Page 5 of Trick or Tease

“Oh, babe,” Lucy groaned. “What are you thinking of doing? And can I help?”

He smiled at her. “This is why I love you. And I think I have a plan. We can bring him back whether he likes it or not.”

I narrowed my eyes. “Define plan. Does it involve duct tape and rope? Because I’m down with that, but I just need to know what to wear.”

“I do need your help, ladies. But I don’t think we’ll need duct tape.”

“And what about the rope?” I crossed my fingers.

He laughed. “No. But bring your clown mask.”

Lucy cackled. “Oh, that doesn’t sound good.”

Billy took a final gulp of lemonade. “Let’s just say Garrett has forgotten what this place means. I think it’s time he remembered.”

2

GARRETT

Iadjusted my silk tie and stared across the mahogany conference table at the sharks in tailored suits opposite me. After a day of tense negotiations, we’d finally reached the finish line. The Meridian Tower deal was going to happen.

I had done it.

One and a quarter billion dollars changing hands faster than I could blink.

Un-fucking-believable.

My clients, the Westbrook Group, were lined up on either side of me. I was smack in the middle. The one in charge. The guy making the shit happen.

Across the table, the buyers’ legal team looked equally ready to be done with all this shit. They had needed five attorneys to deal with little old me, and my two amazing paralegals, of course. Pride filled me at the thought. The partners at my firm were going to be over the moon. Maybe they would finally see it was time to make me a partner too.

It had been a long hard road to prove myself. People assumed being a lawyer was all about sitting around in an office and showboating in court. They didn’t know about all the long nights, the weekends. The dickhead clients with unreal expectations. The ruthless partners who tore apart everything I did until it was perfect.

Days like today made it all worth it. Tonight the champagne would be flowing.

“Article fourteen, subsection C,” I said calmly, like I hadn’t been sweating every line item on the paperwork. A single mistake could tank the whole deal, and my malpractice insurance wouldn’t cover a billion-dollar fuck-up. “I changed it in accordance with your suggestions.”

Lead counsel for the other guys, a silver-haired bastard named Morrison, nodded and pinched the bridge of his nose. “It looks sufficient.”

I reminded myself not to bounce my knee up and down. The firm was going to bank serious money on this transaction, and I couldn’t wait to walk into the supervising partner’s corner office with the signed contracts. The old man was going to be absolutely thrilled.

Thrilled might be an exaggeration. Ron Geiss didn’t get thrilled. But surely, even he would be impressed this time. He had to be.

I leaned back in my leather chair and allowed myself a small smile as Morrison’s team shuffled through the final documents one more time. I had been grinding hard at my firm, Ivar & Geiss. Six years of eighty-hour weeks, missed holidays, and relationships that withered because I was always at the office. But this deal? This was my golden ticket to a seat at the big boys’ table.

“Everything looks to be in order,” Morrison said, finally looking up from the documents. “My clients are satisfied with the terms.”

“Excellent.” I straightened my tie and glanced at my watch. Nearly four. We’d been in the conference room for six hours, but it was worth every minute.

I felt that familiar rush. Victory was in sight. I could practically smell the ink on the paper. The deal would be the launch I needed in my career. I was only thirty, but I had my eyes on the prize. I started at the firm as an intern and landed a job the day I passed the bar. Now it was time to get on the partner track.

All of it was hinging on one signature. Everything I’d worked for since leaving my hometown of Greenleaf twelve years ago was at my fingertips.

My phone buzzed against the table. Billy’s name flashed on the screen. I flipped it face down without reading it. Whatever farm crisis he was dealing with could wait. The world didn’t stop spinning because a tractor broke down or the pumpkins were lumpier than usual.

“Gentlemen,” I said, closing my leather portfolio with a satisfying snap. “If there are no further revisions, I believe it’s time to put this baby to bed.”

Finally, the pens were picked up and everyone signed. I held my breath until the last signature swept across the page.