Leather Pants

  Sarah had almost choked on her own tongue from his choice of words. “Thanks, Bennett.” But I’ve had entirely too much fucking already.

  “No,” he’d said, gripping her arm firmly, his icy blue eyes filled with a sobering earnestness as the cab pulled up. “I don’t think you understand. I know people—powerful people. And if your supervisor isn’t treating you properly, we can stop him.”

  If she hadn’t already known about Bennett’s extremely protective, do-gooder side (swoon!) through Taylor, Sarah would’ve jumped to the conclusion that he’d meant something illegal. But Bennett, being the ex-owner of one of the world’s largest industrial machinery companies, was the kind of man who rubbed elbows with senators and congressmen. He could get things done with one well-placed phone call.

  “Thanks, Bennett,” she’d said before crawling into her cab. “I appreciate it, but I’ve made my bed. And there’ll be no fucking in it.” That last bit had been the whisky talking.

  For the rest of her weekend, she nursed a mild hangover and thought long and hard about the path of least damage to her career. She also babysat Maria’s ten- and twelve-year-old boys, Anthony and Benjamin. Sarah usually gave the family a hand a few times a month, mostly because the boys were completely wonderful and it was a great way to get her mind out of work mode. But by Sunday evening, Sarah had dedicated the entirety of her mental capacity and come to the horrible conclusion that her options had not changed: (A) resigning quietly, or (B) saying nothing. If she didn’t resign, she would have to move forward with sentencing Colton, which would truly be breaking the code of ethics. She simply couldn’t sentence a man she’d slept with. Huge conflict of interest. And if she tried to have sentencing moved to another judge, Wright would demand to know why. Then she’d have to lie, which presented its own set of issues, such as she didn’t lie. Not now. Not ever. Ergo, she would have to tell the truth and would lose her bench anyway.

  Either way I look at it, I’m screwed! Resigning was the right thing to do.

  Sarah let go of the steering wheel and rubbed her face. She couldn’t believe this was happening. Five minutes of delicious, sinful, mind-out-of-body, hot animal sex had ruined years of meticulous planning and hard work. For fuck’s sake, she had gotten into Harvard Law. Fucking Harvard! That had not been easy. Or cheap. And I blew it all on a hot pair of leather pants. It was the second time she’d derailed her life for a bad boy who cared only about himself and systematically destroyed everything in his wake.

  Go ahead, Sarah. Blame him. But no one put a gun to your head. No. They hadn’t.

  Sarah reached into her purse to find her employee badge and felt the smooth gold foil of the box that had contained the cookie on Friday night. She slid it out and stared at the thing, running her index finger over the textured cardboard. She didn’t believe in the cookies, though she got why some would. Nevertheless, a powerful emotion percolated inside her just thinking about what the cookies symbolized: happiness. Sharing a life with someone who truly got her. True love. These were things she’d forgone for this career, which she’d now chucked out the window for a man she didn’t want—not in the permanent sense of the word.

  How sad. She opened the box and spotted the miniature envelope inside, stamped with the Happy Pants Café logo and address. She’d forgotten about it.

  Sarah opened it and found a handwritten note from Ms. Luci, the owner of the café.

  Dear Sarah,

  Wishing you a happy birthday from all of us here at the Happy Pants Café. We hope you enjoy the enclosed treat purchased by your dear friend Taylor, who says if anyone is deserving of love, it’s you. This is why I bake each cookie with the deepest hope that whoever eats it will open their hearts, minds, and souls to the possibilities of life.

  Happy birthday, child.

  Love,

  Ms. Luci

  Sarah looked up from the paper. What the fuck? Where did this woman get off writing her a letter about love and possibilities and…whatever the hell that was! Because I am doing fine! Uh-huh! Just fine.

  Sarah proceeded to break down and cry.

  After a few minutes, she dried her tears and prepared to march into Wright’s office and hand in her resignation.

  Okay. Let’s get this over with.

  Sarah took the miniature envelope and shoved it into the front pocket of her black slacks like a talisman of hope.

