“Do you have a minute?” Damon asked.
“No. I’m sorry.” Vivian kept her tone cool, as she stepped around him. “Too much work to do. Email me if you need my time, and we’ll set up an appointment.”
“Vi—” The single syllable that sounded suspiciously more like Violet than Vivian was cut short. “I’ll do that.”
She didn’t trust herself to turn around. There was no reason to acknowledge he’d slipped into using his old nickname for her. She’d get Alan to straighten out the other room. It took the last of her control to stay calm and removed, and it shouldn’t. That bothered her as much as anything.
Chapter Seven
FOURTEEN YEARS AGO
Vivian stared at the little plastic stick, nausea growing in her gut. She couldn’t do this. She had at least a year before she earned her MBA, and Damon started law school in a few months.
“Talk to me.” His voice was gentle and kind. “What does it say?”
“Yes.” Her voice came out a weak croak. She swallowed to rid herself of the lump in her throat, but it wouldn’t go away. He wanted this. He’d never kept that a secret. But she didn’t know if she did.
“This is great.” His enthusiasm made up for her lack thereof. Almost. “You don’t look like it’s great.”
“We can’t have a baby.” She struggled to keep her voice from wavering, but wasn’t sure she succeeded. “Even if I thought bringing a kid into this kind of fucked-up world was a good idea, we don’t have money. This means I can’t work anymore. No, it’s not great.”
He knelt in front of her, cradled her face in his hands, and forced her to look at him. “You can still work. Get a respectable job...” He winced. “I mean—”
The slip dug deep, gouging an ache into her body. “You’ve never had a problem with it before. I thought my job was sexy. A turn on.”
“It is.” He tried to kiss her, and she pulled back from his touch. He frowned. “Other people...”
“I know. Appearances are important. Especially with a kid, who has to grow up with the stigma of a stripper mommy.” She scrubbed everything negative to the back of her mind, and focused on feeling nothing. “You want this.”
“Don’t you?”
“We didn’t plan it.” She didn’t have another answer. Did she want it? A baby. Something about the idea both warmed and chilled her at the same time. “I don’t know.”
“That’s not a no.” He pulled her into his lap. “We can make it work. You’ve got brilliant skills, and you’ll have your Bachelor’s in a few months. You can do office work. We only have one set of student loans to pay off. I’ll work. It’ll be wonderful.”
He made it sound so easy, but she couldn’t sink into his touch. Every inch of her skin felt lined with pins, jolting and jarring her. Maybe she was being irrational. “I’ll think about it.”
He kissed her cheek. “Make sure you keep me in the loop. We’re in this together, whatever it is.”
She swallowed and said, “Okay.” Would he be able to tell she didn’t know if she meant it?
NOW
Damon adjusted his tie in the hotel-room mirror, irritation spilling through him. He still lingered on Vivian’s brush off yesterday, but he refused to beg for her attention. She needed to know what Hayden was up to, and Damon would sit her down and make her listen, regardless of what it took.
He shrugged into his suit coat, grabbed his laptop and everything else he needed for the day, and headed for the door. His phone rang before he could leave, and he snarled at Camille’s name on the screen.
“This is Damon Vicker,” he answered in a cool tone.
“Did I catch you before you got to the office?”
“Still at the hotel.” He wasn’t in the mood for small talk with anyone. He slept poorly last night, his neck was stiff, and he wasn’t looking forward to another day of questions and Hayden’s stupidity. He’d known for more than a year this entire case was bullshit. Camille knew it. A handful of the other senior partners knew it. NSS had no way of winning; they’d hacked the competition’s network, tried to sabotage them with a combination of rumors and software, and blackmailed a handful of employees along the way.
Damon’s job was to drag the case out as long as possible. Go for every delay he could file for, every hour he could bill, until their only move was to advise NSS to settle and try to put this behind them. He didn’t have a problem with it before now. Or at least, he convinced himself he was fine with it. Today, though, it was another reason he was stuck here, babysitting the executive who threatened his career.
“Fantastic.” If Camille caught his less-than-enthusiastic tone, it didn’t seem to impact her cheerful mood. “I need you to get Skriddie to pull this Dewson guy from their witness list. Tell them everything he knows has already been covered. Do what you do. If they insist, make sure our people don’t ask him anything.”
Damon’s Why? Stuck in his throat, and pieces fell together. “He’s the NSS source. How they knew what was said that night, in Vegas.” Son of a bitch.
“Of course not.” Camille’s tone clashed with her denial. “And we don’t need him to say it, anyway. I saw the transcripts from yesterday. Ms. Elford came clean the moment she was asked. Confessed without hesitation that she gave them proprietary network information, despite her NDA.”
“Got it.” His mind whirred too fast, to manage anything more eloquent. “Anything else?”
“Nope. Talk to you later.”
Damon hung up his phone, tossed it on the mattress, and clenched his fist. He swung at the wall and stopped short of punching a hole through the plaster. This shouldn’t bother him. His entire day—week, month, life—skirted the line of ethics, but something about the information gnawed deep inside. Am I growing a conscience?
