“Good morning, Piers.” A sultry female voice interrupted my musings. Margaret Chapman, another junior partner, followed me into my office.
“Margaret, welcome back.” We shook hands. “How was Florida?” She’d been working at the Miami office for a couple of months. The glow of tropical sun showed in her smooth, Latino skin.
“Fine. Hot.” Her brown eyes drank me in from head to toe before returning to my face. I avoided her gaze. “We have an emergency meeting.”
“When?” I frowned, mentally categorizing a list of tasks and goals for the day. Surprises weren’t on the schedule.
“Ten minutes. Daniels wants us in the conference room.” She rested a hip on the corner of my desk while I rifled through a case file.
“What’s this about?” As the most senior partner and founder of the firm, Daniels delighted in testing my mettle with impromptu meetings.
“No clue. He just said it was important and highly confidential.” She placed a manicured hand on the center of my desk and leaned in, offering a peek at her cleavage through the open throat of her silk blouse.
“Great.” I blinked and focused on the file until she cleared her throat.
“Are we on for Thursday?” she asked. One of her long-fingered hands adjusted the lapel of her navy suit jacket.
“Sure,” I replied. “Your place or mine?” Not only was Margaret a respected co-worker, she was also a fantastic lay. I found her intelligent, amusing, and an invaluable asset in the courtroom as well as my bedroom. We fucked every Thursday night, if our respective schedules allowed. The arrangement suited both of us. Work occupied most of our waking hours and left little time for relationships. A quick, no-strings shag helped clear the mind and released the buildup of sexual tension.
“My place. Your place is like a dorm room, and I’ve got an early deposition the next day,” she said.
“That works.” I continued to skim the documents in front of me. The success of our hookups depended on a set of strict rules. We alternated the location of our trysts, depending on our schedules, and we never, ever slept over.
“Did you get my notes on the Kennedy divorce?” Margaret picked up the professional thread of conversation without missing a beat.
“Yes, thanks. Good work.”
She glanced at her watch. “We’d better head to the conference room.”
I followed her out the door. Always a leg man, my gaze dropped to her toned calves as she walked in front of me. They were nice legs, but not mouthwatering like Venetia’s. The thought caused me to falter. Another snippet of our tryst haunted me. The soft flesh of her inner thighs against the stubble of my cheek, a breathy sigh of erotic arousal.
“Are you okay?” Margaret stopped at the entrance to the conference room. “Your face is red as a beet.”
I cleared my throat. “I’m good. Just a little hot.” Hot and bothered, more like. I’d jacked off to those memories of V a dozen times in the past weeks. I gave Margaret a reassuring smile. A night with Mags would quash all those crazy flashbacks.
When I opened the conference room door, however, my temperature raised another degree. Maxwell Seaforth sat at the head of the table like it was his office instead of mine, and here I was debauching his daughter in my mind only a few minutes earlier. The tips of my ears grew hotter.
He stood when I entered and offered his hand. A jewel-encrusted watch face flashed beneath his immaculate shirtsleeve. He was almost as tall as me, dressed in an impeccable navy blue suit. Short salt-and-pepper hair framed an angular face. Except for his age and the coldness in his green eyes, he could’ve been Sam’s twin. I searched his face for a resemblance to Venetia and found nothing in common. I shrugged off the disparity. Not everyone resembled their parents. I didn’t resemble my fair-haired mother at all.
“Piers.” Maxwell gripped my hand and released it.
“Mr. Seaforth.” I nodded and gave a narrowed sideways glance at Daniels, the sly bastard. He grinned in smug satisfaction. “What brings you here today?”
“I’m getting married.”
“Congratulations.” We stared at each other while I wondered what he was up to. When a shark swam to your door, you sat up and took notice. You also got out of the water. “So what can we do for you?”
“Straight to business. I like that.” He returned to his seat and withdrew a sheaf of documents from his briefcase. “I want you to handle the legal side of the marriage. The negotiation of the premarital agreement is of utmost importance. I want an airtight document. No loopholes. And we’ll need to outline the framework for divorce.” The blatant coldness of his statement knocked me back into my chair. “I’d like the option to file for divorce at the end of five years on whatever grounds you find to be most advantageous financially.”
