CHAPTER 6
Viveka
When my eyes start to glaze over, I know it’s time for me to put the legal research aside. I’m normally a whiz at this sort of stuff, but I’ve been having a hard time concentrating. That’s because the area of law I am researching pertains directly to the injunction I got against Landmark Builders, and I can’t think about this case without thinking about Ford Daniels.
I have come to the point where I need to admit it was stupid to have slept with him. Not that there’s anything wrong with a one-night stand. But they are meant to be over and done with and you don’t think about them anymore.
Now the sexy litigator from uptown is doing nothing but occupying my thoughts.
I back out of the North Carolina Court of Appeals case I had been reviewing where an injunction was upheld when developers tried to encroach on land that held an endangered tadpole. Amazing that such a tiny creature could cause such a ruckus.
I decide to sift through my emails, which have been accumulating for the last few hours while I did my online legal research.
I have a few from some existing clients wanting to know the status of their cases. Since I know every single case by heart and don’t even need to pull the files, I’m able to answer them swiftly. I also respond to an email from one of the assistant district attorneys who is going to be prosecuting an animal cruelty case. I’m often asked to consult because these cases are fairly rare and obscure, and animal rights lawyers such as myself have a better grasp of the law.
Hell, I’ve helped state congressmen draft some of the laws that are in effect today in North Carolina.
I read an email from a concerned citizen that her neighbor, a pig farmer, isn’t slaughtering his livestock in a humane way. Although the thought of it brings tears to my eyes, there is no way I can help on this case. I have my limits, and cruelty cases involving inhumane slaughter techniques is it for me. I respond by giving a recommendation for a fellow attorney here in Wake County who handles cases such as these.
When the door to my office opens, I don’t even bother raising my head. My walk-in traffic is almost nonexistent, and I have no appointments scheduled today. I assume it’s Frannie stepping over while she’s on a short break, so I merely hold a finger up and say, “Give me a minute to read this last email.”
“Take your time,” I hear, and my head snaps up in recognition of that deep, sexy voice belonging to none other than Ford.
He stands there casually in a designer suit with his hands tucked into his pockets, giving me a roguish grin.
“What are you doing here?” There’s no time to analyze my voice, which comes out all breathy and curious at the same time.
“It’s quitting time,” he says.
I glance down at the clock on my computer screen, quirking a brow when I return my gaze to him. “It’s only four thirty.”
He gives me a mischievous grin. “It’s the perfect time to go have a drink. What do you say?”
I want to say yes, yes, yes. The man I’ve been fantasizing about all day is now standing before me looking even better than I remembered him the night before, and the night before was spectacular.
Still, I narrow my eyes and ask, “Is asking me for a drink code for a booty call?”
Ford doesn’t answer me. He doesn’t laugh and shoot me a wink. He doesn’t come back with a witty remark filled with the appropriate amount of sexual innuendo.
Instead, he turns away and walks over to the wall that borders Frannie’s hair salon. If I put my ear up to it, I can sometimes hear people talking on the other side.
With his hand still tucked in his pockets, Ford casually peruses the items that are hanging there. That would include one framed news article that was written about me seven years ago, my undergraduate and law degree, and a cheap print of a basket full of Golden retriever puppies in a plastic gold frame. That’s probably my most favorite because it was given to me by a little boy whose parents hired me to successfully wrangle away a dog who was being abused next door to them.
Ford stands before it, examining it as if it were a Degas in the Musée d’Orsay. He lifts his chin up, indicating the picture of the puppies. “This is humbling.”
I cock my head. “How so?”
He cranes his neck to glance over his shoulder briefly before turning back to the basket full of puppy goodness on the wall. “I’ve got about twenty thousand dollars’ worth of sculptures and art in my office, yet I bet this one little picture has more meaning than the entirety of my office.”
My mouth drops open over his observation, but nothing seems to come out. I knew Ford had to be loaded since he was a partner at Knight & Payne. I’d also went to his fancy high-rise apartment that would fit my entire little house in his living room. With wealth comes luxuries, so I’m not surprised the art in his office constitutes almost half my yearly income.
I am surprised, however, that he understands that what’s hanging on my wall tells a very important story about me and the career I’ve chosen.
