Five

“Tell me what you’ve got on the two bozos Charlie brought with her,” Jay asked Linc sometime during the game’s second half. They were seated in the far corner of the owner’s box. While the rest of the crowd mingled and ate from the spread of food laid out on the wide tables in the back, Jay and his assistant spoke quietly. Bartenders were hovering with drink refills, discreetly checking for a signal from Jay as to whether one of his guests had imbibed too much and should be cut off. Despite the women waving placards outside the stadium, the mood was festive on the bright, sunny September afternoon.

The Blaze were up by two touchdowns and Jay was feeling relaxed and victorious, not only about the game, but also about his earlier encounter with Bridgett. She’d proven a worthy opponent, dodging him all week while she sent the shiny, eager beaver Dan to do her work for her. But Jay had seen through her tactics almost immediately and countered with the interview in Virginia Beach. Donovan Carter had tracked the Sparks cheerleader down and insisted on a face-to-face meeting. Stuart had practically snorted fire out of his nose when he found out, but since Jay was writing him and his firm a very large retainer check, there was nothing for the lawyer to do but acquiesce. And offer up the lovely Bridgett as a token of his loyalty.

Jay bit back a grin just thinking about having her to himself on Tuesday. Based on the way she’d responded to him a second time, he’d have no trouble convincing her to fall into bed with him. Her mouth may be saying one thing, but her body was definitely speaking his language. He shifted in his seat in an attempt to ease the ache in his jockey shorts.

One thing bothered him more than he wanted it to, though: She’d been crying earlier and Jay hadn’t discovered the reason why. Bridgett would never own his heart again, but he still felt uneasy seeing her unhappy. Or for anyone else to be the cause of her sadness. But emotions had no place in what he planned for the two of them, he reminded himself. If they were to rekindle their relationship, Jay was determined to keep it strictly between the sheets. He was pretty sure he could bring her happiness in sixty seconds flat once he got her naked. But that was the only pleasure he was willing to guarantee her.

“Boss, did you hear anything I just said?” Linc asked, redirecting Jay’s thoughts back to the more pressing matter of who was the father of his sister’s baby.

Jay waved a hand at his assistant. “Sorry, I was listening to what was going on down on the field.”

“Uh-huh. It’s the end of the third quarter and we’re in a TV time-out. Unless you’re listening to the Sparks cheer, which I guess is necessary research—”

“You really are mouthy and insubordinate, Lincoln,” Jay interrupted him. “Why the hell haven’t I fired you yet?”

Linc gave him a face-splitting smile that Jay had seen reduce the women back at McManus Industries into sputtering idiots. “Because I’m so pretty. Not quite as hot as our counsel for the defense, though. And I still say she doesn’t like you.”

Jay leaned his head back against the wall behind his chair, working to suppress the grin that threatened. “She likes me just fine.”

The kid had the nerve to snort. “That woman looked at you like you were the scum beneath her cute little Manolo Blahnik shoes.”

“Her what?”

Linc shook his head in what appeared to be disgust. “Shoes, boss. Ms. Janik was wearing Manolo Blahniks. Very expensive, but she was definitely rocking them.”

Jay gaped at his assistant, wondering how a mere eight years of age difference could feel like a gulf in the universe. “I’m sure I don’t want to know the answer to this question, but how would a guy like you know this?”

“From women. And girls. Heck, old ladies, too. They love shoes. I worked at Barneys in New York city the summer between high school and college.”

“Let me guess, in the women’s shoe department.”

“Boss, it was on my résumé.” Linc sounded a little put out that Jay hadn’t committed his life history to memory. “Where did you think I got my style from?”

Fortunately, the ref blew the whistle signaling the start of the fourth quarter, bringing an end to this absurd conversation.

“Charlie’s swains,” Jay said, nudging the file folder in Linc’s hand with his knee.

“Sure, boss. Bachelor number one”—Linc nodded toward the guy with sleeves of tattoos on both arms and scruffy blond hair, who’d been nursing the same bottle of beer for the entire second half—“goes by the name of Blaine Porsche.”

Jay pinched the top of his nose between his fingers. “Is that even a real name?”

Linc flipped through some papers and handed one to Jay. “According to his Colorado driver’s license.”

Jay scanned the page. Blaine was twenty-five, scrawny, and, apparently, not a natural blond. “What’s his story?”

