by Cass Kincaid
The morning comes far too fast, and even now, strolling into work this morning with a hint of darkness under my eyes and a massive need for caffeine to help me survive this day, I’m grinning faintly to myself as I remember some of the comical things Mr. Blue Eyes, as I’d taken to calling him over the course of the evening, had come up with in his responses. He knew the value of a good sarcastic remark, and he paid attention to details throughout our conversation.
Not once did he suggest anything more than the easy back-and-forth banter we’d begun, and I relished in that. He’d been coerced into joining the site, too, and if last night’s conversation with him was any indication, he wasn’t looking to jump into something quickly. He also didn’t seem to be seeking out this weekend’s one-night stand, so that was saying something, too.
“So why didn’t you seek him out, Cori?” Jenn asks, following me to my desk as I unload my armful of belongings onto it. Two travel mugs of coffee, my purse, and my lunch bag with leftovers from last night’s dinner are enough to make it look like I bring luggage into work every day. “Lord knows you need a good sexy night with a man.”
I eye her warily. “I’m going to take that in jest,” I tell her, “And not as though you’ve just insinuated I need to sleep with someone in order to calm my nerves.”
“Who the hell said anything about sleeping?” She’s waggling her eyebrows, enjoying every minute of this. “You need to let loose and have a little fun. Enough of this self-imposed dry spell and misery you’ve decided you somehow deserve.”
“I am not in a dry spell,” I inform her, pushing my chair away from the desk and taking a seat. “I’m just not interested in jerks, or jocks, or—”
“Men in general,” she interjects, rolling her eyes. “You forget, Cori, I saw the way you drooled over our newest client yesterday. He might be an unwanted blast from the past, but at least his presence confirms your fun-loving side is still in there somewhere.” She pushes away from the corner of the desk, giving me a wink. “Not to mention, sexy assholes you never want to see again make great one-night stands. All that hatred and anger, all that raw passion—”
“You are delusional.” I cut her off, because if she keeps going I’ll never get her away from my desk so I can get to work. “Brody Marsh isn’t even on my radar when it comes to taking someone to bed, Jenn.”
“Fine.” She holds up her hands in surrender. “Take him to the backseat of your car, your dining room table if you have to. I’m sure he’s not picky about location.”
“Jenn! Jesus, have you no shame?”
“I’m just using my imagination,” she laughs. “You should, too. You might like it.”
What Jenn doesn’t realize is that I’ve been letting my imagination run wild since last night, wondering what the mysterious man behind the crystal blue eye image is really like, what he looks like, if he’s as funny and charming in real life as I find him online. And the scariest part is that I have liked it. A lot.
***
There’s no way for me to be fully prepared for my meeting with Brody Marsh. Not just because Mr. Barrett left me very little information to go on when it comes to the particulars of Brody’s case, with no notes from his meetup with him yesterday, but also because I have no idea what stance he’s going to take when he walks through that door.
Is he going to be a totally obnoxious prick and not take any of this seriously? If that’s the case, it’ll take me about two minutes to lose my shit and tell him he’ll be better off waiting until my boss is available to meet with him himself.
Or, is Brody going to want to discuss the things I’d rather keep buried away behind a wall of bitterness and betrayal? If he thinks we’re going to become friends because of this meeting, he’s also got another thing coming.
I don’t want to meet with Brody Marsh, but my career dictates that I must. Therefore, it’ll either be a business-only meeting, or no meeting at all. My walls of self-preservation are built high when it comes to anyone with the last name Marsh.
At least, that’s what I tell myself until the moment he walks through the door.
“Thanks for meeting with me, Corinne.” His smile is genuine and his hand shake firm.
He’s here to tend to business, too. Thank God.
I lead him into one of the meeting rooms down the hall from Mr. Barrett’s office, offering to make him a cup of coffee as I go.
“Still polite as ever, even though you hate my guts,” he says evenly. “I appreciate that.”
