by Gephart, T
“Well, considering moving the timeline was your theory, it was your own ass you were saving.” Not that I would have allowed us to fail. Of course I wouldn’t have. And he knew that, which was why he had boldly made claims. “And you don’t get a thanks for doing your job, Roman. It’s called a paycheck.” I took another sip, the warmness of the liquor spreading through my body as I relaxed into my chair.
“I believe it was both our asses I saved.” He tipped his head to me. “Unless I misheard when Daniel told you to be my back up.”
“You can just leave my ass out of it.”
I didn’t want him talking or even thinking about my ass. Or any part of me, which I realized was hypocritical since I had—in the past—thought about his ass. Not that he knew that. And that would be changing. Any thoughts about him and his body from here on out would not be entertained.
He didn’t respond, instead choosing to look at me silently, which was worse. I hated that I never seemed to know what he was thinking, but he’d always managed to know my thoughts.
“Stop acting creepy.” I rolled my eyes when he didn’t respond. “And that pizza you ordered better not have been pepperoni.” My attempt to try to turn the conversation to something more neutral wasn’t great, but I was off my game tonight.
“Half pepperoni, half cheese.” He didn’t shift his gaze. “I’m not sure what your problem is with pepperoni, but it’s unnatural.”
“Your processed meat is unnatural and will probably be the reason you keel over from a heart attack before you’re forty.” I couldn’t help but grin. Not that I wanted him to die, I wasn’t a monster. But the idea that even Roman would have to deal with middle age like the rest of us was reassuring, and his diet wouldn’t continue to be so forgiving.
“Wow, you almost sounded concerned.” He swallowed what was left in his glass before letting out a throaty laugh. “The grin gave you away though, you might want to work on that for court.”
“Yeah, you’re right.” I shook my head wondering if he’d taken classes to become such a conceited ass. “No need to be concerned at all, you have no heart.”
“In that, you would be correct.” He didn’t even try and deny it, almost enjoying the sentiment. “It might serve you well to lose yours also.”
Never. I could be ambitious and smart, and still be compassionate. It didn’t have to be a choice.
It was something my father had warned me about when I had chosen law. He didn’t have a college education, and was still working as a delivery driver, but he and my mom were happy. And wanted me to be the same. Keep your heart, Lauren. Don’t let them turn you into stone, he’d said and I promised him I would. But I hadn’t had nearly enough scotch to have that conversation with Roman, and I’d never tell him something about me he would see as a weakness.
“Yo.” Charlie the security guard knocked on the door with pizza boxes in hand. “You order two pizzas?”
“Sure did.” Roman pushed away from the table and walked to where Charlie was standing at the door. He opened the lid of the first, inspecting the pizza before taking the box. “Other one is for you. Figured you and the boys might be hungry.”
“Gee, thanks Roman.” Charlie smiled, believing the pizza was an act of kindness. “You’re awesome. Anything I can do for you, let me know.”
And there it was, the ulterior motive I knew existed.
“Will do.” Roman nodded as he walked back to the table.
Meanwhile, Charlie scurried off with his unexpected bounty and a debt to Roman Pierce that came at a cost of a large pepperoni. I assumed it was pepperoni as I’m sure he wanted to share his future coronary with the masses.
“What?” He eyed me suspiciously as he lowered the box to the table.
“You’re always working something, aren’t you?” I flipped open the lid and took a slice.
“I have no idea what you are talking about.” He shook his head, helping himself to the pizza.
Whether he admitted it or not, I was well aware of his MO. There was nothing random about him. He was cool and calculated, and was slowly building a cache of favors owed. Ones he would cash in when he needed them. I had yet to be included into his servitude of gratitude, and I wasn’t sure if I should be thankful or offended.
“Sure, sure. Nothing going on here.” I rolled my eyes wondering if he thought I was stupid or blind. “Let’s wrap up the rest of these details. I want to get home sometime tonight.”
“Good.” He didn’t press, taking a bite from the heart attack covered crust as he retook his seat. “Let’s go over this timeline again.”
