LOL #2 Romantic Comedy Anthology - Volume 2 - Even More All-New Romance Stories by Bestselling Authors (LOL Romantic Comedy Anthology #2)

by Anthology

  Planting the microphone stand on the floor, I pushed with all my might, forcing the wheels beneath the cake to turn. Slowly, I began rowing my way off the dance floor and toward a door. Freedom was in sight, when it all came to an end, as a stream of uniformed police officers came charging through the very portal that I had been aiming at. They grabbed DiLaurento family members all around me and began cuffing them and reading them their rights. I looked up, and saw that the doorway was clear again; I had one last chance.

  With every ounce of strength I had, I hauled myself on my “pins and needles” wracked legs over the side of the cake and dropped to the ground with a thud. I landed badly, though, and twisted my ankle. Wincing, I staggered toward the door, looking like a mummy from a 1950’s B horror movie. I had almost made it once again, when a lone figure entered, saw me, gave me a curious look… and then checked me out.

  Looking down, I saw my boobs working harder to escape my bodice, than I had worked to escape the cake. I stood upright, causing a bolt of white-hot pain to shoot to my ankle, but I squared my shoulders for battle anyway. After all, I was a Philadelphia public defender, and I was facing a Philadelphia Assistant District Attorney. We had never formally met, but I had seen him at court before. Facing me was Matt Brenner, hot and sexy Matt Brenner, to be specific. Clearly, I had been born under a cloud.

  “Well, hello there Norma Jean,” he said with cocky grin. “Leaving so soon?”

  I sat in his office while he took numerous phone calls. At least some of them were probably confirming that Chelsea Davis was an innocent employee of Rent A Star, and not in any way affiliated with the DiLaurento crime family.

  It was a typical government attorney’s office, fluorescent lights, iron desk and filing cabinets circa World War II, but he also had some nice looking leather-bound volumes on his bookshelf, mostly the usual legal tomes, but then my eyes rested on the spine of Harper Lee’s To Kill a Mockingbird. Hmm.

  My eyes moved to his wall. He had a college degree from the University of Chicago and a law degree from NYU, a definite urban dweller. I wondered what he would make of rural Venango County, PA where I had grown up, famous for great deer hunting and not much else.

  He laughed at something someone on the other end of the phone said. It was a deep, rich sound that drew my attention back to him. I noted that when his face lit up with laughter, he was transformed from merely handsome, to devastatingly attractive. He had dark brown hair with just a hint of curl, and striking hazel eyes. He was also tall and well built, and had a very sexy smile. Yum.

  He glanced up at me and my eyes darted away to his wall again. Luckily, just as I was getting too interested in how hot Mr. Brenner was, two framed photos on his wall brought me back to reality. The first was a picture of him and some of his friends and fellow prosecutors, including Kevin Nicholas.

  Mr. Nicholas, (lawyers referred to each other formally in court), was assigned to the same courtroom that I was, and he and I were constantly battling. Sometimes I suspected that he enjoyed pushing my buttons and trying to make me explode. But then, I also took pleasure in denying him. Our daily courtroom cage matches had become a source of entertainment for several members of the staff. If Mr. Nicholas ever found out that I jumped out of a cake dressed as Marilyn Monroe, he would gloat until the end of time. I would never live it down.

  The other photo was of him and an attractive middle-aged woman with the same striking hazel eyes, his mom, who also happened to be the Federal Public Defender out in Pittsburgh. Shelly Brenner was brilliant and tough and highly respected. And here sat her youngest son, Matthew, with Marilyn the cake girl. I sighed. There were hundreds of prosecutors in this office, but I had somehow managed to get busted by the one who I not only found attractive, but who happened to be the best friend of my arch enemy, and the son of my idol.

  He finally hung up the phone and spun around to look at me. His eyes dropped to my cleavage for a second, but he quickly dragged them back up to meet mine. Leaning back in his chair, he tugged on his tie to loosen it, and cleared his throat.

  “So Ms. Davis, it looks like you check out. You are, in fact, employed by Rent A Star.” He knit his brows as he looked at a paper that he held. “As well, it seems, as various other establishments, the Penn Bavarian Microbrewery, for example.”

