Legally Yours (Spitfire Book 1)

by Nicole French

  Ben shook his head. “No, just got the call a minute ago. Get going.”

  He continued around the room with his files, leaving me to face Eric, who was grinning.

  “Well, let’s see what Santa brought, Cros,” he said, leaning eagerly over my mystery box.

  I snatched a letter opener off my desk and tore open the package. Under the anonymous wrapping was an equally blasé white box with “Manolo Blahnik” emblazoned quietly on one side. I lifted the top and pulled out a note that read simply:

  Thought you should have a backup. B.

  I folded the note closed and set it on the desk, turning back to the box. Beneath a layer of tissue paper, I found a pair of deep red, size-six leather pumps with pointed toes and delicate stiletto heels. They were gorgeous. And perfect. And completely inappropriate.

  I was interrupted from my thoughts by a low whistle. Next to me, Eric held up his paper coffee cup in a mock-toast.

  “Well, well, well, Cinderella,” he said with a smirk. “Looks like Prince Charming came with both shoes this time.”

  ~

  The elevators opened into a central reception desk that matched the lobby on the first floor of the large building that housed Sterling Grove. The heather-gray, tufted couches and chairs that decorated the lobby coordinated with dark wood floors, both complementing the 19th-century building’s original interior while lending a stylish air. The receptionist, a young woman with blonde hair and oddly tanned skin for this time of year in New England, looked up from her computer when the elevator bell signaled my arrival.

  “Can I help you?” she asked in a tone reeking of irritation as she perused me up and down. So much for a welcome reception.

  I pushed my shoulders back and approached the desk, my impromptu gift cradled under one arm. “Hi, I’m Skylar Crosby, one of the interns downstairs. Ben said I was wanted by one of the partners, but he didn’t say who it was.” I knew exactly who it was, of course, but she didn’t need to know that.

  The receptionist surveyed me with a raised brow, as if she didn’t quite believe me. “Hold on a moment,” she said, and picked up her phone. “Hey, Reese. Can you ask if anyone back there sent for an intern? Skylar Cosby?”

  “Crosby,” I corrected her.

  She rolled her eyes and said my name again, this time correctly. “I know, right?” she said into the phone with a smirk at me. “Just check anyway. Thanks, Reese.” She set down the phone and looked pointedly at the couches in front of the reception area. “Someone will be right with you.”

  I gave her a tight smile and took a seat in a small arm chair to wait. Within a few minutes, the phone rang again.

  “Hey Reese,” said the receptionist. “Really? Okay, I’ll send her back.” After hanging up, she looked over to me. “Mr. Sterling’s office is to the right, all the way at the end of the hall.”

  She buzzed open the door behind her, and I walked through with only a tight nod her way.

  I followed a very long hallway to the back of the building, my footsteps muted by the plush gray carpet beneath them. Most of the doors were open, revealing paralegals and assistants working at their own small desks that guarded offices of actual partners. It was a huge firm, so I wasn’t surprised by just how many of these nested offices there were on my way to the largest one at the end of the hall. I walked through the open door marked Sterling, where an older woman with graying brown hair typed furiously as she listened to a digital recording through one ear bud. She looked up as I approached her desk.

  “Ms. Crosby?” she asked as she stopped whatever she was listening to.

  “Yes. Are you Reese?”

  She snorted. “Hardly. Reese is one of the junior partners’ assistants—she’s just friends with Alexis, the receptionist. My name is Margie. You can go right in. He’s expecting you.”

  She replaced her earbud and pressed her foot down to continue the recording, and paid me no more attention as I approached the office door behind her and opened it.

