I look at Cat. “What about your books?”
“Lori,” she says. “These books and my column are my career. It’s time for you to have your career.”
Now I look at Reese. “This can’t be a favor. This has to be because—”
“Every firm they have on board wanted you,” he says. “The judge had them fighting for you. We’d just made a donation to the consortium as part of our membership, which gave us first pick. I could have passed. I didn’t.”
I start to tear up. “When do I start?”
“I was going to say next week,” Reese says. “But my new co-managing partner starts tomorrow. He’s going to put together his team and I want you to have a shot to be on that team. Human Resources will coordinate your school, income, and scholarship funding tomorrow morning. Welcome to the newly minted Summer & Brooks partnership.”
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
Cole
I enter the recently expanded offices of Summer & Brooks, the official new name of the firm. The receptionist, Julia, a thirty-something blonde with a pixie cut is on the phone, but glances up from behind her mahogany desk and gives me a big smile. By the time that I’ve crossed through the seating area lined with high back chairs and stepped in front of her, Reese has sniffed me out.
“Finally, he arrives,” he bellows, offering me his hand, which I accept. “And so, it begins,” he says.
“And so, it begins,” I say. “We’re really doing this.”
“We already did it,” he says, motioning to the wall behind Julia and the imprinted logo that reads “Summer & Brooks, Attorneys at Law.”
“It should have been Brooks & Summer,” I say, “alphabetical and all.”
“I was in New York first,” he says. “And this is the new corporate office.”
“In other words, the wall in Houston should say Brooks & Summer, since I was there first.”
“Whoever gets the first win under the new company,” he says, “gets the first name spot.”
“The first million into the firm,” I counter.
“I can live with that,” Reese concedes, “but nothing that was on the books before today counts.”
“Keep the name,” I say. “But the bet’s on. Loser buys the winner a ridiculously expensive bottle of scotch. I’ll pick the bottle when I win.”
Reese laughs. “I can live with that.” He motions me forward. “I’ll see you to your new office.”
“Because it’s right next to your office,” I joke.
“Too damn close,” he replies. “I tried to change that, by the way,” he says. We start walking down a long hallway just past the reception area. “The construction team couldn’t make it happen,” he says. “Not without putting you in a closet and that would have looked bad to clients.” His phone buzzes with a text and he glances at it, a shift to business slipping into place. “We have that scholarship placement starting today,” he informs me. “She just made it to HR.”
“Right,” I say. “The one from Stanford that you know personally.”
“That’s her,” he says. “I setup the staff that will be working in your core team in the conference room at nine. The partner meeting is at ten. I want to give you a heads up on a couple of things in advance.”
We enter the double glass doors that are the entrance to the newly built executive offices with Reese’s corner office on the right and mine on the left. I wave to his secretary, Maria, who is Hispanic, forty-ish, and always brimming with attitude; she greets me in with a wave and a smile.
Reese and I head toward my office, and despite the wide berth between our doors that allows cubicles and offices between us, Maria murmurs something muffled in Spanish that’s said a little too loudly. Something to the effect of Reese and I both being fine-ass men. I laugh right along with Reese, who softly says, “She doesn’t know I speak Spanish.”
“I want popcorn and a good seat when she finds out,” I say, entering my window-lined corner office, and considering I haven’t seen it since it was sheetrock and construction, I pause for a minute just to take it in. Décor compliments of Ashley, the sitting area is done in black leather to the right. A conference table to the left.
“You’re unfortunately going to have to make your team meeting a quick one,” Reese says, as I cross to sit behind my new, shiny mahogany executive desk that appears to have no drawers. “I have to be done with the partners meeting no later than noon because I need to be back in court at two, which is why I want to circle back to our new intern again.”
“She’s the one you said was Cat’s research assistant, right?”
“Yes, and that made getting her on our team, when everyone else wanted her, tricky. She’s prideful. She doesn’t want charity or to feel like she’s gotten a handout. Her first instinct was the reason I wanted to hire her as a favor.”
“Was it?” I ask.
“Hell no,” he says. “I’ve let her sit in on some of my team sessions and she’s good. Really damn good, which is why it pains me to say that I think, based on the personal relationship she has with myself, and even more so, my wife, she needs to be yours. But if you get her, you get what comes with her. That means you take on her educational program requirements.” He indicates a file on the desk. “That has the details of what you’re required to do. She’s worth it, man. She’s a future star.”
“What’s her name?”
“Lori Havens.”
I go still. I’m not sure I can breathe but the puzzle begins to come together. “And she works at your apartment with Cat?”
“Daily,” he says. “Why?”
“I might have met her.”
He narrows his eyes on me. “Is that a good or bad thing?”
“It’s more a matter of record.”
“Of record,” he says flatly. “That’s an interesting choice of words.”
I dismiss the comment with a wave of my hand. “I just ended a trial. I’m still in courtroom mode. I’ll read the file and meet with her.” I glance at my watch. “I’ll see you in the boardroom in fifteen minutes.”
Reese knocks on the desk. “In other words, get the hell out of your office.”
“Always liked how good you were at getting the point,” I say.
He studies me a moment and stands up. “See you in the conference room.”
