Loyal Lawyer: A Standalone Novel

by Jeannine Colette

  No, I have to get myself out of this pickle on my own.

  I would seek a lawyer’s opinion, but that means money.

  Unless …

  I put my cup down and start typing on my phone.

  Sebastian Blake. Lawyer. Philadelphia.

  The first search entry shows me Blake, Fields, and Moore—a leading Philadelphia law firm with nine attorneys promoted as super lawyers. Over two hundred million dollars recovered for clients. Counsel who cares. Research that matters.

  I click on the link and am brought to a sophisticated website for personal injury and civil rights attorneys.

  Virtual badges of the multimillion-dollar verdicts that were won are on display. They represent people in everything from personal injury to car wrecks, workplace accidents, and discrimination. The site is certainly impressive, as are the cases they’ve taken on and won.

  There’s a link to meet the members of the firm. I scroll over, and the first face I see is one Sebastian Blake.

  Well, he certainly is handsome.

  A charismatic smile, strong jaw, and kind-looking eyes. His hair is combed back, and he looks very polished in the black-and-white photo.

  If I were in the market for a man, I might even deem him attractive.

  But I’m not. I’m in need of an attorney’s opinion and one who offered his services—for free.

  “What do I have to lose?” I ask myself.

  Famous last words.

  I open the text exchange I had earlier with Sebastian and hope this isn’t a colossal mistake.

  You still interested in helping me out?

  Lady Featherington would appreciative it.

  Absolutely. Name the place.

  Pick somewhere busy with lots of people around.

  A man has to protect himself from strange women who cold-call him. ;-)

  I roll my eyes as I find that smile I had on earlier back on my face.

  And so it begins …

  Chapter Two

  I’m sitting at Love and Lavender, a boutique coffee shop in Center City that has great lattes and is always busy yet never so packed that you can’t get a seat.

  I know what Sebastian looks like, yet every time the door opens, I do a double take to see if the person walking in is him. It’s nerve-racking to meet a stranger like this, but that didn’t stop me from changing three times today before deciding on a sweater dress and knee-high boots.

  I fidget with the manila folder I prepared with my leasing documents and set it on the table. Then, I cross and uncross my legs while adjusting my pendant around my neck.

  Since I’ve already come off like a lunatic to this man, I want to come off as professional as possible now that we’re gonna be face-to-face.

  A man in a gray suit appears outside, walking briskly and talking on a cell phone. I sit up as I recognize the man immediately.

  Sebastian Blake.

  He holds the door open for a man who is exiting the shop with two drinks in his hands and then stays there as he lets a woman who is pushing a stroller inside. He saunters in, switching the phone to the other ear as he looks around the shop, still talking.

  When he spots me staring, he mouths the word, Amy?

  I nod with a wave and point to the seat beside me that I saved for him.

  He smiles, and my breath hitches.

  Damn, this man is hot.

  The black-and-white photo of him on the company website did nothing to showcase how attractive he really is. Sandy-colored hair that’s browner than blond, tanned skin, a chiseled jaw, and a Romanesque nose. His photo made him seem studious and neat. In the flesh, with his unbuttoned jacket, lack of a tie, and the top button of his shirt undone, he is roguish and disarming.

  He walks over to me, pointing to the phone, letting me know that he’ll need another minute.

  I nod as he turns away, and I’m happy for the reprieve because Mr. Blake has made my heart speed up and my palms clammy. I really need to stop acting like I haven’t seen a decent-looking man before. It has to be because of the unfamiliar situation of meeting a stranger for coffee.

  Sebastian turns back to me with his hand over the mouthpiece and asks me in a whispered tone, “Have you ordered already?”

  I shake my head and start to rise, but he motions for me to stay seated.

  “I’ll get it. What do you want?” he asks.

  “Um … caramel latte, please.”

  He walks to the counter and stands in the short line before it’s his turn. I watch as the barista blushes as he makes a joke of some sort while she rings him up, and I’m glad I’m not the only one affected by him.

