by Xavier Neal
“I wanna enlist your services, Paxy, since I filed here in the states.”
“No.”
She seems startled by my lack of contemplation. “Think of the client potential.”
“No.”
“It could give you so much reach.”
“No.”
Her arms fold firmly across her chest. “You’re being unreasonable.”
My phone begins to vibrate in my hands, and I clutch it tighter to stay focused. “I’m being responsible.”
“The responsible thing would be to hear my proposal and actually consider it.”
My teeth begin grinding together in the habitual way they always do when I’m stressed.
Charlotte immediately spots the sign and strikes. “All I’m asking is you join me for lunch and listen to what I have to say.”
“I have plans.”
“Yes, with one of your best friends I’m sure. Holgan or Hoyt or Holt or something along those lines, am I right?”
Her recollection of my personal life further spreads the stress.
She’s pure poison. I have never met a more conniving, cunning, heartless creature in my entire life, and I’m a fucking attorney. There are hardened criminals behind bars who have more of conscience than this woman does. She plays the game, her game, to win. You being a participant is not relevant nor a choice. Charlotte O’Hara takes what she wants and doesn’t bother looking at the carnage it leaves behind. Easiest way to deal with her? Minimizing the amount of damage you personally take.
“Come on, Paxy,” she coos, slowly approaching my oval, dark cherry wood desk. “I’ve got a steak, glass of Wilcox, and a Black Dragon stogie with your name written on it waiting at my hotel suite.”
Silently, I weigh the options at hand.
Stay here and she turns my office, my professional place of business, into a demonic chess game I am in no mood to play or concede or go and prevent her from making my life the new target of her hell on earth campaign.
“You have forty-five minutes, Char. I’ve got an actual client coming in.”
Her victorious grin causes my stomach to gurgle.
On the way out of the office, I shoot Holden a quick text back apologizing for ignoring his call and requesting a rain check.
Charlotte, as mentally predicted, is staying at the hotel where we enjoyed brunch at their rooftop pool. Unlike the luxury chain hotel often known for housing celebrities, it prefers to remain away from the spotlight, focusing on high end cliental in a more discreet manner. Most people think the building is just another set of high rise downtown apartments. If they only knew who the building actually catered to there would be a high increase in sidewalk stalking.
My steak and whiskey arrive mere moments after I’ve settled in my seat indicating she knew there was no way I wouldn’t come. Just because I did doesn’t mean I’m still the naïve asshole I was when we first met.
Cutting into the perfectly seared steak, I grump, “Talk.”
“Don’t you wanna catch up first?” She crosses her long legs. “Hear about the bikini lines I’m poorly hiding and the corsets I’ve added to my collection?”
Her mental images threaten to destroy my appetite. “Thirty seven minutes.”
“Wow.” She dramatically clutches her chest. “All business, no pleasure? That doesn’t sound like the Paxy who bent me over his coffee table and fucked me with a T.V. remote.”
I chomp down on the piece of meat dangling from my fork.
Finally, she rolls her eyes and drops the act. “Fine. About eighteen months ago, I married Hadrian Reynolds, Duke of New Grenchdoul. Do you know where that is?”
“Get to the reason I’m supposed to care.”
“Well, when you marry a Duke, there’s an ass load of contracts involved. And while I successfully batted my eyelashes and blew my way out of the vast majority of them, there were a couple his legal team managed to keep intact such as the interestingly worded pre-nup.” She reaches for her champagne glass. “Had we gotten divorced within the first year, like everyone assumed, I would’ve gotten absolutely nothing. My plan was to wait until we hit year three, collapse under the pressure of being a member of their high society, and take the hefty hush money, but my plan backfired.”
Between chews, I taunt, “Shocking.”
“There was a stipulation about cheating. Not just for me, but for both of us. If at any point he was found having an affair I’d be given alimony for the rest of my life instead of a measly ten years.”
Measly?
Yeah…
Monster.
“If they found me cheating, no alimony and a very very small thank you for making him come consolation prize.”
“You want someone to negotiate a larger amount?”
She lets a devilish grin slip onto her face. “Here’s where it becomes fun. If I can prove he cheated before me, I can get my hands on a huge chunk of that cash. The way the agreement was written addressed the issues of just one of us cheating, not both. I.E. there are a few loopholes that can be jumped through. I just need to find the right man to jump through them. Luckily for me, I filed in this country, giving us the upper hand.”
Thankful she didn’t drag this out longer than necessary, I push my plate away, have a sip of the whiskey, and shake my head. “Not jumping.”