IT WAS LATE BY THE time I got back to the apartment my sister and I shared. She was an ER nurse and worked erratic shifts and I . . . well, I had my own crazy hours too.
“Hey Lo, have you eaten?” Morgan yawned from underneath the comforter on the couch. “There’s some meatloaf in the fridge if you’re hungry.”
“Thanks, but I ate at the office.” I kicked off my shoes like I had been dying to do hours ago and joined her under the comforter. “How do you work an entire shift and still manage to cook dinner? You’re making me feel inadequate.”
“Cooking is a stress reliever. The food doesn’t demand anything and if I screw up, nobody dies.” She grinned, the political drama on the television ignored as she turned her attention to me. “How was work?”
“Ugh, don’t ask,” I groaned not wanting to talk about Roman or the hours I’d spent imagining his perfect face under the heels I’d refused to take off.
“You know, if you ever decide to kill him, at least you can be your own defense. Will save me the effort of trying to drum up the legal fees.” Morgan grinned knowing better than anyone how much I hated him.
“Trust me, it’s nothing I haven’t already thought of myself.” I chuckled, grabbing the remote and notching up the volume.
At thirty-one, Morgan was three years older than me and breathtakingly beautiful. She had dark auburn curls that floated just above her shoulders and deep emerald green eyes that shone with sincerity. And she was tall. Not inappropriately gigantic, but a graceful five-foot-seven. She looked exactly like our mother. They even shared the same temperament, both kind and patient, with a drive to help people.
Mom worked at the same non-profit organization she had since she left college. They helped find jobs for the homeless and the marginalized. And thirty-five years ago, my dad brought in a buddy of his who had fallen on some hard times. The way he tells the story, the minute he saw my mom he was knocked off his feet and asked her to marry him that day. Of course, she said no, but agreed to a date. And then finally after four years of proposing, she finally said yes. So, with two kindhearted and loving parents, it was no surprise their first-born was basically a saint. I on the other hand, was not.
While I’d inherited our dad’s thick, straight hair, dark brown eyes and darker complexion, that was where our similarities ended. He edged closer to six-two, rarely rose his voice, and I could count on one hand the amount of times he’d lost his temper. And had we not shared the hair/skin/eye color combo, I would have sworn I was adopted. But I wasn’t, I was just different.
It’s not that I didn’t want to help people, or make a difference, because I did. But I wanted to make money too. I wanted the power, the prestige, the respect, and the success. I also wanted the chase, the thrill of the kill, and I didn’t feel guilty about it. The law allowed me to do that, especially working somewhere like Moss, Byrne & Carter. And if I played my cards right, I would become a named partner or go out on my own. I just hadn’t decided which yet.
“Hey, when are you going out with that guy you met online?” Morgan asked breaking the comfortable silence we shared as we watched mindless television. “Garry?”
“Gavin,” I corrected her, amazed that with everything she had on her mind, she’d remembered. I told you she was a saint. “And it was supposed to be tonight, but I stood him up.”
“Lauren.” Her ability to show disappointment in a single wo
rd—usually my name—unparalleled.
“It wasn’t intentional, I swear.” My hands rose in defense. “We have a tough case at work and I lost track of time. It was probably for the best anyway, I’m sure he had unrealistic expectations of us spending time together and going on weekend getaways or something.”
“Lo, that’s what usually happens in relationships.” She laughed. “Spending time together, some people even like it so much they move into the same apartment.” She gasped in mock horror.
“Well, lucky for you we dodged that bullet.” My shoulder nudged hers playfully. “Who is going to sit on the couch and eat all your wonderful cooking if I leave? Nope, I wouldn’t do that to you.”
“Did you ever think that maybe I haven’t found Mr. Right because I am too worried about leaving you?” She shoved me back, her grin widening.