“Daddy is in oil. Third generation. Lots of money and lots of stepmoms. As best as I can tell, he met Charlotte when they were both at the Dwight School in New York City.”

“She was fourteen the year she went there.” It was actually the longest she’d lasted at any school. “This guy would have been . . . eighteen.” Jesus. Jay’s temple began to throb. “What does he do with himself now?”

Linc hesitated. Never a good sign. “He’s into herb.”

“Herb?”

“Legalized marijuana. He actually fronts a chain of stores in the Boulder area. It’s a pretty profitable business.”

The throb in his temple was close to becoming a full-blown aneurysm. “It’s not a business I want my niece or nephew involved in,” he said through tightly clenched teeth.

Linc nodded. “Moving on to bachelor number two.” He pulled another file from the stack he had in his backpack. Jay glanced over to the smartly dressed dark-haired man seated next to Charlie. She’d been laughing with him all day. It was the first time he’d seen her relaxed since she’d arrived on his doorstep earlier in the week. The guy was friendly enough, for being a pipsqueak. He barely stood tall enough to reach Charlie’s shoulder. Although at five foot eleven, his sister towered over a lot of guys. “Spenser Campbell. He comes from Boston money, made from selling steel to shipbuilders during the First World War. His license lists him as being twenty-two. He graduated from Brown in May and works for a Providence real estate firm. They met when they were both at the Gunnery School in Connecticut.”

“At least he went to college.”

Linc smirked. “Yeah, so did Blaine. He’s a University of Chicago grad, just like you.”

The crowd groaned as the Blaze’s new kicker missed a relatively easy field goal. “Still,” Jay said. “Bachelor number two gets my vote so far.”

“Yeah, except there’s a little bit more to the story.”

There always was. “Spit it out, Linc.”

Linc shifted in his chair. Jay had never seen the kid look this uncomfortable. “Do you know how many weeks she is?”

Jay shook his head. His sister’s pregnancy wasn’t something he was comfortable discussing, least of all with Charlie.

“Well, according to Customs, neither of these two has been out of the country in the past three months. Surely if she’s further along than that, she’d . . . you know”—Linc cupped his hand over his stomach—“show more. Wouldn’t she?”

How the hell would Jay know? It had been twenty-two years since his mother was pregnant with Charlie. And the last pregnant woman he’d known . . . He wasn’t going there right now.

“You think neither one of these two is our sperm donor?” Jay asked Linc.

“If I was a bettin’ man, I’d say no.”

And that was the reason Jay kept the mouthy pup around: Linc had great gut instincts. “So who are these two and why are they here?”

“Friends?” Linc shrugged. “Maybe she’s test-driving step-baby-daddies?”

Jay heaved a frustrated sigh before glancing at the game clock. He liked to be in the tunnel to welcome the players off the field after each game and he needed to make his way downstairs.

“Want me to keep digging?” Linc asked.

“Hell, yeah.”

•   •   •

Tuesday dawned cold and rainy. A tropical storm was headed for the coast of South Carolina later that day, but Jay’s pilot said conditions would be fine for the thirty-five-minute trip. Jay took a long swallow of coffee as he waited in the limo outside of the building that housed Bridgett’s temporary condo. He was surprised to see that she was staying only blocks from his penthouse in the Federal Hill neighborhood of Baltimore.

Jay glanced at his watch: seven thirty-nine. She was late. Women. He’d had about enough of the fairer sex to last a lifetime. Charlie had been riding a tsunami of mood swings for the past week, and Jay was pretty annoyed with anyone sporting breasts right now. He and his sister had argued until late into the night about telling their mother about Charlie’s pregnancy. She had been adamant that their mother be kept in the dark until Charlie “had plans in place,” whatever the hell that meant. When he’d pressed her about the baby’s father, she’d stormed off to her bedroom in a fit of tears.

Not only that, but it seemed the rest of the female population was dogging his every step with threats of protests. He’d been forced to endure a ten-minute dressing-down from the commissioner during the weekly owners’ conference call the day before about how women make up nearly fifty percent of the league’s fan base. The league wouldn’t sit idly by looking like it condoned sexual harassment. If any charges were substantiated against any team, the commissioner threatened, he would level sanctions against any and all teams—and their owners. The implication being that Jay would be the one sanctioned and that pissed Jay off royally.

