“Does the nature of my case trouble you?”
“Not at all.”
“I get the impression you’d rather refer it out.”
The answer made her situation worse. She was torn. Part of her, the personal part, hoped he’d instruct her to hand the case off. That choice allowed her to see him socially, which she’d love to do. The professional part of her, the attorney wanted to keep it. She wanted to win the case for him. A tough decision.
Pride won.
“No, I don’t. You have a choice in who represents you. But in spite of my inexperience, I believe I can win this.”
"You haven't asked me if I did it."
"I know you didn't."
A boyish smile she didn’t think he possessed crossed his face. He appeared both pleased and surprised. He probably expected something more non-committal with a qualifier.
His expression changed to one of skepticism. "Do you?"
She considered how much to say. The easiest answer was basic logic. Then there was complete honesty. She gave him the whole truth. "I know in my mind." She placed a hand to her chest, "And, I know in here."
"What makes you so sure?"
"A number of reasons. For one, you're not the type of man who has to force a woman to do your sexual bidding. You're a darling of the tabloids. Every week there's a picture of you with a different gorgeous female." With a soft laugh she added, "You're a bloody lodestone for hot chicks. Two, there wouldn’t be one isolated complaint. Rumors of other hushed up incidents would’ve leaked. The entertainment industry is rife with gossip. Everyone knows which actors are notorious for compelling minor female cast members to have sex with them or lose the part, or in some cases, male cast members."
Alex reached over and laid his hand near her heart. "What does this place tell you?"
"There are no words to explain how I feel in my heart. I just know that you didn't do it."
"Such unflagging belief in my innocence, I'm not sure what to say. Thank you." He lifted her hand and kissed her fingers. “I can’t think of anyone I’d rather have represent me."
"You realize part of my preparation entails interviewing your past girlfriends?" The prospect only occurred to her a moment earlier and stirred mixed feelings. The attorney in her recognized the legal necessity. The woman in her wanted to both know, and not know, the details of his relationships, however long past.
"I'll...the questions, I mean--" She wasn’t one to stumble for words. She took a deep breath and started again. "Personal questions about your sex life have to be asked. Aspects of your private life might be brought up in court. We need to cover our bases, contradict and answer any kind of wild statements the plaintiff makes."
"Do what you have to do.”
“Once the story breaks, the press will dog your every step. I’d suggest you limit your attendance at public events.”
"Not a problem. I’m invited to so many publicity and charity functions, I decline most. I have neither the time, nor the inclination to attend. I went the other night because my clients were performing and the preservation of wildlife habitat is a cause I support."
"How nice, a conservationist. Me too." She studied him for a minute and then, too curious not to, asked, "I have a question for you. Why did you agree to Miranda's matchmaking? You don't need to meet women via blind dates."
He kissed the palm of her hand then rubbed feather light circles on the spot he kissed as he talked. "It wasn’t a blind date. I saw you again after the ball."
The simple action drove her to distraction. From the kiss at the ball to this, the man was walking sensuality. She forced her attention back to the conversation.
"When? Where?"
"This past weekend at Miranda and Ian's but you pulled away before I could introduce myself." His fingers moved to her wrist and began the slow, erotic circles there.
"How foolish of me," she said behind a guilty soft laugh. Little did he know, she’d left in a hurry to avoid him.
“I planned on asking you to dinner that night.”
The sobering reminder ended her moment of flirtatious fun. They couldn’t date.
She should pull her hand back. She should, but didn’t. She should remember to not sit so close next meeting. She should move farther away even now. She should, but didn’t.
"You have a lovely laugh. I shall endeavor to make you do it more often." The circles on her wrist stopped. "You look concerned. What's got you worried?"
"Nothing. I’ll tell Kristen to draw up the contract first thing in the morning."
"Good, I'll come by tomorrow and sign the docs. For dinner I thought we'd go to a little place nearby with the best Italian food in the city...if you can get past the multi-colored gondolier table lamps."
