CHAPTER FIVE
Chapter Two
Vanessa
Sweet baby Jesus. What in holy hotness was that?
I rummaged through my wash bag for my razor as shaving my legs and potentially a bit further up had now hit the top ten of things to urgently do today. I leaned back against the surprisingly clean shower tiles and pulled myself together because thinking about Jackson Callaghan in shorts and covered in sweat was not where my mind needed to be right now. Besides any relationship, other than the one I had with my vibrator, was not on any agenda. I was focused on work, on building my portfolio, on developing client relationships, on getting away from owning a business with my shitty ex, all as fast as possible, without giving in to the ex's ridiculous ideas on how much I could be bought out for, or how much he could try to screw me out of.
Richard, the ex, managed to cause me pain without being there as I put a little too much pressure on the razor shaving over my knee, blood dripping down my leg. There was no pain, there never was at first with a shaving cut, that would come later, but I was thankful for the distraction from the tight muscles and tattoos of my current employer. I didn't generally go for tattoos; only one of my past lovers had been inked and it was something I could've taken or left. Since being at the university, my type had always been the suited, power and money driven manipulators and I had gotten off on my manipulation of them as much as anything else. From what I knew of Jackson Callaghan he was driven, but not necessarily by wealth. That had never been a problem for the Callaghan Greene's: wealth had been theirs from birth.
I'd met Claire Callaghan through a networking event a year and a half ago. We'd found ourselves sitting next to each other, both nursing hangovers and large, strong cups of coffee. Rather than exchanging business details, we'd swapped background information on manicurists and arranged to meet for more coffee – the mention of wine was still banned at that point – when we were less hungover. She'd then talked me into pitching for the rebrand of her family's law firm. Grant Callaghan, the soon to be retired patriarch of the firm, also Claire's father, was notorious for upholding tradition and Callaghan Greene had plenty of that. There had been at least one lawyer in every generation going back around a hundred years and working from the same premises, although as the soon-to-be-old website explained, they took over several of the adjoining buildings as the business expanded. However, I knew it wouldn't be Grant that I dealt with, but his second eldest son, Jackson, who had been gradually phased in to manage the company, having been a qualified lawyer for a decade and an MBA graduate.
This was intended to be a swift four-week rebrand to encompass a modern, forward thinking firm steeped in success, tradition, and class. Part of the brief was to ensure potential clients were aware of all the areas of law that were covered as well as the in-depth specialism held by the partners, mainly but not exclusively, the Callaghan siblings. It should be my bread and butter, an easy job that showed off my skills and would enable me leverage to lose the albatross known as Richard from my neck and the rest of my life, along with his current blonde in need of a good meal. Not that I was bitter. Much.
I dried my hair off quickly, anxious to keep within the 30-minute time Jackson suggested. I spritzed on body moisturizer and added the usual daytime amount of make-up. I loved makeup, it was one of my biggest splurges, but I didn't wear too much. It was too easy to judge someone who looked like they were hiding behind a mask. A tailored light pink dress and grey kitten heels made me look like someone whose job was in marketing as opposed to sweating out in gyms and staring at random guys' muscles, and I headed to reception to meet Jackson. He wasn't there, but Claire and Maxwell were, both holding coffees and looking serious.
"I don't know I want to take the case," Claire said. "She's lovely but he's a dick. He'll play dirty and I don't want another six months where I'm switching hotels every few days worried someone's going to attempt to steal my files or hack into my laptop. Or worse."
Maxwell shrugged. "Discuss it with Jackson. You could work it together and he could use a pissing competition at the moment especially with a nob like him. What the fuck did she see in him anyway?"
"That's the age-old question most blokes ask when an attractive woman has been in a relationship with some rich, arrogant wanker. The answer is generally in the word 'rich'," I said, smiling at Maxwell. I've only been here three days but the eldest Callaghan was one of my favorites already. Drop dead gorgeous with thick dark hair and a face sculpted from stone. Unlike Jackson's beard, Max had tidied scruff that did nothing to dispel his reputation of a gruff and grumpy alpha male. But really, he was a big, muscular teddy bear and I could say that because I didn't have the slightest iota of attraction towards him.
He cricked his neck and frowned. "I was hoping it was deeper than rich. Speak to Jacks, Claire. I'd say take it but you've been here before." He strolled into his office, rubbing at his side.
Claire shook her head, staring at Maxwell's back. "Dick," she said. "My brothers are such imbeciles."
