Chapter Twelve

 

Zoe

 

“Tell me something,” I say. “Why are you and my dad pushing so hard on this case for Jay Hill? You know it's bunk as much as I do.”

“I don't know any such thing,” Bryant says, taking a sip of his wine. “He has a claim. We're just doing our due diligence and –”

“No, what you're doing is trying to shake down Connor Grigson for a pretty penny,” I say. “You can't sit there and tell me you don't know that. You're a lot of things, Bryant, but stupid isn't one of them.”

He smiles at me. “Well, thank you for admitting that,” he says. “Most of the time, I get the feeling you think I'm a total moron.”

“I do,” I reply, watching his smile falter and fade from his face completely. “But, that doesn't mean you're unintelligent. So why?”

He lets out a long breath. “I really shouldn't be talking about –”

“My father is the founder of the firm,” I say. “Eventually, I will be running the firm. I think you're safe to talk to me about it.”

He looks around as if somebody might overhear us and then leans forward, pitching his voice low. And when he speaks, it's in an irritating, conspiratorial whisper.

“Look,” he says. “This case is potentially worth a lot of money –”

“It's extortion,” I say.

“This is between you and me, Zoe,” he says. “Can I count on your discretion?”

I look at him for a long moment, unsure if he's being serious or just trying to work some angle with me. Knowing Bryant like I do – a man who never gives anything without expecting something in return – I'm sure he thinks that by taking me into his confidence, I’ll drop my panties for him or something. Yeah, fat chance of that happening. Ever.

“Fine,” I say.

“The firm isn't doing all that well,” he says. “Your father's kept quiet about it, but we're on the verge of having to lay people off. That's, of course, just the first step toward closing the doors entirely.”

I sit back and let that news wash over me. This is the first I'm hearing about any financial troubles my father is having. As far as I know, he's still very much in the black. We've won tens of millions of dollars in judgements and settlements. How can we possibly have money trouble?

“Your dad would be humiliated if he knew I told you,” Bryant says. “So, make sure and keep this under your hat. But, that's why we're pushing on this Grigson deal so hard. We need a win, Zo. We need one bad.”

I sit there, absorbing everything he's said, sipping my wine. I’m so shocked by what Bryant just said that I actually ignore him using that stupid pet name he has for me.

“Why hasn't he said anything to me?” I ask.

“He's embarrassed,” Bryant replies. “But, it's nothing to worry your pretty little head about, Zo. It'll all work out. Always does. Just keep doing your thing and we'll all be fine. You'll see.”

I've been dreading this dinner date all day long, and so far, it's proving to be just as insufferable as I figured it would be. The news that the firm is floundering is shocking to me and only makes the evening that much worse. But, it explains why my father would be willing to cross the line into the unethical if it’s the only means of saving the firm.

I let out a breath. I'll have to do some digging on my own. But, one thing at a time.

For now, I need to concentrate on getting through this night. This might be the only way to get both Bryant and my father off my back about it – for good. All I have to do is prove, beyond a reasonable doubt, how utterly incompatible we are. If I can somehow manage that, a couple of hours with Bryant is worth it. At least, it isn’t going to kill me.

It might come close, but I think I'll somehow survive.

“So, Zoe,” Bryant starts and it's all I can do to keep from rolling my eyes. “Why'd you want to become a lawyer?”

“Oh, so you admit I'm a lawyer,” I say and take a sip of my wine. “That's a pleasant change of pace.”

He lets out a long, exasperated sigh. “Look, can we not do this?” he asks. “I'm actually making a good faith effort to get to know you here.”

“Have you ever stopped to consider that maybe I'm not interested in getting to know you? And that maybe, the constant badgering from you and my father makes me want to get to know you even less?” I ask. “Let’s just throw that out there and think about it for a minute.”

He sighs. “Why do you hate me so much, Zoe?”

I take another drink and set my glass down. “I don't hate you, Bryant,” I say pleasantly. “That would imply I cared enough about you to have feelings one way or the other.”

A small chuckle passes his lips as he takes a sip of his wine. Bryant shakes his head, his eyes locked onto mine. Slowly, he sets his glass back down.

“We would be so good together,” he says. “Once you get to know me, you'll see that.”

“I already know all I need to know, Bryant,” I say. “And we aren't getting together. I'm only here tonight as a courtesy to my father.”

“Your father warned me about this,” he says, a smarmy expression on his face. “Told me you'd be a tough nut to crack. Not that I didn't already know that.”

