In Your Corner (2 page)

But it’s the thick, blond, wavy hair just brushing the top of his collar that makes my pulse race. Soft. Silky. Hair that is meant to be touched.

Have
touched?

The latch clicks as I close the door and he turns to face me.

“Christ! Amanda!” His hand jerks and water sloshes onto the carpet.

My heart stutters in my chest and the legal pad falls from my fingers to the floor, the world falling away as if everything until now had been an illusion.

“Jake.”

Eyes wide, jaw tight, he stares at me, dismay and disbelief etched on his handsome face. I can’t believe over two years have passed since the night we broke up. Whether a result of maturity or the passing of time, he is even more gorgeous than I remember. Strong cheekbones and a firm chin give his face an angular look, made more rugged by the small scars on his forehead and cheeks, a testament to his success in the fight ring. His eyes are a startling, brilliant blue and when he smiles, dimples appear in the corners of his cheeks. But he isn’t smiling now.

He shakes himself and looks away, then gestures toward the legal pad on the floor. “You dropped it.”

“You startled me.”

He gives me a half smile. “Yeah, I know the feeling. I forgot you worked here.”

Two years of longing and regret. Two years of fantasies and dreams. And yet our first words after two years are so mundane I want to cry.

His gaze skims down my body, taking in my fitted black suit, white silk blouse, and black stilettos. Black or blue only for associates at Farnsworth & Tillman. Like a bruise. The very fact that he is checking me out sends little flutters through my stomach. When he looks up, his eyes warm and spark with interest.

“You look good…professional.” The low, husky rumble of his voice makes my toes curl. So different from his harsh tone and cold words the last time we met.

By force of will alone, I manage a smile. “Firm uniform. They put the policy in place after we…broke…” I choke on my words and then swallow past the lump in my throat. “If I had a choice, I would liven things up. Maybe add a splash of color.”

His lips curl up and the dimples appear. “You always were one for color.”

My throat tightens at the oblique reference to his shocked expression the first time he walked into my apartment in San Francisco’s Marina District. He said he had expected clean, bold, modern lines, blacks and reds. Instead, he got country chic and a riot of pastels, sex toys hidden in a refurbished pie cupboard, and naughty costumes hanging in a pink-stenciled wardrobe.

“I haven’t changed.”

But he has. The once rough-and-tumble fighter and carpenter is now chairman of a midsize company. New furrows mark his once-smooth brow, and crinkles adorn the corners of his eyes. His shoulders are tight, his back stiff and straight. There is no hint of the easy, carefree attitude that attracted me to a cheeky kickboxing instructor at a local gym so long ago—an attraction so strong we wound up making out in the fitness studio only seconds after the last student had walked out the door. He seems older both in appearance and at heart. But the same restlessness simmers beneath his skin. Power. Barely contained.

His mouth thins, and I wish I could take the words back. Amanda-now isn’t the same as Amanda-then. Now, I could never hurt him.

“If I’d remembered you worked here, I would have picked another firm,” he says, his voice tight. “One of the division presidents recommended the partner I was supposed to meet.”

Swallowing hard, I shrug, playing it nonchalant while inside the part of me that had always dreamed we would get back together again shrivels. “We never really talked that much about work. I don’t think you ever came by my office.” I give a tentative smile. “You’ll probably get to know me better during this case than…”

His choked grunt cuts me off, and I catch a flicker of pain in his eyes. “I don’t think…”

Oh
God.
He doesn’t want me on the case. And why would he? How difficult would that be? It could be years until trial.

My stomach clenches and I force my words out through a tightened throat. “Of course. I wasn’t thinking. I probably shouldn’t be involved in the case because we were…had…” I take a deep breath and steady my wavering voice. “It could be considered a personal conflict, because if you were unhappy with our service at the end of the case, you might allege I wasn’t able to properly represent you because we…we…”

“Broke up,” he says gently and, from the softening of his brow, clearly relieved.

“Yes.”

