by Abby Gaines
She saw rather than heard Travis’s stifled curse. He winked at the children, grinned. “And I always get bossy around a beautiful woman.”
Chelsea giggled, but she still looked tense. In the interest of peace, Megan decided to overlook the chauvinistic slant to his comment.
“We’d better get back to Mom and Dad.” Marcus shoved his hands in his pockets and slouched in the direction of his parents.
Megan knew exactly what he was thinking. That grown-ups were mean and unfair, making kids miserable with their fighting. How could she, of all people, have been so thoughtless?
Barbara and Theo arrived, walking side by side but with about six feet of space between them.
“Did you have a good time, guys?” Theo scooped Chelsea up; she wrapped her arms around his neck.
“It was cool,” Marcus reported. “Travis can skate backward.”
“Great stuff,” Theo said heartily. The way he was avoiding looking at his wife suggested the counseling session hadn’t gone well. The children would see through their dad’s heartiness, Megan knew.
“I saw you skating, sweetheart,” Barbara said to Chelsea. “You were wonderful.” Chelsea reached for her mom, and after a brief hesitation, Theo passed her over.
“Thanks, Travis.” Theo shook his hand. “The kids needed some fun.” Megan suspected that was a dig at his wife as much as a compliment to Travis. “You, too, Megan,” he added belatedly.
“Anything I can do,” Megan murmured.
“You’re not the first to say I make a better babysitter than a lawyer,” Travis joked. It was the kind of self-deprecating comment that made men look good and women look feeble. Theo said something about the relative value of babysitters and lawyers, and in short order the two men had a males-only conversation going on.
Megan was wary of the respect in Theo’s eyes as he spoke to Travis. She wouldn’t put it past Travis to be plotting some PPA-style underhandedness. Such as trying to snaffle some of Theo’s business for his firm. Not on my watch.
Chelsea wiped her nose on her sleeve, transferring a string of clear snot. Barbara handed her a tissue. “Didn’t Daddy see you needed to blow?”
As his sister blew into the tissue, Marcus blinked hard and hunched his shoulders.
Megan remembered doing the same thing herself years ago. Remembered how no amount of blinking and hunching could protect a kid from hurt.
She groped for the calm she usually brought to her work. She had enough on her mind without worrying about the Hoskins kids, or about Travis stealing her client.
She needed to follow the advice she’d given Theo, to keep cool. Tomorrow, back in the office, she would get her head together, plan a way forward that would allow her to focus on what really mattered.
Convincing her dad she should have that job.
MEGAN STARTED Monday morning with a seven o’clock meeting to agree on the final touches for Merritt, Merritt & Finch’s famous Christmas bash. As the only Merritt currently employed at the firm, she was head of the party committee. In theory, that meant signing off on a long list of recommendations.
In reality, the party was a big deal to her father, and she found it impossible to let even the smallest decision go unchallenged. The committee members—lawyers and admin staff—would doubtless hate her by the time the big night arrived. But it was worth being pedantic to get it right, she assured herself, as she overturned the salmon canapés decision in favor of the turkey and cranberry roulade.
From eight, she had client meetings scheduled through to midday, which made twelve o’ clock the first opportunity she had to call Travis.
He must have had her number programmed into his cell phone, because he answered with, “Megan, hi.” The unexpectedness of hearing her name in his deep, sexy voice made her stomach lurch.
“I was about to call you,” he said. There was no trace of his previous annoyance at the prospect of her dating Robert. That was good, of course.
“I assume you received a copy of the counselor’s report?” she asked, her voice crisp.
“It’s probably at my office. I’m taking the morning off.”
“Excuse me?”
He chuckled. “Surely a morning off isn’t entirely outside your frame of reference?”
“Of course not.” Her gaze measured the mile-high stack of files on her desk. She doubted Travis could have any fewer. Then it clicked for her. “I’m sorry, Travis, is it a funeral?”
