by Calista Fox
Simple enough for L.L.
And she breathed a little easier.
“So how was the weekend?” Jace asked, stealing her from her thoughts.
“Same ole, same ole,” she said, pushing aside the last vestiges of desire incited by the illustrious attorney she’d just met. “One crazy-wicked deadline and then long-distance-phone-chat-sister-drama for about, oh, four hours. Dinner at Fenore on Saturday. Have you been yet? I had to book seven weeks in advance, even after dropping our dear friend Meg’s name a half-dozen times.”
“I hate when new restaurants open in this city and we have to resort to groveling to get in during the first year.”
“Even having a connection to a culinary bigwig doesn’t mean jack these days.”
“Neither does a lofty bribe.”
“That’s because the hostesses are all saving their spare table or two in hopes George and Amal show up,” L.L. commented. “With Cindy Crawford and her husband in tow.”
“When my own namesake lands on deaf ears on this island…” Jace grunted. “That sucks royally. The Kensingtons helped put Madison Ave on the map, back in the day.”
“What is the world coming to?” she said with a tsk.
“No shit.”
They crossed the open reception area with its gorgeous deep teal, textured walls that had waist-high river-rock trim to complement the gleaming, pale hardwood floor. There was a gourmet coffee and juice station with a few high-top tables and stools scattered about, along with comfy sofas in the wifi lounge and a state-of-the-art gaming room. The cubicles were all contemporary and cozy, the entire atmosphere crafted to inspire creativity.
They entered L.L.’s office and she dropped her empty cup into the receptacle next to her desk. She asked, “How do you feel about courtside tickets for the Knicks game on Friday night? I have two freebies from a client that I need to unload.”
“Aha.” Jace greedily rubbed his hands together. “I was hoping you’d invite me.”
“I was planning on it, but something came up and so you can have both of them.”
“L.L., you’re the biggest Knicks fan along the Eastern Seaboard and you’re handing over courtside tickets?” He eyed her with obvious concern. “What gives?”
“Nothing,” she assured him. “Don’t worry about me. As it turns out, I have a date.”
His gaze narrowed as he regarded her even more seriously. “You rarely date. And certainly not on a night when the Knicks are playing.”
“Yeah, well. It’s not that that kind of date.”
Folding his arms over his wide chest, Jace asked in his overprotective tone, “What other kind is there?”
“Dinner at the Waldorf. Some fancy-schmancy shindig with—get this—Tague Mason.”
“Oh, Jesus,” Jace said on a heavy breath, shock flitting across his strong visage. “That goddamn feature in the Wall Street Journal hooked you? Are you fucking kidding me?”
“Calm down!” she said on a laugh as she unraveled her scarves, then draped them over the back of her chair. She untied her coat and pulled off her beanie, a mass of thick, dark-auburn curls tumbling along her shoulders and down her back. She removed her shades and set them on the desk. “Geez, pop a Xanax or something. You know me so much better than that.”
“L.L., I’ve met Tague Mason. Extremely intense and driven. Never looks like he’s having fun at a party. What’s a girl like you thinking of going on a date with a guy like him?”
She frowned. “He was incredibly charming this morning. In his broody sort of way.”
“He’s an elitist. As are all of his friends—and especially his parents. The height of society, in fact. Trust me, you don’t want to get caught up in his crowd. Or in Tague Mason.”
“Jace—”
“You’re very select about who you associate with, L.L. You like your personal acquaintances innocuous and sedate. Not overpowering and capable of chewing you up and spitting you out.”
“Jace!”
He stared at her, unwaveringly.
L.L. mulled this over as apprehension suddenly crept in on her.
She’d felt perfectly comfortable doing this favor for Chip.
Then she’d laid eyes on Tague Mason.
The man, the myth, the legend.
From head to toe, he was a work of art. There was no mistaking it, regardless of the designer suit covering him up. He was also radiant with confidence. Darkly handsome.
No.
Devilishly handsome.
And also quite commanding not just in physical presence, but in his very essence.
So she heard Jace’s warning loud and clear.
Yet…she really didn’t have to worry about all that, she convinced herself.
It’s just a company dinner.
And she’d only be pretending she was his latest conquest.
Right. No romantic entanglements there.
So why was her breath scarce again? And, Christ, Tague wasn’t even in the same room with her!
L.L. shook her head.
Get a grip.
“Really,” she said, hating that her voice was but a wisp of air, contradicting her own conviction. “This is no big deal. It’s just a firm event. Tons of stuffy litigators and their potentially boring wives. I’m just going for the champagne.”
Well, for that—and because two seconds into the coffee-shop meet-up, she’d instantly burned to see Tague in a tux.
Bad. Bad. Bad!
Especially since the man was such an enigmatic force. His penetrating gaze alone had hypnotized her. And had left her knees knocking together.
Okay, yeah. There’s some danger here.
“Does he even know what you do for a living? Really?” Jace reeled her in with the cryptic change of topic.
She gnawed her lip a moment, then confessed, “I left it vague.”
His brow jerked upward. “How so?”