The door swung open and a gust of wind blew into the car, followed by Bridgett. She smelled like a spring day underneath her gray Burberry raincoat and scarf. Her legs were bare beneath her skirt, and Jay caught a glimpse of her toned inner thigh when she slid across the seat. His annoyance at anyone carrying two X chromosomes faded as he grew hard at the thought of those thighs wrapped around him and her perky breasts in his hands.

His driver, Gerard, closed the door behind her. Bridgett carefully removed her scarf, folding it up and neatly placing it in her garish red briefcase. She tugged at the button of her raincoat and Jay had to resist tugging at the knot on his tie. Maybe he’d get lucky and she’d be one of those women who fantasized about sex in the back of a limousine. Or better yet, an airplane.

Jay needed to say something—anything—to get his mind going in another direction but his brain didn’t seem to be functioning all that well right now.

“Nice shoes.”

Bridgett’s long eyelashes lowered and then rose again quickly, her surprise apparent. Then suspicion must have taken over because those silver eyes narrowed to slits. “What’s wrong with my shoes?”

Nothing was wrong with her shoes. He glanced down at the plum-colored pumps that might have been conservative except for the badass silver studs up the back and the three-inch heels. Just for a moment, he regretted not bringing Linc along just for information about her shoes. But Jay had wanted as much time alone with Bridgett as he could get today. It was pivotal to his plan.

“Can’t a guy compliment a woman’s shoes without getting his head bitten off?” He gestured to the coffee carafe tucked into the armrest between the seats, but she shook her head. Too late Jay suddenly remembered she was a tea drinker and he cursed himself for not having tea in the limo. Pulling out his phone, he dialed up his pilot. “Ron, can you make sure there’s some hot tea on board for Ms. Janik.”

Gerard steered the car into the early morning Baltimore traffic as Bridgett let out a little huff. “This isn’t a date, Jay.”

Jay shoved his phone back into his jacket pocket. “You really are riled up today, woman. What’s got you so testy?”

“For starters, I don’t appreciate my client forcing me to do things against my will.”

He sat forward in his seat so that he was eye to eye with her. “Bridgett, I don’t plan to force you to do anything and, believe me, anything and everything you do with me will be by choice.”

•   •   •

The air in the limo seemed to evaporate and Bridgett had trouble squeezing a breath through the thin hole that used to be her throat. Jay’s eyes were mesmerizing and, for a moment or two, Bridgett thought she’d slipped back in time thirteen years and he was still the man she’d loved with all of her young, unscathed heart. Until she realized he was the Antichrist. Sitting back against the soft leather seat, she slowly crossed her legs, giving Jay a good look at those shoes he seemed to think were so nice—and the calves that Pilates four times a week had toned to perfection. She was pleased to see his eyes dilate slightly. Two could play at this game.

“The only thing I plan ‘to do’ with you today is question a disillusioned cheerleader and her publicity-hungry lawyer.” She held up her hand as his lips parted in what was sure to be some smooth protest. “I have no plans to break my golden rule of not getting involved with a client. Especially not with you. You can call the shots and lead Stuart around by his wallet all that you want. I’ll be at your beck and call for all things legal. But not for anything else. Never for anything else.”

His mouth settled into a straight line, which he wisely kept closed. But his eyes still held smug challenge in them, and Bridgett was forced to look away before her panties became damp. She heard him settle back against the opposite seat and click on his tablet. They were silent the rest of the way to the airport as Bridgett stared out into the rainy morning, wondering how long she could maintain the fortitude to live up to the words she’d just flung at him.

They arrived at the airport thirty minutes later. The driver pulled the limo onto the tarmac right next to the steps leading up to the sleek Gulfstream jet. Rain pelted her as Bridgett climbed the metal stairs as quickly as she could in her ridiculous shoes. She’d planned to wear her Steve Madden boots in deference to the weather but vanity won out over practicality. Looking her best around Jay gave her a sense of power. The fact that he’d complimented her shoes proved that she’d made the right choice. Until she’d been faced with the elements. Stupid.

Bridgett took off her wet coat and laid it over one of the empty seats as Jay closed and locked the door. “I thought Donovan Carter was coming with us,” she asked as her eyes darted toward the cockpit, where the pilot was running through whatever preflight checks were needed.

