Now I’m lying.
There’s no way a scheduled meeting at my lawyer’s office counts as a date, even if I am picking up takeout on the way, and once I close the door behind me, we’re going to have a get-real conversation about all the things I’ve thought about doing to her for the last three months.
“When did you meet someone?”
The night you kicked me out of your house so you could bang your intern is probably not the right answer. “I’ve visited this city a dozen times in the last two years. I know people.”
“That’s a non-answer.”
“Says the politician.”
“So that’s a no to dinner?”
“It is. But tell your bride I appreciate the thought.”
“Will do. Hockey on Sunday?”
“Wouldn’t miss it.”
Gavin started playing pick-up hockey in the summer, a short-lived attempt to keep himself from obsessing over Ellie—a safer physical outlet for restless energy.
Even after they started dating, the team pulled together by his chief of security continued to play. One star player, the captain of the Ottawa Senators, had to bow out of at the end of the summer season, but the rest of us have continued to play as winter approaches.
It’s oddly social for me. But it helps that almost everyone on the team is in the kink scene, and in a sensitive position. A lot of Mounties, and a few friends of Tate Nilsson, the NHL player.
Nobody who wants their predilections made public.
Or their hockey playing schedule, either, although that original goal of having a truly private game has since fallen by the wayside.
Now we have puck bunnies. But the security team does a good job of keeping them at a distance.
“Hey, one last question.” I clear my throat. “If I wanted to make a good impression…flowers?”
Gavin’s silent on the other end of the line. I can practically hear his thought process. Wait, the date’s real? The woman’s real? And you want to impress her?
I wince. “Never mind.”
He laughs. “Flowers are nice, but not surprising. Bring her chocolate. Dark truffles. And a book you enjoyed. If she’s a woman worthy of you, she’ll appreciate the thought.”
I glance at the stack of medical journals on my desk. What was the last book I read for pleasure? “Thanks.”
“There’s a great chocolate shop on Bank Street. Ellie likes the coffee cream and the candied orange rind.” I hear a lot in the next silence. Caution, concern, and a hell of a lot of curiosity. But Gavin just makes a noncommittal sound under his breath, then covers the mouthpiece of his phone for a second. “Gotta go, man.”
“No worries. See you on the ice.”
5
Violet
I am way better prepared for my next meeting with Max Donovan.
I have a handout on Lawyer-Client Relations and the ethics therein.
I have a phone call scheduled to interrupt us twenty minutes after he arrives. Matthew was horrified when I told him to expect me bursting into tears when he calls me with terrible, tragic news about a family member. He doesn't know why, other than I have an awkward client meeting. He rightfully pointed out that plan probably violated the ethics of lawyer-client relations, but I’d rather do that than violate it in an even worse way. He doesn’t understand the devastating scope of what I’m dealing with in Max. That’s because I haven’t told Matthew anything about that night in July.
As far as he knows, I had a one-night stand that I never mentioned again.
Especially now—it’s my secret. I’m not going to get Max again, not like that, so I’ll forever hold those memories tight.
A girl’s gotta masturbate to something hot.
And Max is pure gold for the spank-bank collection.
As a last defence against the good doctor, I wore my most severe blouse, buttoned all the way to my neck, and a shapeless, boxy pantsuit of a lovely, heavy tweed.
I look every inch an unfuckable prude. My hair is even twisted up in a bun on top of my head. Not a loose, sexy chiffon that could be pulled out to tumble around my shoulders. Nope. There are seventeen badass bobby pins in this sucker.
Maybe Max will forget what I look like in nothing but silk and lace.
Hannah brings in a courier package I was waiting for, then hovers. “Do you need anything else?”
It’s Friday night and her kid has a hockey game. I can’t ask her to stay and be a chaperone for a client meeting. I shake my head. “Have a good weekend. Thank you.”
She leaves, then I listen to the normal Friday night sounds of the office emptying out. The elevator dings, conversation murmurs, the clicking shut of doors.
After six, the front door is locked. I go to the reception desk to buzz Max up when he arrives, which gives me a moment to prepare myself for the privacy we’ll have when he steps off the elevator.
It doesn’t work.
He’s wearing jeans and a leather jacket. He looks relaxed and casual, and I suddenly feel like a complete fool for how I’ve dressed. My hand goes to the collar of my shirt and I undo the top button. Just one.
I don’t need to be a cartoon to ward him off. I just need to be firm.
It’s not like Max hasn’t made it abundantly clear he respects boundaries. I just need to establish them.
One side of his mouth lifts in a lazy smile and he lifts his hand. He’s got a brown paper takeout bag from an Italian restaurant a few blocks away.
No. I hold up my hand, as if that will stop him. “What is that?”
“Dinner.”
“I said no to dinner.”
“You said no to going out for dinner. You said nothing about me bringing dinner here.”
Heat swarms up my neck and makes my head spin with anger. “I said—.”
“Six-thirty. That's dinner time.” He steps closer. “And I’m starving.”
“Then we’ll be quick so you can take that home.”
“I got plenty. We can share.” His gaze locks on to mine. “Surely we find something that appeals to you.”
