Four

Jay pushed the pieces of omelet around on his plate while Charlie hovered around him. To his credit, he hadn’t exploded—yet. It was likely his half sister was expecting a violent outburst at any moment given the way she kept the kitchen counter between them at all times. Her bombshell had knocked him on his ass—literally. He’d collapsed into one of the recliners amid a string of obscenities, the weight of one too many surprises today taking him out at the knees.

“See,” she’d said. “I told you that was too much Scotch. When did you last eat anything?” Scrambling to the kitchen, she’d begun preparing him some food. Despite growing up in homes with servants, their mother, Melanie, had insisted both Charlie and Jay learn to fend for themselves in the kitchen. While Charlie had obviously mastered the skill of cooking, Jay paid for someone else to do his.

“Does Mom know?” he asked. His gut seized at the thought of how their mother would react to her twenty-one-year-old, unmarried daughter being pregnant.

Charlie avoided his eyes, wiping the counter with a towel instead. “God, no. I just found out myself.” She shrugged. “It’s not like she’ll be excited about it, so why bother.”

Jay heaved a sigh. For the life of him, he’d never understand the relationship between his mother and sister. Charlotte was the golden child, born to Jay’s mother and her second husband, multimillionaire Lloyd Davis, when Jay was fifteen. His mother had been in her early forties while Lloyd had been approaching sixty when his sister arrived. To say that Charlotte had been doted on would be a gross understatement. Unfortunately, the rest of humanity was now paying the price for their family’s spoiling of her.

From the moment he’d laid eyes on his beautiful baby sister, Jay had adored her. He’d spent most of his life walking on eggshells around his stepfather, trying to live up to the CEO of the body-armor-manufacturing company’s rigid ideals. But Charlie loved her big brother unconditionally. When nothing Jay said or did could please his stepfather, a simple arm fart would send his sister into peals of worshipful laughter. She was the ray of sunshine that allowed him to survive his teenage years living under Lloyd Davis’s roof.

And then Lloyd died and everything had changed.

Jay’s knuckles were white, he was gripping his fork so tightly. “Who’s the father?”

Defiance, pure and strong, was shining in Charlie’s eyes. That look didn’t faze Jay, though. He’d been dealing with it since his sister had been in her Terrible Twos.

“None of your business.”

“I take it that means you actually know who the father is?”

She recoiled as if he’d slapped her and, for an instant, Jay felt like the horrible creature that the business magazines had labeled him as.

“Wow,” she said. “You really have become an insufferable ass, haven’t you? How dare you ask me that!”

If Charlie had been expecting an explosion from Jay, she was about to be satisfied. He jumped from his stool feeling like his chest was going to rupture. “How dare I? How about how dare you, traipsing around the world with a silver spoon stuck up your ass all these years? You and your jet-setting friends—the so-called beautiful people—partying it up on their daddie’s dime like a bunch of lazy, spoiled hooligans,” he yelled. “You live in some alternative world from the rest of us, played out on the cover of tabloid magazines and episodes of TMZ, thumbing your nose at your mother, your future, and the freakin’ law!”

Charlie had plastered herself against the large refrigerator when Jay began advancing on her. The look of defiance on her face had been replaced by one of horror. “I don’t remember much about my father,” she whispered. “But I’m pretty sure you’ve become him.”

Jay swore violently. His sister couldn’t have picked a better weapon to wound him with. Too bad she was right. He took a moment to reflect on what he’d just shouted at her and realized too late he’d been channeling his dead stepfather. He swore again.

“It’s always going to be about the money, isn’t it?” she asked.

He raked a hand through his hair and reached for the remains of his Scotch. When Lloyd had passed away suddenly from a brain aneurysm, his will had distinctly favored Charlotte, his only biological child. Their mother was given the majority of Lloyd’s shares in the body armor company—after all, she’d been the textile engineer who’d originally designed the suits. But the vast majority of her husband’s income was derived from other sources and all of it went to his daughter. Jay was left empty-handed after twelve years of towing the line in his stepfather’s orbit.

Jay sucked in a deep breath. “Look around you, Charlotte. Do you think Lloyd’s refusal to acknowledge me as his stepson hurt me that much?”

Her hair made a brushing sound against the stainless steel as she shook her head from side to side. “Not in a material way, no. But it did hurt you in ways that can’t be quantified: in your heart.”

A harsh laugh escaped his lips. “You obviously haven’t been reading past your cover photo on the tabloids, little sister. I don’t have a heart.”

“Yes, you do.” A single tear trailed down her cheek. “It’s just been roughed up a bit.”

He swallowed painfully as he reached over to wipe the moisture off his sister’s cheek. “We’re one hell of a dysfunctional family.”

