The Bad Judgment Series: The Complete Series

by Leigh James

I didn’t really want to stop. I’d found a pattern of company payments to a sub-corporation in Miami that was bothering me. I wanted to follow it through.

  I looked at my watch. It was one a.m. “This is pretty normal for me.”

  He looked at me with tired eyes, exasperated. I was glad he was tired: hopefully he was too exhausted to keep making sexual references. It had been funny at the time, but I knew it was completely inappropriate. And dangerous. I couldn't let myself keep thinking about him like that.

  I stood up. “Snacks are always good,” I said, trying to be compromising. “Do you have any diet soda?”

  “Follow me,” he said. “Let me introduce you to the awesomeness of my fully-stocked refrigerator.”

  “Do you stock it?” I asked, peering past him at the rows of soda, organic juices, and foreign-looking snacks. “Seaweed chews?” I asked, examining the green pouch. “Really?”

  “Adrian stocks the fridge. She gets me what I ask for, but she buys all sorts of other weird shit.” He grabbed the bag of seaweed chews and ate one. “These are actually good, though.” He handed me an organic non-diet soda and shrugged. “Adrian doesn’t do artificial sweeteners, and neither should you.”

  I looked past him into the enormous refrigerator. “Adrian doesn’t seem to have a problem with beer. Or wine.”

  “No. No she does not.” He opened a beer while I drank my delicious organic whatever it was.

  “Can we get back to the files?” I asked. I unbuttoned my jacket. “I’d like to get home before four.”

  “If you insist,” he said, “but you really do have a strong tolerance for this stuff. It’s making me want to do a face plant.”

  “It’s your company,” I said, shrugging.

  “So I already know all of it.”

  “Do you?” I asked. I was serious now, genuinely curious at his level of involvement.

  “Of course I do, Nicole,” he said, a bit formally. Uh-oh. No more ‘Nic’ — I was back to lowly old Nicole. “I oversee every single portion of my company. There isn’t a distribution or a payment that I’m not aware of. These four days off are the longest amount of time I've been away from my office in three years. I’ve been being playful with you,” he said, giving me a long look, “because it makes this whole process more bearable, but I’m seriously stressed out about being away. I feel like I’m hemorrhaging money.

  “Are you doubting my commitment to my company?” he asked. He seemed angry suddenly, all traces of flirting and playfulness gone from his tone.

  “No,” I said, “not exactly.” We looked at each other for a beat.

  “So…do you know why your company has set up automatic payments to a subsidiary in Miami?” I asked, all traces of flirting and playfulness gone from my tone. From what I’d read tonight, it looked like Blue was funneling money into one of its Miami sub-corporation. But I couldn’t find the money coming back out, and I couldn’t figure out what the sub-corp did. It seemed to do nothing, except accrue money under a different name in sunny Miami.

  “Do I detect some doubt, Counselor?” Walker asked.

  I searched his face. “Should I doubt you, Walker?”

  “No. No you should not,” he said. “The Miami sub-corp is Lester Max’s creation. It’s set up as a tax-shelter. We have several similar subsidiaries. He’s assured me that it’s all perfectly legal. We do an independent audit every year, using a different company. Every year the auditor assures me that the way we’ve set up the company is not only optimal, for tax purposes, but perfectly legal.”

  We just looked at each other for a beat.

  “Okay,” I said, as much as to myself as to him.

  “Okay,” he said.

  I grabbed the file I’d been working on and desperately wished that I was drinking a beer, too. “Let’s get back to work,” I said, taking the bag of seaweed chips with me. Walker stood in the kitchen for a minute, watching me, a frown on his face.

  I exhaled and walked nervously back towards him. I didn’t like the look on his face; he looked pained. It had been ballsy of me to ask him about Miami the way that I had…I’d wanted to know the truth. Maybe I’d been too painfully direct.

  “Walker?” I asked, tentatively.

  “I haven’t done anything wrong, Nicole,” he said.

  “I believe you,” I said.

  “I don’t want you to doubt me,” he said, his eyes piercing mine. “You are my team right now. If I don’t have your trust…” He shook his head and I saw despair on his face.

