Claiming Amelia

by Jessica Blake

  “Okay, that’s fine,” I said, even though worry curdled in my belly. “When?”

  “What are you doing right now?”

  Right now, I was panicking and terrified, but I didn’t say that out loud. “I’m free,” I said instead.

  He was exceedingly pleased with that — his words, not mine — and agreed to head toward me from his downtown office. There was a café and bakery somewhere in the middle that he swore boasted amazing coffee and pastries. It didn’t matter to me because my ability to make small talk and nibble on snacks was all but eradicated by the sick feeling in my stomach. I didn’t care how many times Trevor told me it was no big deal, there was something up, and my intuition wouldn’t let me deny it.

  ***

  “Wow, you’re more gorgeous than I remember you.” Trevor breathed into my hair as he squeezed me tighter than an assistant prosecutor probably should. Even though we’d fooled around when we were younger, I didn’t appreciate this level of familiarity, especially by someone who wanted to put me in jail.

  I pulled away, putting distance between us. “Thanks. Good to see you too.”

  He ushered me over to a small table in the far corner of the bright, airy coffee shop. Just as I started to sit in the chair he held out for me, my phone buzzed. It was Declan.

  Hating to do it, but not at a place I could talk, I sent him to voicemail. It immediately rang again, and once more, I silenced it.

  “What can I get you?”

  I blinked, my mind going blank for moment. “Vanilla latte, please,” I said, distracted by the fact that Declan had just sent me a text message. Apparently, patience was not one of his virtues.

  I looked down at the text. Everything okay? Should I be mad that you keep sending me to vm?

  I chewed my lower lip, wondering how much I needed to tell him. I sucked in a quick breath before tapping out a quick message. Random call from old friend Trevor Leonard. Wanted to catch up and ask abt the fight.

  Declan’s response was lightning fast, surprising me. Where are you? Don’t answer anything, Amelia. I mean it.

  Hmmm… so Declan immediately knew that Trevor was a prosecutor. Interesting.

  Before I could respond, Trevor returned with our drinks, and I quickly tapped out my location before dropping my phone in my bag.

  “So, you look good, Amelia.”

  He was smiling as he repeated himself. Again, I nodded and thanked him. He didn’t look much different. His blond hair was a little thinner on top, but not much. He wore a fairly expensive suit, nothing crazy, though. His blue eyes looked tired. His smile was strained.

  I decided right there that Trevor Leonard looked much better as a law school student than as a full-blown prosecutor.

  “I appreciate the compliment,” I said with a tight smile of my own. “But the fact that you want to talk about what happened the other day has me a little worried. You’ll have to forgive me if I’m having a hard time with small talk.”

  He took a sip of his coffee and didn’t bother wiping the corner of his mouth, making me want to cringe for him. I did my best to look anywhere but right at the glob of foam stuck there.

  He leaned back, his hands still around the mug. “Listen, like I said, nothing to worry about. It’s not even on my desk yet. I just caught wind of it and wanted to check-in with you before it got too big.”

  I loosened my grip around my own mug before I broke it into pieces. “There’s a possibility of it getting too big?”

  In my rational mind, I knew that both my brother and I had done nothing wrong. It was self-defense, after all. But I also knew that the people we were dealing with probably didn’t play fair or tell complete truths.

  “Maybe,” he said, a little too nonchalantly. “I mean, there’s a guy with a messed-up jaw and some missing teeth. The detectives are looking more into it, but on paper, it looks bad.”

  “The guy with a messed-up jaw had two goons with him beating my brother to a pulp and threatening me!”

  My voice rose a little as I spoke, and I reigned it in as best I could.

  He nodded. “Go on.”

  “I’m just saying, Trevor, that I haven’t talked to any police detectives yet. I’ve heard nothing from them, so if they’re already putting together some sort of case, they’re missing a very big part of it.”

  “I didn’t say they’re officially putting together a case yet,” he backtracked.

  I narrowed my eyes at him and frowned. “Then what are you saying?”

