Bachelor on Trial (Beauty and the Bachelor Book 1)

by Lexi Greene

  Lexi Greene

  Bachelor on Trial

  First published by Lexi Greene 2020

  Copyright © 2020 by Lexi Greene

  All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, scanning, or otherwise without written permission from the publisher. It is illegal to copy this book, post it to a website, or distribute it by any other means without permission.

  This novel is entirely a work of fiction. The names, characters and incidents portrayed in it are the work of the author's imagination. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events or localities is entirely coincidental.

  Second edition

  ISBN: 978-0-6483874-1-1

  This book was professionally typeset on Reedsy

  Find out more at reedsy.com

  Foreword

  When Tony Radcliff joins Forbes lawyers, career-driven Scarlet O’Connor finds she has competition for the coveted partnership position.

  And Tony has a couple of aces up his sleeve. Like his surf-sculpted body, which plays havoc with Scarlet’s ‘all work and no play’ plans for partnership. And his brother, who holds the key to a secret from her past.

  When Scarlet and Tony start steaming up the office windows, there’s no doubt they’re playing with fire. But there can only be one winner, so who gets burned?

  Chapter One

  Scarlet focused on her breath and not the deep mahogany of the lift doors in front of her. Or the metal on metal clanging of its inner workings. Or the hands of her watch as they circled closer to seven. She breathed in until her chest felt full and her belly expanded. Breathed out—slow and steady. Her phone pinged and she glanced at the screen. You’ve got this. The reminder went off at seven every morning and every morning she stood frozen; her body paralysed in a percussion of protest. You can do this.

  The lift doors parted, and the mirror-clad, marble-floored cavity waited for her to enter. Simple. One step, then another. Press level ten. She could do this. She’d done it before. She just had to acknowledge the reaction, breathe through it and step into the small, tight, enclosed chamber.

  Or take the stairs. Her eyes veered to the side. The stairs were good for her thighs. Her buttocks, too. They were a cardio-vascular win-win.

  Her high heels met the marble floor of the foyer with a confident Hi, I’m Scarlet O’Connor, senior associate at Forbes Lawyers. She reached for the fire escape door handle, but her grip slipped, and she had to shove it with her shoulder.

  The stairs had become an important part of her morning morphosis. Toughen up, Scarlet. You’ve got this, Scarlet. You can do this, Scarlet.

  She eyed the spiralling, concrete stairway. One step at a time. The door banged behind her and her heart did that thing where it wanted to vacate the premises. Her throat tightened and her eyes took a moment to adjust to the sharp slap of the lighting and the raw tang of the concrete. She took a sip of the coffee she’d bought from Hudsons Coffee on Little Collins St. and breathed in the sweet undertones of vanilla and hazelnut… the journey of a thousand miles begins with a single step. One step at a time. There were no shortcuts to the top. With every step of the seventeen-times-ten stairs and landings, her skin hardened, crystallised and set until she morphed into the confident, professional, sophisticated—albeit a smidgen sweaty—woman who strode down the carpeted hallway to her not-yet-corner office. She wrenched the door open; her heart heaving a Thank God and lowered her only cup of coffee for the next twelve hours onto her desk.

  There were files stacked high on every flat surface and floor to ceiling windows. The city of Melbourne stretched before her feet. She liked looking down on the already busy streets, and the early morning sunshine promised another warm summery day. She booted up her computer. Her crammed schedule flashed before her and she kicked off her heels.

  A new senior associate had been hired to help with the files teetering on her desk, and they had a site visit in Myrniong first thing. She eyed the precarious stack, unwilling to give any of them away. The last thing she needed was more competition for the partnership opportunity due to be decided by the end of the financial year in less than four months. She took off her jacket and the black lettering on the inside of her wrist caught her attention—PS. The tattoo had come to represent her goal… PartnerShip… a goal as indelibly inscribed into her brain tissue as it was on her skin.

