Hot Lawyers: The Lee Christine Collection

by Lee Christine

  Evan sat down, and the room turned silent while the judge deliberated.

  Laila held her breath and tried to relax her tense muscles.

  After a few minutes, the judge looked up.

  ‘Ms Richards. At this stage, I’m going to make an interim order in accordance with your application, but the order will apply to both parties. Neither party will further encumber the assets until further order of the court.’

  ‘Your Honour.’ Evan’s voice reverberated around the room. ‘I strongly object to the proposed orders on the basis that their effect would prohibit my client from engaging in his day to day business.’

  The judge looked unimpressed.

  ‘That may well be the case, Mr Barclay, but you’ll have to convince me that there is good reason for the orders to be varied. This application involves a division of the parties’ matrimonial assets, and it is proper that they not be jeopardized until the proceedings are resolved.’

  Beside Evan, Duncan Peyton shook his head as if the whole thing was beyond ridiculous.

  ‘Your Honour.’ Once again, Evan’s voice filled the room. ‘I request an urgent return date.’

  The judge hesitated, his eyes shifting between the two of them.

  ‘Very well, Mr Barclay, I’ll grant an order to that effect. I’ll adjourn this matter for further mention two weeks from today.’ The judge glanced at the pile of papers to his left. ‘Now, if that’s all, I’ll call the parties in the matter of Quinn versus Quinn.’

  ‘That’s a good outcome,’ Laila said to Scarlett as they packed up and prepared to leave the courtroom.

  ‘What happens now?’ Scarlett asked.

  Laila led the way, pushing through the crowd and speaking over her shoulder. ‘We wait until they file their affidavit in reply. I’ll need to see you after that, to take more detailed instructions. As I said before, conversation and compromise works best. But for now, we’ll just have to wait and see what their response is.’

  A posse of press surrounded them as they left the court. Sound booms were thrust in their faces, and camera shutters clicked. Laila pressed her lips together and walked on as if they didn’t exist.

  ‘Don’t speak to them. And expect a twitter storm. Whatever you do, don’t be goaded into replying or making any kind of statement on social media.’

  Out on the pavement, Laila waved to Scarlett’s driver, watching as the black Mercedes pulled out from the curb and came to a stop beside them.

  She held the door open while Scarlett climbed inside. ‘I’ll be in touch when I hear more from Evan Barclay.’

  Laila slammed the door closed, then crossed the road, dodging between the cars to avoid the press as the Mercedes sped away. She always walked through Hyde Park on her way back to the office, and she needed the fresh air more than ever today. She craved a little exercise, and a few quiet moments to reflect on her first-round win.

  And coffee — to keep her going.

  The temperature was about five degrees cooler when she stepped into the park, the leafy oasis providing the perfect antidote after the frenetic tension of the courtroom. The bells of St Marys Cathedral rang out over the city as she passed by the Captain Cook statue and placed an order for a skim latte at the coffee hut.

  It was strange speaking Evan’s name aloud — even in a professional sense. She’d never spoken about him to anyone before. In fact, up until now they’d hardly had a serious conversation that lasted more than five minutes.

  He’d been honest with her from the start though, admitting he was so time-poor he was in no position to sustain a relationship. She hadn’t felt like it was an excuse. Poole Greenwood had shown faith in him, given him a great opportunity, and he was grabbing it with both hands.

  His career was his priority.

  She understood. The big firms extracted their pound of flesh but the rewards were astronomical. If that was the lifestyle Evan aspired to, he was entitled to go after it.

  Her own priority was clearing Will’s name; that and the class action.

  And if she were honest, she’d been simply enjoying Evan Barclay. She hadn’t been looking for the whole ‘serious’ thing again. Not yet. She’d been married, done the coffee and dinner dates, the engagement, the wedding, the coming together of two families. At thirty-four she was at her sexual peak, and Evan Barclay had proven himself capable of stoking her libido into a raging fire on all fronts. Still, it would have been nice to have gone out a few times.

  ‘Tell me you’re as turned on as I am.’ A sexy voice growled in her ear.

  Laila gave a violent start and swung around.