Tension eases from his body, loosening his shoulders. “I think that’s for the best.”

My heart sinks to the floor and then falls through the fifteen stories that is Farnsworth & Tillman, shattering into a million pieces in the concrete parking garage. Rejected. All over again.

Years of training enable me to remain professional, while inside I crumble. “I’ll have to ask the managing partner to take me off the case and find a replacement associate. It means you’ll have to come back another day. Is that a problem? I feel bad inconveniencing you.”

Jake shakes his head and his beautiful hair brushes over his neck. “No, that’s okay. I got the papers a week or two ago, so I think I have some time. I don’t understand the legal stuff.”

Falling back into my comfort zone, my heart rate slows. “I’ll take a look at the documents for you, just so you don’t miss any deadlines.”

He opens the backpack resting in a chair beside his leather jacket and hands me a file folder. His finger inadvertently brushes over mine during the exchange, sending zings of electricity straight to my core. Nothing has changed. He is the only man who has ever had that effect on me. One touch and I’m gone. Just like the night we first met in his class. He put his hands on my hips to steady me while I was practicing kicks with a classmate and I almost melted into a puddle on the floor.

I jerk my hand away and smooth the papers on the boardroom table. Jake perches on the table beside me, his tight ass so close to the document I have to grit my teeth to stop my finger from wandering too far in the wrong direction. The richly masculine scent of his cologne makes my pulse race. And his heat…

My cheeks burn and a shiver of desire winds its way up my spine.

“Cold?” His voice cracks on the word, and I lift my gaze to his.

“No.” I try to cover up my body’s response by lightening the mood. “Badly drafted complaints give me the shivers.”

His gaze skims over my cheeks and then fixes on my eyes again, studying me intently as if he can see into my soul. His jaw tightens almost imperceptibly and he slides off the table and walks over to his backpack. “So, what’s the damage?”

“Uh…” Shaken by yet another rejection, I force my eyes to focus on the document. “You have thirty days to respond, so you have just over two weeks left. I’ll ask Mr. Farnsworth to arrange a meeting with the new associate as soon as possible and he or she can apply for an extension. You don’t want to miss the deadline, or Duel Properties will file for a default.”

Jake picks up his jacket and shrugs it over his shoulders, transforming himself in an instant from impossibly handsome to badass breathtaking. I return the documents to him, and he tucks them into his pack and grabs his helmet.

“You brought your motorcycle.” The inane comment falls off my lips before I can catch it. “Are you still riding the Kawasaki?”

“Nah. Changed a lot of things in the last few years. Replaced it with a Blackbird when I took over my dad’s company. Stopped training at Redemption, too. It’s a whole new me.”

Stopped
training
at
Redemption
? I have to bite my tongue to stop from asking why. When we were together, Jake lived and breathed Redemption, at that time an underground MMA club but now strictly legit. After he got off work every day, he taught classes, trained, fought, and ran the underground promotions for Torment. And when he was there, I was there, helping out where I could, sneaking into Torment’s office with him for a little lovin’ between classes and getting down and dirty in the gym after it closed.

“You seem the same.” But the words are true only in the sense that he still takes my breath away.

His mouth tightens in a thin line, and for the briefest second I see the hurt beneath his steely gaze.

“Maybe on the outside.” He pulls open the door, and I grab my legal pad and follow behind him.

Looking back over his shoulder, he gives me the briefest of smiles. “I can see myself out.”

“It was nice to see you again.” My soft, wavering voice makes me cringe. But not as much as when he turns and walks away.

I guess it wasn’t nice to see me too.

GO. TO. HELL.

What a disaster.

After I return to my office, I sit and stare at my computer. The Farnsworth & Tillman logo bounces slowly across my screen. Associates are allowed a choice of two screensavers. The first, the initials “F & T,” looked too much like “FAT” for my taste, and I turned it down. Not good for the self-esteem. Who wants to see an accusatory FAT FAT FAT upon returning from the firm cafeteria or a client lunch? So I chose door number two. A full scale “Farnsworth & Tillman.” Big, bold, and bouncy.