“Okay.” I flipped through the pages of the agreement. His request wasn’t unusual, but I’d never heard it stated in such blunt words. “Is your fiancée aware of the five-year term?”
“The future Mrs. Seaforth has no idea,” Maxwell said. “I’d like to keep it that way.”
Damn, this man was cold. I tapped a finger on the table while I weighed my options. If the decision was mine alone, I’d refuse the case. Unfortunately, Daniels would never allow me to pass on such a profitable opportunity. Maxwell had billions of dollars at his disposal, and his divorce would be quite a feather in our caps. His presence in our office validated my success. With Maxwell on our client roster, the firm would rocket into a new stratosphere, and it would secure a senior partnership for me. I didn’t care about the money, but I did care about Sam’s feelings. He might view this new alliance with his father as disloyalty.
“I have serious reservations about taking you as a client,” I said, choosing to mimic Seaforth’s blunt approach. Daniels sputtered on his coffee. Margaret choked back a laugh. “Given my relationship with your son, I don’t feel I could give you fair representation. Perhaps Daniels or one of our other associates could better serve you.”
“Let me be frank, Piers.” He leaned forward and lifted his chin. “I came to you because I only deal with the best, and your reputation is outstanding. How many cases have you lost?”
By the tone of his voice, he already knew the answer. “None,” I replied.
“Exactly.” A smug smirk quirked the corners of his mouth. “And I know success like yours doesn’t happen by accident. Work with me on this. I have contacts. I know people who need a guy like you. I can make you and this firm a household name.” He directed this comment to me, but his gaze flickered to Daniels.
A sickening smile spread over Daniels’s face. Damn greedy bastard. I liked money as much as the next man, but I had no desire to fuck over my friends in order to get it. “We appreciate your business, Mr. Seaforth.” Daniels’s eyes gleamed. No doubt he was counting the dollar signs behind the future divorce settlement. It was like money in the bank.
“Great.” Seaforth extended a hand to shake, diamond cufflinks winking in the daylight streaming through the windows. “Draw up the papers. We’ll meet again next week.”
Chapter 10
Venetia
STUPID, STUPID, stupid. The one word kept replaying on a loop through my thoughts as the plane began its descent into the Laurel Falls International Airport. Miniature rows of houses appeared through fluffy cotton ball clouds, and I imagined the people inside looking up at me with tiny accusing faces. Stupid. I’d done some asinine things during my life; this one was the granddaddy of all fuck-ups.
“I can hear you mentally chastising yourself all the way over here,” Sydney said from the seat next to me. She lifted a penciled eyebrow before handing her empty water bottle to the first-class flight attendant.
After finishing my internship in Italy, I’d spent a month with her in L.A. Six weeks had passed since my hookup with Beckett, but it seemed like a lifetime ago.
“Wouldn’t you be?” I shifted in the seat to face her.
She met my gaze with sad but understanding eyes. “Okay. So you
had some bad luck.” Her hand found mine and squeezed. “Stop beating yourself up about it. It’ll all work out.”
“I’m glad you think so.” I returned my gaze to the window and the approaching ground outside.
“It’ll make a fantastic story for your grandchildren.”
“Not helping, Syd.” The glass of the window felt cool against my forehead until the plane hit a pocket of air and jolted. Sydney sucked in a breath beside me. It was my turn to pat her hand. “Deep breaths.” She smiled, but the corners of her lips trembled. “How someone like you can be afraid of flying just stumps me. You’re on a plane every other day it seems.”
“And every other day, I’m convinced I’m going to die,” she said and leaned back into her seat, eyes closed. “Distract me. Tell me what you’re going to do about this mess you’re in.”
What was I going to do? I bit the inside of my cheek. I had no one to blame but myself. Once again, I’d acted on impulse, and once again I was going to pay. Big time. I liked Beckett. Okay, lusted after him. But our brief encounter had been just that. An encounter. Now, our futures were knotted together, possibly forever.
