Risking Ruin (12 page)

Chapter Twenty

“Trip Brannon.”

“Trip, it’s Marisa. We need to talk this afternoon,” Marisa said brusquely into her office desk phone, her head still trying to figure out the amazing connection between the plaintiffs that Jane, er ‘June’, had unearthed.

“Um, okay.  Something wrong?  You didn’t like the breakfast?”

“No,” gushed Marisa, twisting the phone’s cord around her fingers.  “That’s not it at all.  That was lovely.  This is purely a business call.  Something is up with the sexual harassment lawsuits I’m handling.  I don’t have any specifics for you yet, but I need to get on your schedule for this afternoon.”

“Okay.  Five-forty in my office.”

“Great.  I’ll see you then,” replied Marisa, as she moved to hang up.

“By the way, don’t be surprised if I try to talk you into dinner afterwards,” she heard Trip say as she set the handset back on its cradle. 

Don’t think about that.  Concentrate on getting prepped to meet with a client.  Don’t think about Trip or the way he held me last night as I fell asleep in his arms.
Marisa reeled back in her thoughts.
  Seriously, stop!  Get to work!

Marisa ditched everything else on her calendar, and with Jane’s help, prepared dossiers on each of the plaintiffs, aside from Mr. Volunteer Fireman, that incorporated their divorce information and everything Jane could remember that any of them had said at the divorce support group meeting that Jane attended, no matter how trivial it seemed.

Jane was like a new assistant.  She didn’t check Facebook or disappear for long chats with other staff members.  She dug in.

Perhaps I don’t give her enough responsibility and she’s actually bored
, realized Marisa as Jane diligently created a single sleek binder with tabs for each woman’s dossier, a tab for the potential PI, Vanessa.   Marisa looked at her wristwatch.  
5:25.   I totally missed lunch.

“You want to take a final look at everything?  I made a copy for you and both Mr. Brannons.  I wasn’t sure if Jimmy was joining you or not.”

“I didn’t ask.  I don’t know.  Thanks for thinking about that,” said Marisa.

Is this the first time she has done something without my prompting, or am I just now noticing?  She’s always been fine at her job and excellent at finding stuff on the internet, but today she’s just knocking it out of the park
.
Maybe she should become a private investigator instead of a legal assistant.

“Also, I want to say that you’ve been awesome today.  I really appreciate everything you’ve done and how you’ve really taken initiative,” said Marisa, making a mental note to later ask Jane not to undertake any investigation outside of her internet sleuthing without first bringing Marisa into the loop.

“Just remember this when my bonus is discussed,” beamed Jane.

“If this turns out to be more than a weird coincidence, then I don’t think you’ll have any complaints,” replied Marisa, turning to thumb through the binders one final time.

“One last thing before I head out.  Can you help me find my court shoes?”

“But you’re not going to court.”

“Yes,” replied Marisa calmly, knowing she wanted the shoes, and their confidence-boosint powers, for what could be a potentially awkward interaction with Mr. Brannon the younger.  “I know, but I want to wear them to this meeting.”

“So you’re going to wear that clingy number with your sky high super sexy stilettos to a meeting with hottie James Whatever Brannon the third?  Work it, girl!”

Marisa looked down at her blue and black striped Diane von Furstenberg silk jersey wrap.   The deep v of the neck was extremely flattering on her smooth skin, but she had to admit that if she were even half a cup size bigger, the dress would be relegated to cocktail parties. 
Crap.  This is probably too much
.

“I didn’t think I was headed anywhere today, but I’m not wearing these to Branco,” she said, gesturing to the badly tattered black kitten heels on her feet.

Jane nodded in agreement.  “I’ve got a black cardigan in my office you can throw on top of the dress.  You find your court shoes, and let me run get the cardigan.”

Marisa fished her court shoes out from behind her office door, where they were stored haphazardly with her emergency collection of umbrellas.  She kicked off the kitten heels that were long past their expiration date and slid on the stilettos.  Jane returned with an extended hand, waiving the blessed cardigan at Marisa.

“Thank you so much.  You’ve really been a life-saver today.”

“It’s my job.  I’ll put the binders in a box for you to carry over.  You just might want to freshen up a bit in the bathroom before you leave.”

Marisa cocked her head at Jane.

“You kind of have raccoon eyes going on.  You really should use waterproof mascara,” said Jane.

Fuck.  I haven’t touched my makeup since this morning.   I’m sure I’m all washed out and wilting.

“Meet me at the elevator bank in three minutes with the box with the binders.”  Marisa dashed to the bathroom down the hall, nearly wiping out when her heels struck the cool bathroom tile.

She plopped her Marc Jacobs bag on the countertop and leaned forward to inspect the damage.  Marisa snatched a paper towel from the dispenser, dampened a corner, and wiped away the smudged mascara under both of her eyes.  No time to fix her eyes any further.  She quickly swirled powder all over her face and swiped on her favorite shade of Bobbi Brown lipstick. 
This will have to do. 
She took a deep breath, exhaled deeply, and buttoned the cardigan closed across her chest. 
Okay, let’s go have a business meeting with Trip.

Marisa pushed through the Branco Building’s rotating doors and greeted the receptionist.  “Marisa Tanner for Trip Brannon,” she stated to the middle-aged woman behind the desk.