5
“I told him I’m a graphic designer. Which—” she flashed a hopeful smile— “isn’t entirely off the mark. Right?”
Her designs were, after all, graphic.
L.L. created customized adult toys for a discriminating clientele. All artistically designed and elegantly packaged to fit individual preferences and personalities. Also all sporting a costly price tag for her time, expertise and innovation.
Someday, she’d expand her operation to mass production—the reason she’d hired Chip to get the process rolling for patents. For the moment, however, she kept her business manageable. And discreet.
“Tague doesn’t need to know the specifics of what I do,” she asserted.
“Trust me when I say, his very delicate mother would faint dead away were she to find out.”
“She’s not going to find out. And, come on! This is a pseudo-date, remember?”
“We’re talking about Tague Mason here. A take-no-prisoners sort. If you’re going to a corporate party with him, it’s a full-on date, L.L. Including the kiss at the end of the night. And you can be damn sure there’ll be tongue.”
And she was damn sure that kiss would sear her to the core.
Her pulse jumped.
A few seconds passed while she recovered from the visual of Tague kissing her until she couldn’t recall her own name, and fought off the hint of oh, shit now roaring through her veins.
Yet she still contended—albeit in a slightly panicked voice—“Tague is the last man on the planet I’d actually date-date. You know, like really date. There’s an intimidation factor to consider with him. And it has nothing to do with his money and last name. I know plenty of affluent movers and shakers.”
“That intimidation factor is precisely why you should think twice about this. I understand you’re no pushover, L.L. For God’s sake, I’ve heard you take on the courier service when they claim they won’t refund your money after they’ve botched a simple cross-town delivery. Even my asshole hurts after listening to the blistering lectures. But Tague’s a whole ‘nother ball of wax, sunshine.”
Right?
“I don’t know his specific moves, L.L. But chances are very good that, by the end of the evening, he’ll have you backed into some dark corner, making you forget all your ‘I don’t casually date or randomly have sex’ principles.”
“You have such little faith in me,” she feebly quipped, her voice cracking.
“I’m just pointing out the fact that, unless you’re extremely careful, you might not get away scot-free.”
Her anxiety mounted. L.L. crossed her small office to the window and stared down Sixth Avenue, toward the building she knew housed Mason, Hoffman & Stein. Tague likely had an opulent corner office on the top floor. He probably had three secretaries, two paralegals and a personal bathroom attendant.
The man had been born with a silver spoon in his mouth. No doubt one from Tiffany’s that was authoritatively engraved with his given name—and more gracefully inscribed with some adorable family moniker.
She, by contrast, did not come from money. Though she’d spent ample time with jet-setters. Jace and their mutual friend, Meg Saunders. Chip McAllister. Yet she was only platonic pals with both men, occasionally hitting the town together, but mostly attending sporting events.
Which reminded her…
She returned to her desk, pulled an envelope from the drawer and handed it over, needing to get her mind off Tague and Friday night. “Take a client you’re currently schmoozing or someone other than Shayla Tomlin who will actually appreciate the invite, not just sit there and sulk because you didn’t take her to An American in Paris on Broadway or Fenore or some other event or venue her chic friends are all raving about.”
“Hey, I’m willing to up the ante with the hostess at Fenore if she’ll get us in before the game,” he said. “Shayla will go nuts over the restaurant. Maybe I’ll finally get laid—and get to watch basketball. All in the same night, no less.” He looked sufficiently pleased. “Balance would be restored to my universe. Your universe, however, is pretty much screwed.”
She scowled. “Please stop saying that.”
“Just stating the obvious. You fear anyone turning your world upside down, L.L. Tague Mason is just the man to do it.”
Tague slipped into the conference room in the middle of a wrap-up of current firm events and the beginning of a brief on an intellectual property theft case in Germany that he was now consulting on. He crossed to the credenza in the back, loaded up a bagel with cream cheese and lox, poured orange juice and settled in his seat at the table.
He was already up to speed on the case, but tried to listen intently and keep thoughts of L.L. from his mind. It’d taken the entire walk to his office in the frosty air to get his raging hormones under control and lose the hard-on. Focus, instead, on his grandiose plans—and the obstacles he just might encounter upon his return.
Following the meeting, Chip traveled the corridors with him to Tague’s office.
“So, how’d things go at the coffee shop?” he eagerly asked as Tague closed the door behind them.
“Interesting.”
Chip scowled. “Interesting? That’s all you have to say? She’s quirky and spunky—I thought you’d get a kick out of her, seeing as how she’s the antithesis of the sort of woman your parents would prefer you date.”
“Which amuses me that you chose to introduce me to L.L. What about the image I’m supposedly in need of cultivating?”
“I talk a good game,” he confessed. “In the long run, though… I’m on your side, bro.”
“I appreciate that,” Tague told his friend. “And, as it happens… I am taking L.L. to the dinner. Thanks for your part in this. Now, let it drop. I have work to do.”
“About that…” Chip shoved his hands into the front pockets of his suit pants and said, “I realize it’s none of my business, but since you’re both friends of mine, I’m just wondering if you mentioned your return to Tokyo to her.”