Ford moves over to the news article I’d had framed. It was one of my prouder moments, helping Congressman Irving in our district to beef up the animal cruelty statutes here in North Carolina. The article only mentions me in one line, and I’m not even quoted, but the congressman gave me most of the credit for drafting the new statutes. It was sweet and very rewarding.
Ford stands before the article and reads it. I don’t say a word.
When he finally turns to face me, he says, “So you protect endangered species and you help draft legislation. Past that, though, I have no fucking clue what an animal lawyer does.”
My head falls back to make room for the unbidden laugh that comes over the consternation in his voice. I lean back in my chair, completely amused. He doesn’t ask for an invitation, but moves over to elegantly sit in one of my guest chairs opposite my desk.
“I do a lot of different things,” I explain because my area of law is indeed quite obscure. “I work on animal cruelty cases. Sometimes, I’ll help the D.A. prosecute abusers, or I’ll sue for custody of an animal that’s being mistreated. I review contracts related to animals—like sales contracts or even divorce custody clauses over who gets the cat and the dog. I’ve taught some law courses and helped set up a few nonprofits. Really, I’ll do anything that relates to the protection and safety of animals.”
“And that’s all you do? No other type of law.”
“Just animal law,” I say proudly.
“I’m guessing it doesn’t pay a lot,” he muses, but not in a snobbish way. More like he’s testing the weight of my career. It’s non-monetary value.
“Let’s just say I don’t have twenty grand worth of art,” I say with a chuckle.
Ford doesn’t reply. Rather, he slaps his palms on his thighs and stands from the chair. “Okay… let’s go get a drink and then grab some dinner.”
My head starts spinning slightly over his domineering ways, and God help me… it turns me on, too. But I can only shake my head. “I can’t. I have plans tonight.”
“What type of plans?” he asks in a low voice, not quite irate but clearly not liking my answer.
I could tease him or tell him it’s none of his business, but I don’t want to play games. “With my bestie. She owns the hair salon next door.”
“Do or Dye,” Ford murmurs, and I’m surprised he even noticed something like the name of the business next door. “Very clever.”
“She’s a very clever person,” I reply softly.
“No matter,” Ford says almost jauntily. “It’s Friday, four thirty, and we deserve a drink. Let me buy you one before you meet…”
“Frannie,” I supply.
“Frannie,” he affirms with a nod. “What are you two going to do tonight?”
“Mud masks on our face, wine, cheese, and a corny eighties’ movie,” I tell him. All true and completely lame. “I know it sounds weird, but it’s our thing.”
“I attended a Lamaze class with my bestie today,” he returns. That catches me off guard. In a million years, I couldn’t imagine Ford in his impeccably groomed suit at a Lamaze class. I’m also a little surprised his bestie is a woman, and I’m not quite sure how that makes me feel.
Before I can process that, though, he jerks his chin toward the door. “Come on… we can talk all about it over a drink. You can choose the place.”
♦
“Sorry this isn’t very fancy,” I say, swirling the piece of celery around my Bloody Mary.
His brown eyes sweep around the bar, before coming back to me. “Who doesn’t love TGIF Friday’s?”
I cock my eyebrow. “Have you ever been in one before?”
The guilty expression on his face says it all. Still, he admits, “Can’t say I have.”
“Well, cheers,” I say, holding my drink up to him. He raises his Jack and Coke, and our glasses clink before we each take a sip.
When Ford puts his glass down on the small round table we had taken in the bar area, he says, “Okay… I know we don’t have but about an hour before you leave to go meet Frannie of Do or Dye for mud masks, wine, cheese, and corny movies, but let’s utilize the time wisely and start with you giving me a rundown of your life’s history.”
Amazement covers my face. “So this really isn’t a booty call? Or an attempt at one?”
His lips curl in a sly grin. “I am more than willing to come over to your house after Frannie leaves for a booty call if you want.”
I can’t help but laugh, but I don’t admit I would open my door to him if he came over.
“What do you want to know?” I ask as I start to slowly stir my celery around my drink again.
“How did you get from Sweden to the United States?”
“A plane.” I keep a neutrally bland expression on my face.
Ford rolls his eyes at me, and it’s a completely endearing maneuver. The man has to be in his early forties by my calculations of stalking him on his firm’s website, but that immature display makes him completely sexier for some reason.
