Office Fling (Manhattan Bad Boys BWWM Interracial Romance)

by Simone Rivers

  My angry tirade is cut short when Jordan is in front of me and she hangs up my phone, clearly pissed. Actually, pissed doesn’t even begin to describe the level of anger written all over this woman’s face right now; she’s enraged. And truth be told, she has every right to be. They’re basically trapped inside of the building by the media and an angry mob, with no way out except through a field of cameras. And given what’s going on, that’s the very last thing any of us need right now.

  Along come Monica and the Broadstreet three just behind Jordan, and none of them look happy. I can’t say that I blame them, really, but I’m also not about to take credit for Ashton’s shitty move, whatever it was.

  Jordan looks to me with a scowl and shakes her head, sighing as her hands rest on her hips.

  “Emily, I need to know why your firm has made such a PR nightmare of this and I need to know right now.”

  Wish I could tell you, babe.

  “Look Jordan, right now I don’t know exactly why the reporters are here, but-”

  “What do you mean, you don’t know? You can’t be serious?”

  She looks at me like I’m speaking Greek and have two heads and while she scoffs and looks around, Monica comes up beside her, looking equally unimpressed.

  “Emily, Ashton moved up the hearing and got the case dismissed. In the process of doing that,” she explains, sighing and rolling her eyes, “He’s created a media firestorm; people are demanding answers from us as well as sending a call for justice. The way that he argued it into dismissal just made everyone involved look guilty, and now people want a criminal or even international prosecution.”

  Oh, oh no. Can he really be that stupid?

  “Basically they’re taking it as an admission of guilt from the team, that the man did participate in the rogue operation and that this is part of our government’s way of covering it up and distracting from it.”

  I look back at them with both disbelief and utter disdain, realizing that Ashton just made things ten times worse for this firm in a single afternoon.

  “You’ve got to be kidding me.”

  “Do I look like I’m kidding, Emily? How do you not know what’s going on?”

  Jordan hollers it out and curses under her breath, a wave of frustration working its way through me as I try to mentally figure this all out.

  “No, of course not. Okay,” I say firmly, looking at them all, “What I need right now is a full briefing of what happened; leave nothing out, nothing. If it seems unimportant, add it anyway. I’m going to make a few calls but I promise you, I will fix this.”

  At least I hope I can.

  They accept that for now and I pull out my phone again to call Ashton, but this time he doesn’t pick up. Of course he doesn’t. Why would he? That would require him to be useful in the time I need him the most on this case, which I’m quickly realizing is not going to be the norm.

  I need to get some more answers and I need to start getting some solutions rolling, so I do what I wish that I didn’t have to do, sighing as I scroll through my contacts.

  I call Jeremiah.

  Of course he picks up right away and I waste no time getting into things. I need to figure out my next step and I need to do it now.

  “Listen to me, Jeremiah,” I say coolly, “You can consider this my notice of resignation from the firm, got it? I’m going to finish off this case, but after that I’m done.”

  I can practically hear the shock and disbelief on the other end of the phone as he gasps, and I hear the creak of his chair as he leans forward onto his desk.

  “Emily what do you mean you’re-”

  “Listen, Jeremiah, I’m not having this conversation right now. Right now we need to focus on fixing the mess that Ashton created.”

  After a moment he thankfully relents, recognizing just as much that there are more pressing matters at hand. And of course I could call my mother to help, I know she can, but I really don’t like to involve my parents a whole lot with my life now that I’m an adult. I’ve got my own career and I’ve paved my own way, working my ass off to prove just how damn amazing I am. The last thing I need is for mommy and daddy to have to come to my rescue.

  Except, right now, that is precisely what I need, despite how much it pains me to admit.

  “I think I’ve got an idea, Jeremiah.” I sigh, pinching the bridge of my nose as I close my eyes, realizing I don’t have much other choice. “I need you to call my mother.”

  He’s silent for a moment before he asks softly if I’m sure, and I nod, sighing.