I watch him cross the room and exit, shutting the door behind him. I scrub my jaw and I find myself momentarily resisting opening the file. It can’t be her. She’s too old to be an intern, but then I remember the story Reese told me about this particular intern. Her father died and her mother had a stroke right afterward. Top of her class at Stanford. Ivy League as I suggested that night. Fuck. This could be a problem. I open the file and find no photo. I start reading. She’s impressive on paper, and if she’s the Lori I know, she’s impressive in all kinds of ways.
I stand up and walk to the window, hands on my hips under my jacket. It’s her. I know it. I feel it. It has to be her. Her situation explains why I couldn’t find her. I never once considered looking beyond active attorneys. Beyond that night, I’d ruled out her knowing who I was. I didn’t feel that when I was with her, but maybe she did. Maybe that’s why she left. If she left then though, why would she be here in my offices now? My gut says, she wouldn’t.
If I’m right, then like me, she was in my inner circle, and that’s how our paths crossed, but she never heard my name. She didn’t know me. She doesn’t know I’m here now. This is going to get interesting. If of course, this really is my Lori. The woman whose pretty little ass I spanked. I’m damn sure ready to find out.
***
Lori
I wear my most professional blue pinstriped suit, and the only pair of expensive heels I have left in my closet. When I arrive at the office, and step into HR, I’m ready for this day and this challenge. I exit HR in time for a meeting I’m to attend with the new partner with the comfort of knowing that while we won’t be leaving the rat tra
p soon, by the time I finish school, my mother will be debt free and in a nice apartment. To achieve my dream and take care of my mother is everything. Excitement fills me as I grab my notepad and pen from the cubicle I will call home for the next year, and I head toward the conference room.
I near to find the table already lined with a good dozen people, none of whom I’ve met, as of yet. Reese is in the front of the room. “Welcome, Lori,” he greets, and motions me to the only remaining seat at the end of the right side of the table. “Everyone welcome Lori Havens,” he announces. “She’s here as a special program intern. She’s been granted a full scholarship by the Merrick Foundation with only nine months left to complete at Stanford.”
There are murmurs of congratulations, and obviously, a sense of that being an honor. It feels good. “Thank you everyone,” I say, claiming my seat.
“As you all know, my new co-managing partner officially made his new home here with us in New York City. His highly successful Texas-based operation united with our operations. Coming off a hell of a win in court back in Texas, please welcome Cole Brooks.”
Cole.
The name radiates through me and I can’t breathe. It can’t be him. It can’t be—He walks in the door, talk, dark and good-looking in a perfectly fitted, ridiculously expensive suit, and oh God, it’s him. It’s Cole. My new boss is the man I let spank me.
He’s my dirty little secret.
Cole and Reese shake hands. There is clapping. I sink back into my seat and scoot a bit behind the person sitting next to me who is thankfully a rather broad fit, large man.
“I’ll leave you all with Cole,” Reese says, giving Cole a nod and then heading for the door.
Cole turns his attention wholly on the room, and I slink back behind the profile of the giant man to my right, out of Cole’s line of sight. “Let me tell you about me,” he says. “I like to win; however, we do not take cases solely for financial gain. Don’t expect me to accept any case you bring to me based on the payday. And you know why? Every day when I look myself in the mirror, I want to like what I see—which is an undervalued quality in this profession. I, we, take cases that we defend passionately.” He gives us all a few moments to absorb his words, and then says, “I’ve reviewed your files, but I’d like to put names with faces. Please introduce yourself, and tell me your job title, as well as your best asset.”
Dread fills me with the realization that soon all eyes will be on me, his eyes will be on me, and he’ll know I’m here. I’ll have to tell him what I didn’t want to tell him that night: I’m not an attorney. I’m an intern. I’m now his subordinate, and he’s my boss, my boss who is free to fire me. Who will think I knew who he was that night, that this is some big scheme.
Thankfully, I am given a moment to breathe through this idea as he indicates the man closest to him, on the opposite side of the table, to begin. For now, I hyper-focus on the other speakers, willing myself to calm, learning about my new co-workers just as Cole is. I quickly surmise that this room is literally his support staff that includes a mix of administrative staff, interns, and a few junior-level attorneys, who I assume will second chair with Cole on cases.
Slowly, so very slowly, and yet too quickly, the introductions lead my direction until there is only the very large man in the seat next to me, who until this point has been a shield that kept me hidden. “Michael Nortan,” he states, while I remain blocked by his big body. “Attorney, recent Yale graduate, joined the firm six months ago. And my biggest asset is I too like to win and win with integrity.”
And that’s it. It’s now my turn to declare myself. I inhale and lean forward on the exhale, and I say, “Lori Havens.” My eyes meet Cole’s. His meet mine, and there is a punch of electricity between us that I pray no one else feels. I dread what comes next, the admission I avoided in that hotel room. “Merrick Foundation recipient,” I say, and then, “Intern.” I pause a moment on my best asset, and then I decide I’m here, I’m me, and I can’t be anything else, and that means I don’t take the safe route. “I know how to size people up with incredible accuracy.” In other words, I sized him up. “I never quit,” I add, “and I know how to set priorities and limits with great discipline. For myself and those around me.” The message in those additional comments: I’m not leaving unless he fires me. I can’t. I won’t. But I also won’t be bending over his lap again.
