Innocent 'til Proven Otherwise

by Amy Andrews

  Her name was enquired after and a phone call was made and then she was directed to the very masculine-looking lounge. ‘Mr Sherrington will be with you in a moment.’

  Ali sat, the reality of it all suddenly hitting her. Her legs felt as if she were back in the taxi and she was grateful for the soft leather of the lounge even if it did look as if it belonged in an exclusive men’s club.

  Or an expensive brothel.

  Her gaze fell on a portrait of a kindly-looking grey-haired gent. A plaque at the bottom announced him to be Godfrey Sherrington. Ali felt her spirits rise. He looked just the ticket. Aged. Wise. Scholarly. Experienced with the law.

  Hell, even the name Godfrey inspired confidence. It conjured images of several generations of legal men. Well-known and respected barristers, QCs, maybe even a judge or two.

  She’d been told by the hospital’s CEO he was the best damn medical defence lawyer in the country and looking at this portrait she could believe it.

  Godfrey Sherrington looked like a man who could melt an opposing team’s argument with a few blistering words and then sit down, pat her hand and assure her everything was going to be okay.

  She really hoped so. Because she was going to need a lot of hand patting through this whole ordeal. And it really did help settle her churning stomach to think that Godfrey Sherrington’s hand would be soft and wrinkled. Like her grandfather’s.

  ‘Mr Sherrington will see you now.’

  Ali started, the tray tilting perilously. She stood and followed the efficient receptionist down a hallway to the end door. The woman knocked and opened in one smooth movement. She indicated another set of leather lounge chairs clustered around a low table and said, ‘Mr Sherrington won’t be a moment.’

  Ali, whose heart now beat so loudly she was sure seismologists all over the world were wondering what the hell was going on in Brisbane, watched the woman disappear. She stood in the middle of the palatial room looking the proverbial fish out of water.

  Massive glass windows afforded her a million-dollar view of the city skyline and down the river. So this was how the other half lived. Her office at work was a two-by-two shared affair just large enough for a desk, two chairs and a skinny examining table.

  She moved towards the windows, feeling less and less comforted by the prospect of a lawyer called Godfrey. This was the big league!

  She looked down spying a RiverCat speeding from Eagle St Pier across to Southbank. Her gaze tracked the boat and watched as it disgorged its human cargo. She followed the antlike movements of the disembarked passengers as they enjoyed a sunny Brisbane morning and would have given anything to be down there with them—not a care in the world.

  She followed the meandering path of the riverside walk and suddenly realised she could see the River Breeze. Kat’s pride and joy. And her current refuge from a world gone crazy.

  Max washed his hands at the vanity and inspected his face. He’d gone with the whole shaggy look when his life had gone pear-shaped and though the style was frowned upon in the ultra-conservative world of law, being one of the principals in a respected law firm, not to mention a top-notch lawyer with a fearsome reputation, gave him a whole lot of latitude.

  Certainly his great-great-grandfather Godfrey Sherrington the first would not have approved. But at thirty-five he’d long ago stopped giving a damn what people thought. This last eighteen months particularly.

  He dried his hands, then checked his tie was straight. The same tie he’d worn to the bar on Friday night. Henceforth to be for ever known as his lucky tie. He smiled at his reflection. He’d been doing that a lot since Friday.

  Pete had called around Saturday night to watch the game with him and had known something was up within minutes.

  ‘Okay,’ he’d said. ‘What’s the matter?’

  Max had taken a swig of his beer, his gaze firmly fixed on the television. ‘What do you mean?’

  Pete’s eyes had narrowed. ‘You’re smiling.’

  Max had chuckled. ‘Jeez, sorry.’

  Pete’s eyes had narrowed even further. ‘And now you’re laughing?’ He’d processed it for a second or two. ‘Oh my God,’ he’d said. ‘You got laid, didn’t you?’

  Max had hidden his next smile by taking another swig from his bottle. ‘Are we watching this game or not?’