The logo blurs before my tired eyes. I bill nothing for two hours. At Farnsworth & Tillman, we are required to account for every six minutes of our time. Two hours of nothingness is going to earn me a visit to HR and possibly the firm shrink. Lost in memories of the short time Jake and I spent together, I can’t bring myself to care.

Two months. For some people, two months is nothing. For me, it was the longest relationship I’d ever had. My parents were bitterly disappointed when I told them I was dating yet another “unsavory character” and hanging around a fight club, but there was no resisting Jake. He was warm, affectionate, and kind—everything my parents were not—and fun and adventurous in the bedroom, more than willing to try anything I asked.

But the more time we spent together, the more demanding he became of me. He didn’t want just fun and games. He wanted something more, something I couldn’t give. And when I realized I was falling in too deep and he was getting too close, I took the first chance I could to push him away. Trusting people—opening up to them—in my experience, invariably led to disappointment and heartbreak. I’ve learned the hard way the only person I can trust is me.

Clearly disconcerted by my inactivity, Penny breezes in and out of my office on all manner of false pretenses. “Just doing the weekly check on the computer cables.” She tugs on the cords at the back of my computer and smiles. “Nice and tight.”

Ten minutes after the cables, she waters my plastic plants. Then she sharpens my already sharp pencils and dusts my clean desk. Finally, she slams the door closed and folds her arms. “This is the first time you’ve missed your session at the community legal aid clinic, something I only thought would happen in times of war, plague, or natural disaster. I called to tell them you couldn’t make it and they thought you were seriously injured or dead. What’s wrong?”

Other than Makayla, no one knows as much about Jake as Penny, so I reveal the horror of my meeting in a barely audible monotone. She comforts me British-style by bringing me a cup of tea. Then she tries to talk me out of my plan to get back into Farnsworth’s good graces by suggesting he put his lap dog, Evil Reid, on the case instead of me.

“If you do that, you’ll never convince Evil Reid you actually hate him. He’ll think you were doing him a favor. You’ll spend the rest of your career fighting off his advances.”

“I’ve been fighting him off since I joined the firm,” I say with a shrug. “Not a big deal.” Two months after I turned down Evil Reid’s post-party nookie offer, he tried again. This time by trapping me in a meeting room after a firm seminar and sticking his tongue down my throat. My response was a swift and firm smash of the knee into the family jewels and a report to HR. He didn’t take it well. Nor, surprisingly, did he give up. His methods just became more circumspect—a brush against my arm when passing me in the hallway, the occasional knee fondle when we had to share a cab. He is the admirer I never wanted to have.

Farnsworth’s evening secretary calls to tell me the lord and master is ready to see me. After a final check in the mirror, I take the elevator up to the top floor and traverse another mazelike set of corridors. Despite the late hour, the office is buzzing with activity. Farnsworth & Tillman attorneys live to serve their clients’ needs twenty-four hours a day, three hundred and sixty-five days a year. Fire, flood, earthquake, or tornado, in sickness or in health, war or peace, a Farnsworth & Tillman attorney will be available to meet every client need.

Till death do they part.

Unless, of course, the client doesn’t want the associate in the first place.

***

Farnsworth is seated at his massive glass desk when I arrive.

“Come in, Amanda. Close the door.”

Close
the
door?
Farnsworth & Tillman has an open-door policy. The partners like visibility and transparency. They do not like associates wasting billable hours surfing the net. Computer screens face the door. Walls are made of glass. Cameras are visible in the hallways. Associates quickly discover that the sleeping pods and washrooms are the only places for a little privacy or to get down and dirty with their colleagues.

Farnsworth motions me forward, and I close the glass door behind me, jumping at the unexpected click of the latch. For a moment I am disoriented. And then I realize my claustrophobia is a result of Farnsworth’s totally frosted walls. Privacy. For real.