I don’t make him ask the question again, just give a very brief rundown of my transition from a Swedish citizen to an American citizen. “When I was fourteen, I was approached on the streets of Stockholm by a talent agent. An American talent agent. They wanted me to sign with their agency to do fashion modeling.”
Ford places his forearms on the table and leans forward, listening intently. “Not surprised.”
I take that as the compliment it was meant to be. Obviously, he has made his attraction to me known in more ways than one. And with those few simple words, he tells me he believes I’m beautiful enough to be a model. It’s crazy how I’ve always doubted that about myself even if I was in a Vogue fashion spread or walked the catwalk in Milan. I never saw in myself what others did, I guess. I also think it was probably the fact I was so young and hadn’t had time to let my confidence develop.
I continue my story. “My mother was a model in Sweden. She’s a beautiful woman and loved that lifestyle, although she was never quite successful at it. When I was offered the chance to pursue what was really her dream, she sort of forced me to take it. So she and I moved to the States.”
“And your father didn’t come?” He asks.
“Never knew who my father was,” I say with a wry smile. My gaze drops down to my drink for a moment before returning to him. “At least not at that age.”
Ford nods, and it’s obvious he’s filing away further questions about my father. I continue. “Let’s just say my modeling career was very good for my mother and me. Actually, let me amend that. It was very good for my mother. I made a lot of money and she managed it, and by manage, I mean spent most of it. She led a very posh lifestyle on my coattails.”
There’s no mistaking the sympathy in Ford’s gaze. I am utterly shocked when he makes an astute observation about a woman that he doesn’t know. “I guarantee you she didn’t do that for long, though, did she?”
That simple question tells me Ford has figured out in a very short time I’m not the type of woman who will be walked all over for long. He knows enough to realize I would never let anybody take advantage of me, even if it’s my mother. It means a lot he recognizes that, because it’s probably the personality trait I’m most proud of. If I have a daughter one day, it’s what I will encourage her the most in.
I shake my head and give him a smile. “When I was seventeen, I got myself emancipated from my mother. I stopped modeling, got control of what money was left—which wasn’t much—and because I had graduated high school early with homeschooling, I went off to college, much to my mother’s dismay.”
Ford cocks his head curiously. “Was your mother’s dismay in the fact you chose an education over modeling or that she’d lost her gravy train?”
Laughing, I point my finger playfully at him. “Both. You win.”
Ford picks up his drink and takes a sip. He sets the glass down, and his words are measured. “Let me guess… college at seventeen, graduated at age twenty and went off to law school. Had your degree by about the time you were twenty-three, and then was well on your way to becoming an animal lawyer.”
Chuckling, I roll my fingertip around the edge of my drink glass. “Almost. I started out doing corporate law in Georgia. It wasn’t until I saw someone abusing a dog out on the street that my career path changed.”
“What did you do?”
“I beat the guy up with my briefcase and stole his dog,” I say simply.
I’m not prepared for the bark of laughter that erupts or the respect shining in his eyes. He gives an amused shake of his head. “You are something else, V.”
He picks up his glass to take another sip, and I do the same. When we set our glasses down, he asks, “What brought you to North Carolina?”
“My ex-husband transferred his residency from Emory’s university hospital to Duke. When I passed the North Carolina bar exam, I used that as an opportunity to start my career in animal law.”
Ford’s eyebrow raises. “You were married to a doctor?”
I nod. “A neurosurgeon.”
“And how long have you been divorced?”
“About two years.” And I can’t believe it’s been that long. I also can’t believe it had been more than two years since I’d had sex. I’d been through a rather dry spell after my marriage fell apart, but Ford has proven it’s kind of like riding a bike.
“Have you ever been married?” I ask.
Ford laughs and shakes his head a little too vigorously. “No way.”
If I were sitting beside him, I would probably give him a playful punch on his shoulder. Instead, I have to say, “You say it like it’s a disease or something.”
Ford shakes his head a little more vigorously, and his expression turns slightly apologetic. “No, it’s not that. It’s just… marriages are forever and well… Let’s just say a few months for me is a long time.”
My eyes widen, and I drawl, “You don’t have a lot of staying power.”
“I haven’t so far,” he says. “And to be clear, we’re talking about relationships—not my stamina in the bedroom.”