"Gaudy lamps I’m fine with. Its singing waiters I can't stand." She paused. "Unfortunately, it’s a moot point since I must decline."
"What? Why?"
She stacked the cups and saucers and stood. "I don't date my clients."
He got up when she did and took the cups from her and set them by the coffee pot.
"All clients?" Alex folded his arms and propped his hip against the sideboard, "Or just me? I understand if you have nagging doubts about my innocence. I thought your uncompromising belief in me was too good to be true."
He tried to cover the fact he was offended. But the insult was there in the subtle tightening around his mouth, the hard edge to his tone. She didn’t anticipate this reaction. She expected him to balk, to argue over dating, not to doubt her trust in him, in his honesty.
"I didn't lie. I do believe you're innocent. That's not the issue. I don't date any of my clients." With an open-handed gesture of supplication, she explained, "Think about it. If things go wrong, I lose a beau and a client. Plus, I’m on shaky ground ethically...conflict of interest and all that."
The tight line of his mouth relaxed. "Be advised counselor, I'm going to be the exception to your policy,” he warned with a smile.
“You have my permission to try. Don’t feel bad when you fail.”
“The game’s afoot. Now, about dinner—” He raised a hand to stop her from protesting. “This isn’t a date. It’s just a meal and you have to eat. If it makes you more comfortable, we’ll discuss the case. You can be attorneyish, and I’ll stare at your lips and think things my defense counselor wouldn’t approve of.”
“You’re sure the waiters don’t sing?”
“Positive.”
“All right. I’ll go...this once.”
Chapter Six
Alex checked his watch and then the speedometer again. Any other time, he’d be at Ian’s by now. Today, traffic on the motorway from London moved at glacial speed. City dwellers escaping the stifling heat wave clogged the roads. Any motorway that led to a beach with a cool breeze off the water became an artery to weekend relief. The road to Norfolk was no exception.
Alex was stuck behind a Volvo moving at a slower speed than the rest of the traffic. Boxed in by a guard rail on one side and an ancient Vauxhall on the other, he fantasized demonic scenarios. Like a knight on a warhorse splitting an enemy cavalry line, he’d plow through the jam of cars. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw the Vauxhall drop back. The move left open a narrow slice of road. A daring driver with a fast car could maneuver through the small window of opportunity.
He gunned the 631 horse-power Lamborghini. He shot in front of the Vauxhall, around the Volvo, past a BMW whose driver gunned his car and tried to block him. Alex down-shifted and let the BMW come parallel with him. The two men eyed one another. They exchanged a mutual nod of understanding and floored their cars. The Lamborghini left the BMW in the dust.
The Beamer driver gave Alex a one-finger salute as he pulled ahead. Alex laughed and waved goodbye.
To the Vauxhall and Volvo, the silver Lamborghini would look like a low flying fighter jet. It was the reason he chose the titanium metallic finish. Specs claim the car topped out at over two hundred miles-per-hour. He never tested the sta
tistic. He didn’t know of a safe road to try it. One day though. Once he left Ian’s and entered the backroads to his country cottage he planned to open the car up. She’d reach sixty miles-per-hour in 3.2 seconds, and he’d only be in third gear.
First things first, he needed answers from the Lady of Badger Manor, Miranda.
***
The door opened. "Alex, this is a surprise." Ian stepped back to let him in and then shut the door. "How are you?"
"It's been an interesting week. Is your wife around? There's something I want to ask her."
"She’s on the deck. Go on out, I'll grab a couple of Wadsworths and join you in a second."
Miranda looked up and smiled as Alex stepped through the French doors. She wore a red and white checked blouse tied at the waist and cut-off shorts as she worked at a flower cart. Her skin glistened with a light sheen of sweat and escaped strands from her ponytail stuck to her neck. He adored her as much for herself as the happiness she brought Ian.