Worse, he wanted to tell Vivian. She needed to know they had a mole working for them. Holy fuck, NSS was really playing spy games. Who the hell did that? There were all sorts of technicalities around whether or not Dewson should have told them anything, but unlike Mikki, he didn’t spill proprietary information. And Damon couldn’t say a word to anyone. For now, the knowledge was subject to client-attorney privilege.
Damon could make a case to the contrary, if he wanted to put his job further at risk. Which he didn’t. Whatever was screwing with his head, he needed to get over it. This was business, and he was a part of it.
He fetched his phone again and made his way toward the lobby. Despite his decision to move on, conflict warred in his thoughts the entire drive to the Skriddie offices. God damn it.
VIVIAN WAS ALMOST THINKING straight this morning. It was true, sleep last night was less than restful, but spending the evening without any pressures of work pounding down on her helped. With a large dose of espresso and some quiet, she’d be able to get back on task.
An email chimed in from Jared. We’re checking out that new sushi place tonight. You in?
She paused, waiting for the bitter surge her mind taunted her with the last few days—her inner commentary about being a third or fifth wheel. Nothing was there, except an appreciation for the idea. She sent back a quick response. I’m in. Three of us or five?
He answered a few minutes later. Just three. Meet us there at seven?
I’ll be there.
Was she actually looking forward to the evening? Yeah, she kind of was. Her mood improved, as the morning ticked away. After a few days of being in that bizarre haze, she had a backlog of messages to respond to, but she ticked through the list quickly and efficiently.
Tate said things were going well with the depositions, despite their concerns about what Mikki would be asked. Their legal team didn’t feel she’d revealed anything damning. Vivian asked Tate why anyone brought it up. He said—based on the questions NSS Legal asked—the entire case looked like more bullshit than ever. The line of questions almost felt like a distraction, and if Skriddie had a little more information, they could demand a settlement and wrap this up.
Vivian’s phone beep
ed with an incoming call, and she hit the speakerphone button, to listen to her assistant while she worked. “What’s up?”
“Your eleven-thirty is here.”
She furrowed her brow and turned her attention to her calendar. Sure enough, there was an appointment there, without much information. She clenched her jaw, good mood evaporating when she saw the subject header. Legal discussion. “Send him in.” It was tempting to tell Damon to go away, but he’d gone through official channels to set up a meeting, so the sooner she got this over with, the better.
Are you sure you want it over that quickly?
Of course she did. Ridiculous question.
“Black, hot—nothing froofy. We’ll be fine for a few minutes.” Damon’s voice drifted into her office, smooth, confident, and unwavering. “Grab something for yourself, too.” Seconds later, he stepped into the room and closed the door behind him.
Vivian crossed her arms and fixed a hard gaze on him. “Did you flirt my assistant into going out for coffee?”
“Only when she’s done grabbing herself lunch on my dime.” He dropped into the chair across from her, without waiting for an invitation. “She was heading out soon, anyway.”
Something pleasant fluttered in Vivian’s chest at his effort to get her alone, and she squashed it. That was behind her. “You went out of your way to talk to me. What’s up?”
He drummed his fingers on his knee for a moment, before answering. “I can’t say.”
“Are you serious?” She let her frustration leak in. “Cryptic messages and sneaky meetings, so you can tell me, I can’t say?”
“What’s your schedule like this evening?”
Free for you. Stupid, childish voice. “I have plans.” At least it was an honest answer. “All this just to ask me out? I suppose I should be flattered.”
He narrowed his eyes for the briefest moment, but his expression returned to normal again so quickly, she wasn’t sure she meant it. “Don’t be.” His tone was ice. “This is important and private, and not what you think.”
A wounded snarl rose in her chest at the brush off. Why? You did the same to him. “Give me a hint.”
He paused, and silence stretched between them. She would have prodded him again for an answer, but she could tell from the twitch of his mouth he was measuring his words. “Monday morning, there were more than two of us involved in the conversation near the breakroom.”
Her gut reacted to the statement, churning with nausea, before her brain finished processing the words. “Not...?”
“Yeah.”
No need to fill in the words. Hayden. It made perfect sense. He was there when she walked out. “Fuck.”
“Tonight?”
He’d sent the closest ears away, but she knew he was keeping the conversation vague and brief just in case someone else was listening in. Which apparently, was more important than she believed five minutes ago. “I really do have something else scheduled,” she said.
“Will you be done by nine?”
She wanted to shrug him off, but this was one thing she couldn’t ignore. “Yes.”
“I’ll send you an address.” He stood and straightened his suit. “Thank you for your time, Ms. Graff.”
She swallowed the bile rising in her throat. With any luck, this was nothing, and she’d find that out tonight. “Of course, Counselor. We’re here to help.” Too bad she didn’t believe any of her own self-assurances.
Chapter Eight
DAMON STOOD OUTSIDE the restaurant a few blocks from his hotel, waiting. It was late spring, but the evening air was heavy with humidity, which held in the exhaust of traffic. He should have changed when he got back to his hotel room, but something—he wasn’t sure what—kept him in the suit. The dense air made him regret the decision. He was early, but he couldn’t sit in his room any longer, and the company at the hotel bar had been non-existent.
