Breach of Contract (Kavanagh Family Romance Book 1)

by Elizabeth Miller

  “Nothing. I mean, not much. Carla is . . . I don’t know. Not someone I like to think of you with.”

  He scowls, brow pinching as if I’ve spoken a foreign language and he has no idea what I’m talking about.

  “I have to be honest,” I say, and then I grin because this whole conversation has been insane, “you’re my boss and I respect you. I don’t want anything I say or do to jeopardize my position with the firm. I love this job and I’m good at it. Then there’s . . .” I point to his chest and mine, “. . . this thing between you and me. You feel it too, don’t you? Like a pulse of its own? I don’t know, it’s a thing and I think it’s worth exploring. I want to. It’s just . . . you have a date with Carla ton—”

  “What?” The line between his eyes deepens.

  Hope sparks within me like a flicker of florescence in the dark. Did she lie? “Petrossian at seven. She told me you invited her to dinner.”

  A war plays out in his features—surprise, anger—but then he sighs and shakes his head. “I’m not going out with Carla, nor do I plan too. She’s insignificant. But you . . .” The corner of his mouth tugs up. “You’re dangerous.”

  “Dangerous, how?”

  “As in, trouble. A lot of it,” he murmurs as he tips my chin with his finger.

  “We could be a good thing.”

  “Maisie.” He tilts his head, dragging his eyes along my jawline, down the column of my neck and back up. I feel the weight of his stare as if it’s his touch. The thrill of it pulses in my chest like another heartbeat. “There are so many reasons why nothing else can happen. You’re an employee at my firm, is one. And another is time. I don’t have any room in my life for a complication.”

  Right now, boss or not, all I want is to explore the thing we have. Let it breathe new life into both of us. How do I get him to agree?

  I think back to every good romance tucked snuggly in my kindle. What would Alessandra Torre have her heroine do in this situation? Think, Maisie . . . Ah, yes. Leave him hanging.

  “Just so we’re clear. I’m not interested in anything long-term and I’m the furthest thing from a complication. Your mind and body are intriguing. It’s that simple.” I wait for his gaze to meet mine as I slip on my four-inch heels that don’t get me near to eye-to-eye with him. “Teach me, Mr. Kavanagh.”

  His expression darkens. I can’t read it and I’m fairly intuitive. Am I wrong about the thing with Mr. Kavanagh? No. No, I’m certain there’s a crazy pull between us. But halfway to the Hen House, the sway in my hips falters as I second-guess my direct approach.

  TEACH ME? WHY can’t I ever keep my mouth shut? Tell my boss I want to sex him up? Hysterical. Is it the truth? Yes, definitely. Is it outrageous that I just blurted it out? For sure. However, I felt as if explaining my nefarious purpose at the firm, was in fact the only way to clear the tension between Mr. Kavanagh and myself. It made sense to lay my cards on the table. He knows I want his mind and body. Good.

  The air is clear. It’s smooth as a breeze coming off the Hudson. Maybe. A little. Not so much, no. The truth doesn’t do anything but make the hot stares last longer.

  On Tuesday, he catches me at the copier. I beat it into submission with my hip and it shoots out the papers I’ve been waiting for. Mr. Kavanagh’s eyes burn into mine and he rubs his chest, right over his tie clip. I yank on the malfunctioning cassette roller and massage it into place. I’m not sure, but the funny look Keller gives him as he passes makes me think the groan I heard came from the boss.

  Wednesday, it’s my tits. They capture his attention on occasion. On every occasion that presents itself. Which is a lot when you work side by side with the object of your obsession and you’re pulled in to be his one-on-one assistant. It’s true, so says the memo delivered by Drake. Well, okay then. One-on-one it is.

  Besides my dirty mind and even dirtier daydreams, Mr. Kavanagh is a great teacher.

  Thursday, he calls me in to the conference room. He doesn’t say a word, just points to a seat and I sit. I hardly think about him bending me over the table at all. Maybe only for a minute. Because then Lady Diva walks in. Lady Diva. With over one hundred million Twitter followers, she is heralded as the most famous singer in the world. She also needs Mr. Kavanagh to negotiate the biggest contract in music history. And I get to be a part of it. Me and Keller. We listen. We take notes. We learn from a genius.

