Roulette Redux

by Livia Grant

  Ella stopped at the entrance to the office, peaking to see if he was in. Finding the room empty, but the lights on, Gabriella let herself in. She contemplated closing the door, but didn’t want to make it look like she was doing something secretive. The chair she normally sat in in front of the large mahogany desk had a moving box in it.

  She couldn’t quite put her finger on it as she looked around, but something felt different today. There were still hundreds of law books on the shelves lining the walls. The flat-screen TV that normally had on CNBC with no volume was off today. She walked to the large bay window, enjoying the unfettered view of the U.S. Capitol building in the distance.

  When she turned back to the room, the one-cup coffee maker on the credenza behind the door caught her eye.

  That was new.

  Knowing Charles wouldn’t mind, Ella beelined it to the coffee machine. Several black Lambert, Urbanski, & Reed coffee mugs sat next to the basket of flavored coffee pods.

  Just as her mug was almost full, she heard voices approaching the office out in the partner’s foyer. She was relieved. She wanted to get this meeting over with. It was the one and only thing still standing between her and her dream and the sooner she could get Charles Lambert to sign off on her plan, the sooner she could make it reality.

  She was about to walk back to the chairs in the middle of the room when the conversation in the hall stopped her in her tracks behind the door.

  “You do realize, it’s not going to be easy getting the city to rezone that neighborhood to allow for not only another alcohol license, but a club too.”

  It wasn’t Charles Lambert’s voice, but the man who responded sounded vaguely familiar. She just couldn’t place him.

  “Just leave it to me. I know more than one person on the Beverly Hills city council. I helped them secure several retail contracts that’ll bring in an estimated two hundred million in new revenue to the city over the next five years. Not to mention, I represented them in their lawsuit against a parking meter contractor who had scammed them out of millions. I won them not only restoration, but a fucking eight-figure punitive damage claim. They owe me.”

  “Holy shit. Okay, so I stand corrected. I’ll give Jaxson a call and let him know you have things under control and to cool his jets.”

  “Thanks. Yeah, I know he’s in a hurry, but deals this big don’t turn on a dime. If he wants that property for his expansion, I can make it happen. He just needs to give me time.”

  The first voice chuckled. “Jaxson Davidson is many things, but patient is not one of them. But... he’s a very good client of ours and I want to keep it that way. Oh, here.”

  Gabriella couldn’t see the men speaking from behind the door, but she was tempted to take a peek to see if she recognized them. Her curiosity was piqued hearing Jaxson Davidson’s name mentioned. The famous model was seriously like sex on a stick. Like most women, she wanted to lick him. She’d heard about his club in her old stomping grounds of Georgetown. If she got her wish, her new venture would only be a few blocks away from Runway. Maybe she should make a stop there before she left town.

  “What’s this?” The men continued on with their discussion, unaware they had an audience.

  “The invitation to participate in his club’s private Valentine’s Day event. Reed participated last year and met his fiancée that night. They speak highly of the club.”

  “Yeah, well no thanks. I’m not in the market for a girlfriend, let alone a fiancé.”

  “That’s the joy of this event. It’s for singles. No strings attached. Perfect for you to maybe get to know some women on the east coast instead of the west.”

  Mr. California answered him. “I don’t have time for that shit. I’m buried wrapping up my old cases, diving into my new cases and taking care of dad’s portfolio too.”

  “Just take the flier. Login to the sign-up website and poke around. Maybe that will change your mind. Davidson and Cartwright are responsible for a decent percentage of our billable hours each year. Those two are going places and it’s in our best interest to keep them happy.”

  Gabriella heard the crunching of paper as California replied. “Yeah, well I don’t think they chose us for our social skills. I don’t imagine they give a shit one way or another if one of us is there. Send a junior partner.”

  “No can do. It was one of their stipulations. Only senior partners work on their deals. They take their privacy that seriously. Now that Reed is no longer single, you’re the only one left who can participate. I would, but my wife would divorce me.”

  The man’s laughter reached her ears. She didn’t think the asshole’s joke about divorce was that funny.

  “Fine, I’ll think about it, but I’m not promising anything.”

  The men’s conversation was over. She expected them to retreat to their own offices, so when she literally bumped into an athletic, tall man as she rounded the door to the office, she lost her grip on the brimming mug, sloshing hot coffee down the front of her blouse and his suit before crashing to the floor.

  “Fuck! What the hell are you doing in here?” he shouted, pulling his now brown and white fitted dress shirt away from his chest to stop the burn as Gabriella did the same. Reflexive action had her kneeling to the floor to pick up the biggest pieces of the now broken mug.

  “I’m here to see Charles Lambert, of course,” she responded as she reached up to her right to grab a stack of paper napkins from the credenza and start patting at the wet stain on the carpet.

  “You don’t have an appointment,” came his terse reply.

  How the hell would this guy know that? “Yes I do. I have a standing invitation to visit any time I’m in town.”

  She could see her efforts were wasted. The carpet was a goner. It would need a professional cleaning.

  She was reaching for a sharp shard of glass when the man above wrapped his hands around each of her upper arms, squeezing hard as he yanked her to her feet, manhandling her and sending the broken pieces of mug back to the carpet.

