In Your Corner (6 page)

“Thought you two would still be in jail after your arraignment.”

“We got friends in high places.” Bob takes a step toward me. “Got out on bail. And you know what we did first? We met with our lawyer ’cause someone has to pay for these.” He holds up his arms covered in thick, white casts that extend from his wrists to his elbows. The bouncer does the same.

“Seriously?” Nervous laughter erupts from my chest. “You and your bouncer broke both your arms in the exact same place during the fight? And you both got the exact same casting?”

“You think that’s funny, girlie?” The bouncer reaches over and grabs my ponytail with the dexterity of someone not in need of a cast. “We can’t work no more. You see us laughing?”

Jake and Fuzzy choose this moment to emerge from the shower room with Obsidian, Rampage, Blade Saw, and Homicide behind them.

Their chatter fades and the world stills. Save for the thunder of blood pumping through my veins, I hear no sound. Although the bouncer is still holding my ponytail, I feel perversely safe. Like I’m all rolled up in my comforter in my cozy bed. And safe makes me brave.

Jake’s steely gaze flicks from me to the bouncer and then back to me. “What’s going on?”

“Something from Hellhole is attached to my ponytail.” I shake my head and the bouncer stupidly tightens his grip.

Jake stiffens and his lips curl, baring his teeth. “Let her go.”

The five fighters move forward as one. The bouncer takes a step back, one hand on my ponytail, the other on my shoulder, holding me like a protective shield. Fighters forward. Bouncer back. Fighters forward. Bouncer back. Fighters growl. Bouncer whimpers.

“Maybe we should ask them what they’re doing here first.” I hold up my hands, palms forward as if I could stop the tidal wave of testosterone bearing down on us.

Jake grunts. “Fight first. Ask questions later.”

The bouncer releases me with a barely audible whimper and my ponytail swings free.

“You got something to say?” I look over at Bob. “Better say it fast or I guarantee you won’t get another chance. Renegade doesn’t give a damn about the law.”

Brave now that his hand is within inches of the door, Bob snarls, “We’re gonna fucking sue their asses. We got a doctor who says we’ll never work again. We got a lawyer who got their names from the police report and said we got a ten-million-dollar claim. Told us to bring these docs and hand ’em out.”

Fighters fall back with a collective whimper. Apparently nothing is more terrifying than a lawsuit.

“Unbelievable.” My hands find my hips. “Are you kidding me?”

Emboldened by the fighters’ collective terror, Bob takes a step forward and waves some documents in the air, but at waist height and awkwardly because of the cast. The fighters cringe and shrink back as if they were made of Kryptonite.

Oh
for…

“Give me those.” I stalk over to Bob, stopping only a foot away and acutely aware that Jake is now hovering by my side.

“Easy, baby.” He rests a hand on my shoulder when I snatch the documents away. Only then do I take note of my heaving chest and my tight jaw. Hell hath no fury like a woman whose friends are being threatened with a totally bogus lawsuit by gold diggers with no conscience, even less sense, and a terrible attorney. After giving the documents a cursory glance, I roll my eyes.

“First,” I spit out, “since you are involved in the proceedings, you can’t serve legal documents. So…bad legal advice right there. Second, in case you didn’t notice, you were engaged in
criminal
activity
when you broke your arms, if they are really even broken, which I totally doubt. Third, this”—I wave one of the documents at Bob—“is not a proper lawsuit. Again, bad legal advice, or maybe you thought you’d just come over here with a pretend lawsuit and try and shake my friends down. Not gonna happen. Finally, I just may decide to file a civil lawsuit against you for smacking me around like a rag doll, so you may actually want to find yourself a good attorney for that and your criminal trial.”

Bob narrows his eyes. “You sound like a fucking attorney. Are you an attorney?”

My mouth opens and closes. Am I an attorney? I don’t have a job and no chance of finding one, at least not in California.

“She’s an attorney and a damn good one.” Although Jake’s voice is cool and calm, I can hear the telltale tremor of a man on the edge of losing control. “She worked at one of the biggest law firms in the state and she was one of their best and brightest. She’s damn smart, a crackerjack litigator, and she knows every trick in the book. She’s gonna destroy you.”

“Yeah.” The fighters punch their fists in the air and cheer as one.

“Uh…Jake.” Aside from the fact I have no law firm and no insurance, I haven’t even agreed to take on the fighters as clients. But Jake is on a roll.

“She’ll put you on the stand and carve out every last detail of your sordid lives until you’re a quivering mess on the floor.”

“Yeah,” chant the fighters.