Charlie’s lips twitched. “You need to travel in my circle more often if you think that’s true.”

“No, thanks. Just look how well it’s worked for you.” His words brought the defiant scowl back to her face and Jay raised his hands up to his chest in mock surrender. “What’s done is done. Let’s just move on from here. Do you have a plan?” Please say you have one that doesn’t involve me.

Her hand moved to rest over her still-flat belly in an innately protective move. An image of Bridgett making the very same gesture years ago filtered through his mind, bringing his heart to a standstill in his chest. Damn. Apparently, he was going to need the rest of that bottle of Scotch to get through this night.

“Things are still in flux, right now,” she said. “I just need a safe place to land until I can sort things out.”

“Meaning sort things out with the baby’s father?” Jay had to work to keep his question from coming out as a growl.

“I haven’t decided whether the father needs to be involved or not.”

Jay slammed his eyes shut and counted to ten.

“Please, Jay,” she pleaded. “I need to work this out for myself. I just need you to be a supportive big brother right now. You’re all I have.”

“You have a mother.”

“Please, you know how the Absentminded Professor will react,” she scoffed. “She’ll behave as if the Earth has fallen out of orbit somehow. She’s the last person who needs to know.”

While Jay agreed with Charlie’s assessment of their mother, he still didn’t feel comfortable keeping something so important from her. “This isn’t something she needs to find out about on the baby’s birthday, Charlie.”

A ghost of a victory smile formed on her lips. “I’ll tell her soon, I promise. Just let me hang here until I’ve made some decisions.”

Jay sighed. There was never a question that he wouldn’t give Charlie anything she asked for. He just hoped that this time, she wasn’t dragging him into something that money couldn’t fix.

•   •   •

“I so don’t want to sit next to you.” Bridgett’s sister Gwen said as she plopped down into the stadium seat beside her. “I mean, look at you. You’re at a football game dressed in Michael Kors while I’m wearing designer Kohl’s.”

Bridgett glanced over at the oldest sibling in the Janik family. Gwen was pushing forty—a fact that she wasn’t afraid of announcing to anyone within earshot. The mother of two kids, she was perpetually unhappy unless she was running someone else’s life. Her husband, Skip—a buffoon in Bridgett’s opinion—was an orthodontist whom Gwen had put through dental school. Since their father and grandfather were both dentists, Gwen had considered it quite a coup to land one of her own.

Once Skip had established his practice, she’d worked in his office for several years before kids. Now she worked as Brody’s personal assistant, a job that enabled her to be home with her children and presumably run roughshod over their little brother’s life at the same time. Although, given Brody’s recent marriage, that might no longer be the case, which explained why her sister was in a bitchier mood than normal.

“That outfit looks great on you, Gwen.” As the middle child of five, Bridgett did her best to keep the peace in the Janik family.

Gwen scoffed. “Puh-leaze, do you know how frustrating it is to be the unstylish sister here? Between you and Ashley, I don’t stand a chance.” She reached for a nacho off Bridgett’s plate and shoved it in her mouth.

Bridgett locked eyes with her sister Ashley, a buyer for Nordstrom department store and Brody’s fashion adviser since birth. Ashley was desperately trying to avoid their conversation, taking up a position at the railing of the boxed seats their brother always provided for family and friends. Despite having two kids, Ashley still maintained a successful career. It didn’t hurt that her husband, Mark, was a schoolteacher and could help with the kids more than most working fathers. Still, Gwen seemed to resent both women equally. Their youngest sister, Tricia, a nurse, had recently married an Army physician who was stationed in Korea. Asia was a long way to go to avoid Gwen’s meddling, but right now, Bridgett was considering it.

Ashley bit back a grimace in response to Bridgett’s death glare, reluctantly wandering over to where the two women were sitting. “Bridgett’s right, that color really looks fabulous on you,” Ashley said as she took a seat on the other side of Bridgett. The stadium crowd cheered when the players took the field for their pregame warm-ups and Bridgett clapped along with them, relieved to have reinforcements. Today had already been grueling enough. The media storm surrounding the Blaze had taken on a life of its own, with women’s groups seizing the opportunity to get in front of a camera by protesting in front of the stadium.

The bright midday sun warmed their faces and she relaxed while Ashley deftly changed the subject. “The kids love the books you brought back from Italy, Bridge. The pictures are so beautiful. They missed you at the Cape this summer. We all did. And now it sounds like you’ll be here in Baltimore again.”