  “Beer Garden Girl,” I replied.

  “The Coffee Bean,” he continued.

  “Barista.”

  “Wiener World?”

  “I hand out flyers… dressed as a hot dog,” I noted. He looked up and I saw him fighting back laughter.

  “Why so many jobs?” he asked in a slightly strained voice.

  “I’m a graduate student in theater arts, and I need to pay my tuition and the cost of living in the city. Besides, these jobs are kind of like acting,” I added, using Chelsea’s explanation.

  “For when you play a meat product on Broadway?” he asked and I bit my lip so that I wouldn’t laugh.

  “Haven’t you ever heard of Spamalot?” I asked with a smile. He smiled back and we shared a moment. My pulse sped up so quickly I felt a little dizzy.

  “Touché,” he said finally, glancing back down at his paper.

  “So, do you jump out of cakes often?” he asked without looking up.

  “Is that a line?” I asked, surprising myself by how flirtatious I sounded. What was I doing? This outfit was clearly having an effect on me. Or maybe it was just Mr. Brenner. I saw him smile again. He was enjoying himself.

  “I was just going to advise you to carry ID with you when you do them. Actually, that’s a good idea in general. You never know.” I had to hand it to him; he was very professional.

  “So I’m not being charged with anything?”

  “No, even though you did have a contraband cigar in your purse.”

  “That wasn’t mine!” I laughed. “I was supposed to hand that to the Birthday Boy, Mr. DiLaurento.”

  “What, you don’t enjoy a good Cuban?” he teased.

  “Only if he’s a good dancer too,” I teased back, wiggling my eyebrows and Mr. Brenner looked positively delighted. He stared at me silently for a beat, like he was making up his mind about something.

  “Well, I don’t have any excuse to hold you,” he said finally, sounding like he regretted it.

  “Why? Did you want to hold me?” I asked with a coquettish wink. Stop it now Sarah! He looked surprised, but then I saw his eyes darken and I realized that I had better get out of there, before I did anything I would regret later.

  I stood quickly and tested my weight on my ankle. It felt much better. So I turned and tossed a “See you around, sailor” over my shoulder on my way out the door. I was halfway down the block when I realized I left my clutch purse back in his office. There wasn’t much in it, just a comb, some lipstick… and my cab fair. Shit. I pulled my coat around myself tightly, put my head down against the biting December wind, and walked the fifteen blocks home. By the time I got there, my ankle was swollen again and parts of me had frozen over.

  Chapter Three

  Monday morning I found myself back in court, once again, Sarah Eisenberg, public defender, the only remnant of my Saturday night blonde bombshell persona, a limp. My courtroom partner, Jill Hughes, came bustling in with a stack of files and a paper cup of coffee the size of a water tower.

  “Hey, how was your weekend?” she asked, quickly setting up.

  “Uneventful,” I lied.

  “Well, I hope you got lots of rest. The DA changed things up on us, and assigned Mr. Nicholas’s buddy to fight on the side of truth and justice with him. So, now we have two pretty boy prosecutors to deal with.”

  “His buddy?” I asked, a feeling of dread slowly settling over me.

  “Matt Brenner. You know, Shelly Brenner’s son. I hear he’s good, and I have a feeling that with him here Mr. Nicholas will be even cockier than usual.”

  “Great,” I croaked.

  “I’ll be right back. My husband has to take both kids to the pediatrician
this morning and he’s in a state of panic. I need to go try to talk him in.”

  As she left I sat down numbly, listening to the sound of my heartbeat and the blood rushing in my ears. Get a grip, Sarah. What’s wrong with you? Even if he recognizes you, which he won’t, who cares? He acted like a professional the other night and he will again. But he would probably tell Mr. Nicholas, who would positively revel in the idea of me jumping out of a cake. Maybe I could get assigned to appeals.