"Hi, how’s it going with you and Shakira?" she asked and went back to planting. She worked the edge of a clay pot, pressing the soil down around the flower. "Did you see her at the office Monday? She hasn't called and I'm dying of curiosity."
Alex sat and stretched his legs out. "Funny you should ask. I did." Ian came from the kitchen and set a beer on the table in front of Alex. "Did you know she doesn’t date clients?" He brought the bottle to his lips but didn't drink.
"I don't know anything about her policy regarding clients," Miranda said, matter-of-factly. "Why? What difference does it make? She’s not your solicitor." She removed the garden gloves, brought her tall drink and sat at the table. Her eyes widened with sudden insight. "Did you hire her? What happened? I thought you were going to dinner.”
"Originally I planned to take her to dinner and discuss the case a bit. One minute I was explaining the suit so she’d hear the truth from my side and the next I agreed to her representing me."
“How? It’s not like you to let things spin out of control.” Ian said.
Alex shook his head. "The scenario in my head morphed into something completely different. I told her about the lawsuit and asked her opinion. I was curious. She’s a lawyer and a woman, I’ll get another perspective. That’s where it went to hell. She assumed I inquired because I wanted her to represent me.”
He slumped back in the chair and drew lines with his fingers in the sweat of the cold beer bottle. "It’s water under the bridge now, anyway."
"Once she told you she didn’t date clients, couldn’t you have asked out of the agreement? Explained you’d rather see her socially than professionally?" Ian asked.
"By the time I found out, she’d already given me the option of using a more experienced attorney in the field and I declined. I was afraid changing my mind would hurt her feelings.” He couldn’t tell someone with blind faith in him their faith wasn’t reciprocated. “She’d interpret my reversal as a lack of confidence in her abilities."
Miranda placed a hand on his arm. "I know Shakira’s interested in you. Once your case is settled everything will work out."
"She’s worried about an ethics issue. Do you think she'll stick to her guns on this?"
Miranda took a long swallow from her drink and seemed to give the question some thought before she answered. "I’d be surprised if she didn’t."
"You sound pretty sure."
“Her career is important to her,” Miranda explained. “Influential law firms, like Wickersham and Longleat, only recruit the top one percent of law school graduates. She knew she wanted the Cambridge name behind her. She knew where she had to be by graduation and burned up the books to make the top group.”
“She’s achieved her goal. I don’t understand how that affects the current situation,” Alex said.
"The firm might be the fly in the ointment. How big a fly I don’t know," Miranda said.
"What do you mean?”
"The senior partners are pretty puritanical, like--stick up bum, puritanical. All the employees are required to sign a contract with a Morals Clause."
"Sounds Dickensian. What are the specifics?"
Miranda shrugged. "I’m not sure.”
“I’m not asking to be her pimp.”
“I understand. My point is there may be a prohibition against consortion between their employees and clients outside of professional contact."
"We’ll cross that bridge when we come to it. I have to get her to go out with me first."
"Be patient."
Ian added his take on the matter. "I suspect if you give Shakira time, she'll come around soon enough. You’ve a persuasive tongue.”
"An empirical test, should be interesting," Alex said and finished his drink.
Chapter Seven
Shakira clapped her hands in silent applause as she viewed the DVD and website information. After weeks of interviews and depositions, she had a decent break in Alex’s case. At her suggestion, he’d agreed to use the private investigator her firm kept on retainer. She worked with the detective on two prior cases. She never delved too deep into how he obtained his information. She’d heard rumors. The most exciting and least credible had him as a former MI-5 agent, who resigned in lieu of termination due to scandal. The second and most likely to be true had him as a medically retired Inspector from London Metropolitan Police. Either way, his resources were numerous and his results remarkable.
***
Alex closed the office door and walked over to the coffee tray. "Mind?"
"Feel free."
He lifted a cup her way and Shakira nodded. She sat on the edge of the small couch, jiggling a leg while she waited for him to join her.