  “Yes, I’m sure,” I say firmly, taking a deep breath before I hang up. “But we’re never talking about this again.”

  13

  Ashton

  I wake up the next morning feeling like a million bucks. Or maybe eighteen billion bucks is more appropriate.

  The sun in the sky seems to be just a bit brighter, and the lengthy commute to work seems so much less stressful and tedious.

  Which of course, means the shit is about to hit the fan.

  I park my Lexus in the garage and stroll to the front of our building, and immediately I notice the milling throng of reporters swarming about like angry bees. This can’t be good. Not at all.

  For a moment I hope that they aren’t there for anything having to do with me or the Broadstreet case, even though it’s quite logical that that’s exactly what they’re here for. But then they notice me and surge in my direction.

  I have a rule for talking to the press. Don’t. Simple as that. No matter what I say, they’re going to spin it in such a way that it sensationalizes the story. And I don’t blame them for doing their jobs, not at all.

  But that doesn’t mean I have to make it easy for them.

  A bright-faced, young red-haired reporter shoves her microphone in my face while camera flashes pop off in my eyes, nearly blinding me.

  “Ashton Deveaux, is it true that you admitted that your clients, Broadstreet Investments, were involved in illicit activities during their time with the Navy SEALs?”

  “No comment.”

  I brush past her and manage to dodge a couple more reporters, but soon the press of humanity slows my pace to a crawl and I’m bombarded with more questions.

  “Mr. Deveaux, did you use your connections to the New York State Chief Justice to get unfair access to Judge Reinhold after official courthouse hours?”

  Well, of course I did, but I’m not so worried about that. I’m far from the only lawyer to pull such a tactic, and it’s hardly illegal to use your connections to get ahead in this city. If it were, half of the power players in New York would be cooling their heels in a prison cell.

  “I really have no comment at this time.”

  Another ten steps, so very close to the front door, but then I’m stopped again.

  “Hey, Deveaux.” A smarmy middle-aged man chewing gum quite noisily accosts me in his cheap tweed suit. “Looks like you really stepped in the dog shit this time. Any plans on how you’re going to come out smelling like roses?”

  “I always smell like roses. Just ask your mother.”

  He stands there, flabbergasted, while I shove past another group of camera wielding parasites. I’m almost to the front door when I hear someone yell nearby.

  “Hey, asshole, this is what we think of scum-sucking lawyers who defend baby-killers.”

  I turn around just in time to see a cup of double whip frap spiraling through the air toward me. There’s no time to dodge, even if I could move more than a few inches with all of the reporters hemming me in. I watch the dark liquid and white cream spiraling in the air as if in slow motion, and then the well-aimed missile hits me right in the sternum. Sweetened coffee splashes all over my jacket, vest, and crisp oxford white shirt, not to mention my red power tie. Damn, I like that tie, too. Oh well, gives me an excuse to buy a new one.

  I step over the fallen cup and continue on my way. Though I know the suit is ruined I’m hoping my day will fare better.

  Finally, I el
bow my way through the pack of rabid dogs and enter the building’s lobby. It seems that my legal maneuverings, while brilliant and effective, have created a PR nightmare. Damn. Maybe I should have allowed Emily to consult on this one after all.

  The firm is buzzing like an angry beehive when I enter the lobby. Lawyers and their aides are running to and fro, a frenzied manner about them. I notice Emily standing at the top of the stairs, looking like an angry goddess about to smite the foolish mortal who chose to raise her ire.

  And here I am, the foolish mortal. I stop and stare up at her for a moment, to gather my thoughts. I try not to be distracted by her shapely legs or sweet, dark-skinned face. Now is not the time for fantasies, though something tells me I’ll be thinking about that skirt in the shower later tonight.

  There’s nothing to do but face the music. I climb the steps with as much dignity as I can muster, given the mess on my suit. Emily doesn’t seem to notice. Her gaze has a laser focus on my own, and given the tightness around her eyes and mouth I don’t think she’s happy.