I turn just outside the meeting room door, my cheeks flushed. “I don’t hate anyone that I don’t have a reason to.”
“And do you have a reason to hate me?” he asks, one eyebrow arched high as he walks past me into the room.
“The jury is still out,” I remark. “Let me get you that coffee.” I shut the door, leaving him in the meeting room alone while I head back down the hall. I need a moment. I didn’t expect him to call me out like that, with no cockiness and no pretenses, just what he believes to be the truth.
Do I hate Brody? No. That doesn’t mean I have any intention of being buddy-buddy with the guy while we slog through these legal documents together. But it does bother me more than I thought it would that he immediately thought I hated him. No one deserves that, not even the older brother of the man who shattered my heart.
And I have to remind myself of that. Brody isn’t Jackson. He didn’t hurt me. But that doesn’t make it any easier to sit across the table from him and discuss things that include his brother who did.
Which is why I won’t, I remind myself, setting up a tray with coffee, sugar, and cream. This is my job, and I’m damn good at it. It’s one meeting. We’ll keep it professional.
I head back down the hallway with a rigid spine and a renewed resolve. I’ve got this. “Now,” I state, closing the door behind me, “We’ve got a lot to get through, Brody. Let’s not waste time.”
“You’re the boss.” He reaches for one of the coffee mugs and a packet of sugar. “Again, thanks for meeting with me. I know I was a little arrogant yesterday when you pretended like you didn’t know me. It was—”
“I don’t know you,” I snap more forcefully than I mean to. “Our paths barely crossed back then, Brody. Let’s leave it that way.”
His pale blue eyes lock with mine for a long moment, and he seems to be weighing out his retort. Finally, he nods, lowering his focus to the coffee in front of him. “Your call, Corinne.”
“Good.” But it doesn’t feel good at all. I’m being a total bitch to him, purely to protect myself from something that happened two years ago. Something that I can’t protect myself from at all, because it already happened. I shake my head as though to shuffle the thought away, clearing my throat as I reach for the files I’d brought in with me. “Mr. Barrett would like more detail regarding your case. Are you willing to put together a written affidavit and sign it as to your side of the events that have transpired?”
“I already told him the story,” Brody states, his gaze roaming over the file in front of me. “And I signed it, too.”
“Really?” I flip through the few pieces of paper I have in front of me, but only the written agreement for Mr. Barrett to take on Brody’s case and a copy of the receipt and guidelines of confidentiality are there. “I don’t have a copy of that.”
“He slipped it into a blue file folder, not a red one like that.”
I raise my gaze to meet his, surprised, but he just shrugs, offering me a weak grin. “I have an eye for details, what can I say?”
I’m a bit perturbed, but I decide that Brody must be mistaken. He can’t have already signed an affidavit. Mr. Barrett wouldn’t leave me without it if he did. “Give me a second, okay? I’m just going to check my boss’s office.”
He nods, but the moment I get up and head out of the room again, I know what I’m going to find.
Mr. Barrett’s office is locked. His blinds are up, however, and I see no blue folder on his desk. I advise Brody of this, and he
just shrugs.
“So, I guess we’ll start from scratch,” he replies nonchalantly. “No use wasting time, right?” The amused, crooked grin that follows has heat creeping into my cheeks again.
Not only do I not like having my own words tossed back at me, but I’m pretty sure he’s just realized that I didn’t want to have to hear his own personal story if I didn’t have to. I was inwardly praying the folder was there on Mr. Barrett’s desk, allowing me to send Brody home without anything further. “Are you sure what you signed yesterday was a written statement, though?”
“Honestly, not really.” He chuckles mildly. “I was nervous enough yesterday about having to even come here that I’d have signed anything just to get it over with.”
“We’re not that bad around here, are we?” I surprise myself by joking with him, and the smile he responds with is enough to remind me that we’re not here to chitchat.