It was true, large parts of the day had been filled with more of the same bullshit from both Hayden and Camille, but the depositions couldn’t have gone better. Mikki was a painfully honest witness, even for someone under oath. She gave answers that caught the Skriddie lawyers off guard and made the case look almost legitimate... if examined through squinty eyes, from a long distance, through a dirty window. Which was better than the brick wall that had been there before they started.
But the irritating conscience he’d grown over the last few days chanted louder than ever in his head. It taunted him with reminders that not all people had to deal with this kind of ethical gray areas in their jobs. Hell, he didn’t deal with it the same way in GG Foundation cases.
The people on the other side of the table pulled this stuff, but he didn’t have to.
“Wherever you are, I hope the scenery’s nice.” Vivian’s lilting voice tugged him from his musings.
He shook the irritating haze aside... mostly, and focused on her. “Not nearly as gorgeous as the view here.” She wore jeans that showed off her long legs, and her t-shirt hugged her torso and firm, round breasts.
Her smile shifted from polite to genuine. “Should we go inside?”
He held the door open. “After you.” God, her ass looked good in these jeans. Fantasy mingled with memory, teasing him with images of stripping her clothes off and leaving a mark or two, hearing her sweet gasps, then bringing her to orgasm. Not the time or the place. The mental reminder didn’t stop his dancing thoughts.
Seconds later, they were seated. Because it was after dinner on a weeknight, the place was practically deserted. At least that would make it easier to talk privately. It’d be a nice change. Maybe they could get up to a little more pretending they were still in college, the way they had in the dance club.
They ordered drinks and swapped random banter, until their waiter set a Coke and rum in front of Damon, and a cranberry-juice vodka in front of Vivian.
She sipped her drink, twirled the swizzle stick in the glass, and sighed. “How bad is it with Hayden?”
Although Damon had pushed for this and knew she had to be told, his involvement in the situation made him pause. Might as well get it over with. “He overheard the comment about tying your hands, and he wanted to bet me you weren’t that kind of woman.”
“But you told him no.” There was no question in her tone, but she watched him expectantly.
“Of course I did. Shot him down immediately.” Fuck, he hesitated a second too long. Did she catch it?
Her raised brows said she did. “And... then he goaded you into agreeing anyway.”
“Absolutely not.”
She took another sip of her drink. “Until he did. I get it. Hayden has that effect on people.”
Damon couldn’t help his chuckle. “I never intended to carry through. I needed to buy myself some time, to cool off.”
Her expression faltered, shifting into something that almost looked like disappointment, before the half-annoyed mask slid back in. Or did I imagine that? Must have.
“You bet him you could get me to...?”
“He said you’d never submit, and that if I couldn’t prove otherwise, he’d have my job.” Saying the words didn’t feel nearly as threatening as he expected. He should be furious at the thought, not wondering if it sounded like an okay idea. This was insane. He’d worked hard for his partnership and wasn’t letting some spoiled rich fuck take it from him.
She twirled a strand of hair around her finger. “And we’re here to make sure you win?”
That tempted every inch of him. “No. Never under someone else’s terms. I’m telling you, so when he comes to you, you’re not surprised, and you can call bullshit. Because you know he’s not going to keep his mouth shut.”
“I appreciate the heads-up.” She sank a little in her seat. “Does that mean the drinks come without seduction?”
VIVIAN’S WORDS BOUNCED back at her, and the innuendo sank in a moment too late for her to take them back.
“I’m not worried about the drinks coming.” He traveled his gaze over her. The attenti
on left shivers in its wake. “But I’d love to see you come again.”
Damn it, she didn’t want to be flattered by that. Or turned on. Or sucked into the flirting. “I can’t say it’s a driving motivation for me, these days.” Intellectually, this was the last place she wanted the conversation to go. The way her pulse pounded in her ears and her senses hummed in anticipation felt different.
“Maybe you’re not doing it right.”
Vivian raised her eyebrows and stared at him in disbelief. “It’s straightforward. Stick goes in the hole, stick slides in and out a couple of times, and then it’s over.” It was crude and blunt. With any luck, it would keep the tone of the conversation light and Damon removed.
He leaned in, forearms resting on the edge of the table and voice low. “If you really felt that way, you’d have stopped doing it with anyone but yourself. Or maybe you have. I’m not asking, unless you’re sharing details. Besides, those are the basics. With each person, you especially, it’s the details that matter. Maybe you’re missing someone who knows those details.”
His arrogance infuriated her, but there was a challenge in his tone, along with scores of unrealized promises. Remembering how intimately he sent pleasant shivers through her that she didn’t want to be feeling, but had missed more than she realized. “I’m not asking if you have someone in mind. I won’t walk into that trap.”
The corner of his mouth twitched in an unformed smile. “Trap? So cruel. It implies unwillingness on your part.”
She didn’t want to be enjoying this, but the banter made her pulse race more than anything had in a long time. “We’re still talking about sex, right?”
“Until you slap me and walk out, or change the subject.”
Her Counselor (Love Hack, #3) Page 6