  Mr. Kavanagh is out of the office on Friday. Court, Lisa says. I don’t pry. I don’t ask why or what case he’s working on or when he might return. Or if I do, it’s all in the name of the document I’m completing. It’s the rebuttal to a ridiculous trademark infringement case that’s urgent and I need to make sure I hit deadline. My inquiry has nothing to do with his ass or hoping to get a glimpse of it.

  When he doesn’t return, I’m not disappointed. Not at all. Nope, not me. I don’t think about him one bit throughout the weekend. I spend Saturday at the theatre measuring the performers for their costumes. Then it’s hours at the fabric store and finally home where I immerse myself in velour and Macbeth. Costume making. Nothing is as cathartic as my sewing machine and crafting a work of art. Mm, maybe drinks and dancing with friends tops it. Nothing is better than getting my groove thing on.

  But Vinnie tops everything. We get in a good workout. I come three times and only two and half of those is Mr. Kavanagh the star of my virtual show.

  Saturday was so good, in fact, I’m relaxed and doped up on endorphins for Sunday dinner in Greenwich. On the train in, I ask Piper, “How’s my baby?”

  The smile that spreads across her face lights up the screen. Thank God for Facetime. Oregon is a million miles away.

  “Overachiever, that’s what he is. He sat up all by himself last night and I swear he’s about to crawl, but his pediatrician says that’s a couple of months away.”

  “Not for my guy. He can do anything he sets his mind to and if it’s crawling, girl, get ready. Where is he anyway? Put him on. I need to see those cheeks.”

  “No can do. It’s boys’ day out. He’s somewhere with Caden wreaking havoc on hearts in Lilyfalls.”

  “Caden.” I whistle and think of the six-foot-something mountain of muscle she’s head over heels in love with. “Everything going good with Mr. SEAL?”

  Piper and Caden. I love them together. He’s good for her. After a rough start, those two are proof it’s possible to find your way to the other side of loss and love again because your heart has no choice.

  I ignore the slight twinge in my chest. They give me faith. I could maybe buy in to their kind of imperfect relationship. But to distract my heart from entertaining the idea, I focus on Piper’s cheeks turning pink, matching the color at the ends of her hair.

  “It’s really great, Mais. He’s really great. I have zero complaints. Caden started a course at the university. All of his medical training and navy classes are converting into their PA program. That’s good for him. He needs to help people and I need him out of the house to do it.” She shakes her head, but the grin is still tugging at the corner of her mouth. “There are only so many injuries I can fake and have him fix. He’s on to me anyway. He called me out when I was walking on my sprained ankle five minutes after he bandaged it.”

  “Tell him you broke your vagina and it needs tender loving care.”

  She laughs. “He’s on top of that, trust me. Now, tell me something good. How’s the job?”

  “Well,” I say, snuggling into my seat as best as one can get comfortable on a rock. The Sunday afternoon train from NYC to Greenwich is nearly empty. No one is around to listen. “It’s been interesting.”

  “Spill it.”

  “I propositioned my boss for sex but only after I told him I wanted to use him for his mind before I got to his penis. All in all, I think it went well.”

  Piper barks out a laugh. “You’re kidding me.”

  “Do I ever lie about sex? Not that I’ve had it, but I’d like to. And I’d like it to be with Jayce Kavanagh. I couldn’t withhold my
goals any longer.”

  “You’ve been with the firm for like, four weeks,” Piper says, still chuckling.

  “Yeah but there’s all these sparks flying and electricity. It sizzles. And he stares at my tits. I’m serious.”

  I give her a full view of my rack and how good it looks in a deep V-neck and leather moto jacket that accentuates my cleavage. Not that she hasn’t seen it before. Having mothers that didn’t care for children is how we both landed at Ridgewood Academy. AKA boarding school. It was the best thing to happen to my ten-year-old self.

  This is the first year Piper and I have lived apart since fourth grade. I love her. Bonding happens when you room with someone during puberty and every growth spurt and hormonal change known to womanhood.