  He was standing right behind her, shirt sleeves rolled to the elbows, suit coat casually slung over one shoulder. He looked so darned gorgeous, and so damn hungry for her, that she wanted to push him onto the grass and crawl all over him.

  ‘What are you doing here?’ She looked around for Duncan Peyton, but apart from a group of mothers watching their children splash in the Archibald fountain, they were alone.

  He turned his head in both directions. ‘Last time I looked, this was a public park.’

  Laila’s heart beat a frantic pulse in her chest. ‘Of course it is — but…’

  ‘But what?’

  He didn’t wait for an answer, just slapped ten dollars onto the counter and grinned at the barista over the splutter of the coffee machine. ‘I’ll have what she’s having.’

  Laila raised her eyebrows. ‘You’re quoting When Harry Met Sally?’

  ‘Would you prefer I quote the Family Law Act?’ He moved closer and lowered his voice. ‘Better still, you do it. You were magnificent in there. I had a hard-on the entire time.’

  Heat flooded Laila’s face and the park began to spin. She could handle his sexual banter in the bedroom, but mid-morning in the middle of Hyde Park was a whole different matter.

  But it was so him, enticing her into his sexual field until she was powerless to resist. It just hadn’t happened in broad daylight before.

  ‘What are you doing here?’ she asked again, wishing she could own his attitude for a day.

  He waved away his change and picked up their drinks. ‘We’re having coffee Laila. That’s all. No law against it.’

  She took the cup he offered, and they strolled along the path in the direction of her College Street office. ‘I know. It’s just, I thought we agreed…’

  ‘I didn’t agree to anything.’

  She glanced at his suddenly stony profile, the cardboard cup warm in her hand. ‘You know what I mean. If the Peytons find out…’

  ‘There’s nothing to find out, you made that clear. For god’s sake, I have lunch with other lawyers all the time, and drink with them after work. We all end up on opposing sides at some point.’

  She’d never seen him angry, or even a little bit irritated. She’d only ever seen him horny, and driven, as if on a personal mission to give her as much pleasure as she could physically stand.

  Seeing him frustrated now only reinforced the fact that they didn’t know one another on a deeper level. How could they? They’d had limited time together, and she hadn’t wanted to waste their precious hours talking about a past that could never be changed, or worse, discussing hobbies.

  She already knew his favourite hobby was sex.

  He’d made it hers too.

  ‘So,’ he went on, raising his coffee cup in a toast, voice laced with derision. ‘We’re going to do what everyone else does when they break up. We’re going to stay friends’.

  He said it like he didn’t believe it was possible.

  They stopped walking and stood in the middle of the pathway glowering at each other.

  ‘Okay, I can handle being friends,’ she lied. ‘But you have to stop with the innuendo.’

  ‘Why?’ He moved closer, smelling of heat and sun and a compelling aftershave.

  ‘Just stop it.’ To Laila’s horror, her voice shook.

  His face softened, and he reached out and caught her hand, eyes lowered as he ran his
thumb over the rings she’d switched to her right hand.

  Laila gazed down at the thin gold band and small solitaire glittering in the morning sun. Will had spent all his savings on the modest pieces, and she loved them. Now they were a reminder of vows spoken, a shared love and a life lost. She wasn’t ready to remove them. They were a daily reminder of the past, motivation for the fight ahead.

  ‘Alright Laila, I’ll go easy on you.’

  Fearing Evan might pull her to him, and knowing she wouldn’t be able to resist if he did, Laila pulled her hand from his warm grasp.

  His eyes narrowed, and then he turned away to toss his unfinished coffee into a nearby bin. ‘There’s something I need to ask about the Peyton case, before we go all formal and start discussing climate change.’

  Laila breathed a sigh of relief. They were back on safe ground, for the moment.

  ‘There’s a pre-nup in place. I drafted it before the wedding.’

  She knew about the pre-nuptial agreement. It had been the first thing Scarlett had mentioned. ‘I’m aware of it. You won’t get past first base.’

  Laila waited for a crack that he’d got past first base with her, but it didn’t come.

