Breach of Contract (Kavanagh Family Romance Book 1)

by Elizabeth Miller

  Reminder #1: Do NOT give your V-card to the boss.

  WELL AFTER MY PB&J on white, Carla pops into the Hen House and stands by her desk until Dee and I look up. “Gorgeous day, isn’t it, ladies?” she says, flushed and breathy as if she ran down the hall. Prancing in five-inch heels, she beams.

  I glower when her smirk is lost behind her computer. She’s stunning. Dark hair brightens her turquoise eyes, but it’s her mocha skin that sets them off and marks her as more beautiful than any other woman I know.

  “You girls need to finish that brief and it better be perfect. Mr. Kavanagh only loosened up when I reminded him of our dinner plans at seven.” She peeks around her monitor, smiling. “Petrossian—it must have taken him a month to get a reservation. Or he pulled some strings because it’s his favorite.”

  The pink tint to her cheeks burns jealousy into mine. Thinking about the two of them together, in or out of the office, sends a sharp jab to my stomach.

  I ignore the ache and focus on reminder #1: He’s my boss. And he’s also ten-thousand degrees out of my league. Ugh. I hate Carla. Not true, I don’t really hate Carla. I hate that she has the kind of access to Mr. Kavanagh I’d like to have. Dinner, drinks—the bedroom.

  Carla flits out the door with her cell phone in hand. She’s distracting, and Lord only knows why she’s here. She never seems to accomplish much. But she’s not my problem—just my competition.

  As Dee’s nails tap against her keyboard, my mind strays to the man I’d like to get my hands on. The same man I’d like to impress with my intellectual prowess. In the few weeks I’ve been with the firm, I’ve worked my butt off to prove myself worthy of this position. Now, I’ve stumbled at the goal line when the stakes are higher than ever. The biggest case in firm history is no easy win.

  Marjorie Blume, a wildly popular Sunday-morning televangelist, filed suit against MoMo Penny, or, as his mother knows him, Milton Maurice Spears. The most controversial hip-hop artist of all time tested the limits of artistic autonomy, and she’s testing every legal precedent on freedom of speech. There is no room for error and yet I erred big time.

  Trapped between the contract and Carla and incessant sexual fantasies about my boss, I can’t concentrate. I close my eyes and take a quick breath. Work, I must focus on work, and to do that I need to jot down my priorities. Easy-peasy.

  Don’t think about Mr. Kavanagh in a suit. Or how his slacks dip and lick every solid inch of his thick thighs and the oh-so-noticeable bulge tucked in between.

  Whew, good start. I can’t think about that bulge.

  Do concentrate on a powerhouse recommendation for law school. Excellent work will pay off. Research, research, research.

  Definitely, number two. The key to success is diligence.

  Don’t accidently on purpose corner Mr. Kavanagh in the break room, library, or any space where there may be opportunity to lick his neck. Bite . . .

  Oh, for the love of Moses. I toss my pen aside and tuck this ridiculous note in my drawer. Without a word to Dee, I push away from my desk and head for the library. The smell of leather and knowledge had better be enough of a distraction to get my head out of the gutter.

  Lord only knows where my face will plant if it’s not.

  Chapter Two

  “Why” 3:58

  Jayce

  “EVERYTHING OKAY, SIR?” Keller leans over to whisper behind his closed fist.

  “Fine,” I snarl through my teeth. I’m fucking fine. I have not thought of Maisie Walker’s luscious ass as it rocks from side to side when she walks. Not once have I envisioned the exaggerated sway of those succulent, round, I’m-going-to-spank-your-ass hips. My focus has not been lost on a play-by-play of her full lips wrapped around my cock as I pump into her hot, wet mouth until I lose my load down her throat.

  Fuck.

  Me.

  Goddamn that woman and her tits squeezed into a too-tight pink sweater. I’m so screwed.

  I slam my hand on the table hard enough to draw Lancaster away from his assistant and their sidebar discussion.

  Keller clears his throat and stands, tucking his tie neatly under his jacket. “Gentlemen, thank you for coming. Lisa will schedule our next appointment on the way out.” He motions them to the door. “We’ll be in touch.”

