Chapter Seven
“Burns!”
Ryan whipped his head around, scowl in place. “What?” The defensive response snapped out before he could contain it.
Charles Cummings glowered right back, thick brows drawn low over sunken eyes ringed with dark circles. “Where’s your head?”
The soft whisper of boy floated unsaid at the end of that sentence to taunt Ryan with the man’s superiority. One implied but rarely displayed—except in Ryan’s head.
His stomach soured, the sick swirl of shame coating him before he could curb it. “Sorry.” He sat forward, straightened his glasses. “I apologize.” He picked up his pen, focus intent. “You were saying?”
Charles swiveled his head, his disappointment clear. “What part did you last hear?”
A wince kicked at his chest, but he managed to keep his expression flat. This was his job. His thoughts never wandered at work. Never.
He cleared his throat, mind blank. Which case were they talking about? His gaze drifted down the long table to land on the dark-haired minx sitting at the end. Laptop out, gaze locked on the screen, hair curling over her black blouse.
“Ms. Wakeford,” Charles barked. She whipped her head up, brows raised. “Can you enlighten Mr. Burns?”
The paralegal smiled politely. “Of course.”
She proceeded to provide a rundown of the Oakman case that Charles was currently litigating, regarding land rights and lease agreements. Ryan understood the details of the case even though it wasn’t his. He made a point of knowing the major components of every active case in the event he was called to assist. That was what a partner did—in his opinion at least.
The low note of Brie’s—Brighton’s—voice floated across the room to encircle him. More clipped than the night in the Boardroom. Professional now. Yet he couldn’t miss the smoky undertones that wrapped around his chest and dug up the images of her riding him, head tossed back, breasts full and glorious as she came.
A visual that easily transferred to the table stretched between them.
Damn it. He swung his seat around to focus on Charles.
“I’ve got it,” he said, cutting Brie—Brighton—off without looking at her. “I believe you’re in the right,” he told Charles before he expanded his conclusion. He firmly locked her out of his awareness and kept his attention on the other partners.
Cummings, Lang and Burns was a long-established San Francisco law firm that Ryan had dedicated his adult life to. Literally. He’d set his sights on being exactly in this position when he’d first stepped into Berkeley Law school, and nothing had deterred his focus.
He’d done everything required of him to be offered this coveted seat next to Cummings and Lang before he’d hit forty. That included the sixteen-hour days and marrying a suitable woman, one who’d been the perfect society wife until she’d realized his social aspirations differed greatly from hers. As in he had none.
He refused to screw it up now—or to tarnish his own reputation by daydreaming about a woman. A random woman he’d fucked in the Boardroom.
One of many since he’d joined the exclusive group.
His attention didn’t waver through each of the reports provided by the team of lawyers seated around the table. The weekly briefing kept everyone abreast of issues and workload and allowed them to assign new cases as they came in.
And he’d been caught daydreaming in the middle of this one.
The ridicule crawled up his nape to dig into his skull. Respect was earned, not given, and he’d worked too damn hard to get his. Thankfully in-office sightings of Brie—Brighton—Ms. Wakeford—were few.
Not that it’d matter.
Keeping his dick in his pants had never been his problem. Sex had one purpose and it wasn’t to ensnare him in thorny scandals or messy entanglements. Hence, the beauty of the Boardroom.
“The Marlow contracts are finalized, correct?” Charles posed the question to Ryan knowing they were.
“Yes,” he confirmed. He didn’t expand when there was no need to.
“Good.” Charles nodded, his balding head catching the glare of the fluorescent lights. Vanity obviously wasn’t high on his list of worries, yet he carried his power with a dignity that negated his physical flaws. He returned his focus to the table at large. “Are there any other items that need to be addressed?”
The array of swiveling heads and mumbled negatives meant the meeting was adjourned. Ryan stayed seated as the others gathered their stuff and filed from the boardroom. Charles hadn’t asked that last question of him without having a purpose. Nothing the man did was without purpose.
He’d assessed that within weeks of starting his first internship with the firm.
Ryan scanned the parade of dark tailored suits and stylish business dress that leaned heavily to the conservative side. Exactly the image the firm wanted to present and one he endorsed.
Brighton Wakeford was a perfect representation of that image. Her blouse and skirt were both sleek and sedate while still being feminine. Her makeup was minimal yet accentuated her eyes. Big, beautiful eyes that revealed little in the office.
But how would they be in the Boardroom? Expressive? Knowing? Lust-filled?
She tucked a lock of hair behind her ear, placed her computer on top of a stack of folders after grabbing one. Her strides were confident, shoulders back as she approached their end of the table.
“Here’s the information you requested.” Brie handed a legal-sized manila folder to Charles. “Do you need anything else?”
Did she have any clue who Ryan was? That he’d been in that room with her just two weeks back? That he’d kissed that mole at the edge of her collarbone? That he’d held her hips and driven into her as she’d begged to come?
Now he was being the damn pervert who lusted after subordinates. Disgust swirled in his stomach to stir up the sick muck of loathing from earlier. He’d never sink that low. Be that low.
“That’ll be all,” Charles told her. “Thank you.”