  Mistress Templeton, as I liked to call the master of all evil principals, didn’t care to explain to me how to insert a tampon. So that job fell to Piper. No secrets. That’s our friendship code. After losing her virginity at fifteen, she confessed it was just ‘eh’ and that Jeremy Rogers spent approximately ninety seconds jackhammering on top of her. That’s where the swagger rule came from. Jeremy Rogers had plenty of it, but when it came down to female satisfaction—he was a total failure. Piper didn’t mind so much. She moved on, but I thought, hell no. If a guy’s getting into my panties, he better know what the hell he’s doing down there.

  Which brings me back to Mr. Kavanagh. My boss. The managing partner at the firm I love. “Oh my God, Piper. Did I just fuck things up completely?”

  She shakes her head. “No. You put yourself out there, which is awesome and very Maisie-like. It’s an instant fail if you don’t try. What’s your greatest fear?”

  “Besides not getting a recommendation letter? Being canned, terminated. Ousted. Lack of job and insufficient funds to pay my bills. I do not want to live with my mother. Ever. Like, never in a million years.”

  “We wouldn’t let that happen. And you were upfront with your boss? He knows you’re after more than experience?”

  It’s my turn to laugh. “I was quite clear about his body and I felt the reaction he had to mine. It was massive.”

  “We. Like. Big dicks and we cannot lie,” she sing-songs and both of us break into a fit of giggles. “But seriously, he knows you need the letter to get into the program?”

  I run the conversation with Mr. Kavanagh through my head. Of all the explicit things I said, the letter didn’t come up. “I was clear about wanting to learn from him, gain knowledge, and not just use his penis. I’d like to keep the two topics separate. You know, after my stellar service and six months of exceptional work, I’ll ask him for the recommendation. But only after he knows how good I am at my job. I want to earn it.”

  “Okay.” She nods. “Your work ethic is off the charts, so nothing to worry about there. On the flip side, if you get canned for boinking the boss, you’re employable. Worst-case scenario, you work with your dad. He offered you a job too.”

  I sigh, because I could. He would do anything to help, but I’ve been there and done that during a clerkship a few summers back. “I need to expand beyond the walls of his firm. You’re right, though. I have options. There are hundreds of law firms in New York. Many a managing partner to be had.”

  “And Mr. Kavanagh is worth it? Taking the chance that sex could screw up your employment status?”

  Is he worth it? “I think the question is more along the lines of, am I? Are the tingles, the accelerated heart rate, the feelings I haven’t experienced before—are they worth it? Totally.”

  “So go forth and sex it up with the boss. Carefully,” she adds. “And use birth control.”

  “Done and done. Now I just have to figure out how to get him alone in his office.”

  “I have faith in you.”

  “Thanks, Pidge. You’re the bestest ever. I’ve got to run. We’re pulling into the station and I have five minutes to prep before dinner with Mommy dearest.”

  She grunts her disgust, which mirrors the twist in my stomach. “Find your inner peace. And remember, you’re beautiful inside and out. Love you, Mais.”

  “Love you and miss you like peanut butter misses jelly. Give hugs to the boys for me.”

  I stow my phone and tug my scarf tighter around my neck. Late October boasts a frigid wind coming off the water, readying the air for the approaching winter months. The restaurant should be a quick walk, but I take it slow remembering my mother’s response to my inquiry about dinner. “Henkelmann’s, dear. It’s French. The smaller portions are good for your waistline.”

  Critical is Susan Walker’s middle name and the focus of her angst spans from my body size to the size of my brain and its lack of focus on all things socialite. When I turned out more Gilmore than Gossip Girl, she created a lifelong campaign to mold me into her mirror image. At all costs.

  Whatever. I am who I am, big butt and all. I swing it while entering through the doors and wave at my dad. He’s a giant of a man, with a heart to match the width of his shoulders. I love him. But, out of my whole family, I like Henry the best.

  We met when I fell off my bike, bloodying my knee. I was seven. Susan Walker, compassionate parent that she is, reprimanded me for wearing shorts and acting the tomboy. My sister, Lily, pursed her lips and then reapplied a high-sheen gloss while I held back tears. But Henry? He swooped in and consoled me with an arm around my shoulders, and then found the first-aid kit to patch my booboo. I knew I loved him when he scolded Lily for her callous non-response. Then she was the one trying not to cry. It takes great effort on my part not to hold it against him that he married the devil’s spawn.