  Losing my mind during a hard-fought for meeting to represent Brent Lancaster in a multimillion dollar copyright infringement suit is not like me. The loss of control is unsettling and sits rancid in my stomach. Yet I manage to make it to my feet, grumbling my thanks before they exit.

  My gaze falls to the conference room table. This morning, my hand clutched a contract Ms. Walker was charged with completing. I should have been livid at her failure to produce a comprehensive assignment, but instead my dick tested the seam of my hand-tailored slacks. I wanted her then. Even as I seethed with frustration, her flashy smile and bright blue eyes doused my heart with an intensity I haven’t felt since Olivia Bertrand. Thinking of my onetime fiancée and the dentist she ran off with should have been enough to stamp down my need. A goddamn dentist.

  But somehow, the flawless ivory landscape of my legal assistant’s skin erases the void in my chest. For the first time in ten years, my pulse races when I just think of a woman—when I think of her.

  Maisie Walker.

  I’d like to bend her over this table and bite that peach of an ass until it blossoms pink under my teeth and palm. Her whispered sir would grow louder with each crack of my hand. She’d beg me to let her come. Sir, please, she’d say, and I wouldn’t let up. Not until her scream bounced off the walls and saw me balls-deep in her pussy.

  “Sir!” A flushed Keller stares at me with wide eyes, raking his fingers through his too-long hair. “Can I get you something?”

  Fuck. I heave out a sigh and let my sexual frustration boil up and out in a bark. “Get it cut. You look like a goddamned mutt at the pound. And buy a new suit while you’re at it.”

  He appears more relieved than offended as I push past him, mumbling about the homeless man on the corner who dresses nicer than this little shit. “Take care of my next appointment. I’ll be in my office.”

  I stalk into my refuge and allow myself five minutes to pace. In front of the picture-perfect view of the Manhattan skyline, I walk and strip off my jacket, then my tie. Each step fuels my anger. I can’t want anything to do with a legal assistant in my firm. My subordinate. I’ve worked too hard to build this empire. I won’t see it crumble around me because I can’t stay away from a pinup goddess who happens to be under me—works on me—for my cock.

  Jesus H. Christ. I stop, grip my neck and hang my head while I clarify the facts.

  She works for me—my employee.

  A member of my team.

  An associate . . . whose low, breathy voice gets me hard.

  I groan and then start walking—again. Back and forth until a knock on the door interrupts what’s become a 5K in front of my desk.

  “Jayce.” Carla Coolidge slides into my office as if it’s a runway she’s walked a million times before. “I hope you don’t mind. Lisa let me in.”

  Lisa. I need to have a conversation with her about this, and the tuna salad on rye I had for lunch. Neither is satisfying. My fists clench by my thighs. The sickly sweet burst of her jasmine-scented perfume invades my space, just as she does.

  “I’ve got reservations at Petrossian. Why don’t we take a few hours to talk about your preferred position for me?” She stops inches away and smirks. “With the firm, of course.”

  Her hand meets my arm. I glance at her fingers and then drag my gaze over her chest and to her face. Tall, lithe, and a smile that could seduce the Pope. Her cool come-on should make my dick hard, but it deflates because her hair is straight, and her ass fits the line of her skirt rather than flaring into a decadent curve.

  Couple that with the fact she fucked my brother and then fucked him over, and I have little patience for her antics.

  I step away, unbuttoning and then rolling m
y sleeve as I do. Her eyes track the movement, lids lowering as the cuff settles over one elbow, then the next.

  “Interested in comparing Kavanagh brothers, Ms. Coolidge?”

  She wets her bottom lip with the tip of her tongue and glances up. “The better brother,” she says as she saunters forward, her shoulder brushing my arm. As she sinks in the chair sitting opposite my desk, her skirt slides up. Crossing her legs exposes her taut thigh and she does nothing to cover her bare skin. “I’d like to renegotiate my contract.”

  “Why would I be interested in an amendment?”

  “I hold more cards in this deal than you give me credit for, Mr. Kavanagh. Besides.” Her gaze drags over my body and catches at my zipper before crawling over my chest and to my eyes. “We could have fun while playing this game.”

