honestly, it was the first time since I’ve known her that she stopped being so aware of how she sounded. To her, it must have been like living in a fairy tale.” She drew a deep breath and shook her head. “You might be a prince, Leo, but you’re no Prince Charming.”
“I never intended to hurt her.”
“Well, gee. You managed without even trying. Guess that makes you special.”
“No,” he said. “It only makes me sad.”
Chapter Seven
“Good morning, Skye.” Emily, Skye’s paralegal of the last year, looked up from her computer and smiled. “Sorry to start your morning with a bang, but Mr. Porter wants to see you.”
Skye’s shoulders slumped and she let her leather tote slide to the floor. “Did he say what it was about?” Maybe Emily had managed to glean a clue. Nothing on her caseload was with her dad, and he was diligent about not mixing personal with business. Which meant he was about to pile another case onto her already loaded docket.
The petite redhead shook her head. “Sorry. I tried. But you know how he is.”
“Did he say when?”
“As soon
as you get in,” she said. “So I’d say now?”
Skye sighed and nodded. “I’ll just drop my … things off in my chair and head on over to see him.”
“I’ll buzz Mary and let her know you’re on the way,” Emily said, referring to her father’s assistant.
Skye stepped into her office, dropped her tote on her guest chair, and walked to the windows. She had one of the nicer views, and could see all the way down Congress Avenue to the Capitol beyond. It wasn’t even nine yet, and she hadn’t had nearly enough coffee for a meeting with her father. But she also knew that she couldn’t delay. Tarlton Porter was a man who waited for no one, including his daughter. Now that Mary knew she was in the office, she’d be getting pinged if she wasn’t there in the next two minutes.
Getting pinged by Tarlton Porter was every associate’s worst nightmare. And his daughter was no exception.
Resigned, she drew a deep breath, then headed into the carpeted hallway. Her father’s office was two floors above, so she took the back exit by the ladies’ room, and entered the stairwell. She didn’t get nearly enough exercise as it was, so she tried to take the stairs whenever possible. It also lessened the chances that she would run into someone in the elevator and feel compelled to make small talk. If there was one thing Skye hated, it was small talk. She didn’t want to speak, but assumed people would think she was rude if she didn’t. But what should she say? Especially when she knew that half the people she was supposedly chatting with were only nodding politely and couldn’t understand half of what she was saying.
She exited the stairwell on the twentieth floor, used her key card to get back in through the rear entrance, and followed the lushly carpeted perimeter hallway to her father’s massive corner office. Mary looked up as she approached, her smile bright. “That was quick.”
Skye shrugged. “I was aiming for brownie … points. Do you think I earned any?”
Mary laughed. “With your father? Brownies are hard to come by.”
Wasn’t that the case?
“Do you know what he wants? Is it about the symposium?”
“Honestly, I don’t. I dropped my car at the shop this morning and arrived after your father. All he said was that I should buzz you to come see him. Sorry.”
“No problem.” Skye appreciated the poking around that Mary did for all the associates, trying to give the younger attorneys a heads-up. But she couldn’t expect Mary to be able to do that every time. “So I should go on in?”
Mary glanced down at her phone and nodded. “He’s not on a call. I’ll let him know you’re coming.” She pressed the intercom button. “Skye’s here, sir,” she said, as Skye walked forward and pushed the door open. Her father paced behind his desk, dictating what sounded like a letter about a trademark issue with one of the firm’s international clients.
He saw her, lifted a finger, and didn’t even stumble on his sentence. Skye took a seat in one of the guest chairs, grateful for the extra time to gather herself.
At fifty-eight, her father was still an incredibly attractive man, with salt-and-pepper hair and a confident demeanor that seemed reflected in the hard lines of his face. A brilliant attorney, he took no shit from anyone, but also praised good work and encouraged young attorneys to try new arguments and to never simply go with whatever approach to a case that he suggested. It was only when an associate cut corners or sank under the weight of their workload or the firm’s expectations that his temper showed—and it was a hell of a temper.
Tarlton Porter was one of the best attorneys that Skye had ever had the pleasure of working with, and she appreciated the fact that he didn’t give her special treatment. He pushed her to do better, which she liked. But he also wanted to see her career grow to the same heights as his. And in the appellate world, that meant getting a reputation as the kind of attorney who could eventually argue a case before the United States Supreme Court.
That wasn’t something Skye wanted for herself. But she knew that her father did. And she wondered what path he was going to try to push her toward today.
“That’s all, Mary,” he said into the recording, then turned seamlessly toward Skye. “Hello, sweetheart.”