"Okay, what's the good news? It is good news isn't it?" He set her cup on the table.
"It's not bad news. Our investigator discovered a low-budget pornography site on the internet. It’s our plaintiff lap dancing in an outfit smaller than a postage stamp." Alex opened his mouth. She waved her hand to keep him from interrupting. "Let me talk. There's more, it shows her taking money and going down on her boyfriend and his friends."
"Do you have actual documentation or just what was posted via the site?"
"Oh, we have a physical DVD. Her boyfriend is selling copies on the website."
"This has to be great for my case, right?" Alex sat up and put his coffee down. "It has to be. You did it, darling."
He cupped her face in his hands and kissed her till she broke away and gasped for air.
"How long do you think it’ll be before they withdraw the suit once her solicitors see the DVD?"
The anticipated but dreaded question, she hated to throw a wet blanket on his hopes. "The material is very helpful," she cautioned. "But I doubt there’s enough to get them to recant or for us to move for dismissal."
"Only very helpful?" Disappointment replaced excitement.
"The DVD is a good tool for impeachment, but it doesn't take you off the hook. We need witnesses to the conspiracy, which is what I believe this is. She and her boyfriend have hatched a simplistic scheme to extort money from you. They’re not expecting you to fight the accusation. I’m banking on finding an independent wit. These types of low grade criminals usually like to brag."
Alex drank another swallow of coffee and seemed to mull over what she said. "What if no one comes forward, then where are we?"
Shakira laid her hand on his arm to reassure him. "We're exploring other angles too. I asked the investigator to look into a past pattern of accusations and possible payoffs. Don't lose heart. It's not over until it's over."
A thin smile touched his lips. She felt terrible. Maybe she should've referred him to another attorney. What if she lost this case? Would he be so disappointed she’d never see him again? She refused to go further along that train of thought.
Alex said something and she missed it. "Sorry?"
"I said I have every confidence we'll win." He ran his finger down her cheek. Goose bumps raised the length of her arms. "Let's change the subje
ct, shall we? I have a proposition."
Those brown eyes softened and she knew whatever he proposed would probably be wonderful and probably require her to say no.
"I'd like to take you to Deauville for a couple of days. With August almost over most of the tourists are gone, just a few Americans and Italians still about." Alex sat forward and put his cup down next to her untouched coffee. "I know a charming hotel you’d love. It’s a converted old Norman tavern on the outskirts of town, steps from a quaint bistro. The locals come every night. They sing opera arias, or show tunes, some dance.” His finger slid along her jaw and stopped under her chin. "Say yes."
The romantic picture he painted filled her head. She imagined the rough-hewn stones of the inn and an archway the coaches passed under over the centuries. She saw them dancing, playing in the surf, perhaps even renting one of those small sailboats. They’d walk on the beach. They’d kiss on the beach. In her mini fantasy, he kissed her until she turned to liquid fire and poured herself over him. In her version, he, Alex Lancaster, begged her for mercy. The voice of temptation screamed. Agree. Take his offer. You may never get another. The voice of professionalism fell to a whisper. Then, the tiny voice of reality whispered two words in her ear, tourist camera. One British tourist with a camera, one celebrity stalking paparazzi snapping a photo of Alex with her--
"Shakira?"
"Yes." She blinked, and the daydream dissolved.
"Yes, you'll go?"
"No," she said. "No. I-I'd love to, but I can't."
"Why? It's nowhere near London, and not posh enough to attract any of your toffee-nosed senior partners."
"One photo, Alex. If one tourist recognizes you and the picture gets out--well, you can imagine the result. The tabloids sell copy by any means necessary. Who knows what ugly spin they’d put to the picture."
He rose and brought her up with him. "I won’t argue right now. But, know this, I've watched as the music took you away, as you gave yourself to the song. I share your passion for music. There are other passions to share. Sooner or later, you’ll say yes. I'm working on sooner."
Journey in Time (Knights in Time) Page 3