As managing partner, Farnsworth scored the best office in the firm. Extending across the entire length of the building, it is larger than most family homes. Why he needs a wet bar, two lounges, three worktables, and a media center to manage a law firm, I don’t know.

Someday, maybe, I’ll find out.

He smiles. At least I think it’s a smile. With his lips peeled back and his teeth bared, he could be a predator about to spring.

“How did it go with the new client?”

“Um.” I twist my silver chain-link bracelet around my wrist, a present from my late grandmother, and suck in my lips.

Farnsworth raises a combed and manicured eyebrow. “Lost for words? I hope this doesn’t happen in court.” Although he laughs as he speaks, there is no humor in his voice. Everything at Farnsworth & Tillman is a test. A missing comma on a document. A misspelled word in a pleading. A miscalculation of damages. A missed lunch. There are myriad ways for an associate to lose her job, clearing the way for the more competent lemmings to throw themselves off the cliff.

Taking a deep breath, I spit it out, “Mr. Donovan requested a different attorney on the case.”

Incredibly, he shows no signs of shock or surprise. Instead, he leans back in his chair and folds his hands behind his head. “Did he now?”

“Yes, sir.”

“Why?”

The question I hoped to avoid is the first question any good litigator worth his salt would ask. And Farnsworth isn’t just a good litigator. He’s one of the best in the state, the other bests being my parents, both partners at Sawyers, Saunders, and Solomon LLP, and good friends of Farnsworth and his wife.

“I have a…personal conflict. I assured him you would find someone to take my place.”

Farnsworth’s lips curl into a sinister smile—the type of smile usually seen on television and accompanied by the twirling of a black mustache. With no mustache to twirl, Farnsworth flips his pen across his fingers instead. “What kind of personal conflict?”

My cheeks heat and my knees wobble. Although it’s against protocol to sit in front of the managing partner unless specifically invited to do so, I choose the protocol breach over an undignified collapse on the floor. With an apologetic smile, I slip into one of the comfy leather chairs across from his desk.

“We were in a relationship a few years ago. And it ended. Badly.”

“Hmmm.” Farnsworth drums his fingers on his desk. “Well, I can’t say I’m surprised. I was expecting this type of conflict to arise much earlier…given your reputation.”

My breath leaves my lungs in a whoosh.
Given
my
reputation?
What the hell is he talking about? I have conducted myself with absolute propriety at Farnsworth & Tillman. I’m one of the few associates who hasn’t had sex with any of my colleagues or clients. I’ve used the sleeping pods solely for sleeping. I haven’t even overbilled. “What reputation would that be, sir?”

Farnsworth snorts a laugh. “You don’t need to put on the act with me, Amanda. And you’re far from stupid. You know exactly what I’m talking about.”

Not exactly, but I can guess. Sure, I’ve dated a lot of guys. Slept with a fair number too. I had to do something as a teenager, home alone night after lonely night. And in those sweaty kisses and fumbles in the dark, I found a sort of happiness. For a few hours, someone cared for me, touched me…loved me. I’ve been chasing that feeling ever since.

“I’m afraid you’ll have to spell it out for me.” I return his cool, calculating stare as bile rises in my throat.

Farnsworth shoves a thick, blue file folder across the desk.

Paper. How quaint.

“Here it is in black and white,” he says evenly. “I’m surprised you didn’t realize it would come out in the morality check we do on all associates we are considering for partnership. We’ve had a private investigator following you for the better part of a year. I have to say your file has made for the most entertaining reading. You go through men faster than my wife goes through money, and that’s saying something.”

Breathing slow and deep, I fight the instinctive urge to flee. Blood pounds through my veins, the rush so loud in my ears it drowns out the rest of Farnsworth’s words. My stomach clenches and roils. I’m going to be sick.

“Take a look.” Farnsworth stands and rounds the desk, perching his ass on the lip in front of me as he holds out the file.

My mouth waters with horrified fascination as I stare at the blue folder in his hand. But if I let Farnsworth know I care about what’s in that file, I give away what little power I have, and right now I don’t even know what he wants.