“What’s up, Daddy?” Unprofessional, maybe, but a habit she hadn’t been able to break unless clients were around.
“How are you coming on planning your talk for the symposium?”
Skye frowned, certain he hadn’t called her in there just for that. The symposium was still two weeks away. Still, since he brought it up...
“I’ve made … some notes,” she said, forcing herself to speak slowly. He might be her father, but he was still intimidating, and that tightness in her gut translated to a tightness in her speech as well. It was damn frustrating, especially since she knew that her speech was what her father so desperately wanted to fix about her. And despite visiting as many speech therapists as she had, he continued to hold onto the hope that she could conquer the dysarthria with nothing more than brutal willpower. Which, of course, was why he was insisting she speak to hundreds of key clients and potentials.
It had to stop. She swallowed, then stood, wanting to be at the same level as her father. “But … honestly, I wanted to … talk to you … about it.”
He father sat behind his desk and leaned back, his hands under his chin, forefingers steepled. “Oh?”
Skye cleared her throat and remained standing, keeping her feet planted and her hands by her sides. Her father was very attuned to any signs of nervousness, and he considered them weaknesses. When he caught associates squirming and shifting, there were always consequences. His theory was if they acted nervous in front of him, how would they act in front of opposing counsel? Give something away through nerves, and you might end up screwing a client.
“Having me … speak is a … mistake. You’re trying to … gain new clients for … our international law practice. But … Daddy, I don’t …practice international law. I do appellate work. So … having me present this paper is … ridiculous.”
“I don’t disagree with your assessment, sweetheart,” he said, as waves of relief flooded through her. “But I think you’re looking at this all wrong.”
The relief turned to ice, and she froze. “Am I?”
“You wrote an incredible paper on agnatic primogeniture, and its role in the international community, particularly with regard to countries working to amend their constitutions to change that particular mode of succession.”
“I know what I wrote.” She stiffened as she spoke. It had been an odd topic for her law review article her final year of law school, but under the circumstances she’d been extremely interested in the subject. Now, of course, she regretted it.
First, Leo had broken her heart, and writing the article hadn’t been the balm she’d hoped. Worse, she’d been reminded of him every day that she was researching and writing. And those were a lot of days.
Now, she had a second basis for regret. Because apparently that paper was the lever her father needed to put her front and center so that she could—according to his plan anyway—just get over it.
Considering all that, she should’ve slapped Leo’s face even harder last night.
Her father remained silent, and she squirmed. She knew this was a mind game, forcing her to speak, and though she didn’t want to give in, the words came anyway. “Daddy, I don’t … practice that. It was … just for law … review.”
“And that law review article was extensively published and received numerous awards and accolades.”
“But it’s not what we do.”
“Maybe it should be.”
“Oh.” She sat down, then drew a breath. “Well, it’s not … what I do. Appellate law, remember? You can … share the article, but I … don’t need to speak.” Dial it in, Skye. She was having trouble controlling her breathing. Just the thought of standing on that stage—of speaking to all those people—it was both mortifying and terrifying.
She straightened her shoulders and put all her effort into
slowing down and breathing properly. “Even if … the firm expands the international group, I … won’t be involved. So … why speak? It’s not … like that … article will rake in … clients.”
“One day, you will very likely be a partner in this firm, and you will be involved even if it’s not your practice area. On top of that, you’re wrong.”
She shook her head, confused. “Wrong?”
“I know you thought that it was ridiculous to add you to the symposium agenda, but we actually do have a potential new client because of that article and the promise of your participation in the symposium.”
“Oh.” She sat back, thrown off about that revelation.
“Come meet him.” He tapped a few keys on his computer, then turned his attention back to her.
“What? Now?”
“He’s just arrived. Douglas is with him,” he added, referring to one of the other partners.
“Well, then you hardly need me.” How could her father be so dense? She was not an asset where bringing in clients was concerned. Not by a long shot.
“Skye, the man specifically referenced your article. There is no way that Douglas and I are going to conduct this meeting without having you present. I’m not asking you as my daughter, I’m telling you as your boss.”
“Right. Fine. Whatever.”
She watched as his face softened. “Sweetheart, you wrote an excellent article. You are expected at the meeting. And you will do fine.”
She stood, looking down at the floor. “If you say so,” she said, but she didn’t believe it at all.
Skye followed her father to the elevator, then up the two stories to the twenty-second floor, which the firm had devoted to conference space and the firm’s law library. Eight conference rooms dotted the perimeter, offering multiple views of the Austin area. The library and a small refreshment area took up the middle, and as they passed an open doorway, she waved to a few associates who were highlighting briefs and reading case law at the long, wooden library tables.