  Speaking of Lily, the gap between us is more than just seven years. We’re as different as cats and pineapples. She has claws and I am the sweetest thing. She’s a mirror of my mother—petite, self-absorbed, and emotionally toxic. As a matter of self-preservation, I stay as far away from both of them as possible. That works just fine for Mommy dearest, though recently Lily has tried worming her way into my day-to-day. The phone calls, ‘How are yous,’ and ‘Let’s do lunches’ are ramping up.

  I greet the devil and her daughter with air-kisses, one to each cheek. Dad and Henry get big bear hugs with an even bigger grin. Henry is all smiles as he tucks Lily into her chair and settles next to her. Something is up. Not that he’s not allowed happiness, but he’s all big dimples and tousled-hair freshness I haven’t seen since their wedding day. I throw him a curious look with an arched brow and he beams back, headlights on a dark night.

  “How’s work, Maisie?” Dad asks with the keen interest of a proud father and attorney.

  “Really good. I’m gaining so much knowledge from Mr. Kavanagh.” And I’d like to gain a little more.

  “I’m sure you are, if you plan on going into entertainment law.” My mother. Her voice is as sweet as saccharin with a subtle bite in the aftermath. What she means is entertainment law will never compare to Dad’s specialty in human rights.

  “I haven’t started law school, Mom. There’s some time before I have to define a field of study.”

  “You haven’t been admitted to law school.”

  “Susan,” Dad admonishes. “Maisie will get in and whatever her focus, it’s her choice.”

  I glance at Henry and Lily as their smiles wobble, but then focus in on Mother’s blue eyes—the only part of my anatomy that matches hers. “I’m not worried about admittance. The experience at the firm and the recommendation letter I hope to obtain will be enough to set my application aside from others.”

  As a waiter steals Dad’s attention, she places a napkin on her lap and then straightens the silverware set in front of her. “Your acceptance will come from your father’s good name, not your own merits. I pay your tuition; I’ve seen your GPA and know what a waste of time and money this endeavor is.” She leans forward as if to accentuate the statement, but her expression remains flat. “I’ve asked you before to reconsider. An MBA is more than enough education for a mother to possess. Use your time in the gym. Lord knows,
no man would be proud to have you on their arm looking like this.” She scans my face and chest, barely holding back her disgust. “The best you’ll ever be is a filthy secret.”

  Oh, that stings. It stings like the wet rush of tears to my eyes. But I shouldn’t be surprised. The goals she endeavors for me involve a thirty-six-inch waist and a marriage license. I grab my water and take a gulp, hoping to douse the hurt burning in my stomach.

  I keep drinking through Henry’s gasp. I guzzle more when Lily clears her throat and rightsizes her shaky grin. “Speaking of parenthood, I’m pregnant.”

  Ha! I smack the table. God bless Lily and her news. She loves attention and today is no exception. She beams as all eyes shift from me to her, including Henry’s adoring gaze.

  I swallow an unexpected lump of jealousy. No one has ever looked at me the way Henry does Lily. In the way that says she’s his moon and the stars, the sun and the rainbow following a good downpour.

  This is the story of my life. The story of my disappointing life. For once, I wish I was the center of someone’s world. That a man would look at me with pure devotion. He would see me, just me, and not focus on the dimpled imperfections on my thighs. He would see my beauty inside and out, and any remark would be kind. A snide comment about my bumps and lumps would never lay just behind the surface of civil conversation.

  The library pops into my mind. So does my boss and the look that passed between us after we kissed. Oh, my heart. It thumps a heavy beat and for that one second, just one extraordinary second, I wonder if that man could possibly be Mr. Kavanagh.

  Chapter Four

  “Ruin” 4:03

  Jayce

  THERE IS SOMETHING inherently calming about the chaotic facets of my family. Lachlan is stuck to his phone, texting with a grimace dragging down his brow. He looks up and watches silently when Flynn and Declan debate the better team, because if we’re not watching baseball, then it’s football. A game’s on in the background—loud, but not loud enough for the commentator’s voice to override their argument. I can’t help but chuckle when Declan flips Flynn the bird, telling him to eat shit. Irish twins born eleven months apart, they’re oil and water. They live to push each other’s buttons and any topic will do.