by Vi Keeland
I grumbled to myself, “I’m sure I won’t.”
After we ordered dinner, Layla’s chaperone excused himself to go to the bathroom.
As soon as he was out of earshot, I said, “We need to talk, Layla. Alone. Tell him to take a hike.”
“What? No!”
I stood. “Fine. I’ll take care of it myself.”
I ignored Layla shouting after me as I trailed Mr. Junior Partner to the bathroom. Pencil Neck was at the urinal. Apparently his neck wasn’t the only thing that resembled a pencil. I stood next to him and reached into my pocket. Peeling ten hundred-dollar bills from my thick billfold, I waited until he zipped his fly. Then I extended the cash.
“Have dinner somewhere else? On me.”
Pencil Neck looked down at the cash, up at me, and walked over to the sinks. I waited while he washed his hands.
When he was done, he leaned against the sink and folded his arms across his chest. “I assume we’re talking man to man in here, not attorney at Latham & Pittman to potential client, right?”
“Of course.” I nodded once. “Man to man.”
He smiled. “Good. Then let me tell you, you’re wasting your time if you’re interested in Ms. Hutton.”
“Why is that?”
“Three reasons. One, Layla would never go out with a client. Two, I did my due diligence on you. You might be a client worth a lot of money to the firm, but you’re also an ex-con. And three, she’s my girlfriend.”
My blood started to pump harder. I hadn’t expected that last part. Although, if Oliver thought that would scare me away, he had another thing coming. I’d just done three years in prison. Even if I found this guy mildly intimidating—which I didn’t in the slightest—he’d never see me sweat.
Instead, I smiled and put a hand on his shoulder. “Let me be honest—you know, man to man—I find none of those three reasons a deterrent.”
***
At least he was smart enough to take the hint. Oliver—the boyfriend—kept his mouth shut during most of dinner, allowing Layla to take the lead. Unlike this afternoon, I let her tell me all about the firm I already knew I was hiring, without interrupting. I didn’t really give a fuck about any of the old cronies who would oversee my needs. But sitting across the small table, watching Layla’s mouth move while she talked, staring at the light smattering of freckles she tried to conceal, letting my eyes linger on her full lips when she was paying attention and Pencil Dick wasn’t, had turned into a fun game: Make Layla squirm in her seat.
It had been over a year since I last saw her, and if it were possible, she’d grown even more beautiful. Her dark hair was longer, and she was letting its natural wave show, rather than making it silky straight like she had a year ago. Looking at her, all I saw was what I’d dreamed that straight hair would look like after our bodies spent hours slapping against each other.
That had been a recurring damn dream after she’d cut off all communication with me. It had filled my thoughts on many lonely nights.
Tonight her plump lips were painted a bright red, and the top center dipped low, forming a perfect little V. I wanted to trace them with my tongue. Her long, feminine neck needed sucking and biting. But her eyes were the showstopper. They were a pale greenish-blue that I knew firsthand darkened when she was turned on.
“Are you even listening to me?” Layla blinked twice.
Shit. I hadn’t heard a word she’d said. “Of course I am.”
She leaned forward and lowered her voice. “Then what did I just say?”
Well damn, her eyes also go dark when she’s pissed. I couldn’t wait to fuck her when she was angry and see what that looked like.
“You were talking about the firm.”
She looked back and forth between my eyes and squinted. “Whatever. I’ve been doing all the talking this evening anyway. Tell me, Mr. Westbrook, what kind of services are you looking for from a firm? This afternoon you mentioned your SEC license appeal and your new business venture. But I don’t know anything about your plans since you were too busy to give us that full hour earlier today.”
Pencil Dick looked back and forth at the two of us. I could see he had no idea what to make of Layla’s attitude. Don’t get me wrong, I’m sure he was enjoying it, since I’d tried to buy him off, but I got the feeling he had no idea of the history between Layla and me. I decided to test that theory.
“You look familiar, Oliver, yet I can’t place it. Have you ever been up to Otisville Federal Correctional Facility?”
It was the first time I’d spoken to him directly since the men’s room.
“Me? No, I haven’t.” He looked to Layla. “But that’s where you taught that prisoner appeals program class for a while, isn’t it?”
“Yes.” She flashed me what I thought might be warning eyes.
Oliver was obviously quick at math, putting two and two together and all. “Is that where you did your sentence?”
I lifted my drink to my lips and smiled. “It is.”
He looked at his loving girlfriend, then me, then back to her. “Did you two ever come across each other?”
And his loving girlfriend lied right to his face. “No.”
It made my fucking day. I offered Oliver my first genuine smile. I’d thought Pencil Dick would hamper my ability to gauge whether Layla had any interest in trying to figure things out with me. But her lie said more than she would’ve admitted on her own.
Unless you’re pathological, you don’t lie without a reason. And there’s only one reason you lie to the guy you’re dating about another man: so he won’t get jealous. Which meant there was something there for him to be jealous about.
I arched a brow and smirked at Layla. She scowled, and her eyes darkened even more.
“Why don’t you fill us in on your legal needs, Mr. Westbrook,” she said. “What kind of a business are you starting?”