  Her tone suggests confidence, as if I should be impressed by her ability to fuck her way through school and into the Columbia Law program. Or that I have interest in taking the place my brother vacated between her thighs. But unease prevails as her knuckles turn white from the grip she has on the armrest.

  I lean against the desk, bracing myself against the edge. “What are you offering?”

  “Mutual satisfaction.”

  I nod. A guarantee. Assurance she’ll get a reference. If I have sex with her, she’ll have more ammunition should she ever need to use her arsenal. Disgust turns my stomach. Carla seduced Quinn and then blackmailed him. Her demand: pass her in a class she otherwise would have failed or she’d turn him in to the dean. Her second ultimatum came when her application to Columbia was underwhelming at best. She needed a job and a recommendation letter to secure an acceptance into the best law program in the country. And she knew my brother had a way to get her both.

  As a member of the adjunct faculty, an endorsement from me would guarantee admission. She’s here because I love my brother, fool that he is. I agreed to support her application so his career wouldn’t be affected by a ridiculous affair.

  Carla may have negotiated her way into a deal, but this is my firm. It’s my game, and we play by my rules.

  “As a student, you had trouble listening. Isn’t that true? Wasn’t it your inability to pay attention that led to your extracurricular endeavors?” The edge to my voice is unmistakable. I angle forward until we’re inches apart. The pulse in her throat picks up speed. “Listen carefully, Ms. Coolidge. Whatever bullshit you pulled with Quinn won’t work here. Not with me. You need a job with a firm and I hired you. There is no time for you to find another position and receive an endorsement before the application period opens, so you’re stuck. With my firm. And my recommendation will only come if you pull your weight. Fail and you get nothing. Am I clear?”

  The flush in her cheeks spreads to her chest and neck. “You’ll give it to me no matter what, or I’ll make sure the dean knows everything. I’ll give him the very specific, juicy det—”

  “I’ll take my chances,” I say while straightening and pointing toward the exit. “Now, I know I’m paying you for something, and it isn’t to suck my dick, so please.”

  I ignore her outraged inhale. “I want that letter.” She stands, pulling her skirt down as she does. “Or, I swear to God, I’ll bury your brother. You have no idea what I’m capable of.” Her warning tone is lost when she wobbles on her heels, backing away.

  I press forward, with words and my body, edging her closer to the door. “Work, Ms. Coolidge. Impress me and we’ll have no problem.”

  She huffs, but leaves without another word. The office is somehow lighter. So is my chest after a long exhale. Quinn, the dumbass. How he got involved with that bitch is beyond me. He should have seen her kind coming. Trouble. But he was thinking with his dick, not his brain and as per usual, I’ve got to pick up the pieces.

  I TAP THE brief beneath my fingers, tucking the phone between my ear and neck. “How is he now?”

  Silence stretches along the line, seemingly solidifying the two-hour distance between Manhattan and Hamilton, New York. “Holding his own,” Maggie sighs, failing to keep the sharp edge of worry from her tone. “But they haven’t taken him off oxygen.”

  “Okay.”

  “Okay?” My sister’s voice rises to the shrill point of brittle. “Are you even listening?”

  “Yes, Maggie, I am. I promise I’ve heard every word. And if I understand what the doctor shared with you, this isn’t necessarily a bad thing. Oxygen twenty-four/seven could improve his quality of life. That’s what we want,” I answer in my calmest tone. The key with Maggie is serenity, especially when discussing Dad’s COPD and if he’ll ever be released from assisted living. The answer is no, but I can’t bear to break that news to Maggie without my brothers present and enough time to get her beyond the blow.

  “Yes, but oxygen.” Tears catch in her throat. “That’s so permanent.”

  “He’s sick, Mags. It’s a progressive disease, but this doesn’t mean he’s at the end of the line.” Just close to it. Shit. “Listen, I’ll come up Sunday, okay? I’ll grab Quinn on the way. Flynn too. We’ll drag Declan and Lachlan over to Pop’s for dinner.”

  After years of taking care of Dad, she should feel some relief that the full burden of his care is no longer on her shoulders. But that’s not Maggie. Family is everything—a Kavanagh motto born and bred into us from day one. Having Dad home has always been her greatest wish and I’ve always endeavored to make her wishes come true. I can’t this time. Not when he needs experts in-house and because her need to care for him isn’t healthy for Maggie anymore. She’s twenty-three and she needs to act like it. Finish school. Get out of the house. Have some fun.