“She’ll rack up your legal bill so high you’ll wish you’d run screaming the night she walked into your bar. She’ll run that case into the ground until you crawl in here begging for mercy.”

“Yeah.” The fighters whoop and cheer like we’ve already won the case.

“Jake…”

“’Manda, ’manda, ’manda.” Rampage starts up his humiliating chant and then glares at Bob and the bouncer. “We got ’manda. You got nothin’. Now GIT.”

They “git.”

Jake watches them for all of two seconds and then turns to Fuzzy. “Man sees his girl being roughed up in his place of relaxation, sees someone dragging her around by her hair…that considered provocation?”

His
girl?
“Don’t answer that,” I bark at Fuzzy. He and Jake share a look and then Jake snorts.

“Thought so.”

The door opens. Slams. Jake is gone. Rampage with him. And Obsidian.

I collapse onto the couch and slap my hand to my forehead. “They’re going to get hit with a real lawsuit if they actually break any arms. I’m pretty sure those two were faking their injuries.”

“But even if they weren’t, you’ll get us out of it, won’t you?” Homicide takes a seat beside me. “I mean, me and the wife got a baby on the way. I can’t afford a big shot attorney and I sure as heck can’t afford ten million dollars. None of us can.”

“Don’t worry.” I try to calm the agitated fighters around me. “It’s a totally bogus lawsuit.”

“But what if it isn’t? What if they do find a good attorney? You gotta do something, Amanda.” Blade Saw’s voice rises as he flips through the documents. “You have to take our case…”

The front door slams behind us and a brush of cold air sends a shiver down my spine. I cut Blade Saw off mid-rant. “I quit my job. And I’ve been blacklisted. No firm will hire me.”

“So start your own firm. You always talked about it.” Jake walks toward us, all cool and calm as if he didn’t just chase after two lunatics and probably beat them to death.

My own firm? How many billable hours did I waste daydreaming about my own firm while at Farnsworth & Tillman? A firm where we would have time for pro bono cases. A firm where the staff wouldn’t wear flight-attendant style uniforms. My employees wouldn’t live to serve. No shrimp at the firm cafeteria. No cameras in the hallways. No glass walls. No sleeping pods. No logos shouting FAT FAT FAT.

No money.

All my savings have gone toward my student loans. My only asset of value is my grandmother’s house. Not something I would ever sell. The dream will have to stay a dream. Revenge will definitely be a dish served cold.

“Did you break any bones in the thirty seconds you’ve been gone?” My facetious tone gains me a couple of raised eyebrows.

“He hurt you.”

My hand flies to my mouth, and I shoot out of my seat. “Please tell me you’re kidding. The bouncer just tugged my ponytail. It was no big deal.”

Jake cups my jaw and brushes his thumb over my cheek. “It was a big deal to me.”

My fingers hover over his bicep, bulging from beneath the sleeve of his shirt and a thrill of fear races through me. “Did you…really? That fast?”

He catches my hand, pressing his lips to my knuckles, and my body throbs in response to his touch.

“One of them got away. The other got so scared he pissed himself five feet out the door, then passed out. No point breaking bones if he can’t feel the pain.”

I lift an eyebrow in mock reproach. “Of course.”

Jake laughs and releases my hand. “So, your own firm…you’ll need capital. You can ask Max…er Torment. I’m sure he’ll be happy to help you, and if not, Doc and I can twist his arm.”

“He’s a venture capitalist, not a bank,” I say softly. “This is the kind of thing banks do.”

Jake shrugs. “So he’ll invest in your firm and take a return when you earn money. Same as investing in any business. I’ll talk to Doc and get the best time to set something up.”

“Whoa!” I hold up my hands. “First of all, she’s my best friend. If anyone talks to her, it will be me. And second, I haven’t said I would do it.”

“Look at their pathetic faces.” Jake gestures to the assembled fighters. On cue they all affect sad expressions, mouths turned down, brows furrowed.

My lips quiver with a repressed smile. “They couldn’t look pathetic if they tried.”

“They can’t afford big law firm fees,” Jake continues. “They stuck out their necks for you. Don’t you want to get back to doing what you do best but the way you want to do it?”

“I never said…” But I cut myself off. My life has been one goalpost after another. I’ve never stopped to think about what I really wanted. Maybe it’s time I did. I don’t have to follow the family tradition and become a partner at a big law firm at the age of thirty-two. I could run my own firm. I could help people with their problems instead of helping companies shuffle their money around. I could start a lawsuit against Farnsworth, put him in his place, and repair my reputation. How could my father not be proud?