  “All rise!” the court clerk came out from the judge’s chambers and everyone quickly stood up. Out of the corner of my eye, I saw two tall dark haired figures wheel in brief cases, and quickly assume their places at the prosecution table. Jill rushed back to stand beside me again. “The Court of Common Pleas of Philadelphia, Criminal Division, is now in session, the Honorable Judge Randall Jefferson presiding, all those with matters before the court come forward and ye shall be heard.”

  “Be seated. Counsel enter your appearance,” Judge Jefferson announced, sounding tired as usual. I heard a familiar deep voice and my heart sped up even more.

  “Matt Brenner for the Commonwealth, Your Honor.”

  “Kevin Nicholas for the Commonwealth.”

  “Jill Hughes from the Defender Association.” And then it was my turn. I steeled my nerves and spoke out in a firm voice; only vaguely similar to the flirty one Mr. Brenner had heard on Saturday night.

  “Sarah Eisenberg from the Defender Association.” In my peripheral vision, I could see Mr. Brenner turn to look in my direction, but I continued to stare straight ahead.

  “Call the first case,” the judge instructed.

  “Commonwealth v. Clancy,” the clerk called out. It was Jill’s case and I exhaled.

  “Is the Commonwealth ready to proceed?” the judge asked.

  “We are, Your Honor,” Mr. Brenner answered.

  Somehow, I managed to focus and psych myself up into my “zone.” I hobbled over to Mr. Nicholas with a determined look.

  “Wild weekend?” he asked glancing down at my foot.

  “Make me an offer,” I demanded.

  “What did you have in mind?” he asked with a lascivious note in his voice.

  “Probation,” I answered, ignoring it.

  “Are you kidding me? Your client is charged with a felony, counselor.”

  “Yes, I was informed,” I answered dryly. “But it’s a non-violent felony and she has no prior criminal record.”

  “It’s still a felony. She stole an innocent citizen’s credit card number and used it to buy things like,” he consulted a list, “radial tires, Pepperidge Farms Gift Baskets, and oh, what’s this, $500 worth of adult toys at the Pleasure Chest. Well, someone is going to have happy holidays.” I knew then, that it was going to be a long day.

  We wound up having a non-jury trial. As usual, Mr. Nicholas and I engaged in a battle royal that included me trying to minimize the gravity of the situation, and Mr. Nicholas listing, in detail, every single naughty purchase my client made with a stolen credit card number. I was so wrapped up in my fight that I temporarily forgot about Mr. Brenner, but when the dust had finally settled, I glanced up and saw him watching me intently. I froze for a second and our gazes locked. He knew. Then it dawned on me, the limp, of course. I looked away, not sure what to do. It was hardly earth shattering that he knew, but still, it was embarrassing. I had been so flirty. Good lord, I asked him if he wanted to hold me. I wanted to hide.

  Somehow, I made it through the rest of the court session. As people filed out of the courtroom, I saw Mr. Brenner say something to Mr. Nicholas, who glanced in my direction and gave his friend a baffled look but left without him. I continued packing up my files and trying to seem nonchalant.

  “Hello Norma Jean, or should I call you Chelsea?” he asked leaning against the defense table beside me. I stopped packing and made myself look him in the eye.

  “Chelsea is my neighbor, and she’s a good friend of mine. She really is a theater major, and she needed my help. I would have told you who I was, but I was afraid it would impact on my actual job.” I saw his expression soften for a moment, before the cocky prosecutor mask fell back into place.

  “Well, if it makes you feel any better, I’m not going to go easy on you just because you look great in red sequins.”

  “Give me all you’ve got, counselor, because I can take it,” I said with a note of challenge. Even though I had been embarrassed thinking about how I had flirted before, I was flirting with him now, and I didn’t care. It seemed that I lost my inhibitions, and possibly my good sense, when I got close to him. There was some sizzling chemistry between us and we both knew it.

  “I plan to find out,” he said in a quiet voice, his eyes darkening like they had that night in his office. It was getting a little hot in here, and I needed to change the subject.

  “I suppose there’s no chance that you won’t tell Mr. Nicholas how we met, huh?”

  “None at all.” He laughed. “I can’t deny him that. You kick his ass on a regular basis. I’ve heard stories about you.”