  Partnership had come to represent more than professional success. It was about being on the top of the stack instead of the bottom. It was about feeling strong on the inside and erasing for always the fear of being powerless…

  “Good morning.” A male voice interrupted her thoughts. Low and rumbling like thunder before a storm front. “I’m Tony. Tony Radcliff. Dan told me you’d be in by seven fifteen. It’s great to meet you.”

  Scarlet’s coffee splashed out of the cup and onto the skirt of her suit. Hell. She mopped it up with tissues and glared at the cheerful man who had appeared in her doorway. No one, no one messed with her first hour in the office. She liked the quiet. She liked the company of her coffee, her calendar, and her to-do list. She didn’t do cheerful. She didn’t do camaraderie. Wait up. Did he say, Radcliff? She eyed the arresting blue eyes and the tan that said he didn’t waste his weekends working. A barely-there recognition feathered her skin with a thousand tiny bug feet and slid down her spine.

  “This is my power hour. I share it with no one. Come back after eight thirty if you want polite.” She lowered her gaze to the file now open on her desk, but the words ran together, and those tiny bug feet became a tap-dancing torrent that roared in her ears.

  “Dan suggested we collaborate on the Cartwright matter. If you could point to the file, I’ll get familiar with it.” There was no hint of offence in his tone. Instead, he sounded confident. Cocky. Unabashed.

  Scarlet dragged her attention from her work. Her gaze collided with his—steel coated in friendly. He’d been head-hunted by the firm, which meant he was good. He looked the part, too. Sharp grey suit. Snappy red tie. Smug expression. “Who let you in?”

  “Bob organised my security pass when I came in on Friday. Nice bloke.”

  Easy fodder for the likes of a Radcliff. Well, she wasn’t a fool and she knew his type. Good looking, athletic and fabulous, at least in his own eyes, with an ego that shouted I’m-the-best.

  “I came in early to set up my office. I’m across the hall.” Two dimples creased his clean-shaven face and the power of them hit her square in the chest.

  In an office with no view. The thought smoothed the edges from her tone. “Then I’m sure Dan explained the lay of the land.”

  “We’re on the same team, Scarlet.” The smile lines around his eyes softened and she felt the magnetic pull of his personality. But her armour had been honed over one hundred and seventy stairs and she was as impervious as stone.

  “Great.” She closed the file in front of her and handed it over. “The site visit starts at ten thirty. See you downstairs at nine. It’s a bit of a drive.”

  Dismissed, Tony thought. He reached for the file and noticed a tiny tattoo on the inside of her wrist. Interesting. Her glossy blonde hair was pulled back into a sleek ponytail giving her a youthful look, but her violet gaze said mature-woman and it clawed him with no apology. Intriguing. Her silk shirt, a soft grey in colour, and the pink sheen of her lips said feminine, but the steely rod in her back said strong, smart and I surrender to no one. Impressive. He took the file and strode away. He had less than two hours to get familiar with the matter, but he couldn’t resist a glance back at the now c
losed glass door to her office. Already, her attention was back on her computer screen. There weren’t too many women who met him and didn’t show a flicker of interest in the depths of their eyes… and there weren’t too many women who brought a flicker of interest to his own.

  Scarlet O’Connor was competitor number one. He wasn’t here to make friends. He was here to make partner. He understood her animosity. He knew her reputation. But if she wanted the partnership position, and he knew she did, then she’d have to fight him for it. His father had made partner by thirty years of age and it was a yardstick he’d held high for both of his sons. Not easy following in the footsteps of a High Court Judge nor being the youngest of his two boys by a long shot of twenty years. Not easy for Tony to watch his formidable father succumb to early-onset dementia. The one thing that brought a light to his father’s eyes was the hope that Tony would succeed where his brother had failed. No pressure, Ant. Ant—Geoffrey called him that to make him feel small and all the hairs on his body bristled at the thought. He didn’t give a fig about his brother, but his father? Even a year ago, he couldn’t have cared less, but now? Now, time was running out and it was unclear how much longer his father would even recognise him, let alone appreciate the achievement… but, it had become important.