  “If it isn’t Gabby Castle.”

  Her blood boiled at the sound of the nickname she hated. She had threatened her friends and acquaintances with excommunication if they dared use the dreaded childhood name. To her knowledge, she’d succeed at eradicating its use with everyone.

  All except one person.

  Her heart almost thumped out of her chest as she focused on the coffee stain covering the chest in front of her. Manly, dark chest hair was now visible through the wet fabric.

  Could it be him?

  With dread, she raised her gaze until it locked on the smoky grey eyes of a man she hadn’t seen in almost eight years. Like a fine wine, he’d aged perfectly, which only pissed her off more.

  “Connor,” she gritted.

  “Gabby.” She could see humor dancing in the jerk’s eyes.

  She had more important questions than why he was using the name he knew full well she hated.

  “Where is Uncle Charles?”

  The humor left his eyes, leaving an unreadable glare. “I would have thought you’d have learned the definition of the word uncle by now in your extensive post-graduate education.”

  He had a way of making her hard work in achieving her Master’s degree in art history sound like an insult. She was so fucking sick of people dismissing her chosen field as if it, and her, were a joke.

  His fingers dug into her biceps, ensuring she wasn’t going anywhere until he allowed it.

  “Don’t be an ass. You know damn well Charles asked me to call him that when I was still a kid.”

  An angry cloud passed across Connor’s profile before he replaced it with his normal stern scowl.

  “Yes, I’m perfectly aware of my father’s soft spot where you’re concerned.”

  “Jealous much?” she taunted.

  She’d always got the vibe that as kids, she and Connor were in a contest for his father’s limited attention, but since they had successfully avoided being in the same place for eight y
ears, she’d have thought any residual antagonism might have been forgotten by now.

  He didn’t take her bait. Instead, he released his tight grip on her so quickly she fell back, uneven on her high-heeled fashion boots. Like a ninja pouncing, he snatched her just in time to keep her on her feet, but his pull was too strong, sending their coffee-soaked fronts into each other.

  His masculine aura surrounded her, waking up nooks and crannies of her psyche that had been hibernating.

  They’d never been friends. Their ten-year age difference had helped solidify that. But she had thought of him as a surrogate big-brother at one point in her life. She felt her face flush pink, remembering how she’d followed him around like a kid sister, worshipping his every word or deed. Memories, good and bad, flashed wordlessly between them in an almost cosmic reunion.

  But that was a long time ago.

  It was impossible to know what he was thinking. His scowl was back.

  “You can let me go. I’m steady now.” She was relieved that her voice came out stronger than the rest of her felt. One second later he had stepped away, releasing her, and she hated that she missed his body heat.

  He turned, stalking to the executive desk a few feet away. Only when he’d turned to face her again did he speak. “What do you want, Gabriella?” He questioned again, gratefully dropping her hated nickname.

  There was no way she wanted to talk about her idea with Connor. “I’ll wait for Charles. Will he be back this afternoon?”

  For the first time since his entrance, she saw sadness flicker across his face. It was as if he was stalling when he leaned his ass against the edge of the desk, slowly crossing his arms across his wet chest and crossing his legs at his ankles before answering her.

  “Dad is retiring. This is my office now.”

  Her stomach dropped as if she were on a carnival ride. “What? How? When did...?” She babbled until falling silent. The optimism she’d arrived with seeped out of her, pooling on the floor with the spilled coffee.

  She felt his intense glare. “He retired right after Mom was diagnosed with stage four ovarian cancer.”

  The statement was delivered with what sounded like a practiced indifference. Had she not known him for her entire life, she might have believed he was immune to grief. But she knew first-hand how close he was to his ill mother.

  “Aunt Shirley? Oh no! I hadn’t heard! Why didn’t someone call me?” Her heart rate spiked again, this time at the thought of losing the woman who had been the closest thing to a mother she’d ever had.

  He took a deep breath before answering coldly. “Maybe, because you aren’t really family, now, are you?”

  Tears pricked at her eyes. Unexpected emotions closed in on her, making her want nothing more than to run from the room. Sadness his mother was facing a deadly disease. Hurt that he was treating her like a stranger. No worse. More like an unwanted interloper.

  But then she remembered her goal and a low-burning rage started to burn. She had every right in the world to be there.

  “Screw you, Connor. I’m heartbroken your mother is ill. I wish her a speedy recovery. And of course Charles should be there with her. I just would have liked a heads up is all.”

  His smoky grey eyes grew darker just before he spoke quietly. “Then maybe you should talk to your own father about why he didn’t call you himself. As I understand it, Dad called Gordon the day they got the diagnosis right after Christmas.”

  Damn him. He didn’t fight fair. Connor Lambert knew her family secrets and apparently was willing to use them against her.

  The condemnation in his glare was too much to bear on top of the sad news about his mother. She looked away, trying her best to maintain her composure as a cocktail of emotions raged through her. She’d fought so hard to put her family’s negativity behind her, but unexpected feelings threatened to pull her back down.

  Several cleansing breaths helped her finally respond softly. “You know damn well I rarely speak to my father.”