“Look, you weren’t exactly my first choice.”
“Charming.”
“Hadrian has a legal team. Three obnoxious, big nose bullies that love their client enough to actually protect him. So, one of the clauses in the agreement surrounding the divorce stated, I couldn’t use any law firm that had represented me in the past. Which yours hasn’t.”
My hold on the glass harshens.
“They recognized my winning streak and wanted to stop it. But…you know me, Paxy. You know there’s nothing I won’t do to get the score I feel entitled to.”
That lesson is one I wish I didn’t know.
Hadn’t been a victim of.
“Do this for me, and the clientele it’ll unlock will be incredible.”
“My current clientele is more than adequate.”
“Yes, representing B list celebrities and second rate millionaires is profitable and allows you to take the Pro Bono cases we both know don’t keep you in those fancy ties.”
Pro Bono cases are my attempt at keeping myself balanced. Keeping myself from becoming a greedy, money hungry, goblin like so many others I know. Just because a person has financial hardships doesn’t mean they should always have to fall victim to the system. Pro Bono cases provide me with the opportunity to help protect those who can’t always afford to protect themselves.
“Speaking of ties, is that from last summer’s Markay collection?”
She leans my direction in an obvious attempt to caress the object, and I snarl, “Do. Not. Touch. Me.”
Charlotte wets her lips instead. “Win this case for me, and your wildest dreams will come true.”
Pretty sure, that’s Ryann and Hattie. The absolute last thing I want is to fuck that up.
Which this most likely will.
Because this is my past treading dangerously too close to my present.
“Pass.”
“Win this, and you’ll never have to see me again.”
“I’ve heard that lie before, Char. Not buying into it twice.”
She smirks. “Fine. I’ll legally sign an agreement that stops me from stepping foot on your property, and I’ll triple your normal rates.”
The temptation flares my nostrils.
Rid of her permanently? Prevent my past from popping in at a later date to once again bully my future? Pour cement on the secret I swear she’s always one bitchy mood away from spilling? That could be beneficial.
“And if I lose?”
“I want back the investment I gave you to start the firm.”
My brow wrinkles. “We had an agreement.”
“A verbal one. Really, your word against mine. And once it comes to light jus
t what you did to get the money, I’m sure it’d sink your case as well as your career like the Titanic. Slow. Painful. Agonizing.”
Giving her back the money wouldn’t bankrupt me, but it would require me to let go of at least one of my attorneys. My assistant. Take on more caseloads, which inevitably would equate to less time with Ryann. Less time with Hattie. Less time with us as a family.
This is exactly what I was worried about when she walked through my office door. And there’s no hidden third option. I can’t pass. She’ll find a way to cut off all potential exits, roundabouts, and manipulate me into it. She is a professional con artist that always gets her mark.
I just hate that it’s going to be me.
Again.
Chapter 7
Late!
Of course I’m late. I’m always late when there’s something huge waiting for me to do after work. Never does Father Time offer forgiveness on these days. Nope, just bends me over without the lube and goes to town.
My cell vibrates across my desk, summoning my attention to it.
A quick swipe reveals an unwanted text message.
Jesse: What time am I supposed to get her today?
An annoyed huff springs forward.
Seriously? He gets one overnight a month and can’t even force himself to remember when it is?
Me: Not today. Not this weekend. NEXT.
His response is immediate.
Jesse: Can’t. Have plans.
I’m tempted to type “more important than your daughter?” but frankly; don’t need to waste any more time.
Me: Last Friday in month.
Jesse: Fine.
Rather than remind him she has a doctor’s appointment scheduled that day, like the communication clause in our settlement requires, I mentally make note to remind him later and zip close my computer bag, prepared to jog out of my office the second it is shut.
Just when I finally prepare to move towards the door, Claud Munn, a man I rarely see face to face, something I’ve always considered a good thing due to his lack of seeing anyone face to face, is standing in the doorway.
If my boss is in my office, looking into my eyes, this probably isn’t a good thing.
Or a short conversation.
Son. Of. A. Bitch.
I need it to be a fucking short conversation!
A polite smile is pushed onto my face. “Mr. Munn.”
“Miss Young. Do you have a moment to discuss something?”
Nope.
“Of course.” I usher a hand to one of the empty chairs across from me. “Would you care to take a seat?”
He looks at the black chairs and cringes.
Germaphobe. Or at least I had heard he was one. This is only the third occasion, in the years I’ve been working here that we’ve really crossed paths. He spends most of his time shut away from the world deciphering where and how multiple markets will expand or depreciate based on a one of a kind algorithm he created. The man, from what I know, is next level genius when it comes to math, but his affinity for art is why he spends his time here rather than….being…I don’t know. A rocket scientist?