  “I’ll meet you in the foyer.” Scarlet appeared in his doorway. Beyond a soft lip gloss, she didn’t wear makeup, which was unusual in a law office. Women usually glammed up like bait on a hook. Her features were neat and symmetrical, her face heart-shaped, but he wouldn’t call her beautiful, mostly because of the cold disdain of her expression, yet still, his lungs grappled for oxygen. Her black skirt hugged her hips and she wore a matching suit jacket. Her legs were long, and her heels were high. Her complexion was that of a soft peach, but she was dynamite and just as dangerous to mess with. He dragged his gaze from the violet trap of her eyes and checked the time. Eight fifty. How long did it take to go down in the lift?

  “At nine, right?”

  “Yes. You’re one of Judge Radcliff’s boys?”

  “Yes.” So, she’d done her homework. And he’d done his. He was still reeling from the law magazine articles he’d discovered on the internet. How old had she been at the time? Nineteen? He’d been on an overseas gap year, but he’d heard of the affair that broke his brother’s marriage. Interesting to meet the scarlet woman responsible.

  “Must be tough being the youngest.”

  “Makes you tough being the youngest. What about you? Any siblings?”

  “None.” She considered him, her gaze steady. “You’ve no doubt done some research of your own.” The violet grey of her eyes turned gun-metal cold. “The past doesn’t define me. If you’ve got a problem with it, talk to me.”

  “But not before eight thirty.”

  “We might get along, Radcliff. I’ll see you downstairs in eight minutes.”

  When she turned to leave, he noted her lovely calves and tight arse. She worked out? When? From what he’d heard, she spent every waking moment in the office. He picked up his notes, then sat down again. He’d be there. But not a damn minute before nine o’clock. As ordered.

  Chapter Two

  Where was he? Punctuality had been drummed into Scarlet from an early age. It’s a sign of respect, Carly. Everyone’s time is important.

  Scarlet paced; her nerves stretched like elastic pulled to its limit. Tony Radcliff had brought back the past in vivid colour, and her insides quivered, her heart hammered, her head pounded. She retraced her steps and saw Bob at the security counter. He was older than her by a good forty years, his hair silver, his uniform a navy blue.

  “How are you, Bob? How’s the arthritis?”

  “Alright thanks, Scarlet. Where are you off to?”

  “A site visit. A winery near Myrniong. There was a workplace accident there about a year ago.”

  “Nice day for a drive in the country.”

  He was right. She just had to keep the jagged glass shards of the fractured skylight and the broken man on the flagstone floor of the winery restaurant out of her mind, at least until she got there. “Yes, it’s a tough job.” She glanced at her watch.

  The lift doors opened, and Tony appeared. Maybe it was the metallic sigh of its workings or the closed-in space behind him, or maybe it was his saccharine smile—the way his cheeks dimpled, the whiteness of his teeth—but her skin contracted and the air around her seemed to tighten like a fist around her windpipe.

  “Nice to see you again, Bob. How’s your day going?” Tony’s voice was like warm caramel over sticky date pudding and the older man’s face brightened.

  “So far, so good. Thanks for asking.”

  Scarlet’s spine lengthened an inch and her hand tightened around her keys. “We need to go. See you, Bob. Have a good day.”

  She stormed towards the stairs to the basement. Her car was one level down. No point taking the lift. No point checking to see if he-who-thought-he-was-fabulous had followed. No point pondering the fact that he annoyed her. His charming, nice-guy smile was like a decadent chocolate dessert, too sweet after a couple of mouthfuls. His cheerful blue eyes were like sunshine after a big night out. Too bright. Too shiny. Too summer sky clear. The thought of an hour in close confines with Tony Radcliff brought hives to her skin. She pushed through the door and held it open for him. Along with punctuality, manners had been drummed into her. “One floor down. Turn to the left.”

  “In my world, men hold doors open for women.”

  He was the chivalrous type? “In my world, men aren’t that necessary.” She tapped her foot, her insides tangled… time was ticking.