Ryan forced his gaze to remain on Charles, but the rest of his senses homed in on Brie as she collected her belongings and left the room. A long inhalation found only stale coffee and the underlying scent of ammonia, not her light yet sultry fragrance.
The one he couldn’t place yet couldn’t forget.
“Are you sure about this one?” Victor Lang asked, motioning to the documents in Charles’s hand. The other partner was portly in the aged way that somehow kept him from being classified as overweight. Or more likely, the respect he’d earned and still worked to hold kept tongues from wagging negatively.
Charles lifted his shoulder in dismissal. “That’s why I’m having Burns look at it.” He shoved the folder across the table to him. “The request comes from a friend of my wife,” he went on, brows drawing low. “Barbara asked me to consider it, and I have.” He motioned to the folder. “But it’s in your court if we take it on.”
Meaning, it’d be his if he agreed.
Ryan flipped the folder open and scanned the summary document neatly placed on top. Succinct, organized and laid out with pros, cons and open items, he scanned the information in a matter of minutes, admiration for Brie’s skills increasing with every paragraph.
“Mutual relationships prevent me from touching it as well,” Victor added, sitting back. His shirt was too well tailored for the buttons to give even a hint of being stretched. He tapped his pen on the table, the habit one he used to both intimidate and distract.
Ryan ignored it but noted it all the same.
His name might be on the door and scripted in gold across the company letterhead, but he was still the junior partner.
The one who had to prove himself every damn day—without appearing to do so.
He flipped the file closed and folded his hands over it, leaning in. “I’ll take a deeper look at it later.” His stomach settled as he found his comfort zone. “What aren’t you telling me?”
The men shared a look, the silence tempered with indecision before Charles cracked a smile. His deep, rolling chuckle held the hearty note of an amused grandfather. Yet another thing Ryan ignored.
Playing into their hands wasn’t how he’d earned his position. There were plenty of yes-men in the firm who took care of stroking their egos—and his own.
He kept his expression neutral and waited them out. He’d get the information he wanted, or he’d leave the folder on the table, his decision made. And they both knew that.
Charles sat forward, his laugh dying away. He cleared his throat, checked the open doorway. “Barbara’s family is intertwined with this company.” He let that rest for a moment, the implications sinking deeper.
“How intertwined?” And how much was Charles himself involved?
Charles brushed it off. “Just longtime friends. You know how connections work in the Valley.” He glanced at Victor who nodded in confirmation. “I wouldn’t have looked at the case if it was more than that.”
Ryan studied him, doubts alive. There was no success in this business without them. “I hope Bri—Ms. Wakeford has documented every connection and association within the firm, so I understand the political dynamics.”
“I told her to,” he said, an edge to his voice. “I have nothing to hide. Lang and I simply have connections on both sides of this property issue, and from a firm standpoint, it’d be better if you took the case, or we’ll pass.”
“Good.” Ryan scooped up the folder along with his notepad and other items as he stood. “I have a meeting in thirty.” He nodded at the men. “I’ll let you know if I have questions.” He lifted the folder to indicate the case.
They tracked his departure, their steady stares hitting him in the back as he exited. He didn’t need eyes on the back of his head to know that. He might be the only other current partner, but he wasn’t the first to have his name listed next to theirs.
Cummings and Lang had started the firm when Ryan was still learning to read. They’d fought and worked for the reputation they now maintained. He’d understood exactly what that meant before he’d signed the paperwork and taken out the massive loan required to buy into the firm.
That was also why he wasn’t too concerned about the mystery case handed off to him. Both men would rather die than see their lifeblood tarnished.
That alone had driven his desire to be a part of the company.
“I’ll have my usual for lunch,” he told Carla, his executive assistant, as he passed by her desk. “At one, please.”
“Yes, sir.” Her polite smile matched her voice. “Will you need anything from me for your meeting?”
“No. Thank you.”
“Should I send—” She glanced at her computer screen, clicking her mouse as her brows dipped and then lifted. “Mr. Crawford in when he arrives?”
“That’d be great.”
He left his smiling assistant, a faint grin ghosting over his own lips. Carla was competent in an old-fashioned way. What she lacked in technical skills, she made up for with her cunning insight and honest kindness that held no ulterior motives. He didn’t require much, and experience had taught him that having anyone more ambitious only resulted in a bored assistant and ruffled feathers—neither of which he had time for.
Self-reliance was the cornerstone of his success. Some leaned on family connections, others on business networks and still others on charm and personality. He had his work ethic and determination, that was it.
Charm could fade, and networks could crumble. And training someone to meet his standards took more time and oversight than if he just did it himself. Even as a partner.
He dropped the files on his desk, rolled his shoulders back. The day stretched ahead on yet another series of meetings and briefings, followed by hours of reading, research and reports. He glanced at his calendar and wrote up a list of items for the associate attorneys to handle, made another for the intern assigned to him. And still another for the paralegals he shared with Lang.
He could delegate just fine. He also had standards that left many cursing his name.
And that was their issue to resolve.
He had his own to deal with, including the new one handed to him this morning. Brie Wakeford, however, was not on that list.
She’d never know it was his fingers that’d left the imprints on her hips. Or his dick that’d filled her until she’d crumbled in ecstasy.
Or his lips that’d ghosted over her temple when they’d both been too wrung out to speak.