  ~

  Chapter 6

  It was easily the biggest office I had ever seen. Like the kitchen at his home, it was bigger than my entire apartment. The first part of room had the makings of a typical, if luxurious office space: Immediately there were the makings of a typical, if cozy office. A massive antique desk that had woodwork similar to the style of the Resolute Desk stood to my immediate right, faced by two overstuffed armchairs, behind which was a four-person antique table and chair set and several dark-wood bookshelves carrying files, binders, and, of course, books. His back to the wall, Sterling sat at the carved behemoth like a king, more than resembling a young JFK as he thumbed through the papers scattered in front of him. The wall behind him was hung with various accolades: several trial lawyer of the year awards, what looked like a letter from the mayor or the governor, and three framed magazine covers featuring his handsome face. It was a set up that was both comfortable and intimidating—likely by design.

  Beyond these pieces, however, the room opened up to what looked like a small apartment, including a kitchenette in the far corner, an open door revealing the corner of a bed, and a plush navy couch facing a brick fireplace. Small flames blazed merrily. At the far end of the room, several large windows allowed streams of bright light into the otherwise dark room, painted as it was in a deep, ocean-blue that heightened the colonial feel of the dark wood molding and wainscoting bordering the walls. Most of downtown Boston was visible through the windows, including a bit of the Commons. Snow was starting to fall again outside, making the fire all the more welcoming.

  I stepped further into the room, and Sterling looked up at the sound of the door slamming shut behind me. His smile was so instantaneous and bright that I had to grab the doorknob behind me when my legs stopped working momentarily. How had I forgotten just how handsome this man was? He still had that same ruddy complexion, the same slightly too-long, dark blond hair that was combed back and curling slightly around his ears. I didn’t normally care for the slicked back look, thinking it a bit too gangster for my tastes, but he made it work, mostly because it was clear he did it out of expediency and not for looks. All in all, he looked positively leonine.

  “Skylar,” he said, standing up to reveal a boxer’s body: shoulders and neck almost too broad for a crisp blue shirt the color of a summer sky. A simple black tie fell to his trim, tapered waist. His black jacket was draped over the back of his chair, but it was clear that the man looked good enough in a suit to eat. “Come on in.”

  “Hello, Mr. Sterling,” I said as I walked to stand in front of his desk.

  Uncertain if I should sit down, I remained standing as he stared at me for a moment without speaking. He continued to stare, still smiling, while I felt increasingly uncomfortable

  “You sent for me, Mr. Sterling?” I reminded him.

  Interrupted, he shook his head, grinning again. “Sorry, just caught in a daydream. I was just about to make some tea. Would you like some?”

  “Ah, sure.”

  I followed Sterling to the back of the room, where he gestured I should take a seat on the couch while he moved to the kitchen to fix our tea. The heels of my cheap pumps sank into the thick Aubusson carpet laid in front of the hearth. My cheeks reddened as I recalled the last time I was sitting in front of a fire with this man, my feet cradled delicately in his large hands.

  “Is the fire too hot?” he asked as he sat down next to me and handed me a cup of hot tea. He also set a small file beside him on the cushion. “Your face is a bit red.”

  Sterling glanced down at the box I had set beside me and frowned. I had to brace myself not to start when I caught the expression on his face. The friendly smile was completely gone, replaced with a thick scowl. He was clearly not someone you wanted to be mad at you.

  “No, no, the fire is fine,” I said, pulling his attention from the gift I obviously meant to return. “Perfect for a day like this. A bit unusual for an office, though.”

  “This building used to be full of teneme
nt apartments from the nineteenth century,” he said, quickly reverting to his easy demeanor as he sat back into the massive couch cushions. “We tore out most of them when we bought the building, but we kept parts of it in my office. Makes it nicer to be here considering it’s practically my second home. That’s actually a bedroom in the back.”

  I tried and failed not to imagine him in bed, and took a sip of tea to avoid looking at him, willing my skin not to flush. The tea was just the way I liked it: strong with a bit of cream and honey. Strange, I thought, that we liked our tea the same way. Then I glanced over and saw that his was black.

  “How did you know how I like my tea?” I asked with a frown.

  He smiled again, that same Cheshire cat smile he had given me at his apartment that convinced me to stay the night. I wondered how often he got his way with that smile.

  “Oh, I found out quite a bit about you since Friday, Skylar.” He put his tea down on the side table and flipped open the slim file he’d brought with him.