  If only there was such a thing as luck, because I really could use a gallon or two of it right now.

  Stale cigars. Rank farts. Dust. Those were the three key ingredients comprising the potpourri of delightful scents in Judge Wright’s den of doom.

  Magical. Sarah gagged as she stood in front of his desk—a beat-up antique piled high with files, law books, and scraps of paper—while waiting for him to end his phone call.

  Physically, Judge Wright was an overly thin man who reminded her of those dried apple dolls with the shriveled faces, his silver hair resembling string cheese and his eyes the color of spoiled bananas—sort of a shitty dull brown. His look is just missing the fruit flies.

  Judge Wright scratched his silver beard and nodded. “Uh-uh. Uh-uh. Ah. Uh-uh…”

  A man of many words. “Your Honor, sir. If I may?” She needed to be in court in five minutes, and after their talk, many lives and many trials would need to be rearranged.

  He twirled in his leather chair, giving Sarah his back. “Oh, is that so? Most interesting. But yes. I think I can accommodate the request.” He chuckled playfully. “You’re a naughty, naughty little thing.”

  He was talking to a woman? And flirting? Lord save the poor lady, whoever she was.

  He went on. “Yup. Yup. You got it.” He lowered his voice to a very audible whisper, “Anything for you, my little cupcake.” He snickered.

  Cupcake? I think I might have to poke out my eardrums with a chopstick. Lest she be forced to hear such vile sweet-talk again.

  “Bye, my sweet little cookie. Until we meet again.” He sighed and spun back to face his desk, presenting a snarl. “How. May. I. Help you, Judge Alma?” He slammed down his phone.

  Oh boy. This was going to be fun. “I need to talk to you.”

  “Well,” he clapped, “good for you, but so does everyone else. And unless it’s a matter of life and death, you’ll have to make an appointment.” He twisted his wrist to see his watch. “And I must be off to my first trial of the day. There are necks to hang!” He rose and reached for the robe hanging on a hook behind his desk.

  “Sir, sit down,” she growled.

  Judge Wright gave her a look.

  She leaned forward and smacked her hand on the only clean spot on his desk. “Now, please.”

  Judge Wright frowned. “What has gotten into you, woman?”

  Woman? What was he, a caveman? “I am here to resign, and I can’t do that without you.”

  He raised two frosty brows. “Well,” he grinned and took his seat, “now you have my attention.”

  Sarah stared down at him, feeling ashamed, like in some strange way he’d won.

  “As I mentioned,” she drew a breath of holy-hell-this-sucks, “I am here to resign. Effective immediately.”

  He leaned back in his chair and folded his arms over his narrow chest. “Might I ask why a woman as stubborn and self-righteous as yourself would give up her elected seat?”

  She looked down at her feet. “I, uhh…”

  Although she’d come into his office prepared with her exact words, her mind now scrambled. No matter what she did, resigning from her bench would cause all sorts of drama and public speculation. And, frankly, she didn’t want to live her life feeling like she’d done something wrong. No, not a good idea to have slept with Colton Young, but she was making sure she did the right thing.

  She cleared her throat. “I had relations with a defendant. Post-trial. Pre-sentencing. It’s a conflict of interest, and I don’t want to violate my oath.”

  He burst out with a laugh. It started strong and died down after about a m
inute. “Is that all?”

  She blinked away her shock. “Well, yeah.”

  “If I had a nickel for every person who walked into my court that I knew well, I sure as hell wouldn’t be a judge.”

  She knew Colt more than “well.” They’d had sex, not shared a sandwich. “What are you getting at, sir?”

  His wooden exec chair groaned as he leaned forward. “I am saying that you will not resign—not under my watch. It would call into question my ability to run this court, and unlike you, I have attainable goals for my career.”

  So he only cared about his reputation. Why did it always come down to politics versus doing the right thing?

  She squared her shoulders. “I can’t stay. Even if you changed judges on this particular trial, I’ve done something wrong.”

  Wright rose slowly from his desk, his eyes simmering, his face bright red. “You, Ms. Alma, will forget we ever had this conversation. You will continue to carry out your duties and get the fuck out of my office. Are we clear?”