"Except the one closest to you in age."
I startled slightly, the voice right behind me. Jackson grinned at both of us. "What's Max done, or not done, or rumored to have done?"
"He's fighting again," she said, sipping the coffee. I hadn't yet met anyone as addicted to coffee as Claire. "He's pulled his neck and he's holding his side in."
"Maybe he's just had a night of kinky sex?" I offered, forgetting my filters and immediately kicking myself. That would've been fine to say in front of just Claire, but not in front of Jackson. Not right now when I needed to come across as being the ultimate professional business woman and not some geeky kid from Derbyshire.
Thankfully he laughed. "I suspect kinky for Maxwell would be changing the music to something other than Ed Sheeran."
"I now need bleach for my ears," Claire muttered. "Let's not discuss this any further. I've got a client in at two, but I'm clear after then. Can we meet after that?" She looked expectantly at Jackson.
"Who's the client?"
"Lucas Morris. I don't need to speak to you about him though."
Jackson nodded, slowly, as if he was reasoning something in his mind. "Sure. Make it around four. I'll tell the others to join us at five. We need a catch-up." He looked towards me. "Ready for breakfast? I promise they'll be no prissy food."
Claire looked from me to Jackson. "I hope he was civil when you met him. The usual code of conduct is to not communicate with him until he's got a personal best on a deadlift and has eaten at least four eggs. And never before eight."
Jackson glared at her. "It's a good thing we're related." He started to walk towards the door. I smothered a smile and caught Claire's eye. She gave me a tired grin and sipped her coffee.
The morning manic London rush had begun outside; cyclists, taxi drivers and pedestrians spitting up rainwater from the pavements and roads. I followed Jackson into a trendy looking coffee shop I'd passed a couple of times already. It was pretty full already; the expected suits and tourists getting an early start. We sat in a tucked away booth, the table cloth less and the air permeated by the aroma of freshly ground coffee.
"What's your poison? My treat, so order the largest breakfast you can. I'm not always this generous." He gave me that look, the one that almost dared me to challenge him. I didn't take the dare. I knew he was generous; as part of my research on the company I learned that they donated substantially to a variety of charities, just as Grant Callaghan always had, but even more so since Jackson took over.
I checked the menu. "Smashed avocado and poached eggs. With sourdough toast. Although a lot of these aren't your usual greasy spoonerisms."
"I should think not." A pocket-sized blonde pixie appeared next to us. "There are too many greasy spoons around here. A girls got to do something different, hasn't she, Jacks?" She smiled vivaciously at him and a shard of jealously hit what appeared to be my sciatic nerve.
"And you do it well, Amelie," he grinned up from the menu. "This is Vanessa. She's rebranding the firm or something like that. Vanessa, this is Amelie. Non-greasy spoon owner by day and speakeasy dame by night."
I look around and spot the signs of the café's alter ego. "Awesome. This would be a great place to hang out in the evenings. Do you do food then too?"
Amelie's face lit up. "A set menu; keeps it uncomplicated and we can get seasonal food and specials in from Borough Market. You should come one evening. Not with him though. The bouncers have him on a banned list for stealing."
I looked up at her, unsure if she was joking or not.
"Hearts, darling. This gentleman here, steals hearts. Now, what will you be having?"
Jackson was too busy choking on laughter so I went ahead and ordered: including a French press of Jamaican Blue Mountain.
"Your usual, heart thief?" Amelie glared at him. He nodded, still convulsed with laughter.
I watched him until he'd stilled, refusing to ask for an explanation. I didn't need to know why he was a heart thief, I just needed to do my job, which is what I kept telling myself as I watched him roll up the sleeves of his shirt, exposing the beginning of the tattoos on his forearm.
"Sorry about that," he said. "I've known Amelie for years. She always knows what not to say and then says it anyway. And just so you know, I don't steal hearts."
I raised my eyebrows. This man was like caffeine for my eyes: rich, smooth and addictive. Running my tongue along the ridges of his abs should not be my next ambition, but he evaporated my willpower like water on a hot day. "The brief for the rebrand - I've brought my notebook so I can show you where I'm up to. I've gone through everything so far with Maxwell, Claire, and Seph and like I said before, everything is relatively straightforward. I can give you an idea of style and design based on what you outlined in your email. It's helpful to work with a client who has a clear idea of what they want to present." I needed to stay focused. That would be this morning's mantra.