Refusing to be cowed by family guilt, Bridgett sighed. “Both cases will be short-lived, hopefully, and I’ll be back by Christmas.” She adjusted her sunglasses to avoid having to look at the picture of Jay McManus that had just flashed up on the Jumbotron. Her stomach turned when she recognized his arm candy as none other than Charlotte Davis, the snotty little rich girl who hadn’t met a tabloid cover she didn’t like.

“I hope so,” Ashley was saying. “Remember Mark’s college roommate, Jake? He was best man at our wedding. Well, he recently moved back to Boston. He and his wife split up. Anyone could have seen that coming. She was way too needy for him. I think you would be perfect for him, though.”

Gwen snatched another nacho off Bridgett’s plate. “Well, Bridgett definitely wouldn’t ever be called needy. Wait, isn’t Jake the one who tried to surf in the hotel pool with one of the deck chairs the night before the wedding? He ended up with a black eye and chipped tooth in the wedding pictures.” She laughed around a mouthful of chips. “Kind of funny considering how many dentists were at the reception.”

Ashley let out a snort of disgust. “Kind of funny that it was Skip who led the surfing party.”

Bridgett ignored their bickering as she stared at the big screen. Despite her attempts to look away, her eyes were trained on the image of Jay as though he were a magnet. The familiar vibe he and the gorgeous redhead were giving off was so intimate it made Bridgett’s mouth dry. She grabbed for her diet drink and took a long pull through the straw, slamming her eyes shut so she wouldn’t have to endure any more. It had been five days since she’d seen Jay, much less had her tongue tangled up with his. Just thinking about their kiss in his conference room, her body grew tense with shame and arousal at the same time.

Thankfully, when she opened her eyes Jay was no longer being displayed three stories high. Unfortunately, her sisters were still debating her personal life. Or lack of personal life, to hear Gwen and Ashley tell it.

“Bridgett isn’t going to be interested in some car salesman,” Gwen was saying.

“Jake isn’t a car salesman. His family owns a string of car dealerships,” Ashley argued.

Gwen shrugged. “That’s not the same as owning a football team. You should take advantage of the face time you’re going to get while defending that gorgeous Jay McManus against those cheerleaders, Bridge. Although, I think they should get paid a lot more for having to wear those skimpy outfits, so maybe you could work some kind of compromise. Especially if it’s one where you get compromised by the blazing-hot owner of the Blaze.”

Ashley’s face was aghast as she gaped at Gwen, who was looking pretty proud of her herself and her pun. Bridgett pushed her sunglasses to the top of her head to stare down both of her sisters. “Gwen, as usual, you’re being absurd. The man is my client.”

“For now.” Gwen wiggled her eyebrows. “But you just said the case will be short-lived. You just need to loosen up that bossy-pants personality of yours and make him want you.”

“That is so not going to happen,” Bridgett stated emphatically.

“Why not? Don’t tell me you’re too good for him, too?” Gwen leaned closer, lowering her voice. “Or is Skip right? Are you not interested in guys?”

Ashley inhaled a sharp breath as Bridgett groaned in disbelief. Just another reason to not like Skip.

Gwen went on, undeterred. “I keep telling him he’s wrong. Instead you’re just selfish. You don’t want to share your money. Or mess up your perfect little body by having kids.”

“Gwen!” Ashley practically shouted.

Bridgett was beginning to feel light-headed. Her sister had always been blunt, but her mean streak was new. If Bridgett wasn’t so hurt by her sister’s words, she might take a moment to analyze what was really troubling Gwen. But right now she didn’t care. She shoved her plate of half-eaten nachos onto Gwen’s lap and stood up.

“Hey, I’m just telling it like it is,” Gwen went on. “You’re thirty-five, Bridgett. Stop being so picky or else you’ll never know the joys of motherhood.” Fortunately, Gwen was quickly distracted. She leaped to her feet and raced to the railing just as one of her little “joys of motherhood” nearly tossed a loaded hot dog over the side and onto some unsuspecting fan below. Her husband, Skip, laughed at his son’s antics, but didn’t move a muscle to stop him.

“Ignore her, Bridgett,” Ashley said. “I think she must be going through the change or something because she’s been a mess lately.”

“Yeah, whatever. I’m going to the restroom.”

Ashley stood, presumably to accompany Bridgett, just as her own son fell onto the concrete floor. Mark snatched the child up before he’d even shed a single tear, but blood was oozing from both knees. “Crap. They haven’t even kicked off for the season and we’re already going to the see the stadium medic,” Ashley said with a moan. “Don’t listen to Gwen. You have the right idea. The joys of motherhood aren’t all they’re cracked up to be.” With that she headed to the exit behind her husband and now wailing three-year-old son.