He laughed. “There are other reasons to take a morning off, Megs. I promise you, no one died.”
Megs? No one called her that. Why was he so friendly after their disagreement on Saturday. What was he after?
“Although things don’t look too hot for the old guy in the blue bathrobe,” he continued.
“What on earth are you talking about?”
“The book I’m reading. No one’s died, but the title is Silence in the Tomb. I figure it’s only a matter of time.”
“You took time off work to read a thriller?” She hoped she didn’t sound as rattled as she felt. Did Travis think he was so much better than she was that he didn’t even have to try to win the case? Or maybe my strategy of encouraging him to underestimate me is working big-time.
“This is a mystery,” he said, affronted. “I don’t read thrillers.”
Megan had no idea what the difference was. On the rare occasions she read fiction, she usually tried to catch up with whatever had won the Pulitzer or the Nobel Prize. She retreated to solid ground. “The counselor sent over a report this morning, recommending two more sessions. He doesn’t feel either Theo or Barbara was entirely honest during Saturday’s meeting.”
“Not a surprise,” Travis said. Over the phone she heard the blare of a car horn. Was he reading outdoors? She eyed the gray sky outside her window. She suspected Travis would read in the rain if the fancy took him. How odd that he should be so disturbingly unconventional in some ways, yet so traditional in his views about family.
“I assume you and I will be asked to attend those extra sessions, if only to babysit.” She tackled the easier of her two missions first. “I want us to agree not to argue in front of Marcus and Chelsea. Those kids hear enough of that from their parents. We should show them that adults can live in harmony.”
He hummed a few bars of “Ebony and Ivory.” “Let me get this straight. You’re saying you and I should act happily married?”
She leaned back in her chair and crossed her ankles, aware he was disarming her. That was okay; disarming went both ways, and she could pick up her weapons anytime. She loosened her grip on the phone. “Polite and respectful will provide sufficient contrast between us and their parents.”
“Good idea. For someone who doesn’t like kids, you’ve given this some serious thought.” The cadence of his voice had changed; it sounded as if he was on the move. Maybe that mystery novel was an audio-book. A dull rumble of traffic filled the pause.
“I never said I don’t like children, just that I don’t want to have them.” She twisted the phone cord in her fingers. “The look on the Hoskins kids’ faces after you and I snapped at each other…I lay awake half the night.”
“Did you now?” His voice dropped to a low, suggestive pitch that sent a frisson through her.
She straightened up. Dammit, where did I put my armor?
“Look out your window,” Travis said.
Megan heard the whine of a bus’s brakes in her ear. She shoved her chair back and made her way around the desk, phone in hand. The stretched phone cord knocked the penholder off her desk; pens, paper clips and a Hi-Liter cascaded to the carpet.
From her third-floor vantage point, well above the traffic, Travis was easily visible among the thronging pedestrians on the other side of the road. He had his cell phone to his ear and with his other hand he waved a paperback at her. “Come on down,” he invited her. “I’ll buy you a sandwich.”
Megan knuckled her temples. “What are you doing outside my building?”
“Ask
ing you to lunch,” he said patiently.
How was she supposed to plan a strategy, when he never did what she expected? She weighed her options. She could refuse, and warn him over the phone against muscling in on her client. But after all that talk of hors d’oeuvres this morning and with no court appearances planned today, she was hungry and a little stir-crazy. Face-to-face, she could stake her claim on Theo in no uncertain terms.
“It’s not that big a decision, Megs,” Travis teased, still in that suspiciously friendly tone.
She hung up. Keep him guessing, even if it’s only for five minutes.
TRAVIS TOOK HER to a sandwich bar on Central. He ordered the roast beef sandwich; Megan chose an egg salad wrap. She gathered cutlery and a couple of napkins from the baskets on the counter.
“Coffee?” Travis offered.
“Espresso, thanks,” she said automatically.
“Two lattes,” he told the girl serving behind the counter.
