by Abby Gaines
Silence. Then, coldly, “Excuse me, who is this?”
For a split second Travis thought she hadn’t recognized him, and it hurt. Then he discerned the anger behind the coldness and couldn’t quell a grin. “Very good,” he said. “You had me going. No wonder I’ve missed you.”
Each lightly uttered phrase pierced Megan with fresh pain.
It had taken days for the full scale of Travis’s deception to sink in. Almost every hour, it seemed, she thought of a fresh humiliation, found one more thing she’d said or done that must have had him either laughing at her or pitying her.
She was ashamed that none of those recollections stopped her from missing his company, his conversation…his kisses. But she wasn’t stupid enough to expose herself to more hurt. She glanced at the window, where a few weeks ago he’d waited in the street for her. “I have nothing to say to you, Travis.”
“Too bad. I have plenty to say to you. For the good of our clients, we need to get together.”
“Maybe you should have thought of our clients’ welfare before you offered to represent Barbara with your ulterior motive. Or before you started kissing me, and—and stalking me and acting as if you liked me.” Her voice too high, she clamped down on the stream of words that threatened to dissolve into tears.
“I like you,” he said. “I care about you a lot.” He’d matched what she felt for him. Whatever that was.
“People who care about each other don’t lie and string each other along. And now, because of what you did, we’re up against a brick wall in this prenup negotiation, and if Theo backs down on what he said to Dad about giving us his business, I won’t—” She screeched to a halt.
Hadn’t she learned by now that telling him things about herself and the firm only gave him ammunition to use against her?
Travis hadn’t hesitated to take advantage of her offer to introduce him to her dad. He didn’t hesitate to defend me against Dad, either, the first time they met. She shied away from the thought. So what if, just once, his protective instincts had got the better of his ambition?
“I can come and see you right now, and we can talk,” he said.
She looked at her watch, unnecessary since she didn’t have any appointments for at least an hour. “Whatever you have to say, tell me now. You have two minutes.”
“I need more.”
“You think I’ll be harder to fool this time around?” She heard someone arriving in the outer office and lowered her voice.
He made an exasperated sound in his throat. “We need time to get ourselves into a state where our personal antipathy doesn’t rub off on Theo and Barbara. Have dinner with me tomorrow.”
When she hesitated, Travis thought good sense had won through. That although Megan was still mad, she would attempt to mend their fences for the sake of their clients. His pulse sped up at the thought of dinner with her and his mind raced ahead to how he would fix this. Once he got her to the restaurant, he would explain how he planned to help her. If he told her over the phone, she wouldn’t believe him.
“I can’t. I have a date.”
Travis felt as if the wind had been punched out of him. From somewhere he dragged a breath that hurt his lungs. “Who with?” He didn’t recognize his own voice.
“With Nick, of course.” Another pause. “I’ve seen him a couple of times the past week. I trust him.”
Travis paced to the kitchen window. He looked out over the street and counted to ten as he watched the progress of the newspaper boy on his bike. Okay, so she was dating Nick. She’d dated Robert Grayson, too, and he hadn’t meant anything to her. Of course, Grayson was nowhere near as eligible as Stanton, who was probably every girl lawyer’s dream.
He had to ask. “Are you sleeping with him?”
She let out a hiss. “That’s none of your business.”
Her hostility gave him no clues as to the real answer.
“Okay then,” he said, “would you say he’s your boyfriend?”
He expected her to repeat the none-of-your-business mantra, leaving him to flip-flop between hope and a despair that was such unfamiliar territory, he could have been walking on Mars.
“He’s getting that way,” Megan said, and Travis was shocked. For a woman he’d never slept with, never even got close to naked with, she packed a mighty wallop.
“Travis?”
“Yes?” Could this get any worse?
“Your two minutes are up.”
Apparently, it could.
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
MEGAN HUNG UP the phone while she was still capable of coherent speech. It rang again immediately; still dazed from the shock of talking to Travis, she answered it.
“I just realized what you meant when you mentioned Theo talking to your father,” Travis said. “He’s giving Merritt, Merritt & Finch some of his business, right?”
She hesitated, then figured he would hear it on the grapevine soon enough. “Theo’s transferred about five percent of his business to us.” Five percent was a significant amount with Atlanta’s largest property development company.
“With the promise of more,” Travis guessed.
She said nothing.
“So now you’re worried—” his confidence seemed to grow with each word “—that Theo will pull out of that if Barbara digs her heels in over the prenup. And if Theo reneges, your father will scratch you from his short list.”
She closed her eyes. “Go away.”
“There has to be a way around this,” he mused.
“I’m sure when you figure it out you can use it to your advantage,” she snapped.
“I can’t do it on my own. We need to brainstorm.” He sounded as if he was sitting straighter; his voice was sharper. “You and I will spend the weekend at my place. We’re going to crack this.”
“Are you insane? I’m not going anywhere near your place to help you steal my job.”
“Megs,” he said, and her stomach tied itself in knots, “if you want this job, you have until Christmas to convince your dad. That’s one week. We’re not going to get this case finished, and you in Theo’s good books, unless we team up. Barbara’s just as keen for us to get this over with fast.”