“Can I just pretend it never happened?” It would be so much easier to ignore the situation than face the dire consequences.
“No.” Sidney gripped the arm rests, her knuckles white, and opened her eyes. “Things like this can’t be ignored.” The point of her chin quivered. “This is your wakeup call, sweet pea. You need to get your shit together. You’ve been in a self-destructive spiral ever since—”
I cut her off with a venomous glance. “Don’t.”
She drew in a deep breath. “Yes. I will, because I’m your friend and someone needs to say it. You’ve been hell bent on destroying yourself ever since Sam got back with Dakota and your dad went AWOL.”
“He didn’t go AWOL. He’s just busy.” The plane engines whined, and my belly flipped as the jet hit another pocket of air. Sydney gasped. I rubbed her arm and my fingers brushed the edges of two nicotine patches on the underside. “Two, Syd? Really?”
“I’m desperate to quit,” she said in an overdramatic whisper. “Alex hates my smoking.”
“Alex?” It was the first time she’d mentioned his name in weeks. “What about Tucker?”
“Tucker is sweet.” A frown puckered her forehead as she settled deeper into the seat. “I’m not supposed to say anything, but the studio wants us to get married. Me and Alex, I mean. For the next season.”
“Sydney Ellen, are you kidding?” I gripped her forearm and gave her a shake. “Do you love him?”
“The ratings will be off the charts,” she replied without opening her eyes. “We’re going to do a wedding special. The publicity will be insane.”
“And you have the nerve to give me crap about my situation?” Misplaced anger burned through my veins and mingled with hurt. “How could you not tell me this?”
“I signed a non-disclosure. I’m not supposed to tell anyone, and now, neither can you.” Her voice softened. “You’re the only person who knows. Even my parents don’t know. I only told you because I trust you and wanted you to know.” She gasped as the plane hit a pocket of air.
“You’re playing with fire.” The thought of the damage to poor Tucker’s heart made me queasy.
“This is a brilliant career move for me and Alex. We’ve been planning it for over a year.” She opened her eyes long enough to give me a pointed glare. “Besides, we’ll only be married for a few weeks. It’s timed to happen right before the release of my movie. Beckett has already drawn up the divorce agreement. It’s all settled.”
“People in glass houses, Syd.” Even though I was irritated, I patted her hand in reassurance.
One of the male flight attendant stopped at my side. “Ladies, seat backs up, please,” he said in a firm tone.
“Somewhere deep inside, you want Sam and your father to find out, just to piss them off.” Her grip tightened around the armrests.
I wanted to deny her accusation, but she could be right. I wanted Sam to feel the way I felt when I learned about Dakota—betrayed, angry, disillusioned. And my father? Would he even care? Probably not, but if he was even the slightest bit disturbed, I’d be satisfied. How sick was that? I crossed my arms over my chest and trained my attention outside the oval plane window.
“I’m serious, V. You’ve got to deal with whatever emotional crap is swirling around inside your head and face up to the facts that Sam married Dakota and your dad is a dick.” She closed her eyes again and settled back into the seat. “My dad’s a dick, but you don’t see me going around getting knocked up to spite him.”
“I didn’t do it on purpose,” I snapped. “We used a condom. I’m on the pill. You can’t get any safer than that.” But it hadn’t been enough. Maybe one of the condoms had been defective. I still couldn’t wrap my head around the concept. I was pregnant, and Beckett was the father. We were having a baby. Together. The mere thought of motherhood caused my blood pressure to skyrocket. I was too young to be a mom, too irresponsible, too unprepared. This time in my life should be worry-free and filled with adventure, not diapers and domesticity. As if to emphasize the truth, my stomach lurched, and a hot wave of nausea burned my throat. I shut my eyes and drew in a deep breath through my nose.
“What was that?” The landing gear dropped with a thunk. Sydney winced.
I took her hand in both of mine and held it tight. “Nothing to be worried about. We’re good,” I said, forgetting my own discomfort in the need to ease hers.
The wheels of the aircraft touched pavement, bounced, then settled on the ground. We fell silent as the engines whined and the body of the plane shuddered. Sydney’s fingernails bit into my palm, her arms rigid.