“Obviously, the warning didn't take,” I say. “Or we wouldn't be here right now.”

He shrugs. “Maybe, I just enjoy a challenge,” he says. “Maybe, I like a woman who makes me work for it.”

“I'd say the fact that you can't take a hint, and won't leave me alone,” I say, “doesn’t mean you enjoy a challenge. I'd say that makes you masochistic. And sexist.”

He laughs like it's the funniest thing he's heard all day, and I find myself fighting the urge to stab him with my fork. A challenge. Like I'm a prize to be won. That condescending, misogynistic attitude is a large part of why I despise him as much as I do.

“Zoe, as I've gotten to know you during the time we've been working together,” he says, his face suddenly earnest, “I've come to really care about you. You're unlike any woman I've ever met before – and I want to be with you. I want us to be together. We'd be a great team, Zoe.”

I bite back the bitter, scathing reply that's begging to cross my lips, choosing to fall silent instead. Partly because I'm not a complete jerk, but also because I don't want to cause a scene. Being here with Bryant is bad enough without drawing unnecessary attention to myself. The server comes to the table and gives me a warm, welcoming smile as I pick up my menu. I've been so wrapped up in my misery that I haven't even bothered to look at it yet.

“I'm going to have the steak Florentine,” Bryant says. “And a Caesar salad to start, please.”

“Very good,” she says. “And for you, miss?”

“She's going to have the veal piccata,” he answers for me. “Caesar for her as well.”

The waitress looks at me uncertainly, and I stare at Bryant, my mouth hanging open, absolutely dumbfounded. The waitress stands there staring at me for a moment, clearly as put off by it as I am, but afraid to say anything. I just shrug and hand her the menu. There's a sympathetic expression on her face as she turns and walks away from the table.

“Well, she's not very friendly, is she?” Bryant chuckles, obviously missing the outrage on my face.

“Maybe she just doesn't get a case of the warm fuzzies when she sees such blatantly chauvinistic behavior.”

He looks taken aback for a moment. “What are you talking about?”

I look at him in disbelief. He doesn't get it. He really doesn't. I know I shouldn't be, but I'm shocked by his behavior. It seems like he thinks I’d appreciate what he just did.

He shrugs. “Everybody likes veal.”

“No, Bryant,” I snap. “They don't. And I don't appreciate you ordering for me, rather than letting me order for myself.”

He takes a sip of his wine, a patronizing smile on his face. “Your dad said you're a difficult one.”

“Difficult?” I say, my voice rising. “So, having my own opinions, being able to think, and order, for myself – makes me difficult?”

He lets out a long, dramatic sigh. I catch the eye of a few people who are sitting around us, and the women are looking at me with nothing but pure sympathy. I feel the heat flaring in my cheeks. I never like being a spectacle or the center of attention – especially not because of something like this. But, at this point, I'm starting to not give a crap who sees or hears me.

“I'm a little old-fashioned, Zoe. I believe that a man needs to provide for his woman,” he says. “Needs to take care of her. In all things. I also –”

“Okay, let me stop you right there,” I snap. “First, I'm not your woman. I'm never going to be your woman –”

Bryant scoffs. “Zoe, why are you fighting this so hard? Your father wants us to be together. And you know he always gets what he wants. He can see how wonderful we'll be together. You just need to come around to his way of thinking. Our way of thinking.”

“Allow me to let you in on a little secret,” I say. “My father may have gotten to pick which law school I went to, but he's not going to choose who I spend my time – or my life – with. And I sure as hell am not going to choose to spend either with you.”

“Oh, I think your father is going to have something to say about that. You could say he's pretty invested in our relationship,” he says as if that somehow ends the argument in his favor.

“What's that supposed to mean?”

He shrugs. “Nothing,” he says. “Figure of speech.”

I stand up and drop my napkin on the table. Bryant looks at me, an amused glint in his eye. I can’t believe this man. The heat in my cheeks deepens, but I'm not going to back down.

“You've got spirit,” he says. “Growing up in Montana, I had a horse a lot like you once –”

“So, you're comparing me to a horse now?”

“Only in that you both have a quick temper and a fiery disposition. Mean sometimes,” he says. “It took a little time and patience, but eventually, I broke her. After that, she became the sweetest horse you could ever imagine.”

“Oh, I see,” I say. “So, in this little analogy you're making, I'm the horse and you just need to break me.”