“A venture capitalist firm. We plan to focus on technology and communication investments. So I’ll need someone to perform due diligence on the license requirements of potential investments, handle the purchase agreements, draw up loan agreements, and make sure we’re not getting into bed with any crooks.”
“That last part is interesting.” Layla sipped her drink. “And you’re planning on applying for your securities license back?”
“I am. But not just yet. I’d like to focus on the new venture for now while I work on a few things that might help improve my application for licensing.”
“You know, the chances of the FINRA reinstating your securities license after a felony conviction are very slim,” Layla said. “It’s an automatic ten-year disqualification.”
“Technically I wasn’t convicted. I accepted a plea deal rather than risk a trial. At the time, it was the lesser of two evils.”
“In the eyes of the law, acceptance of a plea deal is the legal equivalent of a conviction.”
“I understand the consequences of accepting the deal. However, I’ve read you can get special permission for licensing notwithstanding disqualification.”
“The rules say you can. But it’s not easy. We’ve applied for a few and never had one go through.”
“Well, then, I see lots of firsts for us in the future.” I raised my glass to her.
After dinner was over, the three of us walked outside to the valet together. I took my time digging in my pocket for the ticket stub that would retrieve my car. Lucky for me, the first car to arrive belonged to Oliver, and another car that wasn’t mine or Layla’s pulled up right behind it, which meant he couldn’t linger.
He stalled, trying to wait it out, probably hoping Layla’s car would pull up so he wouldn’t be leaving the two of us alone. But it didn’t.
When a couple got into the car behind him, I lifted my chin to point at it. “Looks like you’re blocking a car that’s ready to leave.”
He looked at Layla, then back to me.
I smiled and said, “Don’t worry. I’ll make sure she gets into her car safely.”
>
If the shoe were on the other foot, no way would I leave my woman alone outside a restaurant with an ex-felon who’d already made it clear he had a non-business interest in her—potential large client or not.
Although he looked conflicted, Oliver’s decision came down on the wrong side of manhood.
“I’ll see you in the office tomorrow.” He squeezed Layla’s shoulder, then extended his hand to me. Soft shake…pussy. “It was nice meeting you. I hope you’ll be joining Latham & Pittman.”
My answer was a firm handshake. “Goodnight.”
Layla and I watched in silence as her interference drove away.
“Oliver is my boyfriend,” she said in a warning tone.
“I know. He mentioned that in the men’s room when I tried to pay him off to take a hike. Nice kiss goodbye, by the way.”
Her eyes flared. “You didn’t. God, you’re such an asshole!”
My gaze dropped to her lips. “I missed that wicked mouth.” And I can’t wait to fuck it, although I was smart enough to know it wasn’t the right time to mention that.
“You’re insane. And kissing me goodbye in front of a client would have been completely unprofessional—although it’s not surprising you wouldn’t realize that.”
“I think the insane one is your boyfriend, who just drove off and left his woman with a man who clearly expressed an interest in her. And, by the way, I wouldn’t give a shit if it was professional or not, I’d be marking my territory.”
Layla’s hands went to her hips. “He trusts me. And what are you? A dog? Marking your territory. Do you piss on fire hydrants, too?”
“He trusts you? That must be why he didn’t see your lie when you told him we’d never met before.”
I took a step closer, right into her personal space. Instead of backing up, she tilted her head to look up at me. I fucking loved that she refused to back down.
“There is no reason for him to know about us. You know why? Because there was never an us.”
“Tell yourself whatever you need to.”
“God, you are so arrogant.”
I stroked her hair. “You changed your hair. I like it wavy like this. It’s sexy. But you’re covering up those beautiful freckles on your nose again.”
She slapped my hand away. “Are you even listening to me?”
“Yes. He trusts you. No us. I’m an arrogant asshole.”
She growled at me. It was fucking adorable.
“Your keys, Miss.”
Neither of us had noticed her car pulling up or the valet dangling the keys while standing next to us.
Grabbing the keys from his hand, she strutted toward her car. The valet ran back to open the door. Layla began to get in and then stopped and spoke over the hood of her car. “Hire another firm, Gray. Whatever you think is going to happen between us, isn’t.”
Chapter 3
* * *
Layla
“These are gorgeous.”
Becca, the receptionist who was also my friend and frequent lunch partner, walked into my office carrying a huge bouquet of yellow roses. There had to be two dozen. She set them down on the desk and sighed. “I wish I could find a guy like Oliver. That man is crazy about you.”
I smiled. Although I had a nagging feeling they might not be from him. I hoped I was wrong.
“Lunch today?” she asked.
“Definitely. Around one?”
“I’ll buzz you then. If I don’t, you won’t come up for air until it’s dark outside.”
She was right. I had a tendency to jump into a project and lose track of time.
Becca was just walking out of my office as Oliver walked in.
“Why don’t you have a brother, Oliver?” she teased.
He smiled. Then his eyes landed on the enormous delivery on my desk, and his playful smile wilted.
Shit. He didn’t send them.
“Secret admirer I need to be worried about?”
“Uh... Becca just brought them in. I thought you sent them.”