  She glanced at him as they continued down the pathway. She couldn’t help admiring the broad shoulders, the narrow hips, the sportsman’s build in the Hugo Boss suit. His expression now was all business.

  She took a sip of coffee, the liquid moistening her dry mouth. ‘The family put pressure on her to sign, Evan, and afterwards she found out Duncan didn’t fully disclose his assets. It’s more than enough for the judge to throw it out.’

  He loosened his tie and undid the top button of his shirt. ‘I was thinking we could use it as a basis to negotiate a settlement. Do you think Scarlett would agree to a quick mediation?’

  A satisfied smile pulled at the corners of Laila’s lips. The other side was worried. That put her client in a strong position.

  She tossed her cup into a green rubbish bin. Was this connected with the development they’d closed off on last Friday? The story had been all over the news on the weekend.

  ‘I can bring it up with her if you like,’ she offered. It was the sensible thing to do. It was in everyone’s best interest to have the matter resolved quickly.

  ‘That would be great.’ He smiled properly then, and Laila’s heart gave a little tumble. ‘See what can be achieved by staying friendly?’

  Laila stopped walking. Evan Barclay was a master negotiator. She should have guessed there was another reason for him ditching Duncan Peyton and following her into the park.

  ‘Just don’t raise the issue of the pre-nup with the judge.’ She halted, waiting while an emergency vehicle passed, siren wailing. ‘If he learns you acted for both parties at the time, he’ll take you off the case. Conflict of interest.’

  ‘Ah.’ He gave a rueful shake of his head. ‘Conflict of interest. Has to be the story of my week.’

  ‘No, that would be the hotel development. I saw it on the news. Congratulations.’

  ‘Thank you.’ For the barest second his eyes flicked over her. ‘I’ll be doing my best to make sure it goes ahead as planned. I hate losing — anything.’

  Laila swallowed. He was talking about the Peyton case, so why did he make it sound like he was talking about her?

  The town hall clock chimed 11 a.m., reminding Laila the police were due at her office.

  ‘I’m sorry. I have to go.’

  Evan’s eyes turned a shade cooler, and he stepped back, shoulders stiff. ‘Don’t let me keep you.’

  ‘No. It’s…’ She started to reply, but once again her words were drowned out by the wail of a siren.

  This time, Laila turned to look. A fire truck was turning into Park Street, closely followed by a second unit, sirens screaming in harsh accompaniment. As she watched, both units turned into College Street.

  Laila scanned the streetscape, felt the breath freeze in her chest. Beyond the fig trees, smoke billowed from the third-floor window in her office building.

  ‘Oh my god!’ She kicked off her shoes, vaguely aware of Evan turning and following her line of vision.

  ‘What?’

  But Laila was already running, briefcase clutched in one hand, shoulder bag thumping against her hip.

  All she could think of was Mike.

  Stuck in his chair.

  And the building on fire.

  Chapter Seven

  11 a.m. Monday

  ‘Laila!’

  Evan raced after her, footballer’s knees protesting at the cold standing start.

  She was fast, despite being weighed down by a handbag and a slimline attaché case that probably held the Peyton file. Thank god he’d given his own file to a junior to take back to Poole Greenwood.

  ‘Laila, wait!’

  She didn’t stop, didn’t give any sign she’d heard.

  Adrenaline flowed into his muscles, warming his calves and quads. He accelerated, suit coat in one hand, tie flapping over his shoulder, a sudden rush of air cooling his face.

  Ten minutes ago, he’d watched with his heart in his mouth as she dodged between the traffic. Now he feared panic would send her running onto the street.

  Foliage became a green blur.

  People stepped out of his way, then turned to watch.

  In seconds he’d narrowed the gap.

  At the park edge he skidded to a stop and surveyed the scene, tension easing slightly. Traffic was at a standstill, the fire trucks parked nose to nose and blocking access into College Street. A group of fire fighters were dragging out hoses while another two were looking up and pointing at the facade. A plume of black smoke billowed from a third-floor window.

  When he looked back, he’d lost sight of Laila.

  Heart slamming against his ribs, Evan scanned the crowd.

  It didn’t take long to spot her. She was pushing against the tide of evacuating office workers, phone held to her ear. A few people tried to warn her not to go inside the building, but she paid them no attention and slipped into the stairwell.