“Something like that,” he laughs.

I can’t take it anymore. I pick up my glass of water and throw it in his face. He spits and gurgles, wiping at his face like it's battery acid. He stands up too fast – almost toppling out of his seat in the process – and casts a baleful look at me.

“Zoe, I can't believe –”

“Listen up,” I hiss, leaning toward him. “I'm not your barnyard animal that needs to be tamed. And I'm never, ever going to be with you. Ever. Might as well get that through your thick skull right now. You may think you and my father can plan my life for me and force me into this, but I would rather pour gasoline on myself and jump into a river of fire than spend five more minutes with you.”

I turn and catch the eye of some of the women around us, all of them nodding, smiling, and giving me a thumbs-up.

“You're making a huge mistake, Zoe –”

“No, my only mistake was agreeing to this farce of a date to begin with,” I almost yell. “It's a mistake I won't be repeating again. Ever.”

I storm out of the restaurant and call myself an Uber. The car arrives quickly, and I have him shuttle me home. I'm shaking and jittery, a nervous energy flowing through me, but I feel good. Strong. Powerful.

I can't believe I found the strength to stand up to Bryant like that. It's so out of character for me, but it felt so natural. So right. I feel like I'm coming into my own. Finally. It's a heady feeling. And one I can really get used to.

I know there is going to be hell to pay with my father, but I'll cross that bridge when I come to it. I just have to focus on taking things one step a time.

By the time I get home, I'm buzzing with so much excitement, I'm almost giddy.

 

~ooo000ooo~

 

“I am so damn proud of you, Zoe!”

I pace the living room of my condo, a glass of wine in one hand, my phone pressed to my ear. When I got home after telling Bryant off, I called Izzy right away. So much has happened since I'd last seen her and I needed to catch her up on it all.

“You should have seen his face,” I say, giggling like a teenage girl.

“I wish I could have,” she says. “I really do. I'm sure it was priceless.”

I stop at the window and stare through it, looking out at the landscape beyond. The moon is high in the sky, casting the world outside in a radiant silvery glow. From my third-story condo, I can see vineyards up near the hills, stretching as far as the eye can see. It's beautiful. Serene.

“I have a feeling my father isn't going to be too pleased with me,” I admit.

She scoffs. “This isn't his life to live, hon,” she says. “He doesn't get to pick who you spend your life, or bed, with.”

I let out a long breath. “No, he doesn't,” I reply. “He seems to think he does though. He has this whole scenario laid out in his head where Bryant and I get married, give him tons of grandbabies, and we all live happily ever after.”

“Yeah, because you're the white picket fence kind of girl.”

I shrug. “Maybe with the right man,” I admit. “But, I'm going to have a career too. And I most definitely will never let anyone dictate my life to me.”

“Damn right,” she says. “Look at you, Zoe. You're blossoming. Aw, you’re finally growing up on me.”

We both laugh. She's not entirely wrong. I do feel like I'm somehow coming into my own. Like I'm becoming the person I was meant to be. Rather than the shy, meek, little doormat I've been trapped as for so long, I'm starting to become a stronger, fiercer woman. Someone to be reckoned with.

I'm getting there. I will get there. It feels too good to turn back now.

“You know,” I say. “This all started that night at the Orchid. Or rather, that night after the Orchid.”

“What did I tell you?” she says. “A night of mind-blowing sex will change your perspective about everything.”

I laugh, but she's not entirely wrong. And now I’m thinking of Connor – in ways I shouldn’t. But, just the thought of him elicits all kinds of erotic images and memories from the night we spent together. It brings them to the surface where they play inside my head on an endless loop.

I try to shut them out – shut it all out. But, the powerful memories – those that touch all my senses – linger. I can remember his hard, toned body beneath my hands. The feel and taste of his mouth on mine. How it felt to have him inside me.

I feel my breath catch as I think about the things we did together. The things I still want to do. I still can't believe I had managed to drop my inhibitions and cede control to him as easily as I had – and enjoyed it as much as I did.

“You there?”

Izzy's voice interrupts my thoughts – thankfully.

“Yeah,” I say, clearing my throat while trying to regain my composure. “Sorry. I'm here.”

“What's going on with you, doll?”

I let out a long breath and tell her everything. I share some of the intimate details of our encounter, as well as what happened when we were alone in his house. I hold nothing back, mostly because I still don't know what to make of it all, and I'm hoping Izzy can help me sort it out.