  “I don’t doubt it. I know he calls me Ms. Iceberg behind my back by the way.”

  “You know about that?” He had the grace to be embarrassed on his friend’s behalf.

  “It’s okay. I call him Mr. Dickless.” That made him laugh harder.

  “Well, you don’t seem at all like an iceberg to me. See you in court Norma Jean.”

  “See you around sailor,” I said with a wink. I watched him walk down the aisle still laughing and shaking his head. As the courtroom door closed behind him, I collapsed into a chair, closed my eyes and grinned a huge silly grin.

  The next day I was fully prepared for Mr. Nicholas to torture me mercilessly. To my surprise, though, he seemed rather conflicted. I must have caught him scrutinizing me a dozen times. I assumed that he was trying to picture me as Marilyn Monroe. It’s not that I was unattractive. I’m sure that even he would admit that. It’s just that I was such a ballbuster in court. I had a feeling that Mr. Brenner had told him that he thought I was sexy, and Mr. Nicholas was trying wrap his head around that.

  It didn’t stop him from being his usual charming self of course, and the two of us wound up going several rounds. In a strange way, I was gratified to see that he wasn’t treating me any differently. I was starting to realize that I had been worried about nothing. Chelsea was right. I did overthink things. I couldn’t help but notice that no matter what he was doing, Mr. Brenner always seemed to try to stop and watch when Mr. Nicholas and I were engaged in battle. I watched him too, though. There was some kind of pull between us and it was hard to resist.

  That pattern continued throughout the week with one minor change on Friday. That day Mr. Brenner and I faced each other on a case for the first time. It was just a preliminary hearing, not a trial, so normally there wouldn’t have been much arguing. Somehow, though, the two of us wound up toe-to-toe in front of the judge tossing case law at each other fast and furiously. It felt passionate with him, though, rather than aggressive like it did with Mr. Nicholas. When I thought about it later, I realized that it didn’t take Freud to figure out that we were substituting a courtroom battle for sex. I wondered how long it would be before one of us broke down and acted on our obvious mutual attraction.

  Chapter Four

  The answer was, several weeks. Mr. Brenner and I began facing each other on more and more cases, and I started to suspect that he was trading with Mr. Nicholas so that we would be up against one another, so to speak. Our battles were becoming more passionate, and our growing desire, more thinly veiled. At times I felt dizzy with adrenaline, and I could almost smell the testosterone on him. One of us would have to do something soon, or we might just fuck each other right there in the middle of the courtroom one day.

  Finally, one Tuesday in mid-January it happened. We had been battling fiercely all morning, and my pulse was racing. Court had adjourned and everyone had left the courtroom but Mr. Brenner and me, who were still arguing.


  “Would it be so hard for you to cut me a break for once?” I asked, looking into his flashing eyes, the color of a thunderstorm.

  “I did cut you a break once. Not only were you in possession of contraband, you signed your neighbor’s name on an official police report. I could have filed charges.” It was the first time he had brought up anything personal in over a month. I decided to test the waters a little and see if it was significant.

  “You still could,” I said quietly. “Are you going to charge me?” I knew that the look I was giving him telegraphed my desire. At that point, I had accepted the fact that I wanted Mr. Brenner, and if he showed me that he wanted to go there, I would go.

  “Not if you’ll go out to dinner with me on Friday night.” He gave me a look that hit me right between the legs.

  “Counselor, I do believe that may constitute prosecutorial misconduct,” I teased.

  “Only if you dance well too,” he said with a sexy smile. “Now give me your phone number Norma Jean.”

  Wednesday was a busy day in court. Mr. Brenner and I locked horns in a check fraud case, that as usual, seemed to leave both of us feeling like we should smoke a cigarette or something. When the court session was done that day he came over to talk to me.

  “Let’s have a conference.”

  “About what?” I asked.

  “Come on,” he said without answering.

  “Do I need my…”

  “No.” He put his hand on the small of my back to urge me along. While that would have annoyed me if someone else had done it, Mr. Brenner’s touch created a much different reaction. He led me up behind the jury box into the deliberation room and closed the door. Then he turned and took a step toward me.