  “I do know, however, I think it’s time you tell me why that is. Dad’s always given me the run around when I asked him why he had to always clean up your messes instead of your own father.”

  He’d hit a nerve. Gabrielle turned back to him to shout. “My messes? What the hell? I think I’ve turned out just fine considering I practically raised myself.”

  He looked like he was about to say something more, but thought better of it, closing his mouth to glare at her. When he spoke, his calm indifference was back.

  “All I’m trying to say is that Dad felt a loyalty to your father from their childhood friendship. He may have been willing to play clean-up man for you and your father, but I’m not going to step in and take over his babysitting duties.”

  “Babysitting? What the hell? I’m twenty-four fucking years old!” she screamed.

  As calm as ever, Connor moved into action towards the door. Only once they were behind closed doors did he turn and answer. “And yet you still insist on childish temper tantrums.”

  “Dammit, you know the score. Grandfather left my inheritance in a trust I can’t get my hands on for almost two more years.” She pulled herself up, forcing her voice to be less shrewish. “Do you think I enjoy coming here to have to beg to use my own money?”

  “You mean your family’s money.”

  “No, Connor. My money. He left it to me. I would have thought they’d have taught you about how inheritance works in law school.” She enjoyed turning his own insulting words back on him.”

  She thought she saw the slight turn up of his too-perfect lips before his next insult arrived. “Last time I checked, you were receiving a five-figure allowance from your father a month. You have multiple endorsement deals that have to be making you decent coin. Why on earth do you even need to tap into your inheritance?” She didn’t miss the fatherly disapproval in his question.

  “I don’t need to explain it to you,” she spat.

  “See, that’s where you’re wrong. As the present trustee of record for your grandfather’s will, I’m afraid you’ll need to petition me, not my father, to get your hands on a single penny of the almost sixty-five million in investments waiting in escrow for you to throw away when you turn twenty-six.”

  His words, and lack of faith in her, cut her deeper than she would ever admit. She willed herself to stay angry. Indignant fury was preferable to dejected sadness.

  “Fuck you, Connor. We haven’t seen each other in eight years. You don’t know the first thing about me.”

  “I know Dad had to work like hell to have your little DUI expunged a few years ago before the press caught wind of it. Or maybe we should talk about the little mishap you had with that sports car last year? I think that one ended up costing your father a pretty penny, although not nearly as much as your gallivanting drive through the Hamptons almost ten years ago. I don’t think you’ve been able to top that one yet, but you’re young. You still have time.” She hated the dangerous grin on his face as he finished. It made him simultaneously more handsome and yet more threatening.

  She had to hand it to him. He’d managed to throw every one of her most shameful transgressions in her face in the space of two minutes.

  “What do want from me? You want me to say I’ve made mistakes in my life? Well you bet I have, but show me one person in the world who hasn’t. The only difference between me and others is that my father’s rich and famous and for some unknown reason I’ve never been able to figure out, that makes me a target.”

  He snorted a laugh. “A target? That’s rich. His fame has done nothing but open doors for you, Gabriella.”

  “Maybe, but who the hell said I wanted those doors open.” Her anger was failing her, replaced with a familiar sadness that threatened to drown her. She felt tears falling just as her next words spilled from her mouth in a rant. “Did you ever think I would have traded it all in for a normal Christmas morning surrounded by family? Or to have a parent, instead of a nanny, watching my dance recitals as a kid?
Do you know I begged my father to come to my high school graduation, but he sent your parents in his place? They were wonderful to me, taking me out to dinner to celebrate, but they weren’t my father.”

  She’d half expected him to finally feel sorry for pushing her so hard so when he exploded back at her, she froze, unable to move as she listened to him ranting. “I’m so glad they at least got to be at your graduation. See, my dad had to miss my graduation from law school because he’d been called away to the Hamptons.” He paused, and with dread she somehow knew what was coming next. “He had to go bail a fourteen-year-old client out of jail instead.” He pinned her with an accusatory glare before finally shaking his head and turning to walk around his desk, pacing as she fell into a stunned silence.

  A long minute of silence stretched between them as each retreated into their own corner like the verbal sparring partners they’d been behaving like since his arrival.

  Sniffling from her crying, Gabriella picked up her large bag, looking for tissue, but none were to be found. Only when she put the bag down and started scanning the room for a box of tissues did Connor move into motion again, pulling a few from an unseen box behind his desk and stalking towards her.

  Ella held out her hand, anxious to blow her running nose. But Connor stepped into her personal space, placing the tissues against her nose and ordering, “Blow.”

  She did as he requested before even thinking. The second tissue he used to pat at the tear streaks against her cheeks. Ella chose to close her eyes. Darkness was preferable to having to see his reproachful glare back at her.

  His proximity affected her in ways she didn’t want to examine too carefully. This was Connor. A big-brother figure in her life, but it seemed her slit hadn’t gotten that memo. She felt an electric current racing through her that defied labeling.

  The tingle centered on her chin when he used a single finger to lift her face.

  “Open your eyes.” She kept them scrunched tight until he added a quiet, “Please.”