“At least you’re honest,” I say, and I mean it as a true compliment. Ford has his ways, and I can’t necessarily say that they are wrong knowing what I know about marriage now. Still, I can’t help asking. “You don’t feel like you’re missing out on anything?”
Ford shrugs, and it’s not casual in any way. If anything, it conveys he’s given this some thought. “I’m not sure. It’s not like I’m anti-relationship or anything. I guess I’ve just been so busy with my career. There’s never been anyone I’ve met who has held my interest for very long or who I wanted to share my life with.”
I can’t help but tease. “So what you’re saying is I shouldn’t be making any long-term plans with you?”
I had hoped he would get I was joking. Instead, his expression remains somber. “Do you want to get married again?”
I give the same type of shrug Ford had just given me. I honestly don’t know the answer. However, unlike Ford, I have not really thought about it. There’s been no reason to. “What is marriage anyway? A piece of paper. What does that even mean in today’s day and age with the rate of divorce?”
“I’ve had those same thoughts myself,” Ford admits, but then leans even closer over the table. “But I watched my best friend Leary fall in love with a man a few years ago, and they’ve actually given me hope for humanity.”
My insides melt over the affection in his voice for his friend. I grin. “Maybe there’s hope for you yet, Mr. Daniels.”
He stares at me a moment, and I wonder how this conversation got so serious so fast. I hardly know him at all. The fact we fell so fast into bed leads me to believe there is nothing of substance at this table other than perhaps the two drinks sitting before us. I try to think of something light and airy to say, to bring us back around to a fun, flirty conversation.
But to my dismay, Ford turns his wrist over and glances at his watch. His eyes come back to me, and he says, “Look at the time. We need to get out of here so you can go meet Frannie.”
I check my cell phone I had set on the table. I can’t believe we’ve been here for almost an hour talking. The swell of disappointment tells me that my rationale is probably not seeing this as a one-night stand or a booty call. I don’t know if he can do anything more after a few months, but I do know I want to see him again.
Surprisingly, there’s hardly anything left of my drink. I pick it up and drain the last of it as Ford does the same with his Jack and Coke. After, he pulls his wallet out and leaves some money on the bar for a tip.
Ford walks me to my car, his hand at my elbow as we cross the parking lot. When we get there, he turns me to face him and steps in close. Peering down, he asks, “I’ve got two tickets tomorrow night to see the North Carolina Symphony? Would you like to go with me?”
I can’t help wrinkling my nose. “I’m sorry, but that’s sort of not my thing.”
Ford’s lips tip up. “You don’t like classical music?”
“Oh, I like classical music well enough, but my days of fancy dresses and elegant galas are kind of in the past for me. I don’t even own a dress that would be suitable enough.”
Ford blinks in surprise. “You’re kidding me. I get your practice may not be as lucrative as mine, but you were married to a neurosurgeon. Surely you had a cocktail dress or two when you divorced?”
His tone is light and teasing, and that’s the only way I can take what he’s saying.
“Well, believe it or not… My ex-husband wasn’t into that sort of thing either. We never did fancy stuff, and he worked all the time. I think the last time I got to dress up all fancy was my wedding. And probably prior to that was when I was still modeling.”
“I don’t know whether to be sad about that,” Ford says, seeming perplexed.
I laugh and lightly touch his arm. “Maybe we can do something else another time,” I suggest.
Ford surprises me by putting his palms against my face and pulling me in for a kiss. It’s not soft, but it’s not sensual either. It feels more like a claiming. When he pulls back, he murmurs, “I hate classical music and the symphony. I thought I would impress you with the fact I had tickets, which really belong to the senior partner at our firm and are available for the taking if I want. What would you like to do tomorrow night?”
I stare at him a moment before trying to be the mature voice of reason. “You know we’re on opposing sides of a legal case. This is probably not a good idea.”
“Fuck that,” Ford says. “I can be impartial in court next week, and I guarantee you can as well. We’re both professionals. When it boils right down to it, this case has nothing to do with what’s between us.”
“At least not for a few months,” I quip, teasing him about his self-imposed deadline where his interest in me will purportedly wane.
Ford grins, and I’m not sure what it means that we can joke around about the fact that this is probably a temporary thing between us. “Exactly. So let’s make the most of our time together.”
I study him for a moment before I incline my head. “All right then… Dinner tomorrow night.”