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When I open the door to the restroom Chris is waiting for me. Does he see it? He stiffens before I even open my mouth. “I have to go back to work, now.”
Slowly, he nods. Without a word, only five minutes later we’re out on the sidewalk with Chris hailing a cab. A tall, thin man is taking our picture, damn it, fucking shit. This combined with the waitress catching us in the back is so not what I need. Karen is going to be pissed. “Hey, Chris, taking a break from strippers?”
Chris doesn’t answer the question before he gets in beside me. “Amelia.” One word; how does he put so much into one word? I shake my head. I can’t do this now, not in the back of a cab.
My phone rings, and I see it’s Mary. “Yes?”
“Oliver Morgan is in the office—something big went down. He’s three shades of white. Get in here now.”
Shit, Morgan is my biggest client. “I’m on my way back, ten minutes.”
The sidewalk is on my side, and I open the door. “Have a nice, boring life.” There’s no soft drawl, the words are hard as rocks tossed at my soft skin.
He’s not even looking at me, his face turned to the window on his side. I tell myself it’s what I want even as I blink away tears.
***
Amelia
Mary lets me know she’s going home for the night. I thank her for staying late while I talked Oliver off his cliff. His daughter was refusing to have her fiancé sign a prenuptial agreement. A few hours buried in trust paperwork has the woman safe if the guy is after her money.
I nod, then go back to staring blankly at my computer. Only I can’t keep my eyes on the screen, they go back to the gorgeous vase and flowers on the edge of my desk. I know the vase is Lalique my mother collects it, I’m trying to tell myself it can’t be as expensive as I know it is. The vase filled with flowers arrived only an hour after he left; did he arrange for them before lunch or after? Would he really have sent t
hem after he told me to have a nice boring life? There’s no note, not even his name on a card. What did they mean if he did?
I long to touch the vase, to trace the etching of the flowers, dahlias that match the blood-red dahlias in the vase. The bouquet is beautiful, fitting the vase perfectly. Deep red dahlias in various stages of bloom take center stage, while sweet pea in soft pink softens the edges of the bold, dark dahlias and give off a light perfume that teases my senses the same way Chris does. I’m not sure why the flowers surprise me, considering the way the man hasn’t stopped surprising me since the moment I met him.
The way he goes between casual jeans and sweaters to elegantly cut-to-fit suits with ease, comfortable in both, isn’t something most men can carry off. He threw me off again when he told me he trusted me to handle the negotiation—he believed in my skill as a lawyer, not because he wanted me. Then the accusations he hurled at me today. Every single one of them true and edged with a bitterness he couldn’t hide.
I’m ashamed as I think about the way I acted, the way I tried to excuse my actions. I would have laid there, eyes closed, telling myself the whole time I was giving up to his wants while never admitting it was my desire. With all my protesting on the record, I could give plausible deniability—I was saying no when I meant yes.
I was begging for him while I was pushing him away. All because I’m afraid to own up to wanting Chris Baldwin, the baddest boy in baseball. I’m afraid I’ll fail miserably at what he wants from me. I’m afraid once he has me, he’ll realize he doesn’t want me. Why would he want me when he could have so many others?
Tears come, then fall. I can’t. I’m not equipped to handle this, to handle him. Being with Chris will swallow me whole and I’ll be lost. I spot the paperwork Chris already signed and sent back. Closing my eyes tight, I’m ready to admit the plan was never to settle at three five. Walking into the room, I was going to ask for three million and would have been happy to settle anywhere above two million. Yet the moment they tossed the insulting offer I knew was coming, the growing feelings I have for Chris took over. I got emotional; it was personal, not business. Which is exactly why attorneys should never get involved with their clients.
I haven’t filed a response to the lawsuit against Chris yet—he has a month to do so. It will take time for the suit filed against him to work its way before a judge; in all likelihood it won’t happen before Ethan gets back. For all intents and purposes I’m no longer his attorney. Too bad it wasn’t before the pictures of us went out.
When I looked for the one from today, I found another from yesterday. I went red at the way we were looking at each other in the first picture; no way would anyone believe there wasn’t something going on between us. The captions weren’t rude.
I’d only ever been in the paper for awards, usually for work I did on a pro-bono basis, twice for major wins. Between my reputation and Ethan’s willingness to draw blood if he felt slighted and any slight on his family was a slight on him I’m not surprised the papers were kind. Still, it doesn’t matter if they were nice about wondering what a fat ass like me was doing with the gorgeous Christopher Baldwin; it matters our pictures were in the paper.
It doesn’t matter that it isn’t sexual, yet—looks count, and from the picture there was definite eye fucking going on. Karen hasn’t called me on it. I don’t know if it’s because she hasn’t seen it, or she isn’t interested in hearing me lie again. I’m leaving this firm, but I don’t know yet if I want to leave law entirely. I do know getting my ass reamed before the ABA is not a good way to find another job as a lawyer. I pick up the phone for the courier company we use. They promise they’ll be here within a half hour.
8
Chris
The banging on my front door yanks me out of the book I’m reading. I lost my bookmark, so I put it facedown. I open the door to find a guy with a box, his annoyance clear until he sees me.
“Hey, Baldwin. I got a package for you. How you doing?”
“Good, who is this from?”
“Amelia Bishop, can you sign here?”
Fuck. I sigh as I lean against the doorframe, not taking the electronic pad he offers me. I know the box holds the vase, maybe even the flowers. “Come on in for a minute. I’m going to need you to deliver this to her again. I just need to see something.”
The guy is startled, then nods fast. “Sure, yeah, anything you want.”