  “Mr. Deveaux.” Oh, she called me Mister. I really am in some deep shit. “Will you come with me, please?”

  She’s really holding it together as I fall in step behind her. I figure she’s taking me to a conference room so she can holler at me without witnesses. Well, I’ve been shouted at before. No big deal. I think my mom spent most of my childhood yelling at me, and if I can take it from her I can take it from Emily.

  She leads me to the second floor conference chamber, a nice room with a view of the street below and a longish table. Emily eschews the comfortable chairs, and stands with her arms crossed over her chest.

  “Well?” I widen my gaze and thrust out my lower lip. “What do you want to say to me?”

  “A lot of things. A whole lot of things.” She sighs, and rubs the bridge of her nose. “But first I’m going to ask, why? Why did you go behind my back and pull this kind of stunt?”

  Clearly, she’s pissed as hell, but she’s also keeping herself in check. This self-control impresses me quite a bit. While her tone is accusatory and a bit harsh, she’s not screaming bloody murder.

  I kind of shrug and try to explain.

  “I thought you’d be happy.”

  “You thought I’d be happy?” Her voice starts to get shrill and then she visibly calms herself. “Okay. You didn’t think. You assumed. You assumed I would be happy that you went behind my back and pulled some shady legal maneuvering to get the case dropped.”

  “I wouldn’t say it was shady, and it worked—”

  “Ashton, do you know what happens when you assume?”

  “Uh…”

  “When you assume, you make an ass out of you and me. I don’t like being made to look like an ass, Ashton. I don’t like it at all. My reputation is at stake. Maybe you don’t care if your name gets dragged through the mud, but I certainly do. My future is at stake.”

  “You know, I did what I thought would help the case the most, and I succeeded beyond anyone’s wildest expectations. The injunction was dismissed before it even began. I don’t have to take this from you.”

  “And you set off a public firestorm that I’ve had to come in and clean up.”

  “How did you clean it up?”

  She pauses.

  And I pounce.

  “Did you call your mother?”

  When she doesn’t respond I snort in disgust and move to get past her, but she won’t move out of my way. We end up standing very close, so close I can smell her perfume. All of the sudden I’m very aware of her presence as a woman. I’m only inches away from her small but firm breasts, so close to her warm and inviting mouth.

  Her eyes soften, and she tilts her head upward as if anticipating a kiss. I find myself adjusting to do just that, without really thinking it through. All of a sudden, the case, the reporters, and the media firestorm seem very far away. Emily isn’t far away. She’s right here, so close I can feel the heat from her body.

  Our lips are mere inches apart, and I’m just about to taste her mouth when all of the sudden she notices the nasty spill on my suit.

  “What happened to you?” She shakes her head. “Never mind. Let’s get you cleaned up.”

  There are a million-and-a-half people in an uproar over this situation, so distracted that they pay us no mind. I follow in Emily’s wake, not sure if I’ve dodged a bullet or missed out on the opportunity of a lifetime.

  14

  Emily

  I suddenly realize that I’ve dragged Ashton into the women’s restroom. He doesn’t seem to mind. In fact, I’m not sure if he’s noticed yet. The glaring lack of urinals will catch his eye sooner or later. A quick glance at the wall of stalls tells me there’s no one else in here. At least I won’t have to worry about that for now. If someone else comes in here I’ll have to think of an excuse that doesn’t give the wrong impression. That’ll be easier said than done.

  “Your face is going to get stuck like that if you’re not careful,” Ashton says.

  “What?” I blink at him. It’s then that I feel the tension in my face. My jaw’s clenched, my brows are furrowed and I’m probably doing that thing that makes lines appear around my eyes. Extra night cream for me tonight. Jade thinks I look like a swamp monster when I do my skincare routine. She’ll get a kick out of it.

  “If you’re done scowling at me, I’m going to wash this off.” Ashton steps around me and approaches the sinks. He runs his sleeve under the water and dabs at the stain with a rough paper towel.