  He went to move past her, stopped—too close. Too damn close, sucking the oxygen from the air. “I know about your altercation with Geoffrey, but it was a long time ago and I promise you, I’m not like my brother.” His blue gaze steadied on hers, easy and breezy, with just a hint of cloud. “Are you planning on holding that against me?”

  “It was. I am. Are you planning to move anytime soon?”

  “Fine.” He stepped through the open space and took the stairs with athletic grace. Her nose scrunched against the warm waft of musky male scent. No sweet or spicy aftershave to dilute the power of him. She eyed his tight arse. His thick mop of brown hair, streaked with blond where the sun had bleached it. He was tall, lean and marginally attractive. Her fingers loosened on the door and it slammed shut. The sound echoed like a gunshot and blasted the madness from her thoughts.

  “My turn.” He stood on the landing below, his arm outstretched, the door open. His blue gaze challenged and for a furious moment, she found herself mesmerised. The moment seemed to stretch and elongate, and stopped her heart for long enough to hear the thud of his.

  “Thanks.” She pushed past him and strode towards her black Mercedes convertible. She loved it with a passion, the kind most women lavished on clothes or a cute canine. She’d saved until she could pay cash—she wasn’t a credit kind of girl—and every time she pressed the lock release and the sound echoed in the cavernous space, her soul settled, and her heart sighed. Manners dictated she wait for Tony to get in and buckle his seatbelt before she turned the key, but manners were over-rated when it came to arrogant men. She breathed in the scent of the soft, creamy leather seats and revved the engine. Just a smidge.

  Tony was one significant blemish on her escape plan. She adjusted the sound system to slightly higher than too-loud-for-conversation and hoped he’d get the message, but it seemed he was impervious to subtlety.

  “Where did you get your law degree?”

  “Melbourne University.” Her attention was diverted by the aeronautical precision required to navigate the car park. Vehicles were slotted into the cramped space like jigsaw pieces.

  “I went to Monash.”

  “Ah.” Scarlet opened the window and waved her pass at the control panel. The boom-gate rose, and she ventured out into the snarl of traffic on Flinders Lane. Roadworks further along had caused a backlog of traffic. She was aware of T
ony beside her and it wasn’t the good kind of awareness. It was the kind that left her strung out like a juror delivering a guilty verdict. Her lungs snatched at the tight air. She had to force her breathing to slow, her grip on the smooth leather steering wheel to loosen. She allowed the soothing wash of her favourite classical music—violins, piano, double bass—to ease the wound-up crazy in her body.

  “Where did you work before Forbes?” He turned to her, his elbow on the open window ledge, aviator sunglasses on his nose, looking as relaxed and casual as if he had a right to be there.

  It seemed he wanted to talk. She found small talk effortful and the thought of having to chat with Tony for the next hour chafed like bare legs on a hot leather seat. “I did articles at Forbes and never left.”

  “Ah, that explains the office with a window.”

  “I bring in more income than three associates put together.”

  “Good to know.” He grinned and the sun flashed on his teeth.

  Clever. Conniving. Wolf—in one hundred percent fine wool—just like his older brother. She’d walked right into it. He was a snake in the grass. A crocodile in a swamp, its eyes breaking the water. He could not be trusted. She clamped her teeth and edged into the lane of traffic for the Westgate Bridge. She settled her own sunglasses onto her nose and welcomed the relief from the glare.

  “How often do you go out to views?”

  “Occasionally. It helps to see the space where the worker was injured. This guy fell through the skylight despite the safety equipment provided for the roof work he was doing.”

  “Why insurance litigation?”

  “I could ask you the same.” If she was interested, which she wasn’t. She raised the volume, desperate for the peace that usually flooded her when she listened to Mozart. The traffic was heavy, and the light in front of her changed from amber to red. Damn. She hated traffic. She hated waiting. She hated that Tony sat beside her, relaxed and cool in his seat. No rigidity in his muscles. No bulging tendons in his neck. No angry snapping anywhere in his body.