  My patience with the man was slipping quickly. He seemed to be saying something, and at the same time, nothing at all. The emotional roller-coaster he created with his words was exhausting and more than anything, I wanted off.

  “I’ll be blunt,” he said, leaning forward and smiling like he was doing me some sort of favor. “The family would probably be willing to let this thing disappear if you make nice with them. Apologize. Make it right. Then it would stay off my desk if there was no more drama between the Byrnes and the Duffys.”

  I honestly didn’t know how to process what I thought I was hearing.

  “Trevor, is this really a conversation an assistant prosecutor would be having in a situation like this? You seem pretty savvy about the whole situation for it not even being on your desk yet.” I pushed the coffee he ordered me away, suddenly turned off from accepting any sort of token and favor from him.

  He was acting fishy as hell, and as much as I wanted to put him in his place, more than anything, I just wanted to leave and him never contact me again.

  “I heard about it from a friend,” was all he said, not really telling me anything. “And your name came up, and I thought I’d offer a little friendly professional advice, seeing how I go through this ten times a day. You want to make peace with them and make it all go away, or it could get ugly.”

  It could get ugly.

  I sighed. It sounded a little like a veiled threat to me at first blush, but Trevor’s nearly featureless face wasn’t giving anything away. Really, what had I ever seen in the man? No cheekbones. No masculine jawline. No punishing lips that could simultaneously be so soft as they…

  I sucked in a deep breath, reining in my dirty thoughts of Declan. Rubbing my temple with my hand, I got control of myself and pushed Declan to the side for a moment while I dealt with Trevor.

  Despite the fact that I had warning bells going off like crazy, I figured it’d be in my best interest to be as polite as possible and not cause a scene — or to give him any more reason to call me.

  “I really appreciate the coffee and the heads-up,” I said, pulling my stuff together and trying to offer an easy smile. I was sure it looked really forced to anyone who knew me, but Trevor Leonard hadn’t really bothered to try to get to know me when we’d dated so he wouldn’t know the difference. “Take care of yourself, Trevor. I wish you the best with your career and everything.”

  He looked surprised that I was leaving. “That’s it?” he asked, the annoyance obvious on his face. He wasn’t happy.

  “Was there something else? You told me to make nice with the Duffys, and I appreciate your concern and warning. What else was there?”

  The directness of the question seemed to take a little steam out of his sails, but he recovered quickly enough. “Are you in a rush? Do you have to leave right now? I figured we could catch up.”

  Before I could say anything, I felt the pressure in the room change. I smelled that spicy, woodsy scent that had invaded my psyche over the past two days. In the space of a heartbeat, I knew he was here.

  Declan was standing right behind me, and if I wasn’t crazy, I could practically feel the anger radiating from him.

  “As a matter of fact, she is leaving right now,” he said, coming to stand right beside me, his posture menacing as hell as he stared down at the assistant prosecutor with a face that could stop a charging bull.

  CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

  Declan

  I’d had a fucking annoying day.

  And now,
standing in this little coffee shop, it wasn’t getting any better.

  I’d been at The Capstone, in a meeting with a couple potential clients. I’d decided to have our conversation in the bar, despite the fact that the dining room was closed until dinner. Finn’s food service manager kept one cook on duty for lighter fare that patrons could order through the bartender, and it meant I might get a peek at Amelia at some point during the meeting. Two birds and all that.

  Except for one, she hadn’t been there. I was able to tell the moment I arrived at the bar and sat in the plush leather chair that Amelia wasn’t anywhere around. I even asked the bartender if she was in the back somewhere, and the older woman told me she’d left about a half hour earlier. I called her but it went straight to voicemail, causing the hair to rise on my neck.

  It was habit now, wanting to know she was safe, but also because I just enjoyed talking to her throughout my day when everything else around me was all numbers, profits, and damage mitigation.

  But there had been no response on my phone.

  Across the table, Brennan had stared at me. If his expression were a sentence said aloud, I was pretty sure it would be something like “focus, asshole.” The man never missed a thing.