“I saw you watching Shilla the Killa fight,” Jake says. “I’m sure Torment will waive your club fees if you want to do some training, maybe get into the ring one day, and the guys will be happy to help you out if you take on their case. Then you’ll never have to worry about Hellhole scumbags.”

My body stills. “Me fight?”

He moves his hand to my jaw, a lingering brush of his thumb over my cheek. “You’ve always had a fighting spirit.”

Learn to fight. Not because it’s a client networking opportunity or because it would look good on a CV, but because I want to. I could walk with confidence knowing I can defend myself. I could be part of a world that has nothing to do with law and everything to do with friendship and camaraderie and being the best you can be.

“Okay. I’ll give it a shot.”

A slow, warm smile spreads across Jake’s face. He leans down and his lips hover over mine. I hold my breath, waiting, hoping for the kiss I don’t want, the kiss I do, the kiss that never comes.

His lips brush over my forehead and he ruffles my hair.

Then we go for burgers.

All of us.

YOU’RE A DANGEROUS MAN

The Haight-Ashbury District, once the center of San Francisco’s hippie movement and now an eclectic neighborhood filled with exclusive boutiques, vintage clothing stores, and hip restaurants, is not the first place I would have chosen to set up my new law firm. The just-rolled-out-of-bed vibe is about as far from the corporate rat race I have lived and breathed in the city center for the last few years.

The contrast is put into stark relief when Max’s driver pulls over to the side of the road and Max steps out of the vehicle. Resplendent in a chic Armani suit, he is immediately verbally assaulted by a motley group of panhandlers congregated around the steps of one of the crumbling Victorian buildings across the road. Of course, all it takes is one look from über alpha Max to send them scurrying down the street.

Makayla sighs as she reaches for the door handle. “He’s always doing that. Sometimes he doesn’t realize just how intimidating a look can be.”

I glance through the window at Max, now leaning against the vehicle, his arms folded across his massive chest. “Oh, I think he knows. And he enjoys it. Maybe a little too much.”

Max’s driver opens the passenger door and Makayla and I step out onto the sidewalk. A group of neo-punks walks past us and snickers at the sleek, black Mercedes wedged between two rusted out Volkswagen Beetles.

“Maybe this isn’t such a good idea,” I say as Makayla and I follow Max across the street. “I mean…Hippie Land? This is where Max thinks I should open a law office?”

Max doesn’t even turn around. “Yes. And there it is.”

My heart sinks as I follow Max’s gaze to the crumbling, three-story Victorian building across the street. Decorated with peeling gingerbread scrollwork and painted a brilliant robin’s egg blue, it fits in well with the other buildings on the street. Unfortunately, it is not quite the glass and steel tribute to modernity I had imagined for my first law firm.

“Good location. Safe. Accessible. Lots of parking.” Max motions us across the street. “And I guarantee you’ll get a good deal from the landlord if you ask nicely.”

Makayla snickers and my skin prickles. Oh God. She’s up to something. Again. As if it wasn’t hard enough to go to Max’s office with my business plan and ask him to invest in my law firm, she now wants me to beg for cheap rent too. My already-bruised pride cringes at the thought. If Makayla hadn’t threatened to disown me as a friend, I wouldn’t have called Max in the first place.

“I don’t need a whole building.” My steps slow. “Just an office. Preferably something small and cheap, but modern and professional. And without vagrants decorating the steps.” I gesture toward a scruffy man hunched on the stairs. “He looks like he needs a bed and a hot meal.”

Max’s face tightens. “He does.”

Puzzled, I near the object of Max’s derision and my breath catches in my throat.

Jake.

But not like I’ve ever seen him before. He’s wearing a black baseball cap backward and pulled low over his forehead, hiding his blond curls. His AC/DC T-shirt is worn and frayed and his jeans show more thigh than my tiniest dress.

He glances up and his gaze fixes on me. Dull eyes, bleary. A perfect match to his unshaven jaw. How can a man change so drastically in only a few days?

“What happened?”

Max sighs. “He’s running himself down trying to balance fight training with the company. You can only run on adrenaline for so long.”

Jake straightens as we approach. His gaze flickers from Max to me and then back to Max. “I thought you said you had someone interested in renting the property. I don’t have time for socializing.”

Max folds his arms. “Here she is.”

Jake turns away and his voice drops to a low grumble as he confronts Max. “I told you before this wasn’t a good idea.”

AWKWARD. I glare at Makayla and she gives me a sympathetic cringe.

“It’s okay.” I raise my voice loud enough for them to hear me. “The office space I proposed in my business plan will do fine. I was looking for corporate and professional, not quirky and full of character. I had already spoken to the landlord…”

“But it won’t be fine for Jake or for the district.” Max frowns and shakes his head. “He needs a tenant or the building and most of this block will be torn down by developers.”