  “Skylar Ellen Crosby,” he recited. “Born April 8th, 1989, in Brooklyn, New York. Daughter of Daniel Crosby, city sanitation employee, and Janette Barrett, housewife. Parents divorced, mother remarried to Maurice Jadot of Paris, deputy CEO with BNP Paribas.” He stopped, shooting me a quick, blue look. “Guy’s a shark. Hope he’s nicer at home.”

  “I wouldn’t know,” I bit out, trying and failing to keep the bitterness from my voice.

  I could count the number of times I’d seen my mother in the last fifteen years on one hand, and I’d only met Maurice once. Christmas cards had informed me that they had two kids together, Annabelle and Christoph, ages eight and six. They lived outside of Paris in a house—if you could call the massive chateau that—I had hoped to see when I had studied abroad there for a year and a half in college. I’d never been invited.

  You could say it was a sore subject.

  Sterling cleared his throat and continued. “High School valedictorian P.S. 117, doubled majored in Business Finance and…Music?” He glanced at me curiously. “Minored in Francophone Studies at NYU, where you graduated summa cum laude. Top-earning junior analyst at Goldman Sachs before receiving a partial scholarship to Harvard Law. Lives in student housing, I see—I went to HLS too, so I know the address. Speaks French fluently. Conversational German and…Yiddish, huh?”

  I took another sip of my tea before replying. At this point I wasn’t sure what this was—a job interview or an invitation to tea. I hadn’t asked for either one. “Jewish grandmother. So you know my resume and probably the contents of the background check I know your company does on its employees. Doesn’t explain how you know my preference for tea though.”

  He smirked, clearly enjoying whatever little game we were playing. The problem was, I wasn’t much good at these kinds of games.

  “Ana might have mentioned how you liked it. She’s a good spy.” His smile morphed back into a frown as his glance once again fell on the shoebox. “Why is that here?” he asked sharply.

  I set my tea on the small side table next to me and picked up the box, which I offered to him. He stared down at it for a moment, then back at me with obvious irritation, but didn’t move to take it.

  “What?” I asked. I set the box on the couch between us and pushed it toward him. “This is an incredibly ostentatious gift, and I work for you. It would be completely inappropriate for me to take it.”

  “It’s a pair of shoes,” he stated.

  “That cost a month’s rent.”

  “Are you planning to continue working for me?” he asked.

  I paused. “No. Am I being offered a job again?”

  “No,” he echoed. He leaned toward me, and I had to force myself not to lean back. “Not unless you’ve changed your mind.”

  I bit my lip. I was all but being told that a job offer at one of the top firms in the city was immanent with my acceptance. Every law student in Boston would be falling over themselves for this kind of opportunity, particularly in this job market, particularly with only one semester to go. But my instincts hadn’t changed, and Sterling Grove wasn’t the right place for me—especially if I was going to be working for someone with a penchant for over-the-top gifts that would do nothing but start a bunch of unpleasant rumors.

  “I haven’t changed my mind,” I said much more confidently than I felt. “But that doesn’t mean I can take these from you.”

  “Sure it does.”

  “No, it doesn’t!” I sputtered.

  I picked up the box and thrust it into his lap; it slid helplessly to the floor. The sleek red shoes clattered out of the cardboard to rest harmlessly on the rug. Sterling glared at me, his eyes now a dark blue despite the warm light. This time I glared right back.

  We stared at each other silently while the fire popped in front of us. I tried not to notice that his knee was touching mine, sending heat coursing up my leg that couldn’t completely be from the fire or the obvious frustration we both felt. They did say there was a thin line between love and hate. It was all too easy to imagine us throwing the shoes across the room—maybe at each other?—before falling onto that soft rug. Naked. Wrestling. He would lean over me in the firelight and pin my hands over my head just as he eased himself between my…

  “Skylar?”

  I blinked out of my illicit daydream. “What?” Christ, that had gone from zero to sixty in record time.