“Sure,” I mused, knowing Morgan’s lack of relationship was because she had even less free time than I did. “You going to have a happily ever after with yesterday’s gunshot wound or maybe it was last week’s builder who stupidly shot a nail right through his hand? Not sure how you would choose though, so many possibilities for everlasting love.” I batted my eyes at her, my hands clasped tight under my chin.
“Yeah, yeah, wiseass. Let’s agree we both suck at dating. But I, unlike someone,” her pointed look unnecessary, “at least call when I can’t make it.”
“You are also nicer than me,” I scoffed. “And I did call, it was just late.”
She sighed. “Poor Garry.”
“Gavin.”
“Him too.” A giggle escaped her lips as she shuffled out from under the comforter. “I’m going to bed. I have two more day shifts before I switch to nights. I want to enjoy a regular sleep pattern while the going’s good.”
“I’ll be heading to bed soon too.” The fatigue creeping up on me the longer I sat. “It’s been a long day and tomorrow is probably going to be just as long.”
“Lo, if you ever need to talk, you know I’m here for you, right?” She hesitated, her hip resting against the doorframe.
“I know, and the same goes for you too.” I smiled, knowing that while I wasn’t as nurturing as the rest of my family, I loved them just as fiercely.
She nodded, her wordless acknowledgement enough as she moved down the hall to her bedroom and shut the door.
And if I had any sense at all I wouldn’t wait and do the same. Except that I didn’t. Instead, I let the thoughts of the day roll around in my head as my eyelids started to droop. Like always, my last thought of the day was always the same.
Roman Pierce.
And how I was going to annihilate him.
NOT THAT I WAS WILLING to admit it last night, but Roman’s find on the investment property was good. It wasn’t a smoking gun by any means, but if what he said was true and she did spend time “away” from the family home, it would definitely give us a better position.
Both Roman and I had been at the office since eight. He was going over a series of questions he’d compiled, while I was doing research into Mr. Cane’s lawyers.
Lehman, Atkins and Lowe were vermin. Career divorce attorneys with a tendency to drag out cases to increase billing hours. And they did not like to settle. If Jana gave them an easy out, they would become suspicious and argue the generous settlement purely to prove a point. I had never gone up against them, but their reputation was clear. Maybe Roman’s idea for changing the timeline hadn’t been so brilliant after all.
“What date would you say your marriage was over?” Roman sat across from Jana Cane as he asked his first question.
Daniel was seated at the head of the table while I sat beside Roman with my own set of questions.
“It was New Year’s Eve, two years ago.” Her voice didn’t waver. She was dressed in a navy pantsuit with her blond hair pulled back into a tight bun. Nothing about her suggested how much money she was worth, but the way she held herself radiated power. “I had suggested we try couples counseling, but Sawyer didn’t want to. Said there was nothing wrong with him and if I was unhappy then I needed to work on it myself.”
“And did you see a professional—a counselor or a psychologist?” Roman asked, scribbling his notes as he waited for her to speak.
“Yes, I did.” Jana didn’t hesitate, keeping her voice unemotional. “But I realized the issues that needed fixing were a two-person deal and there was only one of us in therapy. Which is why I decided that I wanted out.”
“And did you communicate your desire to end the marriage to Mr. Cane?” His brow rose, the pen in his hand still.
“Yes, I did. I told him I wanted a divorce. He said fine and continued to play on his video game. I asked him to move out repeatedly, but he refused.”
While Roman continued his line of questioning—how many times were the requests made, were there any witnesses, were there any instances in writing—I couldn’t help but wonder. What if, instead of trying the easy way out and hand her ex-husband a whole bunch of money he didn’t deserve, if we shut him and his defense down instead.
“Stop.” It came out of my mouth before I had a chance to rethink it.
“Excuse me?” Roman turned, his voice just as sharp as his look.
“Look, Ms. Cane, I know you want this done quickly and painlessly.” I didn’t bother addressing Roman or Daniel who were both looking at me like I’d spontaneously caught fire. “But you can’t do this. You said it yourself, he wasn’t interested in saving the marriage. He wasn’t interested in you or your company. What he was interested in was your income. He doesn’t get the house, he gets a settlement and minimal spousal support, and we can argue down his percentage of future income on past products, but he gets nothing on new developments.” The words came rushing out, unable to be stopped once I’d started.