  “What are you doing?” I place one hand on my hip.

  “What does it look like?” He gives me a look through the mirror.

  “It looks like you’re ruining your jacket and you’re about to ruin your shirt too,” I smirk.

  “What? I’m just wiping it down with water.”

  “Ashton, every once in a while, you’re brilliant. Which is why I’m always surprised when you do something stupid.”

  “Was there a compliment somewhere in there? It sounded like there was but I honestly don’t know.”

  “Stop dabbing at it with that. It’s too rough for the fabric. It’ll leave a patchy texture on the sleeve. It’ll wear through faster than the rest of the suit.”

  I close the distance between us and take the wad of cheap paper towels out of his hand.

  “It’s not like I carry a detergent stick in my pocket,” Ashton scoffs. “That would ruin the suit lines.”

  “Need I remind you that I have a kid?” I reach into my clutch and pull out a detergent stick. “And that I enjoy a classic red lipstick.”

  “I’m very aware of both those things,” he says.

  “What’s your jacket made from?” I purposefully breeze past the lipstick comment. I don’t know how to appropriately react to that so I elect to ignore it. It’s nice that he’s aware of my kid. He should be after almost waking her up in the middle of the night not all that long ago.

  “Linen, I think. It could be cotton.”

  “Which is it? Linen or cotton?”

  “I don’t know. Does it matter?”

  “What do you mean ‘does it matter’?” I choke back a laugh. “How do you still have clothes?”

  “I don’t follow.”

  “Of course you don’t,” I sigh and shake my head. “Give me the jacket.”

  “Are you going to give it back?” Ashton protectively clutches his lapels.

  “Only if you’re a good boy,” I taunt. “Yes, I’ll give the jacket back. You can’t go back out there without a jacket.”

  Ashton reluctantly shrugs out of his jacket and hands it to me.

  “What was spilled on you again?”

  “Hell if I know. I didn’t see the punk who did it,” he sneers.

  I hold the damp sleeve up to my nose and take a sniff.

  “That doesn’t seem like a wise thing to do,” Ashton winces. “These assholes could be throwing piss at me, for all I know.”

  “Believe me, if it were piss, you’d kn
ow. It’s watered-down bacon grease. I think the protester was calling you a pig through symbolism.”

  “How poetic.” He rolls his eyes.

  I dab at the spot with my detergent stick before returning to the sink for some hand soap. I take my time gently massaging the tiniest bit of soap into the jacket.

  “Hold this.” I push the jacket into Ashton’s hand and grab some toilet paper from the stall. I wet it just enough so that it doesn’t fall apart and take the jacket back from Ashton.

  “I’ve seen chemists take less steps to get something done,” he marvels.

  A few dabs later and the stain, as well as the stench that came with it, is gone.

  “It’s still wet. I’m going to hang it on a stall to dry.”

  “What? That’s disgusting.” Ashton wrinkles his nose.

  “This is a women’s restroom. We keep things tidy,” I laugh as I hang the jacket on one of the purse hooks.

  “Why not just use the hand dryer?”

  “You can’t do that to this kind of fabric. It’ll make it tighten which can alter the fit or even lead to premature shrinking.”

  “‘Premature shrinking’?” He repeats.

  “Yes.”

  “You made that up.”

  “Yes, I did. I was trying to see how much mumbo jumbo I could throw in before you caught on. Good job. We still can’t use harsh heat on that fabric, though. That part was true.”

  “Are you enjoying this?” He does that eyebrow look that drives me insane. It’s a chore to keep my expression impassive. “You look like you’re enjoying this.”

  “We were mobbed by angry morons. You got covered in bacon grease. We have to hide in a bathroom. This is how I’m choosing to keep the stress at bay.” I decide to leave out the part where I almost kissed him a few moments ago. Talk about adding fuel to the fire.

  “How’s that working out for you?”