“I’ll stand.” He cautiously approaches my desk. “There is an exclusive estate auction on South Haven Island happening at the beginning of September. As you’re probably aware, our company was given an invitation.”
I simply nod.
“While it is customary to send someone from the search and acquisitions rather than acquisitions and appraisal to conduct this level of field work, I believe this task would be better suited for someone who can grasp the magnitude of what’s truly in front of them.” His hands find their way to his pockets. “This auction is the type you will see once in a life time. The unexpected death of a member of one of the richest families in the country and oldest on the island, is going to produce some extraordinary, as well as priceless, pieces. I need someone who knows the value of them without having to verify with someone else every forty five seconds. I need someone at that auction who can not only spot the pieces we need for the coming showcases but can acquire the ones we have planned for the traveling displays with museums this fall, winter, and next spring. Someone who has an understanding why it would be more valuable at this time to acquire a Remandolk rather than an Einsenvoug.”
“Remandolk had a very limited collection of artworks. He burned all ‘practice’ pieces leaving only those he was commissioned to create for nobility. He was less well known than Einsenvoug who was quite popular, but also held no standard on who he sold to. His artwork is much more common. Plus, Einsenvoug was known for using his access to homes to sleep with as many men as he possibly could.”
Claud smirks. “I’m sending you to this auction with a list of what we’re looking to acquire and a somewhat flexible budget. Your main focus from Monday until the auction is to become an expert on the various pieces. Auctions like this are beacons to the world’s best and brightest forgers. You need to be able to avoid them on a grand scale.”
I swallow the nervousness building.
“The company will handle your flight and accommodations, of course, however, I deem it worthy of mentioning, for every successful find and purchase you make, you will be receiving a large bonus.”
“May I ask how large?”
He shrugs. “Depends on what you bring us back. The more unique, the more zeroes.”
Holy…shit…
“Any more questions?”
Too stunned to say anything, I simply shake my head.
“Very well. Enjoy your weekend and expect to see a stack of various textbooks on your desk Monday morning.”
“Thank you, Mr. Munn.”
Claud nods, sharply turns on his heels, and exits my office as swiftly as he came.
This…is…unbelievable! I just got personally asked to handle the biggest art hunting the company needs. And on South Haven Island at that! That’s almost like American Royalty paradise! This is huge. This is so huge! I gotta call Eden on the way home…
Shit!
I’m late!
Quickly, I grab my bag and place a call to Eden, hoping she’s somewhat awake considering the time in Doctenn. She thankfully answers, a familiar relaxed ease to her voice. My advanced knowledge of the situation has me offering to call back tomorrow, yet she denies it, insisting the guys are fast asleep, and she’s just painting. We spend the forty minutes it takes to get through downtown traffic and back to my house, catching up on career news and a little love life gossip.
Just as I’m parking in the driveway, a deep voice, fusses in the background. “Bed. Now.”
“Manners, Thatch.”
“We need you.”
A girlish giggle escapes me. “Go. Your boys need you.”
“Yeah, yeah, and I’m sure Pax needs you tonight. Have fun and kiss my niece for me.”
“Of course. Tell the guys, hey.”
“Will do.”
After ending the call, I hustle out of the car and into the house where Jennie is messing around on her phone. “Sorry, Jennie! Sorry!”
Her blue eyes don’t even look up. “It’s all good, Ryann. Hattie’s just looking for a toy in her room.”
“Mom!” Hattie shouts from the end of the hall.
“Did she have a snack?”
“Two.”
“Mom!”
“Anything special to report from camp?”
Jennie shakes her head, attention still on her device. “Just remember to sign the zoo field trip form when you drop her off on Monday.”
“Mom!”
“Got it.”
I drop my bag on the side of the couch and jog to find Hattie frantically looking for something.
“Mom!”
“Right here.”
Her tiny body spins around to face me. Instantly, the tone turns from panic to joyful. “Mom.”
Lowering myself to a squatting position, I open my arms wide and wave her over.
Hattie comes barreling happily towards me, and I let out
a sweet sigh when my arms close around her.
This is really what I was late for. For the past two days, I’ve left before she woke up and came home after she’s already in bed. Usually, when there are days like this, my mother comes to watch her, squeezing in grandma time, but because she’s still away on her honeymoon I’ve had to pay Jennie extra. Which definitely means Hattie and I will be engaging in some very free ninety nine type of fun for the next few weeks.