“Ms. Harper, I’d like a moment with you outside if I could.” Roman’s lips were thinned into a tight smile, but there was nothing warm about it. He was beyond pissed, and he was going to tell me about it too.
“Sure. Please excuse us.” I nodded to Jana who, by some miracle, didn’t flinch. If she was concerned by the power play, she didn’t show it.
Roman quietly pushed back from the table, waiting for me to stand before following me out. His smile didn’t falter, and neither did his stride as we walked down the hall to where our offices were.
He didn’t speak, probably assuming we’d go into his considering he’d asked for the private conversation. But I preferred mine, so screw him.
“What the fuck are you doing?” I’d barely gotten the door closed when the words came out of his mouth. “We discussed the strategy last night, we’re doing this my way. I am taking the lead, you don’t fucking change the game now.”
“Oh, that’s very mature, Roman. You going to take your ball and go home?” My hands anchored on my hips as I stood my ground. “He wants her money, clearly that’s all he cares about. You think for one second that when he or his lawyers find out about the patent they are just going to roll over because you said they split up earlier?”
“It’s not about what I fucking said, it’s about what he is legally entitled to. Which won’t be any part of the patent and that is what our client wants.”
Usually when I challenged him, he laughed it off and then went about proving me wrong. He didn’t show emotion, like his feelings were in a vacuum. But as he stood before me, his muscles coiled, that mask he seemed to have tied down had lifted at the edges.
“She’s hurt and wants it over, her judgment is clouded, even Daniel thinks so. I’m telling you settling is the wrong move,” I tried to reason, knowing that if he could just see it my way he would agree. “We need to be aggressive, that’s why she came here in the first place.”
He moved closer, watching to see if I took a step back as his large frame loomed above me. “Funny how you didn’t mention any of this yesterday, or last night. Instead, you preferred to undermine me in front of the client today.”
And there it was.
Because God forbid anyone see that Roman fucking Pierce wasn’t the best, even if he was wrong.
“Because we hadn’t interviewed her last night.” I refused to budge, holding my ground as I continued. “Today, when you were asking questions and hearing her answers, it changed things. We cannot settle and this isn’t personal.”
He let out a laugh, completely devoid of humor, as he looked me in the eyes. “You think I’m taking this personally? Please, you’re the one throwing away a case. We were asked to negotiate, to get it done quickly and quietly. Not wage a fucking war.” His voice dropped, his eyes boring into mine. “Is that what you want, Harper? A war?”
I’m not sure if he was talking about Jana or us, and in both instances, I wasn’t going to let it go.
“If that’s what it takes.”
We were so close, our eyes locked in a stare down that neither of us was ready to drop as heat traveled up my spine and radiated across my chest. I didn’t know if I was hot from anger or if some sick part of me was turned on by all of it.
By him.
And this.
There was an intensity that seemed to exist, especially when the two of us argued, and in that moment I wasn’t sure if I was supposed to kiss him or punch him in the balls. Maybe both. And I couldn’t tell you which would have given me the most satisfaction.
This was not good.
Not. Good.
A slight grin edged at his lips, his eyes darkening as his mood seemed to shift from pissed off to intrigued. Like he couldn’t quite believe I had it in me. Or, he had been reading my mind and was preparing for a possible strike to the groin.
“Okay then, we’ll do it your way.” He took a step back, surprising me with his compliance.
“Really?” I didn’t have time to hide my surprise, the word squeaking out of me.
I’ll admit, apart from being shocked he’d agreed, I was a little disappointed. The idea of getting down and dirty with him was kind of hot. Down and dirty in the legal sense, of course. There was no way he’d be into the other stuff. I wasn’t even sure he found me attractive. And why in the hell I even cared about that when we had a client waiting for us in a boardroom was beyond me.