  I walked up to him and touched his arm. “You have it. And I can get you out of your mess.”

  “I believe you,” he said. “It should help that I didn’t do it. Any of it.”

  “I know,” I said, and it was all at once that I was sure that I believed him, from the bottom of my heart, and I didn’t know why any of this was happening to him. “I need you to use your considerable brain power to help me figure out where they’re going to try to screw you. And afterwards, when it doesn’t matter anymore and you’re free, we’re going to figure out why they’ve done this to you.”

  “And then I’m going to go after them,” Walker said, the muscles in his jaw clenching.

  “I believe you,” I said. “I’ll help you if I can.

  * * *

  “Nic,” Walker said. I looked up from my file. I was lying on the couch by now, completely unself-conscious, almost done with the box I’d started. “It’s three-thirty in the morning. I am going to bed. Please stay here. I have five extra bedrooms. Toiletries. Pajamas. Coffee for tomorrow.”

  I sat up and rubbed my eyes; I still had my damned contacts in, a product of my vanity, and they hurt. “I’m fine. I’ll just call a cab and go home.” I sat up and started packing my bag. Suddenly, Walker was next to me on the couch, his gorgeous face above me. His chin was covered with black stubble and dark circles had formed below his eyes. Unfortunately, his humanity just made him sexier.

  “Just stay,” he said. “Don’t rush out of here in the middle of the night, please. Stay here and be safe. We have to start doing this first thing in the morning, anyway. I swear I have clothes you can wear.”

  “I don't want to wear Minky Lucca’s clothes,” I sniffed. “Even if I wanted to, they wouldn’t fit.”

  He smiled down at me indulgently and my heart seized. “Adrian’s just about your size. I bought her some pajamas for Christmas that I know, for a fact, she’s never worn. Wear them, sleep in one of the guest rooms, and we’ll get up in a few hours and keep going.”

  “Walker, I’m fine. I don’t need Adrian’s pajamas,” I said. “Trust me, I do this all the time. I sleep in my office at least three nights a week.”

  “They can’t pay you enough.”

  “They don’t. But it’s more than I’d make anywhere else,” I said. “I’m not complaining — I’m just trying to tell you, don’t worry about me. This is what I do. I’ll just sleep on the couch.

  “Now go to bed. You’re being distracting.”

  “Am I?” He sounded like that perked him up a bit. “Good. Go me. But I am going to bed,” he said. A wave of heat shot through me as I pictured him pulling his clothes off in his room. I ignored it. “Please be a good girl and go to sleep. I don’t care if you won’t wear Adrian’s clothes. I don’t care if you won’t accept a free toothbrush from me. Just get some rest. We have plenty to do tomorrow. Pace yourself, Nic.”

  I rolled my eyes at him as he went upstairs. He was so bossy, and so sexy, and so nice that he was really freaking annoying me. Eventually I stood up, stretched, and went to the bathroom, where I saw how horrible I looked. I grabbed my makeup case and, in a sure sign that I was becoming completely deranged, refreshed my makeup. I also brushed my teeth with the toothbrush I always carried with me and carefully removed my contacts. And then I went to sleep on his couch, with my face carefully positioned so that I would sleep face up and not rub lip gloss and foundation on his leather couch.

  No, I was not interested in Walker. I ke
pt telling myself that. I fell asleep thinking no no no no no no no no no no but I’m pretty sure I had dreams about him, dreams in which I finally got to touch him and we were irretrievably tangled together.

  Luckily, you can’t get disbarred for dreams.

  Chapter 11

  “Well, hello there,” a chirpy voice said, jolting me awake. I sat up, startled, and realized I’d been on my stomach, my face full of makeup smushed against Walker’s leather couch, and that I was drooling.

  “Hi?” I said, snapping to attention as quickly as I could and wiping my face. A young woman sat across from me, her combat boots on the coffee table, her ankles crossed confidently. She had red hair that was not at all natural, but was pretty, a diamond stud in her nose, and her brother’s enormous blue eyes.

  “You must be the lawyer,” Adrian said. “I’m not used to my brother’s houseguests staying on the couch. You’re a first.”