  Evan plunged into the crowd, enraged by her recklessness. As they had with Laila, a few people tried stopping him, among them a thick-set guy in a leather jacket who grabbed his arm and told him the smoke was becoming thick.

  ‘My girlfriend’s in there,’ Evan growled, surprised how the words rolled off his tongue.

  The man let him go.

  Evan stepped into the stairwell. A few stragglers were still coming down, and he heard one woman laugh and say somebody had probably burnt toast.

  Taking the stairs two at a time, he caught up with Laila on the first-floor landing. Reaching out, he clamped his hand around her arm, hard enough to stop her in her tracks.

  ‘Are you crazy?’

  She wheeled around, choked out some words, eyes already pink from the smoke. Evan leaned closer, unable to hear over the screeching alarm.

  ‘Mike.’ Soft lips touched his ear. ‘My clerk.’

  She twisted out of his hold, but he caught her again, jerking her to him when she would have raced up the stairs.

  ‘No fucking way are you going up there. He’ll be downstairs in the crowd.’

  ‘I couldn’t see him. He’s not answering his phone.’ She pushed hard against his chest, and he could see now she was almost crying. ‘He’s in a chair. He won’t be able to use the elevator.’

  Evan’s mind made the jump.

  Jesus!

  ‘What floor?’

  ‘Four.’

  He glanced up the stairwell. ‘Get out of here.’

  ‘No!’ She clutched at him, eyes wide and imploring. ‘It’s not your respons…’

  ‘Go downstairs.’ He made his voice as stony as he could. ‘You’re a slightly built woman. What are you going to do?’

  She stared up at him, eyes glistening, whether from smoke or emotion or a combination of both, he wasn’t quite sure.

  ‘Get out Laila!’

  She went.

  Evan
peered over the railing and watched her go. Before stepping outside, she turned and looked up at him. Her eyes meshed with his. When she didn’t move, he made an ‘off you go’ motion with his head. The next instant, she disappeared out the door.

  Evan pulled back his shoulders, stretching out his diaphragm and sucking air through his nose like a swimmer preparing for a race. He felt in his pocket for his sunglasses, pulled them out and covered his eyes. Then holding his breath, he flung the woollen suit coat around his shoulders and raced up the stairs.

  From the street, the blaze looked to be confined to the third floor. Mike could be okay, or he could be asphyxiating from the rising smoke. Hopefully, Laila would call any moment saying she’d located him downstairs. In the meantime, there was no way of knowing his whereabouts other than to take a look.

  Evan paused on the second-floor landing, stepping aside as a couple of late evacuees came down the stairs. They looked like managers, bringing up the rear after making sure their staff had safely evacuated.

  He took a breath. ‘What’s it like up there?’

  ‘Not too bad,’ one guy said. ‘The smoke’s filtering through the air-conditioning vents. You’re not going up are you?’

  ‘Just need to check on one guy.’ He took the next flight of steps, raising his coat over his head as he passed by the fire door leading into the third floor. The air was hairdryer hot, the smoke thicker, wafting in behind his sunglasses and stinging his eyes. Holding the coat sleeve across his mouth and nose, he bolted up to the fourth level.

  He halted in the foyer, sucking marginally cleaner air into his lungs and scanning the board for the number of Laila’s office suite. An arrow directed him to the right, and he passed by an elevator with a brass warning sign stating ‘In case of fire, do not use lift’.

  At the end of the corridor, a brass plate mounted beside the door said ‘Laila Richards, Solicitor’ and behind the frosted glass, Evan could make out the shadow of someone moving around inside.

  Why would Mike voluntarily remain in the office with the fire alarms screaming and people evacuating the building? Surely, he would have gone to the stairwell where people could have helped him down.

  Evan opened the door and stepped into Laila’s waiting room. The first thing he noticed was that the sprinkler system had activated; the second was the huge photograph of a Blackhawk helicopter hanging on the wall. And behind the reception desk, a well-built guy in a wheelchair was covering the computer with a plastic cover in an obvious attempt to protect the machine from water damage.