  Pete had tried in vain to dig out the details but Max had always abhorred locker-room talk and had seen the consequences of it played out too many times in courtrooms. He’d refused to confirm or deny anything and Pete had eventually given up.

  But even now Friday night was still bringing a smile to his face. It had been incredible. She had been incredible. Generous. Playful. Adventurous. And even if he never saw her again, he knew their night together would go down as one of life’s best memories.

  Although, he had to admit, seeing her again was a very attractive proposition. Not that he knew anything about her other than her first name. No numbers were exchanged, no promises were given. But he could find her if he wanted to. He had no doubt that Pete was in touch with Kat so finding Ali would be very easy.

  But.

  They’d both known the score on Friday night. They’d both known they were convenient bodies to get lost in for a little while. To forget for the night.

  Still, he couldn’t deny the strength of the urge to see her again if only to thank her for helping him to see that there was life and laughter after a decree absolute.

  Nah. Who was he kidding? He had a whole box of condoms and he’d like nothing more than using them all up with her.

  He shook his head as an image of her lying naked on his bed flashed before him, that damn curl falling in her eye, a Mona Lisa smile playing on her very kissable mouth.

  He really needed to stop.

  He couldn’t be thinking about Ali when another woman waited for him outside. One who was no doubt scared and nervous and worried sick. One who deserved his full, undivided attention.

  Dr Aleisha Gregory needed him to have his head in the game. She was relying on him. As was Brisbane Memorial Hospital—one of his, and the firm’s, biggest clients.

  ‘Get it together, bud,’ he told his reflection before pushing off the sink.

  Striding out into his office a moment later, he located the figure by the windows and announced, ‘I’m so sorry to have kept you waiting.’

  Her back was to him and she was obviously enthralled by the views from the forty-sixth floor. And then her curly butterscotch hair registered and a sudden sense of foreboding descended.

  Ali frowned as a familiar voice invaded her turbulent thoughts. She turned. ‘Max?’

  Max blinked. What the—? His eyes raked her from top to bottom, not quite trusting that he hadn’t just conjured her up. Errant curl, sexy mouth, blush spreading across high cheekbones.

  It was her all right.

  He glanced at the tray in her hands with the two coffee mugs boasting a River Breeze logo. He relaxed. She’d found out through Kat where he worked and decided she’d drop by. Bring some of that coffee Kat had boasted about on Friday night.

  Hell, he was all for spontaneity. Especially if it came in such a delectable package. And hadn’t he just been thinking he’d like to see her again?

  He might not be in the market for a relationship but a little bit more of Friday night he could definitely handle.

  He smiled. ‘Well, this is a nice surprise,’ he murmured, moving forward.

  When he stopped in front of her he had absolutely no intention of kissing her. But then her mouth parted slightly and he grasped her lapels, yanked her forward and kissed her with a hunger that he hadn’t realised still existed until their lips met.

  Ali’s gasp was smothered by the ferocity of his expert mouth and for a few seconds she was too stunned to do anything. But a flood of memories from Friday night returned on a rush of hormones.

  He smelled better than she remembered. Felt better. If possible, even kissed better.

  Ali wasn’t sure what was going on and a
t the moment she didn’t care because for the first time all morning she didn’t feel in imminent danger of throwing up. For the first time all morning she’d forgotten about the whole stupid mess she was in.

  So she melted against his mouth and hung on for dear life. Which was just as well because when he released her just as abruptly a good minute later, she staggered slightly.

  Hell, she even whimpered.

  ‘For me?’ he asked, taking one of the cups and parking his butt on the deep window sill behind him.

  ‘Er …’ she said, straightening and trying to order rather scattered thoughts. Actually she’d bought it for Godfrey Sherrington but she guessed he could have hers. It probably seemed a silly gesture to a legal god, but Ali had wanted to break the ice, endear herself.

  She wanted Godfrey Sherrington to like her. To believe her. Not just because he was defending her and he had to, but because she knew deep in her heart that this mess wasn’t her fault and she wanted him to know it too.

  ‘It should be hot enough still,’ she said absently. ‘I made them scalding just as the taxi pulled up so they should be a good temperature right now.’