In response to my questioning look, Jake shrugs. “Peter entered into a verbal agreement with Duel Properties to level this block and turn it into a shopping center. Goddamn travesty. But if the buildings are occupied, it will slow the process long enough for the city to consider the residents’ application to have the street marked as a historic district. The minute I took over, I started dragging my feet over the agreement to give the residents a chance to get their application together. In response, Duel Properties started the lawsuit I brought to you.”

My law brain kicks into gear. “Is the company legally obligated to…?”

“I know what I’m doing,” he snaps.

Taken aback, I stare. Jake stares back. His eyes are bloodshot, jaw tight. Exhaustion has drawn creases in his impossibly handsome face. Without thinking, I smooth my thumb over his furrowed brow and along his jaw, scratchy with a five o’clock shadow.

“You’re not looking so good.”

He captures my hand, twining his fingers with my mine and rests it against his cheek. His eyes close for the briefest moment and then he lets me go.

“I just need sleep. It’s been a coupla days.” His voice is still gruff, but his tone softens. “Maybe a vacation, too.”

“And a few burgers?”

A smile tugs at his lips, transforming his face from haggard into handsomely haggard, and my insides melt.

“Burgers are always good.” He pulls open the door. “Come in and take a look.”

Makayla pushes past me and steps inside. Max follows behind her. But I hesitate.

“You don’t have to do this, Jake. I totally understand. I don’t want things to be uncomfortable between us…”

“Amanda.”

“…and having me for a tenant would mean we would have to see each other, which I know you don’t want because of how things ended between us, and how you just dropped me off the other night…”

“Amanda.”

“…and that’s probably for the best. I’m sure you’ve moved on, and I need to move on…have moved on. We aren’t the same people…”

“Amanda.”

“…and it’s not the kind of place…”

He cuts me off with a kiss. Soft and sweet, his lips press against mine, awakening old memories. Our first kiss in the storage room in the fitness studio, and then our second stretched out together on the mats after everyone left and we were alone. Two months of gentle kisses, tender kisses, warming my body but never breaching the walls around my heart.

My hands tremble by my sides. Do I push him away or pull him close? Do I want sweet kisses wrapped in guilty memories, or do I want something new and someone who doesn’t want what I cannot give?

And then Jake decides for me.

With a groan, he threads his fingers through my hair, holding me still as his tongue plunges into my mouth. Sweet becomes demanding, soft becomes hard. He kisses me thoroughly, remorselessly, leaving no part of my mouth untouched. My blood turns to lava and races molten through my veins.

“You’re right.” His lips burn a trail across my cheek. “I’m not the same person. Peter’s death changed me. Now I see how short life can be. There’s no time to dwell on the past. There’s no time for regret. We have to move forward.” He steps back and holds out his hand. “Might as well go inside and you can see why I didn’t think this was a good idea.”

Still reeling from his kiss, I just stare. “You kissed me.”

“Yeah.” His face softens and he gives an apologetic shrug. “I’ve been wanting to do that since you first walked into the meeting room at your old law firm. Guess I needed to get it out of my system.”

Ah. Regret and not reconciliation. An end. Not a beginning. For a moment, I am almost overwhelmed with the need to cry. But years of forced stoicism come to my rescue, and I just nod and grit my teeth, counting the seconds before I can convince Makayla to leave. “Sure.”

Jake pulls open the door, and I step into an elaborately tiled hallway. Red velvet wallpaper hangs off the walls in long strips. An ornate chandelier clings precariously to the ceiling, threatening to crash onto the worn brocade carpet covering the hardwood floor. I inhale the musty aroma of mildew and stifle a sneeze.

“It needs a lot of work.” Jake crosses the hallway and pushes aside a rotted wooden door. “Check out this room. It’s even worse.”

A soft “oh” escapes my lips as the tired majesty of what must have been a living room is revealed in all its glory. High ceilings, sweeping sash windows, and a magnificent tiled fireplace crowned with a heavy oak mantel are the focal points of the room. Dark wood paneling and the rich jewel tones of the dusty, soft furnishings lend to the ambiance of an old-world gentleman’s club, as do the scents of mothballs and wood smoke.

Max and Makayla disengage from an intimate clinch in the corner, and I stifle a groan. Seriously? Even after two years they can’t seem to get enough of each other. Usually I don’t even notice, but today my heart squeezes in longing and I breathe out an exasperated sigh. “Get a room.”

“We did.” Makayla grins, and then her smile fades. “What’s wrong?”