“It’s okay. We’ve landed. You can open your eyes now,” I said.
One eyelid cracked to a slit before a huge smile lit up her china doll features. “Thank goodness.”
We disembarked the plane without commentary. A throng of paparazzi swarmed the gate and pushed me aside to get at Sydney. Flashbulbs exploded around us. Sydney lifted a hand to ward them away, annoyance furrowing her forehead. She had to rush to make her connecting flight to Seattle but paused long enough to give me a squeeze. Tears pricked my eyes. She was such a good friend, better than I deserved. I hugged her back.
“Text me when you get to the hotel, okay?” I asked.
“I will.” With the strap of her leather bag thrown over her shoulder, she began walking backward. “You’re going to be fine, V. I know you will. Now, what’s the first thing you’re going to do when you get home?”
“Call Beckett,” I recited, even though the idea of seeing him again made my hands tremble. Tall, dark, and handsome Beckett. Because of my predicament, my bruised ego would have to take a backseat. I sighed and hoisted my bag higher on my shoulder. Confessing my pregnancy to Beckett ranked right up there with getting a root canal. Unfortunately, it had to be done. As soon as I settled into the limo with my driver, I called Beckett’s office and set up an appointment with his assistant to see him the next day.
Chapter 11
Beckett
ONE DAY later, the firm’s phone rang off the hook with a sudden influx of high-profile clients. I suspected Maxwell at the root of my newfound popularity. Part of me—the power-hungry, bloodthirsty part—gloated over this windfall. The incoming revenue from these clients would allow me to buy a bigger apartment, a new house for my parents, and maybe something frivolous for myself, like a new car. I’d been driving the same Jeep Wrangler since college. Although it was well maintained, it didn’t exactly suit the profile of a man in my line of work. I’d been too busy making a name for myself to worry about unimportant details like cars and decorating my apartment.
Garth, my assistant, hovered at the office door with a dozen messages and an armload of case files. He was in his mid-twenties, tall and slender, dressed in an inexpensive but well-tailored navy suit.
I took off my coat and handed it to him. “
Call Sam Seaforth and see if he can do dinner tonight, would you?” I needed to meet with him and let him know about the situation with his father. I didn’t want to do anything behind his back.
“Okay. Your two o’clock cancelled. You need to call these people.” He shuffled the case files into my outstretched arm when I paused at the door. “These need signed.”
“Thanks.”
“Oh, and I worked this one in.” Garth tapped the top file folder in my hands. “Venetia Seaforth?” Hearing her name sent a strange rush of adrenalin through my veins. “She said it was urgent, and I figured you’d want to see her right away. Since she’s a Seaforth,” Garth added. “She’s been waiting for a while, and I don’t think she’s very happy about it.”
Shit. Venetia? The frenzy of the day had pushed aside my secret obsession, but now it flared again. By this time, most of the hazy details from our night together had returned. The tips of my ears heated at the memory of our sweat-slicked skin, tangled fingers, and moans of pleasure on that hot Louisiana night. I frowned and glanced at my watch. It had been a tedious morning, and I was hoping for a few minutes to clear my head from the oily nastiness of the Reyes’s divorce. I wasn’t prepared to face Venetia quite yet. She was probably still angry with me. I braced to meet the famous Seaforth temper.
“Just what I need. Another Seaforth,” I muttered. “Maybe we should change the name of the firm to Daniels, Quaid, Becket & Seaforth.”
“I worked around your schedule to fit her in.” Garth’s lips thinned into a straight line, as they always did when he took liberties with my routine and expected censure. “I can reschedule if you like.”
“No. Not necessary.” I entered the office, prepared to meet the willful girl I’d left in Louisiana, but instead found a self-assured woman seated across from my desk. She stood and smoothed the fabric of her straight skirt. The silken length of her hair was pulled back into a low ponytail. The long end of it trailed over one shoulder and across the top of her left breast. When she turned, my heart did a ridiculous dance in my chest.
Pretty Dirty Secrets: An Unconventional Love Story (Pretty Broken Book 3) Page 6