Megan’s jaw dropped; she snapped her mouth shut. Only to open it again. “Did you hear what I said?”
“If you think I can enjoy my latte while you sit there making eyes at it, like you did at our meeting last week…”
“I didn’t make eyes at your coffee.” How did Travis see things no one else could?
“You must have been making them at me, then.”
She tightened her grip on the knives and said through gritted teeth, “You’re delusional.”
“My mistake, Counselor.” He smirked.
The only person making eyes around here was the server, gawking at Travis as if he was the best thing since cappuccino.
Unwilling to make a scene—who knew how many of the people in here were lawyers?—Megan stalked to the only spare table in the place. Travis joined her a minute later, carrying their coffees. She tried not to look too entranced at the sight of the frothy lattes—hers with cream on top, damn him.
He set the drinks on the table and sat on the slatted wooden chair opposite her. He wore faded jeans and a gray sweatshirt, and beneath the sweatshirt, she got a glimpse of white T-shirt. Crazy that such ordinary clothes could combine to look so ruggedly masculine.
She wondered if he knew the effect he had on her. Undoubtedly. Which made her wonder if it was calculated. “Why were you reading outside my building?”
He wedged the card with their order number into the flower-shaped metal holder. “I wasn’t. I was a block away at Cameron Hospital. My dad’s in town for a post-op consultation, so I took the morning off to go along with him. Figured I’d earned it, after someone made me work Saturday.”
She ignored the dig about Saturday. “I hope your dad’s condition isn’t serious.”
He stirred sugar into his coffee. “Hip replacement, all by the book. I left Dad waiting for the doc and told him I’d hang out here until he’s done. He should be another hour.”
“I’ll be gone by then.”
Travis read relief in the infinitesimal shift of Megan’s shoulders. The feeling was mutual. He had a reason for this meeting, and it wasn’t to introduce her to his dad.
The exact opposite, in fact. It was to secure an introduction to her father. And he’d realized just how to get it after he arrived home on Saturday. Megan had planted the idea when she mentioned she was vetting the invitation list to the celebrated Merritt, Merritt & Finch Christmas party. It was the most prestigious event of the year, attended by senior Merritt, Merritt & Finch staff, judges, corporate clients and selected members of the legal fraternity…including a handful of lawyers from other firms. Jonah Merritt presided over the occasion every year, without fail.
All Travis had to do was get himself invited, then make sure he met Jonah there. Once they were talking face-to-face, he was sure he could convince Jonah to interview him.
First, he had to persuade Megan to invite him. Which should be no skin off her nose, since she was ignorant of his motives.
Travis studied her face—including that small, straight nose—then moved down to the champagne-colored silk blouse she’d paired with a forest-green tweed skirt.
“For someone who lay awake half the night worrying about the Hoskins kids you look great,” he said. “Add a red scarf to that outfit and you could be one of Santa’s elves.” Might as well bring the conversation around to the holiday season.
“How tacky,” Megan said, and he grinned, eliminating flattery as a persuasion technique.
Their sandwiches arrived; they juggled salt, pepper and ketchup and mustard to make room on the table. Travis bit into his beef sandwich, while Megan partially unrolled her wrap to scrutinize the contents.
“Okay?” He watched her careful inspection. Would pursuing his desire to meet Jonah arouse her suspicions? It didn’t matter if it did, since she wasn’t in the running. In which case, why not he tell her outright he wanted the job? Not going there.
“It seems fine.” She rewrapped her lunch securely.
“How’s your coffee?”
Despite the longing in her tawny eyes, she was clearly determined not to give him the satisfaction of drinking it. He waited. At last, she picked it up and sipped, her eyes closed in appreciation.
The way they would be if he kissed her. Hell.
Megan’s eyes snapped open. “Ugh.” She clattered the cup back onto the table.
“What’s the problem?” Travis steadied the cup, wobbling precariously in its saucer.
“It tastes awful,” she said. “Like reheated dishwater.”