Although I’ve had enough experience with men that I can guess.

With a shrug, I wave the file away. “If there’s something you want me to know, you’ll tell me.”

Damn I’m cool. No one would ever know I am a total wreck inside.

The look he gives me is speculative, thoughtful, and sends a chill down my spine. He turns and places the file on the desk beside him.

“There is something I want you to know. I think you’re one hell of an attorney. Probably one of the best damn junior associates in the firm. There is no doubt in my mind you are partnership material. But the morality check is a problem. I’ve always been quite relaxed about these things. Not so much the other partners. If any of them saw the file, it would be a deal killer.”

Threat heard and noted.

“That’s crazy.” I feign nonchalance, dropping my shoulders and resting my hands lightly on the armrests. “There’s nothing in my personal life that should raise any professional or moral concerns about my ability to fulfill my duties as an attorney in this firm. I’ve never let my personal life impact on my work.”

He leans over and squeezes my shoulder and I have to fight back the urge to flinch.

“I know becoming a partner means everything to you, and especially to your father. It’s all he’s talked about for years. He’s so pleased you followed in the family footsteps. You’ll make him so proud.” He pauses and affects the sad smile of a poor method actor. “Or…you would have.”

Clearly Farnsworth isn’t satisfied with stabbing me in the heart with his file of Amanda’s sordid activities. He wants to twist the knife. Twist and twist and twist. What does he hope to achieve? Does he think I’m going to break into tears? Does he think I’ll beg for mercy? Does he really think I’m going to give him what he wants?

“Is that all, sir?” I make the mistake of standing. Unfortunately, I am now face to face with Farnsworth, our bodies only inches apart. He smells of cheap Bordeaux, Greek cigars, and the $9.95 Shrimp Special the cafeteria offered for dinner. My nose wrinkles. I hate shrimp.

“No, Amanda. That isn’t all.” His voice lowers to a seductive purr and he twirls a strand of my hair around his fingers. “It would be a shame for all that talent to go to waste.” He strokes a thick finger along my cheek and a violent shudder wracks my body.

“Hands off.” I slap his hand away and his eyes narrow.

“You’re a clever girl, Amanda. I don’t think I need to spell it out for you. I have something you want, and you have something I want. We can both achieve our goals and enjoy ourselves while we do.”

“Not a chance.”

His jaw tightens almost imperceptibly. “I may be twice your age, but I know how to please a woman. And I know for a fact you know how to please a man. We could have something special together. Something…”

Taking a deep breath, I sidestep around the chair. “I’m not playing this game.”

His cold smile chills my blood. “I have an entire file that says you do play this game. You play this game with strangers. You play this game with doctors. And right now, you’re going to play this game with me. Can you imagine what your father would say if he saw that file? His abject and bitter disappointment? I don’t know what would be worse for him—finding out his daughter is the biggest slut in San Francisco or knowing she’ll never make partner in any law firm in the state.”

In response to my quizzical look, he laughs. “You’re forgetting who I am. I know every judge in every court in California. I know every partner in every major firm. I can blackball you with one phone call. If you turn down my offer, you’ll never work in another Big Law firm in California again. It’ll be back alleys and legal aid clinics for you.”

As if that is such a bad thing.

My hands clench into fists and my lip curls. “Bastard. I’m going to drag you through the courts in the biggest sexual harassment lawsuit the state has ever seen.”

Farnsworth’s eyes glitter and he laughs. “I’m a bastard and you’re a slut. So what? No one’s going to believe you. If you file a lawsuit, I’ll argue that you propositioned me because you were so desperate for partnership you would do anything to get it.”

I stare at him aghast. “Why would anyone think I was that desperate? I’m one of the best associates in the firm. You said so yourself. Why would people think I would throw it all way?”

Farnsworth shrugs. “Who knows? Lack of self-confidence? Self-destructive tendencies? It doesn’t matter. I’ve already laid the groundwork in the event you refuse. You should know by now every case is won before it even begins.”