  “But—”

  “Out!” He pointed toward the door.

  Crap. He wasn’t going to let her resign. Not quietly anyway.

  She slowly turned, recognizing the need for a retreat and a mental regroup. Perhaps she’d have to reconsider Bennett Wade’s offer.

  “And, Miss Alma?”

  Sarah flipped a glance over her shoulder, but didn’t say anything.

  “Before I forget, Colton Young’s sentencing has been moved up. To today, in fact.”

  “Why?”

  Judge Wright’s lips twitched with a snide smile. “You will sentence him to community service for thirty days at this facility, starting immediately.” Wright jotted something on a piece of paper and handed it to her over the pile of books on his desk. “Consider this your second chance, Miss Alma. Everyone deserves one. Even women with dirty public bathroom fetishes.”

  Oh fuck. He knew. “How did you find out?”

  “A little tabloid birdy told me, but don’t worry, I took care of it.” He patted the cellphone sitting on the edge of his desk. “I now own the only video in existence of you and Mr. Young leaving a bathroom together. Which means you owe me. Or is it…I own you?” He shrugged.

  Double fuck.

  He continued, “But make no mistake, Miss Alma, your wagon is now hitched to his. If he does not serve his thirty days and is not at his world tour kickoff in thirty-three, it will be your ass—the video will get out. Understand?”

  She shook her head. “I don’t, actually.”

  His beady brown eyes narrowed. “Let’s just say that I have friends in very high places. Some have investments and want to be sure Mr. Young is not skipping concerts. Nevertheless, I will not tolerate this court being seen as going easy on someone simply because they’re famous. Now do you understand?”

  Not only did Sarah understand, but she was in shock. Absolute, utter shock. She’d basically been told that Colton couldn’t cancel tour dates because that would result in someone losing money. But that Colton had to be punished enough so that Judge Wright—or one of his friends who had some political stake in the court’s public image—would not be seen as showing favoritism. Could it be the governor? Wright had been appointed by him.

  Screw that! I can’t let him hold this over me.

  “I’m not playing along,” she said. “I could be indicted if I preside over his sentencing and word got out about…about…” She couldn’t bring herself to say the words. “About Friday night.”

  Judge Wright rose from his desk. “Who said anything about Friday? For all the world knows, this video could be three months old.” Wright smiled with a wicked grin. “And after that first episode in your courtroom with Mr. Young—caught on TV—coupled with the extremely light sentence you gave him that first time around, who will doubt me when I say that this video was taken around the same time?” He shook his head and tsked. “But, of course, who would blame you, Miss Alma? Colton Young is one very nice-looking man. I’m sure the world will understand how you felt compelled to use your power as a bargaining chip—sex in exchange for sentence leniency.” Wright lifted his brows.

  What! He couldn’t do that. He was threatening to make her look guilty of the exact crime she was trying to avoid committing.

  Actually, his version is far worse.

  “This is blackmail.” Sarah’s feet melted into the cold, institutional beige of the tile floor. “I’m trying to do the right thing here—I can’t sentence him!” Worst of all, the sentence Wright wanted was extremely light. Thirty days’ community service was what a person received for a parking ticket when they couldn’t afford to pay. That meant if Wright ever released the video, claiming it was older than it was, it would appear like she’d given leniency to Colt two different times. The judicial committee would have her bench taken. She’d be disbarred. Then she’d face criminal charges.

  Corruption. Obstruction of justice. Jail time. She gulped.

  “Yes, this is blackmail.” Wright flicked his index finger at her. “So I suggest you do exactly as I ask. Now, if you don’t mind, I have to get to my first trial. I will be expecting Mr. Young to be in full compliance with your very rational and fair sentence and that you’ll see to it he’s ready in four weeks to perform in LA as scheduled. Are we clear?”

  Wanting to vomit and unsure of what to say, Sarah nodded.

  “Good. And by the way, I made arrangements for Colton Young to be first on your schedule today.” Judge Wright looked at his watch. “And you’re late.” He strolled past her, leaving her to enjoy the putrid scent of his stale farts and rotten soul all by her lonesome.