  She was babbling. She knew that. She needed to stop. But he was so near, his broad shoulders blocking her view, the knot of his tie at her eye level. She’d kissed what lay beneath that knot. Knew what he smelled like there. Had felt that pulse push against her lips.

  She dropped her gaze to rid herself of the image only to be mesmerised by his swinging leg. The movement pulled the fabric of his trousers taut across his thigh. A thigh she knew. She’d touched. She’d gripped. Licked.

  Gnawed.

  She shut her eyes briefly. Stop it!

  ‘So,’ she said, taking a step back and clearing her voice. She would concentrate on the matter at hand if it killed her. ‘I’m sorry, do you work for Godfrey Sherrington? Are you his … understudy?’

  She massaged her forehead as she groped for the right terminology. ‘Or article clerk? Second chair? I don’t know … whatever the hell they call it in legal circles?’

  Max frowned. What on earth was she babbling about?

  ‘Because, no offence, but I’ve heard he’s the best and, apart from the obvious conflict of interest here, I really need the best. And, not to put too fine a point on it but I think the hospital expects it too. I really don’t want to be palmed off to his … assistant.’

  Max straightened, pushing off the window sill, that feeling of foreboding returning.

  The hospital expects?

  I really need?

  Don’t want to be palmed off?

  He looked straight at her, the woman he’d spent hours and hours in bed with three days before, exploring every inch of her body. The woman whose lip gloss he’d just thoroughly kissed off.

  ‘Ali,’ he said quietly. ‘I am Godfrey Sherrington.’

  She stared at him blankly. ‘But you’re Max.’ Max whose taste was still on her tongue, whose smell was still on her skin.

  Max stalked past her, cramming a hand through his hair. He stopped at his desk, placed his knuckles on the side and bowed his head. ‘You’re Aleisha Gregory, aren’t you?’

  Ali stared at his back as the implication slowly sank in. ‘Oh, my, God.’

  Max turned and sat on the edge of his desk. ‘Indeed.’

  The nausea that had threatened all morning suddenly rose and Ali placed a hand over her mouth. ‘I’m going to be sick.’

  Max knew exactly how she felt. This was a complete disaster! ‘Yes,’ he replied miserably.

  ‘No,’ Ali said urgently, dropping her bag with a thunk and travelling towards him, ‘I’m really going to be sick.’

  Max started at the urgency of her tone and the sudden pallor that had turned her golden complexion white as paper. ‘Bathroom through that door.’ He pointed.

  Ali made it just in time. Not that she had anything to bring up but it didn’t stop the waves of retching or the hot tears that spilled over her lids and coursed down her cheeks.

  This. Could. Not. Be. Happening.

  Had she really spent several sweaty hours rolling around in bed with her lawyer the other night? Her kick-arse, top-notch, take-no-prisoners, best-in-town lawyer?

  She groaned. Was nothing ever going to go right for her ever again? Was she cursed? Had she broken a mirror? Walked under a ladder?

  She’d been a good person, hadn’t she? She gave to charity. Never cheated on her taxes. Always told checkout staff if she’d been given too much change.

  She operated on people’s brains, for crying out loud!

  Ali dragged herself up to the basin. She looked awful. Her nose was running, she had red eyes, a blotchy neck and two wet tracks running down her cheeks.

  It was the only time in her life she wished she wore make-up so she could do a quick repair job. But seriously what would have been the point when she spent eighty per cent of her day behind a surgical mask?

  Maybe after all this was over she’d get a job at a department store where she could put on a face every day and do something frivolous like sell handbags.

  She loved handbags.

  A knock sounded on the door, followed by, ‘Ali? Are you okay in there?’

  Okay? Did he have any idea how not okay her life was? How the one person she’d pinned her hopes on to make it all okay again—her lawyer—turned out to be a man she’d had hot, sweaty, best-sex-of-her-life with not even seventy-two hours ago.

  She’d told him then she was never going to be okay again but this was a whole other twist.

  ‘Ali?’ Louder this time.