How has he not noticed I’m dressed like a school marm? This isn’t going to script at all.
I take a different approach. “Step into my office, Dr. Donovan.”
That makes him grin.
I roll my eyes and lead the way, moving around my desk once we get there. He closes the door behind him, but there’s a solid chance I’m going to be yelling, and I’m not sure we’re the only people left on the floor, so I don’t make him open it again.
“Let me make myself perfectly clear,” I say firmly as I tap on my desk and glare at him. “Nothing personal is on the menu.”
He laughs. “Of course not.”
“That’s not a joke.”
“Dinner, food, menu…it was clever.”
“It was deliberate.”
“Ergo…funny.”
“Stop it.”
“Stop what?”
“Stop ignoring that I’m mad!” Okay, it didn’t take me long to get to the yelling.
“I’m not ignoring that fact, Violet.” His voice chills as he starts to take out food containers. “I’m trying to reframe the conversation given our new circumstances.”
I narrow my eyes and consider him as I would any opposing counsel trying to pull the same trick. “Trying would be the operative word there. Trying and failing, because reality can’t be reframed.”
“And what reality would that be? That we shared a night of incredible sex long before I was your client?”
Three months is hardly long before anything, especially in my dating life. But that’s not the key focus now. “The reality is, you are my client, and any previous entanglement needs to sit firmly in the past to ensure that going forward, I’m able to provide you with the best possible legal counsel.”
“I’m sure you can do that while we reminisce. It was good for you.”
It was great for me, but that’s not the point. “Furthermore, the context around that evening cannot be
ignored.”
“Context?” His jaw twitches.
“Surely you can’t be surprised that I was taken aback when I realized you thought I was a…”
“Call girl.” He lifts the lid off an antipasto plate. “Olive?”
I cross my arms. I won’t be misdirected here.
“You want context, Violet?” He leans in, his jaw tight and his eyes suddenly flashing. “I haven’t been with another woman since that night, because all I can think about is your mouth, your eyes, your voice. And I didn’t know if I’d ever see you again.”
“So sorry that your pimp couldn’t arrange it that easily.” They’re ugly words and I wish I could take them back. I close my eyes so I don’t have to see his reaction. “There’s nothing else to say about it. I didn’t like that moment, Max. So even if the rest of it had been amazing—”
“If?” He snaps open another takeout container and I blink despite myself, because it smells incredible. Chicken medallions and green beans, tossed in something that looks and smells like lemon pepper.
My mouth waters. I squeeze my hands into tight fists.
“I’m clearly not who you thought I was. It was an accident, what happened. Best forgotten. It’s awkward, but in time we’ll move on.”
“You haven’t moved on yet, either.” A statement, not a question, the cocky bastard.
“It wasn’t such an abrupt change for me,” I say as I look at him again, this time owning my anger. Fuck him. “I wasn’t sleeping with anyone before you, so going back to that default state wasn’t a big deal.”
“What do you think about?” he asks, his voice low and his eyes trained on my mouth even as he unwraps a loaf of bread. “What can’t you forget?”
Him forcing himself into my throat. The fullness, the pressure, and the incredible release from trusting him to push me to, but not past, my limit. “Nothing,” I lie. “It was just great sex. Whatever.”
My cell phone rings. I glance at it, knowing it’s Matthew. This is my clever out, exactly as I’ve planned it.
I turn off the ringer. I don’t need to be rescued.
Max’s gaze follows my movements. First to turn off my phone, then to press my fingers against the out-of control pulse at the base of my neck.
Did he kiss me there? I can’t remember.
“You weren’t a mistake.”
My phone rings again. The screen lights up silently, and even though I turned the ringer off because I didn’t want to answer it, I don’t want Max to go there, either. So I ignore him and grab the phone I’d just pushed away.
“Hello?”
“This is your totally immature rescue call,” Matthew says. He’s watching a movie in the background. “I almost didn’t want to try a second time, but then I worried you might be dead.”
“I’m not dead.” Max gives me an amused look, one of his eyebrows quirking at the odd conversation.
“What kind of rescue call do you need if you can say that in front of whomever it is I’m rescuing you from?”
I clear my throat and look away from Max, who’s definitely wondering something along the same lines. “It’s complicated.”
“I bet. Will you be home later?”
“Definitely.”
“Gareth made me chocolate chip cookies. Come over and save me from myself.”
“Sounds like a plan.”
“I expected tears, you know.”
I hesitate. “Yeah. Me, too.”
“Curiouser and curiouser.”
I hang up without answering him.
Max just looks at me. “Complicated death plans?” He hands over a paper plate and I find myself taking it. “Who was that?”
I sigh. “None of your business.”
His eyes flash for a second before he glances away, looking at the food. “I’m starving.” My stomach growls in agreement, and he nods, but he still doesn’t look at me. “You are too. Dig in.”
I’m reaching for the bread even as I try to argue. “We need to talk about work.”
“I’d rather talk about the amazing, not-a-mistake sex we had, but fine. Let’s discuss my corporation while you eat.”