  With two white saucers in his hands, he walks the mugs over to our table and places them down between us.

  “Sorry about that. I had a conference call that ran long. Thanks for saving us a table.” He takes a seat.

  “No problem. Thank you for the coffee. How much do I owe you?”

  “Don’t worry about it.” He takes a sip of his drink and places it down, looking around at the café’s decor. “This place is cool. You come here regularly?”

  “I try to. When possible, I prefer to support local proprietors as opposed to big chains.”

  “That’s admirable.” His mouth rises on one side in a look of appreciation.

  “Plus, they make a great latte. This is my favorite. It’s caramelly with a hint of roasted almonds and maple syrup. When I’m feeling extra indulgent, I get the cocoa espresso. It’s chocolaty with notes of vanilla-like Swiss,” I muse and then catch myself from rambling. “Sorry, I’m really into flavors.”

  “Please, carry on. I got the Kona black coffee, so it must seem pretty boring to you.”

  “Not at all. It has a sweet and fruity taste with hints of spice. Very bold.”

  He takes another sip and grins. “You’re right. That’s an impressive talent you have. You should work for the coffee industry and help them make write-ups for their labels.”

  “I’m actually a chocolatier.”

  A smooth, velvety chuckle escapes his lips.

  “You find that amusing?” I quip.

  “I find it very surprising. When you said you had a lease on a business, I honestly had no idea what to expect. It’s not every day you meet a woman who makes her own candy.”

  My mouth drops as I uncross my legs and lean in. “Chocolate is the new fine wine. It is every bit as sophisticated and complex. Not to mention, it takes precision to make the perfect truffle. You can purchase a fifty-dollar box of chocolate that’s just as good as a hundred-dollar bottle of wine.”

  “Your chocolate is better than a 2016 Napa Valley cabernet?”

  “It’s better than sex,” I state proudly.

  A slow, wide smile builds on his face as he sits back and nods. “I’ll have to come by your shop someday.”

  “It’s not a storefront. I lease a kitchen in Chinatown, where I make my products. Right now, I mostly work with corporate clients in the Philadelphia area but also get orders for special events. If things go well, hopefully, I’ll be able to get a loan from the bank to open a real shop and be more competitive with prices on my website, so I can produce more and ship nationally.”

  “Which is why you need help with your landlord.”

  I’ve been chatting away so much that I nearly forgot why Sebastian and I were having this meeting. “Right! Here is a copy of my lease.”

  He takes the folder I offered him and opens it, looking through it quickly. “Has your landlord given you an eviction notice?”

  “No.”

  “A certified letter stating that you are late on rent and that he plans on filing an eviction notice?”

  “Not that I know of. Yesterday was the first time he mentioned any of this.”

  “Is anyone living in the apartment?”

  “Nope. The landlord is keeping the first and last month’s rent that we gave as a deposit to cover the back rent. He’s asking for forty-five hundred in damages.”

  He whistles throu
gh his teeth. “What the hell kind of damage costs that much?”

  “Apparently, the sink is off the wall, the floor is ruined, the place smells like a house of sacrificial offering, and there’s a hole in the wall behind the bed. Not one of those things was done by me. I left that place looking pristine.”

  “Damn, what kind of animal is your ex?”

  “I’m assuming one who had some wild times with his new girlfriend.” I shiver at the thought of them together in that way.

  Sebastian closes the file and leans forward. “I’m sorry. This must be uncomfortable for you. Breakups suck.”

  I wave him off. “Actually, this one wasn’t so bad, I guess. I mean, I loved Hardin—that’s his name, by the way—but when he cheated, it was like these rose-colored glasses fell off my face, and I saw him for what he really was … this lowlife of a guy who used me,” I say almost to myself. Then, I slap my hand over my face and shake it in embarrassment. “Wow. I don’t know what’s gotten into me. I just can’t stop oversharing with you.”