Our coffee arrived while I took Jackson through the suggestions for logos and the potential themes for the website. I'd been working on ideas for a couple of weeks in preparation for starting on their project.
He nodded. "I like that one best." He pointed to a simplistic design with bold lines and abstract color.
"This is the template for the website that would sit best with it." I brought up another screen on my notebook and tried not to notice his aftershave or how his hand nudged mine slightly. I'd not been aware of a man for over a year, since me and Richard started to go so catastrophically wrong. Now was not the time for the hormones to become engaged but he was gorgeous, even with clothes on. He had the type of cheekbones usually found on men on billboards wearing just underwear and long eyelashes that were wasted on most males. His beard was tidier than when I had seen him in the gym, not quite hiding a firm jawline. He was the stuff marketing materials were made of, and I tried to focus on my marketing rather than the smile he flashed me that corroded my insides.
"Can that be on that side instead?" he asked, pointing. "What about the history page – what content will that include?"
"That was Claire's suggestion: an overview of the company's growth and development since it began. She's provided a lot of pictures to support it which will stop it from being just text which no one, except prospective trainee lawyers will read, and I thought we could link into other sites connected with Callaghan Greene and its history in London."
"I can live with that. What will it do for us though? Is it not just some fancy window dressing?" He sat back and pushed the plunger down on his press.
"It's marketing," I said, doing the same. "It's all fancy window dressing. But since when do you go to a shop that doesn't look appealing? Your history gives potential clients a sense of trust. You're established; part of the community. And I know attracting more international work is high on your list of priorities so the links with London will reassure companies and individuals looking for a reputable law firm to work with."
He sat back, dark brown eyes that looked the color of strong, roasted coffee beans flickered around the room. His hair was no longer tied up, flopping down to his ears. I suspected he pushed it back and messed with it when he was concentrating; thinking about it made my libido start to do the conga just below my stomach.
"I like your ideas, but I knew I would," he said. "I research anyone I'm paying to do a job and what I saw of your work I thought was tasteful and upmarket without being out of reach of some potential clients. I thought the job you did for Lizards was exceptional, although I'm not sure how you persuaded the CEO there to step out of the 1800s." And then his hand went through his hair and I couldn't help but be jealous of his fingers. I tried not to stare at his biceps or forearms. I'd never found forearms attractive before but now I was wondering what Jackson Callaghan's forearms would look like if he was on top of me, that bare chest exposed in all its glory, his forearms either side of my chest.
Refocusing on what he was saying was somewhat difficult as the image of him above me had used up the majority of my brain cells. "I sold him a product that was almost too good to be true and made it easy," I said, wishing he would pull his sleeves down. "What I do isn't complicated as long as the client knows what direction they want to take their firm and what image they want to present." A family of four sat at a table next to us, a toddler and small infant part of the party. It was a welcome distraction and gave me an opportunity to move my eyes away from the man in front of me. "We do need to discuss the retirement ball for your father. We've already put together and contacted a list of venues for their availability and have caterers booked."
Jackson swallowed, looking thoughtful. "What do you need?" He stared at me with eyes that now seemed piercing. My automatic response would not be in the slightest bit professional. I tried to hold myself together rather than melting into a pile of girl goo at his feet. I was behaving irrationally. It needed to stop.
"Regular meetings with you or a representative with authority to give me the go-ahead regarding the rebranding and the website. I have people at my office who do the design work and will transfer everything over. I'll need access to a budget to get everything booked for the ball and details of your usual suppliers for stationary etcetera so I don't have to chase around." I folded my arms, sat up straight and noticed that his eyes dropped briefly to my chest. My dress was fitted just enough to hint at what might be under there. As I said to Jackson – it was all about the window dressing.
"Is this your only project at the moment?"
Amelie arrived with our breakfasts and I was suddenly starving. "No. I have one that's just about to finish with a launch next Friday and another I'm halfway through, but a lot of that one is being run by one of my employees. There are several others but none I'm leading." Although all were technically my projects and would be used as ammunition to either force Richard to sell or for him to buy me out at substantial cost.
"We'll meet every other day if we can, or at least schedule a phone call. I'll have my secretary set something with you each morning, starting tomorrow. Even if there's nothing to update it means you won't be held up waiting for someone to give you go ahead if we know when you can get hold of me." He put his cutlery down and stretches his back by pushing his chest forward. "Tell me about you."
I looked at him, puzzled. So far, it had been all professional, apart from the comment made about Maxwell's lack of kink. "What do you want to know?"