Jay removed his own jacket before he took the seat across from her. “He drove down last night. He had some other business this morning before our meeting.”

“Other business?” she said as she adjusted her seat belt. “Not having to do with the case, I hope. Scott is taking the lead on the investigative work. There’s no need for anyone from the Blaze to be involved.”

He didn’t bother answering her, instead adjusting his own seat belt across his lap and then rolling up the sleeves of his dress shirt.

Bridgett let out a frustrated sigh. “You can’t just railroad your way through this case, Jay. That’s not how these things work.”

Jay looked up at her then, his eyes cool. “Not everything Don does involves this case. But he’s a professional. I trust him implicitly.”

Which meant that Donovan Carter was likely running around the Virginia coast and mucking things up. She made a mental note to call Scott the second she had a moment alone. “You can’t control everything and everyone.”

One corner of his mouth turned up, forming that smug smile that annoyed and aroused her so much. “Who says?”

The pilot stepped out of the cockpit then, ending any chance Bridgett had at a rebuttal. “We’re sixth in line for takeoff. Unfortunately, with this storm brewing it’s going to be a bumpy flight, so keep those seat belts fastened, okay?” He pulled the cockpit door closed behind him as he took his seat at the controls.

He wasn’t kidding about the flight being bumpy. They’d been in the air for five minutes and the plane still bobbed and weaved as though it were a rowboat in the middle of the ocean. Could it really be this bad for thirty-five minutes? She thought of the emergency Xanax she kept tucked away in her purse, but she couldn’t convince her fingers to unclench from the death grip they had on the armrests to go digging for it.

“Bridgett?”

She couldn’t pry her eyes open, but the closeness of his voice indicated that Jay was leaning forward in his seat.

“Are you all right?”

“I’m fine.” Which, of course, was a lie. Her stomach rolled as the plane took another quick dip. A tremulous moan escaped her lips. Jay swore and then she heard the sound of him unbuckling his seat belt. Bridgett’s eyes flew open, growing wide as he moved to the seat next to hers. “The pilot said to keep your seat belt fastened!” she admonished him.

He shot her another of those “I am invincible” smiles and clicked the seat belt around him. Reaching into a cabinet between their two seats, he pulled out a silver flask and offered it to her. “Here. Drink this. It’ll help.”

Bridgett slammed her eyelids shut as the plane took another sharp dip. “No.” She shook her head. “I have a Xanax in my purse.” Still, she made no move to reach for it.

“I think you’re supposed to take them preflight for it to be effective.”

She cracked one eye open and glared at the smug jerk. He peeled her hand off the armrest and wrapped her fingers around the flask.

“Besides,” he said. “The Xanax will string you out for the entire day. A swig of this will get you through the rest of the flight with very few aftereffects.”

Said the Big Bad Wolf to Little Red Riding Hood. Except he had a point. The metal was cool on her lips as she took a swallow from the flask. She tried not to be a girly girl and cough when the whiskey burned her throat on its way down. The plane lurched up and Bridgett guzzled another swallow before handing the flask back to Jay. Her gaze locked on his as he took a long drink from the flask himself. Closing her eyes again, her fingers dug into the armrest.

She gasped as the plane dipped furiously once again and Jay’s big hand covered hers.

“You never did answer my question about why you were crying the other day,” he said. He was trying to distract her; she knew that. Still, she wasn’t grateful enough to give him the truth.

“I did answer your question. I told you it was none of your business.”

She heard him laugh softly. “You’re not the same woman you were before.”

Bridgett opened her eyes. “I’m pretty sure I already told you that, too.”

She wasn’t positive, but she thought she saw a look of regret quickly pass over his features. Bridgett closed her eyes again so that she wouldn’t have to ponder what might have been. Jay kept his strong hand covering her much smaller one. She hated to admit that even after all these years—after all that had happened between them—she still found it comforting. It was all she could do to not flip her own hand over and intertwine her fingers with his. But then she remembered that he was the enemy—the Antichrist. She may have been forced into representing him on this case, but that didn’t mean she was falling into his absurd plans for some sort of affair—no matter how badly her body seemed to want to. That road only led to heartache for her. Jay didn’t have a heart. Eventually, the plane settled into a less choppy altitude and Bridgett let whiskey and the warm weight of Jay’s hand over hers soothe her. The way her life was going right now, it might be the only few moments of relaxation she’d have all day.