  I appreciated him for it, even if it got on my last nerve at times like this. Brennan never took his eyes off the prize — the prize I’d set. And normally, I didn’t either. I was as focused and driven as they came.

  Except a little less focused on profits and loss lately and a little more focused on seeing where this thing with Amelia was going.

  Forcing myself to play the role of real estate mogul, I put the mask of Declan Casey back on. The men here were interested in at least one of the spaces in the plaza that was already built, and I needed those remaining two spots filled. The more occupied and utilized a place appeared to be, the more occupied and utilized it actually became. And having two giant spaces sitting empty in there wasn’t helping the illusion of commerce and profit generation.

  So we had been talking business.

  “I like what you’re doing, I really do,” the investor, Eric, said. “I’m just worried that it’s too ambitious for that space. Upscale has never been synonymous with that side of town.”

  The expression on my face, a half-smile, was so fake I felt like it would crack like dried out concrete with my effort not to put this guy in his place with his half-assed dig at the neighborhood. People just saw the working-class homes, the corner convenience stores that often attracted cigarette smokers and jokers to gather outside and watch people passing by. They only read the stories in the papers about the bad things that happened in the Southside, but didn’t bother to look at the hard workers, the business owners who dug in, helped their neighbors and tried to make the whole zip code a better place.

  “If that’s how you feel, I understand,” I’d told him, keeping that damned easy expression on my face, though the tension in my words was obvious. I’d glanced at Brennan, who seemed worried that I was about to blow the whole damn thing to hell by beating this pompous prick into oblivion.

  But he knew better. That wasn’t me. Never was.

  “And it sounds like it’s probably not a fit for you two,” I continued, beginning the dismissal that I had a hunch would happen anyway. I’d warned Brennan on my way over here that I wasn’t completely sold on the boutique concept the two of them were going to try to work into a deal. I wasn’t a fashion expert, but after a little research into the brand they were hoping to franchise, I had misgivings about just who would be able to afford clothing like that.

  They’d likely been thinking about selling to the guests at The Capstone, but that wasn’t the only people I wanted to get into the shops. I wanted a mix of tourists and locals, and I could guarantee that no locals wanted to spend a thousand bucks on a pair of shoes with an Italian label. There had to be more middle ground, and these two jokers just weren’t it.

  The other man was the first to sputter at the thought of being dismissed. I could read from the way he approached this deal that he’d been hoping to exploit the fact that this side of Boston wasn’t the most upscale, wasn’t the highest priced of land values — and to get in on the ground floor on a property that would only grow in value and traffic. In short, the man had thought he was smarter than me and was going to take advantage.

  “That’s not it,” he’d protested, adjusting his tie as he did. I leveled a stare at him and silently dared him to argue with me, to provide a valid counterpart of some sort. “Bellaire Junction would be a fantastic fit for the space you have open. We’re just not sure your space is priced to suit the conditions as they are now.”

  My jaw tightened. He was basically calling the neighborhood a shithole and trying to get some massive discount so that his profit margin on “Italian” goods made in China was that much bigger.

  Before I could speak, the man with the money, Eric, held his hands up and asked for a moment to talk to his partner. I gave an uninterested shrug, and they were gone, walking through the bar out into the lobby before I looked back up.

  Across from me, Brennan snorted.

  “Your head’s not in it,” he simply said. “You’re not interested in what’s going on so you’re being a prick about it.”

  Damn if he wasn’t judging the hell out of me. Part of the problem, however, was that he was right. Normally, if it meant I would get my way and make a good profit, I’d overlook certain things like a little neighborhood prejudice or passive aggressive negotiation tactics. But not today.

  “My head’s right here,” I grumbled, looking down at my phone as I fired away a message to Amelia.

  “Fine, your dick’s somewhere else, and that’s what you’re thinking with,” Brennan said, his tone friendly so it took a moment for the words to catch up. My head snapped up, and I narrowed my eyes at him.