Bridgett tried to breathe around the boulder in her throat as she made her way out the exit on the opposite side of the box. With kickoff a few moments away, the corridor leading to the luxury boxes and sky suites was relatively empty. A tear escaped her eye and she angrily swiped it away. Her sisters’ words had been hurtful in ways even they didn’t know. Bridgett’s carefully cultivated cool exterior was thirteen long years in the making. It was the only thing that stood between her and a total breakdown.

She leaned against the wall to quell her shaky breathing. Gwen was so wrong. Bridgett wanted children, a baby or two who would love her unconditionally. With the exception of maybe Skip, she was envious of everything Gwen had. Because she would never have that in her own life.

A door opened behind her as Bridgett rubbed away another tear.

“Bridgett?”

She turned automatically at the sound of Jay’s voice before realizing he no longer had the power to give her comfort.

“What’s wrong?”

“Nothing,” she snapped, angry at her traitorous body for wanting him to soothe her. “I have something in my eye.”

He muttered something profane and angry before slamming the door behind him and wrapping his fingers around her forearm.

“Hey,” she said. “I’m fine. I don’t need your help.”

Jay ignored her as he pulled her around the corner and punched a code into a keypad located beneath the molding on the wall. A nondescript door that would normally blend in with the wall opened and Jay yanked her inside the room. Except it wasn’t a room, exactly. Instead, it was a cubbyhole located between the owner’s box and the skybox beside it. Like the skyboxes, this one opened to seating along the railing, presumably close to where Brody’s seats were located. If she stepped out ten yards, she would be visible to anyone in that section, just about three feet below their seats. A band played the first few chords of “The Star-Spangled Banner” and sound filled the small room.

“You’re not fine,” Jay said after closing the door behind them. “You’re crying. What happened?”

Bridgett’s head was spinning again. If she wasn’t careful, he might trick her into believing that he really cared about her.

“Leave it to you to have a hidey-hole in the stadium,” she said, evading his question and his gaze by glancing out toward the field. The stadium shook as a trio of jets sliced through the air above them. “It’s almost kickoff. You should probably get back to your guests.”

In an instant, she was pinned up against the wall. The cheering of the crowd echoed in her ears as Jay’s deep voice rumbled against her breasts. “My guests can go to hell. Who made you cry?” he demanded.

Her nostrils twitched at the distinctive scent of Paco Rabanne cologne. Jay was dressed as casual as he allowed himself these days, in slacks, a Ralph Lauren button-down shirt, and a matching tweed jacket, its silk threads soft beneath her fingertips. His face was so close to hers, she could make out the scruff of his dark beard coming in along the line of his jaw. Bridgett’s lips went dry as his hovered just above them.

“Why do you care?” she whispered.

She watched in awe as his eyes dilated a fraction right before his mouth took possession of hers. This wasn’t the hungry all-consuming kiss like he’d given her the other day. Today his lips were gentle and comforting. The kiss was sweet, yet it made her toes curl with its intensity. She clutched his jacket with her fingers, trying not to melt along the wall, his mouth was so intoxicating. A whistle sounded in the distance and Jay quickly pulled his lips from hers. He jogged over to the railing and peered out as the crowd roared.

Bridgett steadied herself against the wall, trying to recover her breath and her scattered wits while Jay mumbled something that sounded like at least the sonofabitch can kick off. When he turned back to her, his eyes had returned to normal. He took a few steps toward her before apparently thinking better of it. With his hands on his hips, his suit jacket was pushed to the sides, allowing Bridgett to see exactly how uninterested he was in the football game at this point.

“You didn’t recuse yourself,” he said.

“I wasn’t given much choice.” She crossed her arms under her chest.

His nostrils flared as his eyes raked over her. “No, you weren’t.” She wanted to smack the arrogant little grin off his face. Or maybe kiss it.

“I don’t understand,” she admitted.

“Don’t you? The other day. In my conference room. It was eye-opening.”

“Eye-opening? What’s that supposed to mean?”

A roar went up from the crowd and Jay looked over his shoulder before turning back to her. “You still want me.”

Bridgett slammed her head against the wall in frustration. It was hard to refute his words since the other day—not to mention a few minutes ago—she’d had her tongue down his throat and her hips pressed invitingly up against his.

“In case you were wondering, the feeling is mutual,” he said. The smug look on his face made her angry.

“Oh really? If I was actually as interested as you seem to think, I’d be insulted by the underage party heiress hanging on your arm.” Too late, Bridgett realized she’d just given him reason to think she might be jealous. Stupid, stupid, stupid. She tapped the back of her head against the wall as Jay took a step closer, his mouth now turned up into a grin that would have looked pleasant on him had it not been so arrogant.

