Chapter 12
Marcel
Marcel estimated the odds of Sharla showing up at about fifty-fifty. He glanced at his watch. Eighteen minutes after six. She was going to leave him hanging.
Marcel was disappointed but not defeated. He wanted her and he was going to have her. Sharla being a judge didn’t intimidate him in the least. Underneath that robe, she was still a woman.
That robe. He couldn’t wait to screw her in that robe.
Finishing off his cognac, he tried to figure out what his next move would be. He would send her flowers in the morning.
He left a ten-dollar tip for the bartender then headed for the elevators. He got off on the first floor and walked over to the small booth to pay the valet for his car. As he turned around, Sharla drove up in a silver Lexus.
“Keep the car,” he said to the man in the booth. “I’m not ready to leave after all.”
Marcel stood off to the side, his arms folded, watching her.
When their eyes met, Sharla smiled.
Damn, she’s pretty.
He waited as she strutted over to him.
“Sorry, I’m late.”
“I forgive you, Your Honor.”
He opened the door leading into the lobby and followed her inside.
Neither of them spoke during the long elevator ride to the 24th floor. WP 24—as in Wolfgang Puck 24 —was one of the chef’s signature restaurants in Los Angeles.
They settled into a booth along the window. The restaurant sat atop the Ritz-Carlton Hotel in downtown Los Angeles. The view was mesmerizing.
“I’m glad you came,” Marcel said.
“I’m glad you asked.”
“Are you? You certainly gave me a hard time at the dance.”
Sharla tilted her head. “That was a test. I like a man willing to work for what he wants.”
Marcel nodded. “What’re you drinking?”
“I’ll just have a Coke. I really do have a ton of work to do tonight.”
He flagged a waiter and ordered soda for Sharla and another cognac for himself. He also placed an order for the lobster rolls.
“So tell me about yourself?” Marcel began.
“What do you want to know?”
“Everything.”
“I grew up in L.A. I have two brothers. My parents have been married for 38 years and they’re a complete riot. My oldest brother is also a lawyer. He lives in Atlanta. We’re a small family but very close.”
Marcel liked her answer. A lot of women would’ve rattled off their degrees and professional accomplishments. She talked about family. That was a good sign.
“And you?”
“We also have two lawyers in the family. My baby sister is an entertainment lawyer. It’s just the two of us. My dad died from pancreatic cancer when I was twelve. We moved here from Houston to be closer to my grandparents. My grandfather passed away late last year, which was hard. He became my father figure after my dad’s death. When he passed, it was like I was a kid again, reliving the death of my dad.”
Marcel pressed his fist to his lips like a microphone and turned his head sideways, choking up for a second or two.
“Sorry,” he said, embarrassed. “I don’t know where that burst of emotion came from.”
Sharla reached over and covered his hand with hers. It was almost like he was meeting a different woman. The standoffish chick from the dance and the icy bitch on the bench had vanished.
For the next hour, they talked and laughed easily. Sharla shared some of her funniest experiences on the bench, while Marcel talked about a couple of nightmare clients.
“When I realized it was you on the phone,” she confessed, “I thought you were calling to complain about my ruling.”
“Naw. That motion easily could’ve gone either way. But if Kidwell had been there, I would’ve won.”
Sharla pursed her lips. “Only because he’s lazy.”
“True. But you did me a favor. If I’d won, the case wouldn’t have settled and I wouldn’t be hooking up with you.”
“Who said we’re hooking up?”
“You did. In fact, your eyes are saying it right now.”
“Is that smugness or confidence you’re wearing?”
“Both.”
Marcel could tell she liked his swag. Strong women need even stronger men.
Sharla took her purse from the seat next to her. “It’s getting late. I should go. I still have lots of reading to do tonight.”
Marcel paid the bill and they headed for the elevators.
“I know you think I’m spouting some kind of line, but there really is something special about you.”
“Okay.”
“Okay? Is that all you have to say. You have a hard time accepting a compliment, don’t you?”
She smiled. “Kinda.”
The elevator doors opened and they stepped inside. The second the doors closed, Marcel hit the red button, stopping the elevator with a jolt.
Before Sharla could ask what he was doing, Marcel leaned in and kissed her. His lips pressed firmly against hers as his tongue slipped inside her mouth. He began licking her lower lip as his right hand snaked around her waist, pulling her close. She eagerly leaned into his embrace, kissing him as voraciously as he kissed her.
He dipped his head, freed her right breast from her blouse and suckled her nipple. Sharla moaned in pleasure as her hand squirmed inside his pants and stroked him. Seconds later, he lifted her skirt and caressed her thigh. Pulling her thong to the side, he fondled her panic button. He could swear it was throbbing.
“You’re so wet,” Marcel marveled. “And hot too.”
Other than her heavy panting, Sharla remained quiet, her body doing all the talking as she gyrated against his hand as he expertly fingered her clit. In no time, she began to shiver and he could tell she was close to coming. Seconds later, her body writhed uncontrollably, then collapsed against him in a heap.
Marcel held her tight, inhaling the scent of her hair, her perfume, their sex.
“I think we better get this elevator going again,” Sharla said, breathing hard as she eased out of his embrace. “Somebody’s probably waiting for it.”
“You’re right.” Marcel’s groin still pulsated with desire for her. He put the elevator back in service as Sharla buttoned her blouse, tugged at the sleeves of her blazer and smoothed down her skirt.
He was glad she’d come so quickly, bringing a hasty end to their semi-public display of affection. An elevator wasn’t quite where he’d planned on doing her for the first time. Just before she started to come, he was ready to whip out his joystick and bang her right there against the elevator wall. But he was a patient man. He would wait for a more appropriate setting.
Marcel was actually impressed with himself for getting this far this fast. That told him Sharla wanted him as much as he wanted her despite the little shy girl act she put on. This was turning out to be way easier than he thought it would be. She had actually bought his entire performance, which only proved that smart women weren’t really all that smart.
He was steaming mad when he walked out of her courtroom earlier that day. He had never been embarrassed like that in court before. His client had been outraged at his amateur performance, reminding him that he didn’t pay $650 an hour for a lawyer who couldn’t think on his feet. The man had probably already complained to the firm’s managing partner about his sophomoric performance.
Marcel planned to romance the hell out of the Honorable Sharla Ratliff. He would say whatever he had to say and do whatever he had to do to get between her legs.
And once he did, he would dismiss her exactly the way she had dismissed him in court today.