I think he’s just playing me, but since I’m going to bill him for every second I can, I give him a full briefing. He surprises me by actually paying attention and asking smart questions. After I devour my first piece of bread and some cheese, I grab a legal pad and start making notes. Eventually I relax and lean back in my chair, crossing my legs, and my high heel slips off. It skitters across the floor and Max picks it up.
For a second, I think he might try and put it back on my foot, and my breath stops in my chest, but he just sets it on the floor near enough for me to slide it back on.
And then he asks me about filing fees, and we’re back on track.
It’s not quite a comfortable conversation, but it’s professional and that’s what I asked of him.
But it only lasts so long, because frankly, his business isn’t that complicated and we’ve only just begun the work we’re going to do. I can’t in good conscience stretch the work talk longer than the length of time it takes us to eat. And Max is completely aware of that.
He packs away the leftovers, then rolls his lower lip between his teeth. I’m annoyingly captivated by the way his beard frames that mouth. I wonder what it would feel like against my skin.
He gives me a firm look. “Now we talk about what I want to talk about.”
Oh no. I shake my head. “We can’t.”
“We have to.”
“Why?” The tension climbs up between my shoulder blades again and I cross my arms once more. “What good will it do?”
“I want another night.”
“Red.” The safeword bursts out of my mouth before I’m even conscious of having thought it.
It stops him, though. He nods, acknowledging what I’ve just said. But his glower says we aren’t quite done yet. “This isn’t a scene.”
I throw my hands in the air. “I know that. But it’s my life, and you’re stomping all over it, so fucking take a hint, Max. Red.”
He leans back in his chair, his lips pulled tight, but he stops talking. My heart is pounding in my chest, a mile a minute. Yes, that was the best night of my life. Yes, I can’t stop thinking about it.
But this is my career we’re talking about.
I’ll throw down whatever I have to in order to maintain some healthy boundaries and create distance between us.
Even if it hurts.
6
Max
I stare at Violet. She can't be serious.
She stares right back, completely serious.
And even though it's not a scene, she's used her safeword and I need to back away. I get up, every cell in my body protesting, because we have unfinished business.
But we'll have to deal with that another day.
Red.
Fucking hell.
Without a word, I take the chocolates I'd bought for her out of the bag and drop them on her desk. As much as I want to slam the door behind me, I don’t even bother to close it. I saunter toward the elevator without a backward glance. I’m not quite sure how to process the shit-show that just took place. Gavin’s the next best thing to useless to me right now. He’s in happy-ever-after fairy tale mode and I need someone who can tell me straight-up where and how I've fucked this up.
I pull my phone from my pocket and call Lachlan, Gavin's chief of security. He's a good guy, and more to the point, he's into kink and would rather die than disclose a secret.
He answers on the second ring. “Hey Max. What’s up?”
The office is dead quiet and I know Violet will have no problem hearing my conversation. I pick my words carefully because I'm a bastard. “I need to see you. Are you free?”
Lachlan sounds surprised, but agreeable. “Sure. When?”
“Fifteen minutes?”
“Grab pizza and make it forty.”
I force myself to smile, knowing it'll carry in my voice. “Can�
��t wait.”
The elevator doors open and I step inside.
* * *
Beth is just packing up ready to leave for the evening when I arrive at Centre Block, a visitor badge hanging around my neck.
Lachlan's sitting in a chair near Gavin's office door, watching her ignore him. This is the first time I've seen the weird tension play out between her and Lachlan, although I've heard about it from Gavin and a bit from Lachlan himself, and it's just fucking pitiful.
He wants her. She wants him. What the fuck are they waiting for?
I mentally shake my head and give Beth a great big grin. “Hey gorgeous. What do you say I blow off the big guy here and you and I schnork back this pizza and go bowling?”
Beth blushes a little. She’s cute as fuck, all Miss Fisher like with her silky dark hair all curled under, twenties-style. All she needs is a sexy little flapper dress. Lachlan is a prize idiot for not claiming her. Clearly the man needs a wake up call.
“Thanks for the kind offer, Max, but I already have plans for the evening.” She shoots me an exaggerated wink. I know that wink. We're co-conspirators in torture.
Lachlan’s practically shooting steam from his ears. It’s all I can do not to laugh. She’s playing him, and he fucking deserves it.
Maybe I should have called her about my Violet problem, although I'm pretty sure if I told her more about that situation, she'd be on Violet's side. Fucking hell. I'm on Violet's side. I want her to have as many orgasms as she wants. Italian bread in between sex-fests and whatever other rewards she might like if she's a good little sub for me.
Is that really too much to ask?
No, I can't involve Beth in this. As far as she knows, I'm an adorable rake. It's the image I cultivate because the sadistic bastard doesn't go over nearly as well.
I lean down and peck Beth’s cheek. “Have a fabulous evening. Don’t do anything I wouldn’t.”
“Carte blanche, then. I can work with that.” She shifts her gaze to the other man in the room, the only one she really cares about, and gives him a look even I can't decipher. “Goodnight, Lachlan.” Slinging her bag over her shoulder, she flounces out of the office.
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