“Why would I need to divulge those plans?”
“Well, if the two you really hit it off at the company party, then—”
6
“Then it doesn’t change a damn thing. This is one night, Chip. She’s already claimed to have her hands full with her career. We’re certainly of like minds in that respect.”
“She told you about her business?”
“Yes. Now… Anything else?”
Chip’s gaze narrowed on him. “Didn’t faze you at all?”
“What?”
“Her job.”
“Why would it?”
Chip shrugged. “Granted, you’ve always been the black sheep of your family. But considering this bold move you’re trying to make at the firm, I just thought her career choice might give you pause. That was the only reason I almost didn’t introduce you two. Well, aside from your whole Japanese relocation strategy, of course.”
“I see why every woman you meet confides in you, Chip,” he sincerely said. “You have everyone’s best interest at heart. Rest assured, L.L. and I are totally on the up-and-up with each other—and there’s no need to delve into what our future endeavors might be. It’s just a dinner.”
“Sure, sure. I mean…maybe.” With a coy grin, Chip added, “You have to admit, there’s something about her. I couldn’t resist setting the two of you up.”
“I very much enjoyed meeting her. But I really don’t have time to discuss this further. I’ve got that presentation to make.” Tague gathered his notes and left the office, heading toward another conference room. Despite what he’d told Chip, thoughts of L.L. lingered no matter how hard he attempted to concentrate solely on what needed to be done to pull of his coup.
There was a certain mystique about the woman that silently affirmed Friday’s dinner party would be infinitely more entertaining with her on his arm.
But, again… Neither here nor there at present.
Mentally regrouping, he delivered his update on the Tokyo strategy to the senior partners. Tague got the nod of approval from everyone around the table, with the exception of his father.
“I’m not certain Japan is where our focus should be,” Harper mused as he tapped the end of his Mont Blanc pen against the old-fashioned leather blotter before him.
Tague said, “You love being able to tell clients we have global branches.” They’d already opened an annex in London.
“Perhaps what concerns me most,” his father said, “is whether we can afford to lose you from the New York office.”
Tague tamped down a surge of agitation that his father was being so obstinate. And for what reason? He didn’t want his son striking out on his own?
Tague said, “You were impressed by the revenue brought in by my last case.”
“They won’t all be that large,” Harper countered.
“I don’t intend to piecemeal a portfolio with small businesses. I’m going after international corporations that need outside representation for third-party objectivity, specialized expertise or the fact that their internal general counsel or legal departments aren’t robust enough to fight class-action lawsuits, execute billion-dollar contracts and proposals and the like while handling daily operational legalities. I assure you, you’ll be pleased with the results.”
He made eye contact with all of the men gathered, knowing his expression conveyed the conviction in his words.
Martin Stein said, “I contend that it’s an intelligent and advantageous move.”
The others concurred.
Harper was the majority owner, however, and they needed his buy-in. Tague fought the irritation mounting within him because his father dragged his feet. Several tense moments passed. Then Harper shoved his chair back at the head of the table, reached for the cane that was always by his side and stood.
He said, “You’ll have my answer on Monday.”
This rubbed Tague raw. What was his father up to?
Harper left the conference room. Tague asked Martin, “Som
ething going on that I should know about?”
“Your guess is as good as mine. Harper is always thinking three steps down the line. I’m not sure what his objection is to your proposal, but it wouldn’t hurt to continue showing him the return on investment will be well worth the upfront effort and expenditures.” The older gentleman patted Tague on the back. “Keep up the good work.”
They all dispersed and Tague went about his business.
Though the irritation simmered in the back of his mind.
“We’re hitting a rave with the cool kids on a school night?” Tague asked the following evening. “How you’ve dissented since I’ve been gone, Chip.”
“Still hanging onto that all work and no play branch.” He tsked. “But only by your fingertips by the time I’m done with you,” Chip joked.
“You know why it’s imperative I have tunnel vision at the moment.”
“Broaden your scope—because you’re going to like what you see here.”
Resisting the urge to pinch the corners of his eyes with his finger and thumb, because Tague suffered a touch of jetlag—and, apparently, a lapse in judgment—he said in a dry tone, “You may think I need a more active social life, but haut-monde clubbing while I’m getting stonewalled at the office—by my own father, no less—is a bit extreme.”
So why had he agreed to swing by Chip’s place and pick him up at eleven o’clock, after his friend had called?
Tague’s driver had delivered them five minutes earlier to a curb adjacent to Central Park where there were lengthy lines contained within golden-velvet ropes outside a hot-spot called Deep Blue.
“Just…wait’ll we’re inside,” Chip told him.
Tague wondered if he was about to land in a scene from The Matrix, where someone offered him a wild-ride red pill.
Were that someone L.L. Branson...he just might take it.
But, damn, he didn’t need to get caught up in thoughts of her. Tague had plans to launch and a new career trajectory that had the potential to make him one of the most revered corporate attorneys in the world. To hell with his father’s hedging.