  “After we eat, why don’t you go be with friends? Live a little, Mags. There’s more to life than Dad.”

  A long pause spans across the line and I can almost see her wrinkled nose. “I could say the same for you, Jayce. When’s the last time you had a date?”

  Jane Kenny. Her office is a convenient, quick stop on the nineteenth floor. “This isn’t about me. We’re talking about you.”

  “Uh-huh, thought so. Deflection means zero dates and to be clear, I mean the kind that includes more conversation than dirty talk.”

  It’s my turn to sigh, but she just keeps going. “I get it. I know it’s because you’re too busy. Too busy controlling everything—the firm, your clients, Dad’s doctors and getting him into the private home with the best nursing staff, and taking care of me. Driving up here at the drop of a hat. But if you want me to find some time for myself, then I dare you to do the same. I double dog dare you.”

  I laugh, but Mags is dead serious. She’s the queen of truth or dare. It’s how she met her high-school boyfriend. During a game with friends, Drew Bridges was the first person she saw on the street and so she told him they were destined to be together. It was supposed to be a dare, but as it turned out it was the truth too—at least for the next two years anyway. Since then, the game is how she steps outside of her comfort zone. By the sound of it, it’s how she’s going to get me out of mine too. She knows I won’t say no.

  “Okay, deal. But you first. When I have confirmation you’ve hit the streets in a non-hooker way, then I’ll find a woman and take her on a date.”

  She laughs through her agreement and while we talk about timing for the visit, I look down. Stacks of contracts and return-call reminders line my desk. The top one catches my attention—Ash Crawford, a close friend and my biggest client. Urgent. Then I glance to the number of emails in my inbox, the latest from Maurice Spears. The biggest case of my career. Priority.

  Work, family responsibility—they’re never ending, but they’re also the only things I’ve ever endeavored to do really well. Right now I need to find a balance between the two and dating isn’t part of the equation.

  “I’m sorry, Mags. I have to go. I’ll talk to Dad, make sure his spirits are up. Call me if you need anything before the weekend and don’t worry, okay?”

  “I’ll do my best. Bye, Jayce.”

  I stare at my
computer, unfocused on the content on the monitor. Before I can map out a plan to conquer the workload, my door flies open.

  Lucas Drake is a perpetual teenager with a baby face and bright shock of blond hair normally slicked back from his forehead. Today, however, it’s on end as if his fingers have spent the morning tugging it from root to tip. “We’ve got to talk.”

  I sit back and relax into my chair. I’ve known Lucas a long time. Freshman year of college, he and Ash Crawford became my best friends after we shared about a gallon of vodka and turned the dorm hallway into a slip-n-slide using a fire extinguisher and a bad idea. Then Drake argued our way out of the dirty deed better than Johnnie Cochran and the glove that didn’t fit. The man can talk a saint into sinning with a cool air of confidence. That’s why we’re partners.

  “What’s up?” I glance at his hand smoothing over his tie. Not once, but three times since he walked in.

  “Dee is getting a divorce.”

  “So is fifty percent of the population. Why is Deidre Johnston’s marital status on your radar?”

  He stalks forward, shoving his hand in his pocket before he sinks into the chair.

  “What the hell is wrong with you?” I reach for the whiskey beside my desk and pour him two fingers’ worth.

  He swallows the liquid in a long gulp and then stares at the empty glass. “I split the Blume contract between Dee and Maisie. We had a quick deadline and it needed massive research. The Rome Convention, Dee missed it. That was Dee.”

  “So, noted.”

  “I understand we need to ace this. I fucking get it, Jayce. We have high standards that must be met every time we touch something. But Dee’s performance on the Spears brief isn’t a true reflection of her work. She’s been with us for three years with an immaculate record.”

  I nod. He’s right. Yes, the contract is important; the missed research is too. I found it last night when I reviewed the draft Drake emailed me, so pointing it out to the staff this morning was easy after a quick glance confirmed it hadn’t been corrected. The omitted material was a glaring error to anyone paying attention. Yet Dee’s record with the firm has been stellar up to this morning.