“Obviously you think this will help you,” she said, “so why should I agree?”
“It won’t help me. And you don’t have a better idea.”
“You’re blackmailing me,” she said, aware she was being melodramatic. Aware too, that she was at the end of her tether.
“Whatever it takes,” he said, sounding way more cheerful than he had any right to be. “By the way, we’re going to be very busy. Better cancel that date with Nick.”
Jerk. “That’s fine,” she lied, “I’ll be seeing Nick on Christmas Day anyway.”
She took grim satisfaction when Travis hung up without another word.
MEGAN FIGURED that if her future depended on getting Theo’s business, and if winning the battle of the prenup was key to that, she would put everything into it. The way she always did. Which meant working with Travis.
And accepting the need to see Travis at seven in the morning, the time they’d agreed to start work on Saturday. He was right. They couldn’t work at her office or his, not without attracting attention to the unconventional way they were handling this case.
Normally, the lawyers and their clients would have meeting after meeting, both sides giving a little each time until an end was reached. Much the way they’d been doing with the Hoskinses so far. Now, she and Travis planned to short-circuit the process by getting to the end point themselves, and presenting it to their respective clients.
She figured they couldn’t do any worse than they were with the Hoskinses involved. All she had to do was survive a weekend of working with Travis. Which she could do, as a professional.
Travis led her to the dining room, where he had files and papers spread out on the craftsman-style table. “I’ve made a list of the outstanding issues, and some possible solutions.” He ushered her into a seat.
She opened her briefcase. “Me, too.”
“So all we have to do,” he said, “is work through every possible permutation.”
“Uh-huh.” She tried not to notice he hadn’t shaved yet. “Theo’s starting point is that Barbara signed a prenup and he doesn’t have to give an inch.”
“I’m sure it is,” Travis said drily. “Luckily for Barbara, we’re living in the real world.”
“Lucky that she gets to try and bleed Theo dry?”
“We’re not in the courtroom now, Counselor. You know Barbara has a legitimate claim.”
Megan plugged in her laptop. “It’s going to be a long weekend.”
“I have a guest room,” he said.
“I’m not sleeping here,” she spit.
He held up a hand for a truce. “Let’s just get this done.”
With her knuckles, Megan traced the frown line that had taken up permanent residence in her forehead. “Why are you doing this, Travis? I know we both need the divorce resolved, but by speeding this up, you’re giving me a chance to bring Theo’s business over to Merritt, Merritt & Finch. You’re shooting yourself in the foot.” She’d thought about it half the night, and couldn’t see where he was going to get his advantage.
“It’s a risk I’m willing to take. There’s no guarantee your dad will give you the job, even if Theo hands you every last cent of his legal business.” He shifted a stack of papers to make way for hers. “Besides, Theo’s account will be a nice revenue stream when I’m running the firm.”
She butted her papers up against his. “You think you’re a better candidate than I am.”
“In some ways. Not in others.” He slid a jar of pens toward her. “Put my help down to a guilty conscience.”
“Who’d have thought you could work at PPA this long and still have a conscience?” It was a low blow, but it made her feel better.
His expression cooled. “Put it down to my preference for a fair fight, then.”
That, she could more readily believe. “It’s not a fair fight when I only just found out you’re in it.”
“Like I told you,” he said, “I didn’t think it would come down to this, you and me, head-to-head. If your dad had kept you off the list, and I’d somehow managed to convince him to put me on it, the worst that would have happened was that I’d end up your boss.”
Her fingers curled on the tabletop.
“Will you stay as head of the family division if I get that job?” he asked.
She forced her fingers flat. “You think I’d let you drive me out of my own family’s business? You’re overestimating your own importance.”
“Ouch,” he said mildly.
“I’d stay, if only to make your life a misery,” she promised.
A glint lit his eyes. “You couldn’t do that, Megs. Even when we argue, you’re more fun than a runaway roller coaster.”
Damn him. She ducked her face, and her swimming gaze gradually focused in on a spreadsheet. “Let’s talk numbers,” she said.
Travis snapped into business mode, which helped her forget he was wearing faded jeans and a soft plaid shirt that on some men might have looked like something his father would wear, but on Travis looked unutterably cool. If he were to stroll down Fifth Avenue in New York right now, the stores would be full of ancient plaid shirts tomorrow.
After they’d agreed which clauses of the prenup were most contentious, they each took time out to make notes and consider their options. Travis poured apple juice and set banana muffins on the table. Megan realized she was starving; she broke a still-warm muffin open and ate while she worked.
An hour later, Travis broke her concentration. “You done there?” He indicated her notes.
“Yep.” The time had been incredibly productive, much more than sitting in her office with all kinds of interruptions, even on a weekend.
“I’ll show you mine if you’ll show me yours,” Travis quipped.
She pretended the innuendo had bypassed her, and shoved her notes across the table.
TRAVIS GAVE HER what he’d done, then he read through Megan’s notes. Some of her claims were laugh-out-loud outrageous, other demands were more reasonable.