“Wow,” she finally says when I finish my tale. “I did not see that coming.”

“Tell me about it.”

I drop down onto the sofa and take a long drink of my wine, desperately trying to close the Pandora's Box of sexy Connor Grigson memories I’d managed to open in my head.

“So, when are you going to see him again?” she asks.

My mouth falls open and I let out a choked scoffing noise. “You've got to be kidding me, Iz. It would be totally unethical for me to see him because of this pending case – not that I'm saying I want to see him again anyway. And then there's the whole, he took advantage of me thing –”

Izzy let out a giggle. “Sounds to me like you also took advantage of him.”

“Did you enjoy being with him?” she asks.

“That's immaterial,” I say.

“It's not, actually,” she replies. “Unexpected, yes. Certainly. But, the fact is, you had mind-blowing sex with him and it's started to change some things in you. Good changes, Zoe.”

I open my mouth to refute the point, but close it again, knowing I can't. Not really. The situation with him was, and is, strange. And in a certain light, it could look really bad. But, there's something about Connor that resonates with me.

Rather than feeling creeped out that I'd slept with some random man who just happened to show up at my hotel room door – I feel drawn to him. Compelled by him. Even though, for a thousand reasons, I know I shouldn't be. I’m happy that I slept with Connor instead of some random escort.

“It would be unethical for me to see him again, Iz,” I say.

“The case your father is putting together is unethical,” she says – not that I need the reminder.

“Yeah, I know.”

“So, maybe, this is your way out of the case,” she says. “You're compromised. You're involved with the object of their suit.”

“I wish it were that easy,” I say. “Besides, I don't know that I even want to see him again.”

She laughs. “Of course, you do,” she says. “I can hear it in your voice. And, of course, the heavy petting session at his place kind of decides it for me.”

I can't help but laugh as color rises in my cheeks. Yeah, that grope-fest. I have no explanation or excuse for it. All I know is it can't happen again. I shake my head.

“I can't get involved with him,” I say. “I won't.”

“I hear your words,” Izzy says, “but I hear something different in your voice.”

“Oh? And what is it you hear?”

“I hear a girl that's infatuated,” she says. “I hear a girl with a hard crush on a boy.”

I laugh so hard, I almost spill my wine. Although I completely reject the notion, there is a small voice in the back of my mind that tells me she's not wrong. That I am infatuated with him. That I want to see – and have – him again.

I shut the voice out ruthlessly, slamming and locking the door behind it.

“I think you're hearing things, Iz.”

“Maybe,” she says, a mischievous tone in her voice. “But then, maybe not.”

“Anyway, I should run,” I say. “Thanks for listening to me ramble on and on. As usual.”

“Anytime, doll,” she says. “What are best friends for? The next time you call me though, I expect to hear that you slept with Connor Grigson again, and that has given you the strength to walk out of your father's firm to come work with me in San Francisco.”

“Sad to say, you're probably going to be disappointed,” I say. “About Connor.”

She lets out a throaty little laugh. “We'll see, I suppose.”

“Goodnight, Iz.”

“Love you.”

“Love you back.”

I hang up the call and drop the phone on the couch beside me. Draining the last of my wine, I set the glass down on the coffee table and lean back, close my eyes, and think about what Izzy had said.

As much as I try to deny it, she isn't entirely wrong. There are times when I think about Connor that I do feel like a schoolgirl with a crush. But, I know that it's a crush that can't go anywhere. I've already got a nasty conflict of interest, given that I did sleep with him. But, that's a secret I have to keep. Thankfully, I don't get the sense that he's going to rat me out. Not if he thinks he has a chance with me.

But, I can't deepen that conflict by seeing him again. It would make the situation even more complicated than it already is. And I'm at a point in my life where I want to simplify things and cut out those complications.

Maybe, once I work up the nerve to leave my father's firm and strike out on my own. But, by then, this passing fancy could be over. Probably will be. Connor and I operate in two different worlds, and I really doubt either one of us would be comfortable in each other's sphere. He's a rock star. He's used to living the debaucherous lifestyle of a rock god.

And I'm definitely not.

As I think about Connor, desire ignites in my lower belly. I feel my pulse quicken as my mind, once again, returns to that night in the hotel room. Connor was rough and demanding but gentle when necessary. He took what he wanted. He took me. And it felt so good to let him take control.