  He smiles. “That’s good. It helps me understand the situation, so I can help you.”

  “If you want to help, you can get the landlord to waive the damages and get my dog back from Hardin.”

  “Lady Featherington,” he states. “Did you adopt or purchase her?”

  “Hardin bought her from a breeder.” I take a sip of my coffee, hoping it will stop me from babbling more.

  “That makes it difficult. Was she a gift?”

  I nod while I swallow. “For my birthday.”

  “That makes it easier.” His comfort with this conversation makes me smile.

  “Thank you for helping me, but full disclosure: I don’t have a lot of money to pay you.”

  “I already knew that. Being that you don’t have cash lying around to pay your ex-landlord, you painted the picture that money is tight for you. I charge seven hundred dollars an hour.”

  I nearly spit out my drink. “Seven! You said seven, didn’t you?”

  He laughs. “I’m not charging you though. I want to help.”

  This is the moment where the seemingly perfect scenario starts to get morphed in my brain to something more sinister. If this high-profile attorney doesn’t want my money, then what the hell does he want?

  “I’m not paying you in sexual favors,” I state firmly, making sure he knows this is an absolute no-go for me.

  His mouth opens and closes in surprise as he blinks rapidly and raises his hands. “I was not expecting that at all. Let me explain. At the risk of sounding pompous or cocky, if you will, I am very successful.”

  “The seven hundred bucks an hour kind of gave that away. As did the Rolex and the Ferragamo shoes.”

  “What I mean is, I believe in Karma. For every large verdict I win, I pay it forward by helping someone else pro bono.”

  “I’m the pro bono?”

  “Unless you want to pay.” He grins, raising his eyebrows as he brings his mug up to his lips. His very sexy, very luscious lips.

  “No. I’m just not used to handouts. I’m actually horrible with receiving them. You’re talking to the girl who worked two jobs, so she could save enough money to launch a business on her own. I have no personal debt, and I own one hundred percent of my business.”

  “Do you not like owing favors?”

  “I don’t like taking from others.”

  He sits back again and lifts his coffee off the table, drinking it in long sips. “Yet you’re here.” He grins, and I purse my lips in response. “You knew who I was when I walked in here today,” he says as he crosses his leg, resting his foot on his knee. “You looked me up.”

  I roll my eyes. “I wasn’t going to ask a stranger for help unless I knew who he was.”

  “You must have been impressed enough.”

  “I was moderately taken aback by how accomplished you are.”

  “You need me.”

  It totally sucks that he’s right. I can’t explain why, but I have a feeling Sebastian will be able to get me out of my situation quickly. Plus, not being charged is a huge bonus.

  “Tell me about yourself,” I ask, not quite ready to answer him.

  He raises a brow. “What would you like to know?”

  “Name three things about you that are more important than what’s on your résumé.”

  His eyes light up, showing he’s intrigued. “I’m an only child. My father is an orthopedic surgeon, and my mother is an English professor at Yale. When I was in elementary school, I had one buck tooth that was sideways. My friends used to give me tin cans to open with my teeth. God bless the orthodontist who gave me braces. I’m a black belt in Brazilian jiu-jitsu, and I’ve run four marathons, all for charity. My favorite book is George Orwell’s Nineteen Eighty-Four, I’m a huge Coldplay fan, and Lake Como, Italy, is the most beautiful place I’ve ever traveled to.”

  “That’s more than three.”

  “There’s a hell of a lot of things more important about me than what it says on my résumé. I’m an attorney and a good one. I’m also a man who happens to like doing the right thing.”

  “Why make me the offer? The way we met was wildly unconventional. I could have been an insane person.”

  “You still could be,” he jokes. “Just so happens, I won a seventy-million-dollar verdict yesterday, right before you called, so it very much feels like fate.”

  “Fate. Right,” I say rather sarcastically. I don’t particularly believe in fate.

  “Plus, I was curious to meet the woman behind the text messages.”