  “It’s sort of a first-time-for-everything situation,” I said, sitting up straighter. “I’m Nicole Reynolds.” I leaned over and shook her hand.

  “Adrian. You look pretty good for waking up in yesterday’s clothes,” she said. “Want some coffee?” I nodded gratefully and followed her to the kitchen.

  “I love your paintings,” I said, motioning to a piece that was close to me. It was abstract, of jagged skyscrapers against a night sky. Or at least I thought it was.

  “Are you sucking up to me?” she asked.

  “No. I was being polite. And actually, I do like it. I’m not artistic, so I’m not sure I ‘get’ it, but I like it.” She handed me my coffee and I took a much needed sip.

  “By the way — why would I suck up to you?” I asked, my voice filled with curiosity.

  “Everybody’s either in love with or wants something from my brother. So I get sucked up to a lot,” she said.

  “How’s that going for ya?” I asked, admiring her straight-forwardness.

  “Pretty good, actually,” she said. “He was dating an underwear model a few months ago. I scored lots of free bras.”

  “Always a bonus,” I said, willing my face to remain its natural pale tone, instead of turning fire-engine red at the thought of Walker dating an underwear model. “Seems like he goes through them pretty quickly,” I blurted. I made myself bring my coffee cup to my lips and leave it there, so that I didn’t say anything else stupid.

  “Thank God,” Adrian said. “What a bunch of bitches.”

  “Really?” I asked. I was fascinated and hopeful and desperate to hide it.

  “Ugh. His girlfriends are the worst. They’re so pretty, but none of them eat. I think it makes them crazy.” She made another cup of coffee and put some enormous scones into the toaster to heat up.

  “Are those scones from Ricky’s?" I interrupted her, suddenly ecstatic. That was my favorite bakery in Cambridge.

  “Yup,” she said.

  “Awesome.” Ricky’s scones were my favorite. They could make everything better. Except underwear models dating Walker. Nothing was going to help me with that.

  “So…not to be a total star-stalker…what about Minky Lucca?” I asked, in a gossipy tone.

  “Double ugh,” Adrian said, and wrinkled her nose. “Minky Lucca is a douche. The worst. She looks so cute — she’s so small and peppy — but after a while I figured out that she wasn’t peppy, she was just speedy from diet pills. If she had two drinks, she turned into Satan. She’d talk about what sort of plastic surgery you should get, everything she’s had done to herself, and how the only way to stay ahead in Hollywood is to stop eating…She’s a total competitive eater. So if we went out to dinner, she would, like, watch you. And make sure she ate less.”

  “Weird,” I said.

  “Try going to dinner with her. It’s worse than fucking weird.”

  “Why does he date women like that?” I asked.

  “Why, are you interested?” Adrian asked, sounding bored all of a sudden.

  I shook my head at her. “He’s my client. We could never. I just find him interesting. I’m not interested, but I find him interesting, if that makes any sense.”

  “Everyone thinks he’s interesting,” Adrian said, making more coffee.

  “Who? Little old me?” Walker asked, walking in, wearing low-slung sweatpants and a tank top.

  I literally felt my mouth fill with water when I saw him in that tank top. I was salivating. Salivating over my super-hot client. Who recently broke up with an underwear model.

  Just fucking shoot me.

  Adrian shot me an appraising look. “He’s very interesting in a tank top,” she said, and raised her eyebrows at me.

  Even though I liked her, I gave her a filthy look. “Is my scone ready yet?”

  She served it to me and then studied me as I ate. Walker shuffled around, getting coffee and an enormous scone. His hair was spiky and wild and I tried not to stare.

  “I hope you’re a brilliant lawyer,” she said, after a minute. “And I'm a Feminist, so I’m not doubting you because you’re young and female, but you are young. Like, really young.”

  “I’m second chair. There’s an old white guy who’s first chair, so don’t worry,” I said. “But as an added bonus, I am brilliant. Even still, I have a stupid question: do Feminists call people douches? Like, is this a thing now?”

  Walker almost spit out his coffee.

  “Because when I took Women’s Studies in college,” I said, “we were told we weren’t supposed to use gender-specific derogatory terms.”