He eyed her, engrossed in reading his work. She gave a soft snort—he figured she was up to the part about Barbara being deprived of sufficient time to understand the prenup. Her honey-colored hair was pulled back off her face, showing the hint of a widow’s peak, and her light floral perfume, combined with the aroma of Costa Rican coffee, captivated him.
“You must be dreaming.” She tapped the total dollar amount at the bottom of the page with her pen.
He was dreaming, but not about this divorce settlement. “Okay, slugger,” he said, focusing in on the facts, “if you can do better, give me your best shot.”
They talked all day, until they were both hoarse, gulping water, then returning to the fray.
The verbal dance was challenging, exhilarating. For every point Travis conceded to Megan, he forced her to give one right back.
By five o’clock, Travis thought the kinks in his back might be permanent. He stood and stretched, felt the crack of bones and joints. “I’m impressed with us,” he said. “We’ve done a lot.”
Megan leaned back in her seat, her arms hanging loose at her sides, her fingers waggling in what he took to be some kind of exercise. “If we can get this done by Christmas, it’ll be a happier holiday for Marcus and Chelsea,” she said.
“Yeah. Once Barbara and Theo are done fighting over money, they might find some time for the kids.” One hand behind his neck, he grasped his elbow with the other hand and pulled back until he felt a welcome stretch in his tricep. “For someone who doesn’t want kids, you sure take a personal interest in Chelsea and Marcus.”
She shot him a look. “It’s not about kids anymore, Travis, me and you.”
“It’s not about some cockeyed idea about someone—” him “—not loving you the right kind of way, either.”
She held an asset list high in front of her face and pretended to read.
“Here’s a question.” With one finger, he tweaked the top of the page so he could see her eyes. “When did Theo give Merritt, Merritt & Finch that five percent?”
She twitched the paper, but he didn’t let go. “Dad told me about it at the Christmas party.”
“I figured. So here’s what I know about you and your career and kids.” He was thinking out loud. “When you told Theo to get himself to rehab or else you’d tell the world he’s an alcoholic—”
She gasped. “I never said that.”
“Not in so many words,” he said with satisfaction and something curiously like pride. “But you threatened your client when he was in a position to take that business away from you.”
She swallowed. “I wasn’t sure you heard.”
“It’s not like I’m going to report you to anyone, Megs.” She flinched at the nickname. “Fact is, you risked your all-fired important career to make sure those kids ended up with a sober dad.”
She blinked. “So what are you saying…that I’m less set in my ways than you are?”
“No.” Hell, maybe he was saying that. He let go of her page and slumped back in his seat. “I’m saying you don’t know what you want. Just like your damned coffee.”
“Luckily,” she said, “I do know what I don’t want. And that’s a self-centered man like you.” She looked down her nose at him. “I suggest you get back to work.”
His thoughts swirled in all directions, no way could he concentrate on legalese. He pulled out his cell. “I’ll order us a pizza.”
“You’re not going to cook?”
There was a moment’s charged silence as they thought about the last time he’d cooked for her. “Pizza,” he said.
They worked another couple of hours, until seven, eating pepperoni and mushroom pizza as they talked about appreciation of assets. By now the settlement agreement was taking shape. Megan and Travis were still arguing every point of the
prenup, but at least it was honest argument. They knew where they stood.
“If I ever get married, I’ll do a darned sight better job on my prenup than the Hoskinses did.” Megan stretched her arms, lifting her sweater a tantalizing inch or two so that Travis glimpsed her midriff. He’d touched her there—was it only a week ago?—and he couldn’t stop thinking about doing it again.
“Did it occur to you that if the Hoskinses had a little more faith in their marriage, with no prenup to fall back on, they might not be getting divorced?” he asked.
“Chicken and egg,” she said dismissively.
“Just chicken,” he corrected her.
“Excuse me?”
“People have prenuptial agreements drawn up because they’re afraid the marriage won’t work. So they don’t commit fully, they leave themselves an exit.”
“Not having a prenup might be romantic,” she said. “But it overlooks the fact that people are flawed.”
“So if no marriage is perfect, why insure against it going bad by signing a prenup? You need to say from the start it’s going to be damned difficult but you’re sticking with it no matter what.”
“Spoken like a man with happily married parents,” she said.
“I’m not belittling what you went through with your parents’ divorce.” He touched the back of her hand. She twitched but didn’t pull back.
“Mom and Dad had a prenup,” she said, “but the agreement didn’t wreck their marriage. They were just plain wrong for each other, permanently fighting their own civil war.”
“You wouldn’t remember the breakup, though,” he prompted.
She shook her head. “But I remember living with Cynthia and Mom, and Dad living with Daisy, his second wife, and Sabrina. Dad was so happy with Daisy, but anything to do with alimony, or his and Mom’s joint custody of me and Cyn…it was a nightmare.”
Her fingers were long and slim, the nails painted a pale pink that somehow tugged at his heart. Travis held his breath as he spread his fingers so his hand entirely covered hers. He hadn’t been this cautious since he was sixteen and trying to sneak up on his girlfriend’s hand in the movies. Megan glanced down, but she was too distracted to register his advance.