  ‘I … I’m fine,’ she called. ‘I’ll be right out.’ There was no point hiding away in here—it wasn’t going to make the problem go away.

  Ali jerked the tap on and threw water over her face, scrubbing at it with her hands. Then she pulled off some paper towel and dabbed at the moisture, patting herself dry. She gave herself a quick once over in the mirror.

  Still awful. But less soggy.

  Just as well she hadn’t gone and done something really foolish on Friday night like thinking there was something more to their time together other than a sexual tryst. Because the face that stared back at her now was not the face a woman wanted a man to see.

  Ali took a deep breath and used an unsteady hand to push the door open. Max, who was standing at the windows, turned when he heard the click.

  They looked at each other for a moment or two. ‘So,’ she said. ‘Is Max a name you give to women in bars so they won’t laugh at you when you tell them your real name?’

  Max would have had to have been deaf to miss the sarcasm. He raised an eyebrow. ‘People who live in glass houses shouldn’t throw stones, Ali.’

  She held his gaze, refusing to waver. ‘Ali is short for Aleisha,’ she snapped.

  ‘And the coffee-shop-girl routine?’

  ‘I am a coffee-shop girl. Right now, coffee-shop girl is me.’

  Right now coffee-shop girl was looking pretty damn good all round.

  Max regarded her silently for a brief moment before wandering back to his desk and throwing himself in his chair. He speared his fingers through his hair again and leaned back into the plush leather.

  ‘My full name is Godfrey Maxwell Sherrington. My father apparently insisted, family tradition et cetera. My mother, who, thank goodness, was a little more sensitive to modern conventions, realised it was an unfortunate name to lumber a seventies child with, acquiesced to this demand only under the proviso that I would be called Max. I’ve never been called anything other than Max.’

  Ali watched the weariness that had so affected her on Friday night cloud his grey eyes again. Damn Max and those eyes. So, he hadn’t deliberately misled her—it still didn’t erase the fact that two cases of mistaken identity had landed them in a bit of a pickle.

  And while her sappy heart, the part of it that sympathised with human misery, wanted her to go easy, the part fighting for her very existence tended to be more bitchy.

  ‘It says God
frey on the board downstairs, on the glass sliding doors in the foyer and on the door to this office,’ she pointed out, ticking each point off on her fingers. ‘And I bet if I find a piece of paper,’ she said, marching over to his desk and whisking up a blank piece, ‘it’ll say Godfrey on your personalised stationery.’

  She turned it around and pointed to the offending letterhead.

  Max leaned forward, elbows on his desk, massaging his temples. ‘It’s my legal name. It’s on all documents and signage. Just like Aleisha, no doubt.’

  Ali glared down at him, annoyed that he was right and they both knew it. ‘Doctors who work in the public health care system don’t have stationery,’ she said waspishly.

  Max looked up at her, olive eyes going that stormy shade of khaki again. He sighed and indicated the chair opposite him. ‘Sit down, Ali.’

  Ali stood frowning at him for a few more moments. He returned her stare without wavering and she rolled her eyes. ‘Fine,’ she said, sinking into the plush leather of the most comfortable chair she’d ever had the pleasure of sitting in.

  Well didn’t that figure?

  Her office chair gave her lumbar pain within a minute of sitting on its hard plastic seat.

  In her next job she’d make sure a comfortable chair was written into her contract. An office job with an ergonomically designed chair—now that she could do.

  ‘This is a disaster, isn’t it?’

  She looked exactly as she had the other night, big olive eyes uncertain, teeth pulling at her bottom lip as she’d asked if wanting to go to bed with him made her a bad person.

  He remembered how that mouth had felt against his. How it had trailed all over his body. Stroked down his belly. Stroked lower …

  ‘It figures, really. Pretty much par for the course for my life lately.’

  Her words dragged him back from Friday night. Back to the present. For crying out loud—she was right there, in front of him! Looking like hell. As if her entire world had just been tipped upside down. And shaken for good measure.

  Thinking about Friday night was not appropriate.

  ‘Where do we go from here?’