  Adrian looked at me with interest. “You mean, it’s okay to call someone a fuckwad, because that’s general-neutral, but not a douche, because that’s a female term?” Adrian asked. “Yeah, I agree. But Minky Lucca really is a douche.” Walker coughed again. “Sorry, bro, but it’s totally true.” She turned back to me. “Sometimes, if the shoe fits…”

  “Got it. I like that — you’re adaptive. Good for you,” I said. “You think for yourself.”

  A huge smile broke out over Adrian’s face. “Dude,” she said, and turned to Walker, who was watching her with sleepy wariness. “This is the type of woman you should date.” She pointed to me. “Smart, funny, engaged. She’s eating a carbohydrate. She took Women’s Studies in college and actually learned something. And she’s not a psycho. Bonus.”

  “She’s my lawyer, Adrian. You can’t date your lawyer.” He smiled at me.

  “So fire her!” Adrian said.

  I looked at her in horror. She smiled at me sheepishly. “Or…go find someone exactly like her. This is the template,” she said, pointing to me again. “Go find one.”

  “As soon as I’m done defending my honor and clearing my name, I’ll get on it,” he said.

  “Thank you,” Adrian said, dramatically. She checked her watch. “I gotta go.”

  “You just got here,” Walker said.

  “I have a class,” she said, grabbing a lunchbox and putting a couple of scones into it. “I just needed some supplies. And I wanted to check in.

  “Nice to meet you, Nicole,” she said, and shook my hand. She pointed at me again and looked at Walker. “Template,” she admonished him.

  “Goodbye, Adrian,” Walker called, as she slammed out the door.

  “She’s awesome,” I said, smiling at him.

  “She’s something, all right,” he said. “You’re the first girl I’ve ever brought home that she’s liked.”

  “And you can’t even date me,” I said, still smiling.

  “And I can’t even date you,” Walker said, but he didn’t smile back. It made my heart hurt.

  “Walker,” I said, “about last night…”

  “You don’t have to explain,” he said. “You saw something that didn’t make sense to you. You asked me about it directly. I appreciate you being forthcoming.”

  “I feel like I hurt your feelings,” I said, going over and standing next to him, almost touching him. He was leaning against the countertop and I tucked myself next to him. “And I don’t want to hurt
your feelings.”

  “I think it’s more complicated than that,” Walker said. “I felt like you were questioning me, and that was the right thing for you to do. That was fine. And the fact that you spoke up about it was admirable. But then,” he said, “I felt like you doubted me. Which would be a natural consequence of having questions about the Miami set-up.

  “You should have doubted me, until you understood the situation.”

  He paused for a beat and I just looked at him, questioningly. “But…?” I asked, my voice trailing off.

  “But,” he said, and he had an uncomfortable look on his face. “Your doubt bothered me.”

  I felt horrible that I made him feel badly, on top of everything else he was going through. “I hurt your feelings,” I said, sympathetically.

  “You hurt my feelings,” he said.

  “I said I was sorry,” I said, pleadingly. “I didn’t doubt you as soon as you explained it to me.”

  “That’s not what’s bothering me.”

  I just stood there, confused and waiting. Walker was studying his coffee or his feet, I couldn’t tell which.

  “So…” I said, finally, “What is bothering you?”

  He looked up at me with those big blue eyes. “I don’t usually have feelings to hurt, Nicole. That’s what’s bothering me. My feelings never factor into business. And my sister likes you. That’s bothering me, too.”

  I gave him a long look. “Sorry,” I whispered, feeling myself flush.

  “Me, too,” he said.

  Walker ran his hand through his unruly hair and I had the opportunity to watch his bicep close up as he did it; it was huge and I just watched it, longingly, thinking of other huge things on his person that I might also long for, if I was given the chance. His hair stood up in messy spikes, which for some reason I found sexy as hell. Everything about him was sexy as hell, and here he was being so nice to me, and it was so fucking annoying, all of it.

  “So, what about your boyfriend?” he asked suddenly, apropos of nothing. At least I told myself it was apropos of nothing. “You don’t seem to talk about him much. Or call him.” His chin jutted out a little and I swear to God, Broden Walker seemed jealous. Of little old me and Mike the Spike.