  This had not turned out as she’d hoped.

  CHAPTER FOUR

  Despite being late for court, Sarah retreated directly to her chamber to salvage her dignity. It was somewhere under the Wright-bus that had just run her over. He’d completely blindsided her with flat-out blackmail—prison-time, public-humiliation blackmail—leaving her no choice but to go along.

  Holy Christ. Never in a million years would she have guessed she’d end up with her life so messed up and intertwined with this…this rock star guy, the worst part being his reckless nature. How the hell was she supposed to make sure he did his community service or made it to some goddamned concert? She wasn’t his babysitter, and the man was a complete rebel.

  Oh shit. Oh shit. I’m toast. She plunked down into her leather chair behind her desk and placed her hand over her rapid-firing heart. This is bad. So very, very bad.

  Someone knocked on her door.

  “Come in?” Sarah called out, utter defeat saturating her tone.

  Maria’s head of dark brown hair popped inside. “What the hell is going on?”

  Sarah sighed and motioned for her to come in. “Shut the door.”

  Maria scurried inside. “I just saw Barb! She told me to come check on you—why the hell was she ordered by Wright to reschedule your hearings this morning?”

  Barb, her sixty-something-year-old clerk, was quite possibly the sweetest person on the planet, with five grandchildren, whom she called “wallpaper” due to the fact she covered any personal office-wall space she owned with their photos. She was also a breast cancer survivor. Sarah had personally taken the woman to chemo a few dozen times when no one else was available. It was the least she could do for the person who held the place together. She also reminded Sarah of her mother—once a legal secretary—who was now retired in Florida and enjoyed reminding Sarah of her own lack of “wallpaper.”

  “I fucked up. That’s what happened,” Sarah said.

  Maria swiped her hand through the air dismissively. “I’m sure it can’t be that bad.”

  “I banged Colton Young in a bathroom Friday night. That meet your criteria?”

  Maria’s mouth dropped open, and her brown eyes turned into giant saucers.

  Sarah held up her hand. “I know. I know—I’m a complete id—”

  Maria squealed. “You’re my freaking hero! Ohmygod. Ohmyg
od. Did you get pictures? A video? Please say yes.”

  Sarah cringed. “No. I didn’t. But Judge Wright did.”

  “Of you? And Colton Young getting it on? That’s completely wrong. How do I get a copy?”

  “Nooo…and ewww… Why would you want to see me having sex?”

  “Not you! I want to see him.”

  “Thank you for the mature support in my time of crisis.”

  Maria started jumping up and down. “You’re a bad, bad girl!”

  “Shhh…keep it down,” Sarah hissed.

  “Oops.” Maria looked over her shoulder toward the door, realizing that anyone could be outside and hear them. “Sorry,” she whispered. “But you have to tell me everything.”

  “There’s nothing to tell. I got hammered. He was there and put the moves on me. We screwed. Oh—and he had no clue who I was.”

  Maria looked like she was going to implode. “I want you to know that I will never, for as long as I live, be as jealous of any human—dead or alive—as I am of you in this very moment.” She sighed. “Please tell me he’s hung like a giant and in a permanent state of arousal, like I dreamed he’d be?”

  Sarah groaned and nodded her head yes to appease Maria.

  “I knew it!” Maria pointed at Sarah. “He’s a stallion. When are you going to see him again?”

  “As soon as I shake the sick feeling in my stomach, urging me to cry hysterically. His sentencing was moved up.”

  “Ohmygod. Ohmygod. This is amazing.”

  “No.” Sarah leaned into her desk, shaking her head. “It is not amazing. Judge Wright is putting me in charge of Colton’s debt to society. If he fails and misses the first concert of his new tour, Wright will leak my little indiscretion to the press. He’ll tell everyone that I forced Colton to trade sexual favors for leniency in his last trial. And this one, too.”

  Maria’s smile turned into a frown. Now she was catching on. “What! He can’t do that.”

  “He can. He has. He will.”