  His scowl had transformed into a knowing half-grin that told me he knew exactly what I was thinking about. “Your cheeks are red again. Are you feeling all right?”

  Goddamn my Irish complexion. God had it out for red heads, that’s for sure.

  “I’m fine,” I said, reaching for my tea again. I made a big production of taking a sip, rotating the cup in the saucer, and setting it back down again so I could regain my composure. “Just a bit annoyed, if you want to know the truth. Are you always this stubborn?”

  “As an ass,” he confirmed. With one toe, he kicked the shoes out of sight. “Usually gets me what I want.”

  Something about the way he said that had me flushed all over again, and I found myself reaching for my tea again just to avoid the heat of his gaze. I took another large sip and a deep breath. When I felt calm again, I looked up.

  “Mr. Sterling, why am I here? Somehow I don’t think it was just to enjoy a cup of tea or argue about shoes.”

  He sat back into the couch again. “Haven’t I told you yet to call me by my first name?”

  I shook my head. I would have remembered that.

  “It’s Brandon,” he said. “You should call me Brandon. Especially since I asked you up here because I’d really like to fuck you. Tonight, if that works.”

  I nearly dropped the cup I was holding. I sat there staring at him, completely dumbfounded to the point where I wasn’t actually sure he had said what he said. I must have imagined that. Was he that stupid? Making sexual advances on an intern? At work? In his office?

  “Let me be clear that this is in no way work related, and considering that you have already turned down a possible job offer from my firm, I do not expect this can be constituted as sexual harassment in any way. Are we clear?”

  It was as if he had read my mind. This was a huge gamble, and he knew it. The safer move would have been to wait until I was officially no longer an employee of his company. Even then I could probably cry foul, say I was blackmailed by his status in the legal community. But…he hadn’t. Maybe because he knew what I was feeling. Maybe, a small, internal voice rang out, because he felt the same way too.

  “Ah, I suppose we are,” I said, finally finding my actual voice again. “You’re not going to jump me here, are you?” Please jump me.

  He leaned back and laughed from his gut. “God, no, Red. Sorry, but no. Although it’s a soft rug…”

  Briefly I wondered if he had ESP. He set the file containing my resume aside and scooted closer to me so that our legs were now flush together. I could smell his nascent odor of soap, laundry detergent, and some uniqu
e scent that belonged just to him—something vaguely metallic mixed with almonds. It smelled…unique. And disturbingly good.

  We were close enough that I could see the small creases at the edges of his eyes and a few frown lines across his forehead—the first obvious signs of our age difference. It was a fact that should have deterred me, but seemed completely inconsequential at the moment. His cheeks already had a tiny bit of delectable stubble growing, suggesting he shaved at night, rather than the morning. His lips were fuller than I had originally thought—soft and ripe enough that I wanted to suck the bottom one into my mouth.

  “Seriously, though,” he said, pulling me from my observations. His voice was suddenly serious, and he watched me carefully as he spoke, his eyes vast, watchful pools of blue. “It’s a cliché, I know…but since Friday, I…I can’t stop thinking about…”

  He trailed off as he reached a tentative finger out to touch the curve of my jaw. He traced down to my chin and up to rest on my lower lip, which I realized was tucked firmly in between my teeth. I looked back up to his eyes, which were now almost dark as the night sky, pupils dilated with lust.

  I released my lip and pulled away a fraction, but not much since he had already pushed me into the corner of the couch. He must have seen an expression of cornered prey on my face, because quickly his hand dropped to his lap, much to my instinctual regret. He cleared his throat.

  “Sorry,” he said. “I’m putting the cart before the horse.”

  He stood up and walked over to the fire, where he poked at it before turning back to me and sitting on the edge of the small hearth.

  “You’re a law student,” he said. “Motivated. Busy. I don’t know why you don’t have a job yet, but I’m guessing Sterling Grove isn't the first place to court you. Since you haven’t taken a job, I’d bet my stock portfolio you’ll be spending most of the next semester networking along with your regular classes, clinic, maybe some other extracurriculars. Am I right?”