  “And?”

  “You’ve surprised me immensely. Though I have a confession to make. I also wanted to see if you were half as pretty as you were entertaining on the phone.”

  I look down, not wanting to know the answer to that. Well, actually, I do. I look up and stare into his eyes and take a deep inhale.

  A slow smile builds on his face. It reaches his eyes, which crinkle as he stares at me with a Cheshire grin. “I’m gonna save that opinion for a rainy day. So, what do you say?” He reaches out a hand in offering to make a deal. “You need a lawyer?”

  I bite my lip. This could be a terrible idea. The worst. And yet I find myself extending my hand and shaking his.

  “You’re hired, Mr. Blake.”

  “Oh. So, we’re formal now. I could get used to that.”

  Chapter Three

  Whenever I go to my office, I feel like I’m going on a covert mission. There’s a nondescript door in a dark back alley that leads directly into my kitchen, or you can access it through Ben Franklin Gym, Where Real Men Go to Work Out—their slogan, not mine.

  Ben Franklin Gym and Amy Morgana Chocolatier are cotenants in an old brick building that used to house a restaurant that closed down. The building’s owner now rents the front half of the building to the gym while I get the back half, which is where the actual kitchen used to be.

  The space I rent is not ideal. Some might even call it a shithole. Doesn’t matter to me. It has a commercial-grade kitchen and decent-sized office, and it’s all mine.

  When I started this business, I was on a less than shoestring budget, and it was all I could afford. If and when my loan gets approved, I’ll be able to move into a large space that doesn’t smell like moldy, sweaty socks.

  During gym hours, I use the main entrance because it’s way easier to access than the alley. As I make my way through the weights section, I head toward the dumbbell rack, where there’s a door covered in mirrors. The gym owner purposely put the mirrors up, so people wouldn’t know there was a door here. I constantly get guys staring at me, wondering why I’m walking to the wall until they see I can indeed pull on the side of it and slide it open. That, of course, opens up all kinds of different questions about what’s behind there and what kind of secret lair I have uncovered.

  I don’t bother telling them it’s the entrance to my dream, the business I created from the ground up. Most of the time, I just smile and act like I didn’t hear them as
I walk by.

  When I enter my portion of the building, I hear blaring rap music coming from the kitchen. I walk down the hallway to see Shawn, my one and only employee, putting together gift boxes and bobbing his head to the beat.

  “I’m back!” I shout.

  He doesn’t hear me, so I walk up to the speaker sitting off to the side and lower the volume. His voice continues rapping the song even though it isn’t playing anymore, and I have to stifle a laugh.

  “What the—” He doesn’t finish his sentence when he sees me standing here with my eyebrows raised in question, making him change his tone. “You came back fast.”

  “There was no line at the post office,” I say as I turn the radio back up but keep it down a few—or ten—notches. “Loud much?”

  “I had to drown out the gym rats.” He points to the wall. “Some dude kept grunting. That is not a sound I need to hear.”

  Shawn is a no-bullshit kind of guy. He says it like it is and doesn’t beat around the bush for anything. He’s still in school at the Institute of Culinary Arts, and he works for me part-time, which is why I can afford him. When this loan comes through, I’m going to snatch him up full-time before someone else does.

  Shawn is a chocolate dream. He’s always on time, he’s incredibly neat, and he follows each recipe to the utmost precision. He says working with chocolate gives him peace in his messed up head that’s always thinking a mile a minute. All I know is, he brings Zen to my world by getting his work done without having to be told twice.

  “You know how the afternoon crowd gets. All testosterone, all the time. They’re here to get shredded.”

  “Like the guy who screams out like a crow when he squats.” Shawn rolls his head back and mimics, “Cawww!”

  “I was getting my mail the other day when I heard these two guys talking, saying, ‘Bro, you’re looking good,’ followed by, ‘Nah, man, you’re the best-looking guy in the gym.’ I turned around, and they were identical twins!”