He doesn’t immediately speak. He just looks at me, his eyes an unreadable ice blue, seconds tick by before he cuts his stare, and speaks to the masses. “That’s all for today. I’ll be in touch with each of you individually over the next two weeks. Lori. Come with me.”
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
Cole
Side-by-side, Lori and I walk down the hallway toward my office. Neither of us speak, but the charge between us is combustible, a fuse slowly burning to the moment of imminent explosion. I want her. No. I’m obsessed with this woman, like I have never been obsessed with anything but winning. A part of me had thought that was about losing with her, but I now know it’s not. It was about her, just as it was the night I fucked her; about how different she is in ways definable in her beauty and spirit, and others not definable at all. My interest, our attraction which sparked off the damn walls in that room back there, is now complicated by the fact that my company represents her dreams and her future. More so, I’m not only the man she dared submit to, when she doesn’t submit, but I’m now her boss, and regardless of reality, the man she’s certain to believe controls that destiny.
Which means that I can’t just shut her in my office, pull up her skirt, and fuck her the way I’ve wanted to fuck her since the moment I met her, no matter how hard and hot I am for her. And that’s damn painful right about now.
We reach the executive offices and I hold the door open for her. She doesn’t look at me, but there is a moment before she passes, a moment neither of us move, where we are right back in that hotel, the air crackling with sexual tension. Her chin lifts slightly, defiance in the act that tells me she intends to push me away. That defiance does nothing to derail my appreciation of her perky little ass hugged by her skirt, and soon to be hugged by my hands, again.
She pauses just inside the lobby area to wait on me. And I’m damn glad Maria isn’t present, while her and my secretary’s desk remain unoccupied since I have yet to find one that comes close to filling Ashley’s shoes. I turn toward my office, and Lori doesn’t miss a beat, keeping pace with me, but again when I open my door for her she doesn’t look at me. She enters, and I follow her inside expecting that explosion, and the minute I shut us inside she’s whirled on me. “I didn’t know,” she says.
“And yet you left.” I don’t wait for her reply. I walk around her before I walk right to her, and I do it before I pull her to me and lick my way to her submission again when that would be highly inappropriate of me, at least at this very moment.
I’m not willing to put the desk between us, so as I walk toward it, I turn to lean on the wooden surface, between the visitor’s chairs. “That had nothing to do with the here and now,” she says, facing me now, and dogmatic enough about her response to close several steps between us. “I didn’t know,” she repeats, grabbing the back of the chair just to my right. “I had nothing to gain by sleeping with you,” she adds. “The scholarship program is independent of you. As for leaving, I’m not leaving now. I need this opportunity. I deserve it.”
“I read your file,” I say. “You do deserve it and I wouldn’t let you leave if you tried, which makes me your new boss and mentor. I’ll be in charge of your program completion.”
“No,” she replies instantly. “No. You can’t—we—”
“Fucked? That has nothing to do with our jobs.”
“I can’t work for you. Transfer me.”
“There are two people here who can sign off on your program. Me and Reese. I’m the only one of the two of us that needs staff.”
“I cannot work for you,” she says. “There has
to be another way. I have to talk to Reese.” She turns and heads for the door.
I force myself to stay put when I want to go after her. “And tell him what? You fucked me and now it’s awkward?”
She stops as I knew she would and whirls on me. I stand, straightening. We stare at each other, a battle of wills, and just as I expect any warrior to do, and she is a warrior, she steps toward me, and I her. We stop toe to toe. “Stay,” I say simply.
“This is not workable,” she says. “We—”
“Fucked,” I supply again. “That changes nothing about our jobs. I’ll give you a winning record and you’re good enough to own that record with me, with credit where credit is due.”
“We—”
“Did things together that you don’t normally do,” I say. “I get that, Lori, and I’m damn glad you did them with me, but that—”
“Don’t say it changes nothing again. It changes everything.”
“Because we still want to fuck? Because had you not left, we would have been fucking the entire two months we were apart? Or because I spanked you, and that makes you feel like I have some kind of power over you? I don’t.”
“You’re my boss.”
“Who wants you to be demanding, and argumentative, and share your opinions. If you submit to me at work, you will fail. So, don’t even think about holding back. Now, if you submit to me in the bedroom, it’s pleasure. There’s a difference.”
My phone buzzes, and Lori shoves away from me, backing up until she’s against the door.
“Partners meeting in fifteen,” Maria announces.
“Thank you, Maria,” I reply, but I never take my eyes off Lori. I wait until I’m certain Maria’s disconnected the line and then I say, “You have three choices. One: Quit. Two: Work with me and succeed with me. Or three: Tell Reese you can’t work with me and give him a good reason, but before you do, keep in mind that he’ll coddle you, but then, he’ll doubt you. Because this job isn’t about being comfortable. It’s about being damn good, even when you’re uncomfortable. A trial is never comfortable, and a judge doesn’t give a fuck about your feelings, nor does your client or opposing counsel.”