“Nothing.” After over twenty years of friendship, Makayla can read almost every nuance of my expression. Unfortunately, tact isn’t one of her defining traits.

“It’s pretty bad, isn’t it,” Max says, oblivious to my emotional disquiet. “Everything is falling apart. The study behind us is even worse.”

Grateful for the opportunity to have a moment alone, I skirt around the sheet-draped furniture and enter the adjoining study. Floor-to-ceiling bookshelves line one wall and a huge bay window overlooks a jungle of a back garden. The orange fingers of dusk settle on a ridiculous, massive Victorian-style couch covered in a busy pattern of birds, leaves, flowers, and grapes.

I’m in love.

Jake steps into the room and pokes at a wall. Plaster crumbles onto the floor. “This is why I can’t rent it out and why I never even thought of offering it to you.” He scrubs his hands over his face and then turns to me. “It needs serious renovation and I don’t have the time to put in the work. No one else…”

He cuts himself off and frowns, studying me as if I were a curiosity in the zoo. His gaze flicks around the room, then back to me and his frown deepens. “You like it.”

Caught off guard, my breath catches in my throat. Am I that transparent? “I…uh…yeah, it’s an awesome place, but not for an office. I mean, you’ve been in Farnsworth & Tillman. This doesn’t really scream ‘serious professional.’”

Jake’s face softens. “But it screams ‘Amanda.’ It reminds me of your old apartment and, to some extent, your grandmother’s house. You must have inherited your quirky sense of style from her.”

I’m sure he can’t imagine how much his words mean to me. Just the thought that I am somehow still connected to her makes my throat tighten with emotion. I twist my bracelet around and around my wrist. “Yeah, we had the same taste.”

“Then it’s perfect.”

“Jake…” I hesitate. I love it. I want it. But it’s all wrong. Just like Jake and me. “I would love to, but I just can’t. I need to project a certain image and crumbling Victorian with a hint of country chic isn’t it.”

He gives me a considered look. “What if I hauled the Redemption crew in here to fix it up? I got lots of favors I can call in. Get enough guys and they can do all the hard work…stripping the walls, refinishing the floors, rewiring, putting up the drywall… Not much we can do about the structure and moldings, but you could do it up modern inside, make it just like Farnsworth & Tillman if you want.” He twists his lips to the side. “Still…it’s a lot of work…”

Oh God. Suddenly I want it so bad I can barely breathe, even though it’s totally wrong for a law firm. Now I’m worried he’ll change his mind.
Pleasepleasepleasepleaseplease
. “I would help,” I say into the silence. “And Makayla… Probably Max too, if we told him it was dangerous and Makayla might get hurt.”

Damn. Now I sound desperate. Not good. I rest a hand on the worn oak desk and try to look casual, like I get kissed, brushed off, and teased with the house of my most-secret-inner-desires-that-is-so-wrong-for-a-business every day. Hmmm. Maybe too casual if I’m trying to convey a mild interest. I drop my hand to the side. Now I look like a soldier. How about behind my back? Oh God. Now I look like one of my professors. In front? Nope. He’ll think I’m penitent. I resort to the tried and true, brushing of the hair over the shoulder.

Jake’s eyes sparkle, amused. He leans back against the floor-to-ceiling bookshelf and folds his arms. Even in his worn, ripped clothes, he makes my mouth water: jeans hanging low on narrow hips, T-shirt torn just enough to reveal a ripple of muscle on his chest, and biceps bulging from tight sleeves. I am almost launched into a torrid fantasy where I shred his clothes in a frenzy of lust.

“If the guys come over and fix it up…will you rent it?”

A shiver races down my spine, but I play it cool and twirl a lock of hair around my finger. “Are you sure you want me? I mean, it’s a lot of work and I have another office lined up so don’t think I’m desperate or…”

“Yes. I want you.”

Every bit of warmth rushes to my center, but I hesitate. Do I want the place bad enough to endure the torture of having Jake for a landlord? Sure, he’s been kind and helpful, but he clearly still hasn’t forgiven me. And maybe I shouldn’t be so quick to forgive him. How many times did I try to talk to him about what happened? How many times was I rebuffed?

Simply out of curiosity, I ask, “What’s the rent?”

“Whatever you want to pay.”

My eyebrow lifts and I fiddle with my hair, twisting it in a knot. “If I was interested, I would want to pay whatever you were asking of the other people who came to see the place.”

Jake names a figure I am sure is nothing near what he could get from someone else. I tell him so. He shrugs and says it isn’t negotiable. I offer what I was going to pay for the other office. His eyes harden and he lowers his initial offer. I begrudgingly capitulate and dance a secret inner dance of joy.