I have to admit, letting my guard down and loosening up felt amazing. I gave myself to him completely. I never thought I'd be that sort of a woman in bed – more submissive than dominating – but it turned me on to do it.

The heat between my thighs grows hotter as I think about the way Connor used me – used my body. The mere memory of it sends small waves of pleasure rolling across my skin. I slide my hand down my body, slipping it beneath the waistband of my sweats. I bite my bottom lip as I touch myself through my panties, a small shiver running through me.

I push my panties to the side and tease my clit with my fingertips, my breath catching in my throat and a small gasp escaping me.

I picture Connor's face between my thighs, his vibrant green eyes locked onto mine as he licks and sucks on my clit. I moan as I imagine him burying his tongue inside of me, fucking me with it. I rub my clit harder and faster as I picture him eating my pussy with the same sort of forcefulness and zeal he fucks with.

I slide my sweatpants down to my thighs, giving myself a little more room to maneuver. I start rubbing my clit softly, sending small shockwaves of pleasure rolling through me.

In my mind's eye, I see Connor bending me over the arm of the couch. I feel him grab my hair and pull it back roughly. I stifle a cry as I picture him smacking my ass while driving that long, thick cock into me.

“Fuck me, Connor,” I murmur.

As ecstasy explodes within me, I squeeze my eyes shut and push the back of my head harder into the cushions of the couch, losing myself in the fantasy. Connor continues to spank me as he relentlessly drives his thick cock into me. I hear our skin slapping together as he fucks me with a hard, steady rhythm.

“Beg for it,” I imagine hearing his Irish brogue in my ears. “Beg for it, Zoe.”

“Yes,” I moan, my voice trembling.

I rub my clit with one hand, sending the fingers of my other into my dripping wet pussy. My soft cries echo around my condo as my body is rocked with sensation. I'm close. I’m so close.

My entire body tenses as imaginary Connor gives me one last, hard thrust with that long, thick cock of his, and sends me tumbling over the edge.

I cry out as my pussy begins to throb, electric shocks of ecstasy running along my every nerve ending. I draw in a deep, shuddering gasp and feel my body burning and trembling as my orgasm tears through me.

Slowly, my breathing returns to normal and my heart rate slows. I feel satisfied – but not completely. I only scratched an itch. What my body really wants more of is Connor. I want to feel him inside me. I want him to use me. I want to feel the way I did the morning after we slept together.

I want to be truly and thoroughly fucked by him.

Yeah, except we can't do that. Not now. I can't see him anymore. I told Izzy that. I know I shouldn't see him for so many reasons. And yet, as the glow of the orgasm fades from my body, I begin to think of a few reasons I should see him again.

 

~ooo000ooo~

 

The following morning, I slink into the office earlier than usual, doing my best to slip in without being seen. A few people are milling about, and the lights are on in my father's office. I hoped to get in before him and barricade myself in my office.

“Damn,” I mutter.

I'm sure by now, Bryant has told my father all about last night. In fact, he probably called him last night to cry on his shoulder and tell him what a mean, horrible, evil monster I am.

I walk down the hallway, keeping a watchful eye on my father's door, ready to dive and hide in the first unoccupied cubicle I can find if it opens. My luck seems to be holding out as I make it down the hallway and stand before my door, ready to go inside.

My stomach lurches violently when my father’s office door is thrown open. It bangs into the wall behind it, the loud crack reverberating like a gunshot in the hushed office.

I pause with my hand on the doorknob and look over, my pulse racing, expecting my father, red-faced and pissed as hell, to come storming out. Instead, two men I've never seen before walk out. They're both large, broad-shouldered, with dark hair and eyes. They're dressed in expensive, well-tailored suits, but look like thugs to me. There is an intimidating air about them that makes me take an involuntary step back.

Both men look over at me, and I feel a shiver run down my spine. They walk by me without a word. As they march out of the office, a heavy, ominous air is left in their wake.

I turn back to find my father standing just outside his door, staring at me intently. His eyes are slightly wider than normal, and he looks a little pale. I've never known my father to be intimidated before. And yet, something about those two men clearly has him rattled.

My father looks at me and quickly composes himself. He clears his throat and shoots me a withering look – he’s obviously spoken to Bryant. Rather than berating me, however, he disappears back into his office, slamming the door shut behind him.

I stand there, unnerved, for a minute or two, as a dark dread settles down over me. Of what exactly? I have no idea.