He shook his head. “Wish I had.”
While Oliver and I had been dating for almost a month, we’d never had the talk—more because it was unnecessary than anything else. Neither one of us had time to date someone else. Hell, we grabbed lunches when we could, but in four weeks, we’d only been on a couple official dates together. We both worked ten-hour days, six days a week. So I’d never bothered to consider that Oliver might be dating other women, and it looked like he hadn’t thought that a possibility for me either, until now.
He didn’t ask, but he also stood there waiting, his eyes occasionally flickering to the unopened card stapled to the outside of the clear cellophane wrap. Things grew awkward.
I silently willed the phone to ring, but of course it didn’t. Eventually, I detached the card while my brain deliberated on how to handle this if the flowers were indeed from Gray. Oliver watched as I slipped the tiny card from its pink envelope.
Reading it, I forced my perfected courtroom fake smile. “My friend. I helped her with some legal work, and she sent them to say thank you.”
Oliver looked relieved. I folded the card into the palm of my hand, which had already started to sweat.
“So what brings you slumming down to my floor?” I asked him. “Come to see how the other half lives?”
Oliver’s office was two floors above mine. It had been recently renovated, and even though my floor was nice by law firm standards, his was luxurious.
“Thought I’d say good morning and tell you about a little chat I had with our prospective client last night.”
Shit. I was digging a big hole of lies, and they all had to do with Gray Westbrook. I wasn’t even entirely sure why I had started this mess by pretending I didn’t know him. But the lies just kept coming.
“Oh?” Technically, this wasn’t a lie—it was an omission to pretend I didn’t know Gray had tried to chase him off in the men’s room. Although omission or lie—whatever I called it—it still felt wrong.
“He’s interested in more than legal advice from you. Jackass actually thought he could hand me a wad of cash and I’d take a hike before dinner.”
“What did you say?”
“Told him you’d never date a client or an ex-con.”
“I see…”
“Anyway, it was the first pitch the named partners had you on, so I know it would be good if you landed the account. But the selfish side of me hopes he goes elsewhere so he isn’t hitting on you.”
“I can handle myself.”
“I know you can. That’s one of the things I think is so sexy about you. You have balls bigger than most men I know. But this guy just got out of prison.”
“Federal prison for insider trading. He’s not a rapist.”
“Yeah. But I hate the idea of you around some guy with no morals or ethics.”
“If I didn’t spend time with people who lacked morals and ethics, I’d have very few clients. You do know I work for the securities side of the firm, not the artsy and upstanding copyright department like you?”
“Sad.” Oliver grinned. “But true. I gotta run—have a ten o’clock I need to prep for. Dinner this week?”
“Sure. Sounds good.”
I asked Oliver to shut my door on the way out, feigning a conference call I needed to jump on. Once I was alone, I sat back in my chair, unfolded the crinkled card in my hand, and read it again.
Freckles,
I missed you. Take a chance and give me a second one.
X
Gray
I hated everything about what this man had done in the last twenty-four hours. He’d shown up without warning at my firm and insisted I give the presentation, demanded in front of the partners that I attend a dinner—a dinner where he was rude to Oliver, made me lie about not knowing him, and had the gall to send me flowers. But most of all… I hated that I had butterflies in my stomach when he was around.
***
The smell of roses permeated the air. Even thou
gh I hadn’t removed the cellophane or taken the vase out of the cardboard protective wrap at the bottom, a sweet floral fragrance wafted through my office. I’d caught myself staring at the arrangement on more than one occasion while my mind wandered. It distracted me while I tried to finish reading a stock purchase offering. I’d spent the entire morning and three hours after lunch attempting to finish going over the damn thing, when it should have taken me an hour in total.
Frustrated, I ripped my reading glasses from my face, tossed them on the desk, and sat back, glowering at the damn roses on the corner of my desk.
“You know, you’re a lot like him.” I’d definitely lost my mind, considering I was now talking to an unopened bouquet of flowers. “So pretty and smelling good. But give in and pick one up, and I’ll get pricked by a thorn.”
It was clear I wasn’t going to accomplish anything with the damn things taunting me on my desk. Blowing out a deep breath, I stood, picked up the bouquet, walked over to my garbage can, and tossed what was likely two hundred dollars worth of flowers in the trash.
Maybe it was symbolic, or maybe I was just that nuts, but I was able to concentrate after that. In less than a half hour, I’d finally finished up what I’d been working on and walked out to my paralegal to have her type up my handwritten notes.
I’d returned to my office and was rummaging through my file cabinet when someone knocked on my open door. I looked up to see Old Man Pittman in the doorway. I shut the cabinet.
“Mr. Pittman. How can I help you?”
It was the second time in two days he’d come down from the ivory tower to speak to me. I knew whatever he wanted had to be related to a certain potential client. For the first time, it dawned on me that the blow I’d dealt to Gray’s ego might’ve caused him to bad-mouth me to my bosses. I wouldn’t survive at this firm if the senior partners thought I’d intentionally sabotaged a large potential account. The shaky ground from my suspension had only recently started to steady.
“We thought we’d give you the good news, Layla.” Pittman flashed a rare smile.