“Good to know. But you have no reason to be jealous of Charlie.”

“I doubt Princess Charlotte would appreciate you calling her Charlie.” Her stomach clenched just thinking that the girl probably let Jay call her anything he wanted and enjoyed it.

“Bridgett,” Jay said, his quiet voice refocusing her attention on his blue eyes. “She’s Princess Charlotte to the tabloids, but to me, she’s always been Charlie.”

He studied her face as her mind worked through his statement. “Your sister Charlie?”

Jay nodded solemnly. The crowd roared again as the stadium announcer shouted that the Blaze had recovered a fumble.

“But that’s Charlotte Davis, the heir to Lloyd Davis’s fortune,” Bridgett said as her mind tried to make sense of what he was telling her. Charlie was a freckle-faced girl with big blue eyes and Pippi Longstocking–like pigtails. At least she had been thirteen years ago. Jay had carried her picture in his wallet, proudly showing it off while dragging Bridgett to various stores, museums, and stalls on the street to find classic dolls that he’d then send home to his baby sister. “But Lloyd Davis . . . ?”

“Not my father.” He shook his head.

“Wow. Just how many secrets were you keeping that summer?”

“Do you really want to bring up how both of us evaded the truth, Bridgett?”

Her body tensed in anger and, truth be told, pain at his accusation. She gave her own head a little shake, hoping to clear her jumbled thoughts. “No. In fact, I don’t want to discuss anything with you ever again.” She pushed away from the wall headed for the door. Listening to her sisters discuss her dismal personal life was preferable to trying to have a conversation with Jay.

“Aren’t you forgetting that I’m your client?”

She turned to glare at him as the crowd roared again. “Seriously? Is that why you insisted I take this case? So you could browbeat me into sleeping with you again?”

Jay had the decency to keep his face in a stoic mask.

“I know how you hate to lose, but you made a gross tactical error on this one,” she informed him. “I don’t get involved with clients. Ever.”

“And if I weren’t your client?”

“I wouldn’t sleep with you then, either.” She could feel her skin breaking out in a betraying flush just thinking about sleeping with Jay McManus again.

“Too bad your body says otherwise.”

Bridgett didn’t have an opportunity for rebuttal because the door to their little hideaway flew open and a young man dressed in a Blaze golf shirt and black slacks came charging through the door.

“Whoa,” he said, a mischievous grin forming on his face. “Sorry, boss. Security got an alert that someone had opened the door. I’ll just leave you two alone.” He started to back out the door but Bridgett grabbed it before he could close off her escape route. “Oh hey, boss, did you tell her about the interview with the cheerleader on Tuesday?”

“What interview on Tuesday?” She spun around to face Jay and just as she did, his sneaky assistant closed the door again. Bridgett heaved a frustrated sigh.

Jay crossed his arms over his chest, tucking his hands beneath his armpits, and leaned a shoulder against the wall. “Miss Knowles, the cheerleader. We’re meeting with her on Tuesday.”

“You can’t do that!”

He arched an eyebrow at her. “Why not?”

“Because you’re”—arrogant, intimidating, annoying, and sexy as hell—“not a lawyer.”

“Her lawyer will be there and so will ours. Stuart and I just discussed it. You should have come to my box when you were invited instead of hiding among your family.” Bridgett suspected she should have just avoided the Blaze stadium altogether the way this day was going.

“Fine,” she snapped. “Stuart can cover your ass and make sure you don’t ruin the entire defense.” She headed for the door again, only to be stopped by Jay’s words.

“I think you’re forgetting something, Bridgett.”

She glanced over her shoulder, her core heating up at the intensity of his gaze.

“You’re the lead attorney for the team’s defense. I made that patently clear to your boss and everyone else involved.” The crowd behind them was jeering a bad call by the referees.

“I already have a pretrial meeting scheduled for Tuesday,” she said, relieved that it was the truth.

Jay stepped away from the wall, one corner of his mouth turned up in a smirk. “Yes, you do. In Virginia Beach. Danny Boy, your earnest associate, can handle the two tax-dodging chicken farmers.” He reached for the doorknob behind her, his breath fanning her ear. “My limo will pick you up at seven thirty. We’re taking my plane.” The crowd roared as the announcer called a touchdown caught by her brother, Brody. “See, here’s your opportunity to be a team player like your little brother.”

With his hand resting on the small of her back, he guided her out of the small room and into the hallway. Bridgett didn’t bother looking back at what was surely his self-satisfied face. Instead she quickly walked away from him—and the warmth of his hand on her body—headed for the insanity that was her family. At the moment, it was the lesser of the two evils tormenting her.