It’s too late, though. He’s heard the humor in my voice, and he’s seen the break in my resolve. Brody leans forward, grinning. “Just the pretty brunette assistant. She’s kind of stuck up.”
I bristle at his remark, pursing my lips. “You haven’t seen anything yet,” I advise him as evenly as possible, but once again the sarcasm in my words shines through. Damn it.
Brody leans back, watching me carefully with a smug expression of satisfaction. “Maybe not yet, Corinne, but I think I’m looking forward to it.”
Chapter Four
Brody
She might be right, perhaps I have no idea what I signed yesterday with Mr. Barrett.
But I’m right, too. I am looking forward to this. As much as these legal proceedings are going to suck, the preparations with Corinne are going to be the highlight, other than the fact that a judge will end up awarding me sole custody of my son.
She might be my brother’s ex, but she’s got a fun, sarcastic streak in her that’s just begging to shine through. She’s holding out on me, though. She says she doesn’t hate me, but Corinne sure as hell doesn’t trust me, either. And I’ve got Jackson and his cheating bullshit to thank for that.
“What do you need to know?” She’s finally got the computer booted up, ready to type whatever I say. According to her, after this she will have me sign the paper and put together all other documents needed to schedule a court hearing and file the appropriate paperwork.
“Everything,” she admits. “If you think it’s important, tell me. I’ll ask more questions if there is anything I need further clarification on.”
“Wow.” I breathe out slowly as I dig around in my briefcase. “Never thought I’d be sitting here doing this.”
“Talking to your brother’s ex-girlfriend about personal matters?”
I smirk as I glance up at her. She made a reference to Jackson, finally. “Yes, I suppose that counts, too. But I was referring to sitting here, being the guy that’s going after sole custody of my son.”
The surprise on her face would be amusing if the subject wasn’t so serious. “You’re filing for custody of...your son?”
“Mr. Barrett didn’t give you anything to go on, did he?” I say wryly. I unfold the paper in my hands and slide it across the table.
“I didn’t know this was a marital issue—”
“It isn’t,” I correct her quickly. “We aren’t married. Never were. And you’ll see from that handwritten letter that my ex has signed her own little affidavit admitting she desires no further rights to my little man. This should be pretty cut and dry.”
She stares down at the letter in her hands, reading the words of a woman who has given birth to a beautiful baby boy and has chosen to relinquish her rights to him because she has no need for him, no inclination towards being his mother, and no desire to be attached to the boy or his father in any serious capacity.
“Brody,” she says slowly, her eyes still transfixed on the paper. I look up to meet her eyes and see only shock reflecting back in them. “Brody, I’m sorry.”
My jaw clenches, but I reposition myself in the chair, avoiding her gaze for a moment. I don’t want or need her sympathy, but there’s a part of me that appreciates it, nonetheless, knowing how she feels about me and certain members of my family. “You and me both,” I admit. “Charlotte and I were already apart when she found out she was pregnant, and I knew even before then that she and I would never last forever. We just weren’t compatible, and I’m okay with that.” I swallow, giving myself a moment to rein in the edge in my voice. “But I think the thing that hurts me the most is that I don’t even have to fight for Spencer. Because she doesn’t want him. I’m fine with the fact she didn’t want me, Corinne, but how could she not want her own son? My son?”
The confession pours out of me. I didn’t expect to come in here and get emotional, but there it is, the anger that holds me together like glue and keeps me pushing forward in the name of the boy who deserves the best that I can offer him.
“I...I can’t imagine,” she says quietly.
“Again, you and me both.” The tension hangs between us in the silence that ensues, and I don’t attempt to apologize for my unexpected outburst. Somehow, doing that would only make it more awkward. At least now she has a reason to see that I’m not some monster here to make her life harder. I’m not Jackson. And my purpose for being in this room is for one reason only.
Spencer.