He sampled his own. “Mine’s fine.” He slid his cup toward her. “Try it.”
One swallow, and she rejected his as well. “Yech. It’s so milky.”
“Latte being the Italian for milk,” he said.
“I don’t think they even put any coffee in.” She sniffed hers as if she suspected him of poisoning her. “I don’t believe it. All these years, I’ve hankered after a latte—” she pushed her cup away and eyed him accusingly “—and I don’t like it.”
“You’ve wanted a latte for years? Why the hell didn’t you just order one?”
She picked up her wrap and took a bite. “You said you were going to call me this morning. Was it about Theo?”
“Tell me about your coffee hang-up.”
Her fingers tightened around her wrap. The filling bulged; a chunk of egg salad dropped onto her plate. “Nothing to tell. Have you spoken to Theo since Saturday afternoon?”
“You’re obviously not lactose intolerant.”
She dabbed at her mouth with her napkin. “I want to know what you’re up to.”
“Are you afraid of froth?”
It was a throwaway remark, meaningless. But her fingers twitched, dislodging more egg salad. Afraid of froth. No such phobia. But the answer was in there somewhere. Travis glanced from the coffee, the whipped cream now melting over the sides of the cup, back to Megan’s set, intense expression.
“What does your father drink?” he asked.
“Stop changing the subject. You’re hiding something.”
A warning bell went off in his brain; he ignored it. “A thousand bucks says it’s espresso.” Then inspiration struck. “On second thought, I’ll let you off easy—an invitation to your firm’s Christmas party says Jonah Merritt drinks espresso.” Yes.
“What if he does?” she said.
“You order the same drink as your dad, while your eyes beg for a latte. The word froth gets you agitated…”
“You’re crazy. Either that, or you’ll say anything to avoid answering my questions.”
“You think your father wouldn’t take you seriously if you ordered frothy coffee?”
“Why are you obsessing about coffee?” But her voice shook, and he knew he was right.
“You can’t seriously believe your dad would think less of you if you drank lattes.”
“You can’t seriously believe your ravings about coffee will stop me noticing your little scheme.”
Her sharp tone arrested him. “What scheme?”
“You’v
e been acting strangely ever since I called you.”
He drew back. “Garbage.”
She crumpled her serviette. “You have some agenda I don’t know about.”
How had she reached that conclusion? One look at her eyes revealed the keen intelligence there. Her brain had been working just as fast as his, in a different direction. And somehow she’d picked up on his ulterior motive. I want to meet your father. I want the job you think should be yours. I want to salvage the life I planned.
The hell he would admit to any of that. He gulped down his latte as he cast around for something to say, knowing an outright denial would only cause her to probe further. Do something, before she figures it out.
Slowly, deliberately, he set his cup in its saucer. “I want you to cancel your date with Robert Grayson.”
CHAPTER SIX
ROBERT? He was worried about her dinner with Robert? Megan had been so tightly poised to pounce on a denial, to worry at it until Travis caved in, that now she felt as if she was teetering on a cliff edge.
“You are way out of line.” But her words lacked heat as she considered and discarded reasons he might have said what he did. Reasons like, Travis was jealous because he wanted to date her himself; he was jealous because he wanted to date Robert himself; he was worried Robert might give her good advice about the Hoskins case; Robert knew something unsavory about Travis, and Travis was afraid she would discover it and it would prejudice his case…. Yes! That had to be it.
Behind her, a male voice spoke into the shocked silence. “Now I see why you were so keen to abandon your father in the emergency ward.”
Megan twisted in her chair, to see an older version of Travis smiling down at her.
“You were nowhere near the emergency ward, Dad.” Travis’s casual tone was forced. He stood and grabbed a spare chair from an adjacent table for his father, who was using a cane for assistance.
“Manners, son.” The older man nodded at Megan.
“Megan, this is my dad, Hugh Jamieson,” Travis said reluctantly. “Dad, Megan Merritt.”