He shrugged. "How long have you lived in London; where do you live, which gym you usually use... I know it was Claire who commissioned you. I was away in Ireland when you came for the initial meeting but usually, I find out as much as I can about anyone who will be working for the company."
"So, you're doing the stalker bit after you signed the contract?" I smiled, willing myself to keep from flirting. I was usually the consummate professional, especially when dealing with men. Issue anything that could be interpreted as friendly banter and you left yourself at risk of being questioned as to how serious you were, or what other services you offered.
Jackson laughed. "Yep. Finding out about your skeletons after the horse has bolted with the skeleton riding on top. Besides, you'll know a lot about me with everything you've had to find out so it's only quid pro quo." He beckoned a waitress for another coffee.
"I'm thirty-two, I'm from Derbyshire originally and I studied marketing at Bath University before completing a masters in strategic marketing at Imperial where I met my, hopefully soon to be ex, business partner," I said, staring at the table. I didn't need to mention the soon to be ex, and already ex in some respects, to Jackson.
He raised his brows. "You need legal advice?"
That could be an offer I couldn't refuse. I'd been putting it off for too long already. "Yes. I guess so. But after I've done this job for you."
He said nothing, finishing the remains of his coffee and looking at me. I knew what he was trying to do, to get me to fill the silence and tell him more without him asking.
I groaned and broke easily. I hated silence. "He's already my ex in one way. We got together when we were doing our masters degrees. He was ten years older and his father wanted him to take on the company so insisted Richard got some form of qualification. His dad was the Cole in Cole Henderson and the majority shareholder. Around the time we graduated I inherited a decent sum of money from a great aunt and bought out Henderson, who, quite wisely, didn't fancy being in business with someone who knew pretty much nothing about marketing but everything about how to schmooze clients. And the rest you can probably work out."
Amelie delivered our coffee, an extra biscuit with each cup. "You look sad, sugar," she said. "He stole your heart already?"
I looked up at her and smiled. "That would be simpler. But don't worry – my heart's well-guarded. There's no chance of him running off with it."
She winked at me and disappeared to the table with the toddler who was trying to color in his mother's arm.
"Let me have copies of your contracts tomorrow and I'll start to look into it. I'm assuming that it's you who's driven the business. Is that all of it, or just the creative aspect?" He looked deadly serious and I was glad I didn't face him in court. The coffee eyes were now stormy, darker. Part of me wanted to know what it would be like if he did steal my heart, but that was not on the agenda and couldn't be. I didn't get involved with clients and I couldn't get involved with anyone until the business situation with Richard the dick was resolved. Me dating anyone would just be extra ammunition for him.
"All of it. For six years." I tried not to sound bitter or to offer any more details, however badly I wanted to talk it over with someone and for them to take my side.
"You'll need to give me more than that. I assume you can prove how you've grown the business, you have the accounts and the evidence of what you've worked on?"
I nodded. "I'm meticulous. That's something we fell out over. I apparently worked too hard. While I was working late nights to get the company moving and accumulating new clients he was working his mother's best friend's daughter." And the bitterness spilled out like the Thames churned out garbage at low tide. "I shouldn't be telling you all this. You're my client – it isn't your problem and not the image I want to present."
He didn't join my pity party, for which I was grateful. "Can you afford to buy him out?"
"Not at the price he wants. But I can afford to pay what he probably deserves based on the growth of the company's worth and his lack of input." I poured more coffee into my cup and pushed away the feeling of sickness that always occurred when I thought about Richard and the business and the possibility of having to walk away just to save my sanity.
"I'll email you a list of what I need from you and then we'll get it moving. You'll be fine," he said. His words reassured me and then a hand landed on top of mine, squeezing briefly and softly. "Let's meet after work tomorrow and you can give me the full story then. I'll let you buy me dinner. As long as it's not prissy food."
I laughed, my hand completely frozen by the electric shocks he had just fed into me. Claire had talked about her brothers and sisters plenty of times when we'd met for drinks. I knew Jackson was single, driven, fun with a love of motorbikes that had caused him and his father to fall out on more than one occasion. She'd talked about his regular hookups, some of whom she'd met at corporate events or the occasional family party. He'd sounded like a nice, interesting guy, but not my usual type. Clearly, my body disagreed a whole lot.
"Oh, I'll find the prissiest restaurant possible," I threatened, smiling.
He folded his arms and grinned, biceps bulging through his shirt sleeves. "I dare you."