“Let’s do this, Corinne.” My voice cuts through the quietness, making her head snap up from the piece of paper still held loosely in her fingers. “Whatever you need from me, I’ll give it to you. Just help me do what’s best for my son.”
She swallows visibly, then nods with a renewed effort. “That’s what I’m here for.”
***
We make short work of the written statement, and once Corinne prints it out and I read it over, I sign it without a second thought.
“So, with my side of things in writing, coupled with Charlotte’s handwritten note stating she wants nothing more to do with Spencer or me, I should be in pretty good standing when it comes to the courts, right?”
Corinne is shutting down the computer, and she pushes her chair away from it, turning to fix her gaze on mine. “I’m not really at liberty to make statements regarding open cases, Brody. I’m just the assistant.”
“I get it, no problem. You’ve definitely assisted me today, so thank you for that. Spencer would thank you, too, if he could talk.”
She smiles, tilting her head slightly. “Okay, okay. C’mon, show me the sixty gazillion baby photos you’ve got of him on your phone. You know you want to.”
For the first time in well over an hour, I smile. At the mention of Spencer’s pictures, and because she mentioned them first. “You have no idea the can of worms you’ve just opened.” I pull my phone from the back pocket of my dark-wash jeans, producing a long line of photos of my little man, one after the other in a variety of different poses and outfits, all boasting phrases such as Daddy’s Little Boy and Just Like Daddy. I pass the phone to Corinne, unable to suppress my grin.
She scrolls through them, leaned back in her chair, a series of “Aww!” and “How adorable is that?” comments falling from her lips as she sifts through the pictures. “You have every right to be such a proud daddy,” she says with a grin, handing the phone back to me. “He’s absolutely precious, Brody.”
“Proud is an understatement. Spence is my world.” I pull the phone from her hands, letting my long fingers graze against hers before I stand up. “Speaking of him, I should be getting back to him. My mom’s been babysitting for me while I’m here.”
I don’t miss the way Corinne flinches at my touch. The contact felt scorching in comparison to the frigid way she had been with me when I first arrived. She felt the heat, too, and a wave of satisfaction engulfs me at having caught her off guard.
I can see it in her wide eyes; she doesn’t want to believe it, but I keep offering her up reminders that I’m nothing like Jackson. That’s hard for her to admit to herself, though, and the war
behind her eyes is just as electric as the contact of our skin.
“Of course,” she says, a bit flustered. “I’ll go over these documents with Mr. Barrett when he gets back from the courthouse, then he’ll be in contact with you to make further arrangements.”
“Perfect.” I pull a business card from my wallet. I might be a hockey player, but I used to do some cabinetry work on the side before Spencer was born, a personal favorite hobby of mine. I pass the card to her.
“Oh, no, that’s not needed.” She holds up her hands to push the card away. “Mr. Barrett already has your number, Brody. He can—”
“Corinne,” I interject, amused by her rambling. “The card’s not for Barrett. It’s for you.”
Chapter Five
Corinne
The Marsh boys are nothing but trouble.
I’ve been repeating this to myself for the past two days, reminding myself constantly of the pain and heartbreak that Jackson put me through two years ago. Pain and heartbreak I still haven’t recovered from.
So, why the hell am I driving myself insane with thoughts of another man with the last name Marsh?
Because he got under your skin, I realize. Because he isn’t the absolute jerk you thought he was, or the asshole you wanted him to be so you had a reason to despise him.
I made the mistake of telling Jenn about his business card after Brody left the office. I knew better, but I did it anyway, purely because I couldn’t comprehend what was going on fast enough to sort through it on my own.
“Cori, damn girl!” She’d clapped her hands with exaggerated glee. “That sexy hockey hunk gave you his number! Ride that pony, girl!”
“Did you really just say that?”
“Said it, and meant every word,” she confirmed, leaving me shaking my head.
I got nowhere trying to explain to her that Brody wasn’t someone I could see outside work, no matter what the capacity.