Chapter Eight

Reid

With a text confirmation that my client will meet me at the DA’s office, I slide into the back seat of my hired car, and I swear the scent of Carrie’s damn perfume follows me. Holy hell, that woman is under my skin or I wouldn’t be thinking about her perfume and her perfect backside rather than her role in the company where I need to turn a massive profit. The problem is that there are a lot of people busy fucking her right now that aren’t me; namely her own father, and I wish like hell I could just tell her, but there is that damn debt and a contract that’s silencing me. For now, I’ve settled for making it clear where her loyalty needs to lie: with me. If she gets fucked, I now get fucked, which means a lot of wealthy people get fucked.

I dial my secretary, Connie, who is a ten-year veteran of dealing with my shit and thus far the woman just won’t quit. “Your humble servant at your service,” she answers.

I ignore her smart remark, as I do all her many smart remarks. “I need you to coordinate with Carrie West’s secretary, Sallie, to get clearance for you and Gabe,” I say. “Gabe needs clearance in time for a six o’clock meeting. I need you with me by tomorrow morning.”

“Got it,” she says. “I can’t go another day without being ordered around by you in person anyway. I feel lost. How hostile is the hostile takeover?”

“They aren’t as hostile as me,” I say. “You’ll be fine.”

“I was talking about you. How hostile are you to them?”

“I’m only half as nice to them as I am to you,” I reply dryly. “Anything I need to know before I hang up?”

“You know it’s my birthday. Of course, you know. I’m forty today, and single because I have no life but servicing you, and it’s depressing. Thank you for the gift.”

“What did I buy you?”

“Tickets to see Jason Aldean because you know how much I love him.”

“Well,” I say dryly, “that was thoughtful of me.”

“It was, and everyone who thinks you’re an asshole clearly doesn’t have access to your black AmEx.”

“You’re the only woman that ever has,” I assure her.

“You know what they say about women who never marry?”

“What?”

“They never found the right man. Do you know what they say about any man over thirty-five, say thirty-eight, like yourself, who hasn’t married? He has something wrong with him.”

“Do you have a point?”

“No point. I have fifteen messages for you. Only three matter, therefore I’ve emailed those to you with notes.”

“I’ll be in the DA’s office and then headed to court. Text me anything else important but make it real damn important.”

“Got it. Don’t text you. Wait. Don’t hang up. Why did I just get a note that Carrie West is holding for me?”

“Good question,” I say. “Put me on hold and take the call.”

She does as I say and quickly comes back to the line. “She wants your cellphone number.”

And she hunted it down. I do like this woman. “Give it to her.”

“Will do. See you tomorrow.” She disconnects before I can because it’s Connie. She knows when I’m done.

I wait for my line to ring with a call from Carrie, but it doesn’t. She doesn’t call. Interesting. She went out of her way to get my number but does nothing with it. This woman keeps me guessing. The car pulls up to my destination and I exit to meet Cole Brooks, my client, and a top criminal attorney in the city, at the door. He’s also the man who with his wife, and co-counselor, got an innocent man charged in a serial murder case off, only to have the DA refuse to look for the real killer. Not only did someone else end up dead, but the brother of one of the murder victims attacked Cole’s wife in a public bathroom.

“What’s this meeting about?” he asks.

“I hope it’s the money meeting,” I say, “but feel no pressure to settle. Your wife was attacked. We’ll settle when you feel like she’s safe and not a second sooner.”

“Attacked because the DA let the attacker believe that we got his sister’s killer off when the real killer ran free,” he says as if he just needs to make sure I know this. “I might punch the man if I go upstairs. You need to handle this.”

“Oh come on, man,” I say. “You’re a hell of a criminal defense attorney. If you punch him, you can defend yourself and we’ll call it mental distress and get those victim’s families more money. I’m in for the beating if you are.”

“You handle it,” he repeats. “But the man who attacked my wife is under psych evaluation. Make sure I get word if he’s set free before he’s set free. I trust you to handle this.”

“And I will,” I assure him.

He offers me his hand and we shake. “Thanks, Reid.” He gives me a weak smile. “Everything your sister said about you wasn’t true.” He intends this to be a joke but I’m damn glad when he turns and walks away before seeing my flinch.

I forcefully shove aside my history with my sister and focus on Cole’s need to protect his woman, and I get it. He’s tormented by the idea that he was the indirect cause of her attack. He fell in love and then found out how easy it is to have someone close to you come under fire, which is just one of the reasons I took this case. I know what that feels like. I know, and I will never know again. Ever. I don’t do relationships or anything that resembles a relationship. I do, however, apparently do obsession, since I can’t stop thinking about Carrie, but then I half fucked her, and I never do anything halfway. I clearly need to be inside that woman to get her out of my head.