  “Watch yourself, Drake.” I frowned. “You’re a brother to me, but I’ll kick your ass like I kick theirs when they get out of line.”

  Brennan had the nerve to laugh. “You could try, Declan,” he said, stretching his arms high above his head as he yawned. “Wouldn’t be the first time you’ve failed, either.”

  I snorted. “I don’t like these two, I’ll be honest,” I said, steering the conversation away from the pissing contest that was brewing. “They’re smarmy and smug, and to be honest, they look like bullies if given the chance. No thanks.”

  Brennan let out a long-suffering sigh and scrubbed his hand down his face. He was annoyed with me, that much was obvious. Trouble was, I didn’t care. That was the great thing about owning the whole company, about having the Casey last name in the company logo.

  “I agree with you one-hundred-percent,” he said, but I knew he was still going to argue with me. “But they’re the first real bite we’ve had in weeks, and I don’t think they’d have trouble paying their rent each month.”

  Again, the man had a point. Some of our tenants, especially the smaller businesses and family run shops, had a hard time making their payments each month and had to ask for extensions. We had a couple who were close to going under, and I’d turned the other way and ignored the fact that they should have been evicted months ago.

  Rent and getting paid on time was a good thing.

  But it wasn’t the only thing, especially if there was a chance that I’d end up in jail for punching a smug asshole in the face for taking cheap shots at my old neighborhood, even if he didn’t know my roots.

  “Let’s just get this over with,” I’d grumbled. “I can’t stand either of them. I don’t want to do business with them.”

  Brennan wasn’t happy, but after all our time together, he knew better than to fight me on this in a place like Finn’s bar.

  Amelia’s response came back, and I opened the message. Random call from old friend Trevor Leonard. Wanted to catch up and ask abt the fight.

  I frowned. I knew that name. Damn.

  “Shit.”

  Brennan’s swagger disappeared immediately, a
nd he looked as concerned as I had sounded. “What?”

  “Amelia just got herself caught up in a run-in with a prosecutor from the D.A.’s office,” I said, rereading the message. “Says he’s an old friend of hers. Trevor Leonard.”

  Brennan frowned at the name. “Sounds familiar,” he said, pulling out his own phone. Just then, the men decided to rejoin the table. Brennan, however, saved me the odious task of politely sending them off, seeing how he was now worried that Amelia was in some sort of danger.

  “Well, we’ve been—” Eric began, but Brennan waved him off and stood, towering over both men. I stayed in my chair, typing furiously to Amelia.

  “Thanks, but no thanks,” Brennan said, all but strong-arming them out of the bar. “We’re no longer interested. We’ll let you know if we change our minds.” Sputtering and confused, the two could do nothing but be removed from the bar before Brennan returned to the table. “Where is she?”

  I waited for another message, and as the seconds ticked by, I grew more agitated. Finally, after nearly two minutes, a short, clipped message popped up. Philo’s for coffee. No big deal. See you in a couple hours!

  Across from me, Brennan had made a phone call and was pacing. I heard Leonard mentioned as he waited for the information he was seeking. With a terse nod of his head, he ended the call and looked at me.

  “Just about as far in Duffy’s back pocket as a prosecutor can get,” Brennan confirmed. “Leonard’s old man is a former defense attorney who took special care of old man Duffy back in the day. Seems like the apple didn’t far fall from the tree.”

  Except this apple was in a position of minor authority and could be abusing it to further his friends’ connections.

  I stood and threw a few bills on the table as Brennan and I strode for the exit.

  Yeah, my day had sucked, and I had a feeling it was only going to get worse.

  ***

  I wasn’t a jealous man, normally.

  And, really, it wasn’t jealousy I felt as I watched the son of a bitch practically eye-fucking Amelia as she pressed back against her chair. It was rage. From her body language alone, Amelia wasn’t having a good time and was uncomfortable. And either the prick didn’t register the fact, or more likely, he did, and he didn’t give a damn.