***

Carrie

It takes me all of fifteen minutes to find out what Reid meant about my decision on the Japan property being the right one. The company we would have been in bed with is now being investigated for a long list of international crimes. I didn’t know and should have known, but I didn’t follow the deal once it became ammunition for a war with my brother. No. I didn’t follow it because my father blamed me for losing the deal, and that cut and cut deeply.

I stare down at Reid’s number now in my phone thanks to his assistant, not him, and all because I wanted to call him and tell him I figured out Japan. And why? Why do I want to call him? I have nothing to prove to him, only it feels more like he proved something to me. He proved I was right about Japan. He’s such an asshole, and yet, he’s the one who told me I got it right. He’s the one who says he’s behind me, but he’s also the one who took down my company, even if he would claim it was my father. Deep down, though, I know it was my father. Not even deep down. My father let this happen. Reid just happens to be the kind of man that takes advantage of poor decisions.

Meanwhile, he’s off helping the families of murder victims. He’s a confusing person and his words replay in my mind: In case that conversation you heard with the DA makes you think that I’m a good guy deep down inside, I’m not. Okay he’s not, but he’s also the man holding the key to my future. If he doesn’t believe I’m with him, really with him, I might as well leave now. The way I handle him could influence how he handles the meeting with our staff.

I start to call him and decide he could be in his meeting with the DA. The one where he’s helping families of murder victims free of charge. Good guy. Bad guy. I don’t know. It can’t matter. I type a text: I found out about Japan. I should have known. I know you think I’m going to call my father and my brother, but I’m not. And for the record, you might not be a good guy, but you’re doing a good thing for those victims’ families. I’m sure it must come with some personal gain, but I’ll pretend it does not. It helps me to know the man I’m in business with has now helped them. Because I have a moral compass, even if you do not.

I read the very long message and decide not to send it. Instead, I return messages, answer emails and deal with a number of “problems” Sallie sends my way. Not for one second is my mind fully off Reid and my family, or some combination. The truth is, I’m mostly replaying every word I spoke with Reid. He doesn’t trust my family, and my father knows what I’m dealing with, and he hasn’t called me.

It’s a full hour later when I look at that message again and it pretty much sums up everything I need to say to Reid, and a text message with that man is safer than a conversation that gets too close and too personal. I hit send and set my phone aside without expecting a reply, and yet I am waiting for one. A full sixty seconds pass before he does indeed reply: And your moral compass allowed you to cuff me and leave me to suffer? Don’t say I had my hand. It wasn’t you.

I stare at that message and I don’t like the warm heat pooling low in my belly or the memories of me on top of him before I cuffed him. I’d almost convinced myself I could finish what we started and cuff him later. I hesitated. I am supposed to be trying to build a bridge before the staff meeting, but this man pushes my buttons and I just can’t help myself. I reply with: I liked cuffing you. In fact, it was one of the most memorable moments of my life.

His reply is instant: And here I thought that was the orgasm I gave you.

I grimace and type: Really it was getting you to give me the orgasm before I cuffed you.

He calls me. Of course, he calls me. He has to be in control. I answer the line. “Nice of you to give me your number in case I needed you,” I answer, going on the attack.

“You proved resourceful in your needs, all of them.”

Of course, that’s a reference to my remark about getting him to give me an orgasm, and I actually can’t say I regret that orgasm. I decide that’s better unsaid and move onward. “Don’t you have a meeting?” I ask.

“It’s over. I walked out. I’m on my way to court.”

“The DA didn’t give you what you wanted?”

“No. He did not, but he will.”

In that moment, I envy his confidence, even his arrogance. He knows who he is, what he can do, and where he’s going. “I hope you win.”

“What happened to all the punches you were throwing me in the text message?”

“At present, you aren’t taunting me,” I reply.

“Is that what you think I was doing?”

“Isn’t it?” I challenge.

“Because I told you I want you more than my hand?”

I scowl. “Do you just say what comes to your mind or are you intentionally crass to me?”

“If I said what was on my mind, you’d hear a whole lot more than that. Is that what you want? It can be arranged.”

“Yes, please,” I say. “I prefer everything be on the table.”

“Do you now?”

“Yes. I do.”

He’s silent for several beats that feel loaded for reasons that I am certain I do not understand any more than I understand my father’s recent decisions or even Reid himself. “I’ll be there in time for the meeting.” He disconnects, and I have no idea what just happened, but I know one thing. Reid knows more about me than I know about him and I already know that I can’t do that without help. I tried before the auction. He’s shielded himself and well, but I’m here. I am up close and personal, and I want to know who he is and what he really wants because it’s not what it seems. He said to trust my gut and that’s what my gut says.