“Yes, Ms. Tanner.   If you’ll wait there,” she replied, pointing to the pair of worn and but at least matching wingback chairs across for the reception desk, “I’ll let his assistant know you’ve arrived.”

Marisa walked over and plunked down the box.  She was thankful that the temperatures were cooler today and there was some cloud cover during her short walk, but she was still overly warm from tottering over in her tall black shoes and schlepping a box in the eighty degree heat.   Even though Jane’s cardigan was cotton, it was too heavy for an outdoor walk this time of year. 
I really don’t want to be sweaty.  That will just make me more self-conscious about having to be professional around Trip.
She unbuttoned her cardigan to let the chill of the air-conditioned lobby cool her down.    The cool air felt so good and she briefly closed her eyes as she felt the heat that had been trapped under the cardigan dissipate.

“Marisa.”

Marisa opened her eyes and found Trip hovering over her.  He was wearing a summer suit, white dress shirt and a pink and blue striped silk tie.  Ralph Lauren couldn’t have dressed Trip better himself.  His eyes flitted between Marisa’s face and her cleavage.  She quickly grabbed at the sides of the cardigan and began quickly buttoning up.  She finished the job and stood to shake Trip’s hand.

“Trip,” she replied, giving his hand a firm shake. “Thanks for working me into your day on such late notice.”

“Anytime,” he said clinging to her hand.  “Your buttoning is off.”

Marisa blushed.
Even though her breasts were now hidden from his view, she delighted at his attention on her body.  “Thanks.”

She turned her body to the side, not wanting to give him a full-frontal show in the middle of Branco’s lobby.  She refastened the buttons and then bent to pick up her box of binders.  Trip swooped in and snagged the box before she could reach it.   She righted herself.

“Thanks, but I’m more than happy to carry it.”

Trip shook his head and uttered a singular word in response:  “Bitsy.”

“Shall we?,” he said, walking across the lobby.   Marisa fell in behind him, admiring the view of his muscular behind in the well-tailored tan cotton poplin suit.  Once in the elevator, she stood silently in the corner opposite from him, trying mightily not to give in to his gravitational pull.   Trip didn’t fill the space with words or his body.  For that, Marisa was thankful.  When the elevator arrived on the seventeenth floor, Trip caught her eye and nodded for her to exit first.  She stepped on to the plush grey carpeting and felt his eyes apprise her in the same way she was doing when he had been in the lead.

“Are you in John’s old office?,” asked Marisa, attempting to get her bearings.

“No, I haven’t moved.   My office is this way,” he replied, taking the lead from her.

She exhaled and tried to ignore the strong broad shoulders pressing down the hall.  
Okay, business, Marisa.  Get your mind off of him in that way.  Focus.

Trip breezed by an assistant without stopping.  “Jenny, please buzz my father in two minutes and let him know Ms. Tanner is here.”  Jenny nodded, her iron-straightened and streaked hair barely moving.  “This way, Marisa,” he continued, taking a sharp turn into his office.  It was a mirror image of Jimmy’s office.  An imposing desk and a wall of books.  Windows that looked toward Midtown.  An eclectic mix of art on the white walls.  But instead of the casual seating area in Jimmy’s office where they had enjoyed a thousand dollar bottle of bourbon, Trip had a small square stone-topped conference table surrounded with four chairs.  Trip placed the box in the middle of the conference table and pulled a chair back for Marisa.

“I’m sorry, but I need to do this,” he said. He leaned toward her, grabbed her waist and pulled him to her.  Marisa gasped.  She was completely disoriented.  His lips landed on hers with a gentleness, but the passion behind the kiss was betrayed by the firmness by which he held her.  Marisa’s mind went blank, and her knees weakened.  When he released her, she took a single step back and just looked at him, completely bewildered and tongue-tied.   “I am really sorry, but I had to do that if I had any hope of being able to focus in this meeting.  Forgive me?,” he asked.

Marisa nodded and found her voice.  “I was wondering why you asked your assistant to give you two minutes.”

“Well, you can’t come into my office dressed like that and not be kissed, Marisa.  I also expect you had an inkling,” he said with a wink.  “Thanks for the cardigan.  It does help.”

Marisa’s senses fully returned.  She glanced nervously around, realizing that Trip hadn’t pulled the door closed behind them. 
Oh my goodness.  Who saw that?  Could anyone have seen that?

“Don’t worry.  You can’t see this corner of my office from the hall.  I’ve given more than a few custodians a heart attack when I’ve been working at this conference table late at night.”

Thank goodness for that
, thought Marisa, relieved that Trip had wiped away her worry.  

“My dad should be here a second or two.  Would you like a glass of water?”

“That would be lovely,” she replied.  Trip took three steps backward toward the door, holding Marisa in his gaze.

“Jenny,” he called.  “Can you get us some refreshments?  Ms. Tanner would like some cold water, as would I.”

While Trip instructed his assistant, he kept his eyes on Marisa and gave her a wink.  Neither said a word, and the room buzzed with the energy between them. 

Okay, get your head back in the game
, Marisa directed herself. 
Jimmy will be here any second
.  She forced her eyes to the conference table and busied herself by pulling the binders out of the box and setting each in front of a chair at the conference table.  She extracted a yellow legal pad for her notes and set a silver-plated pen parallel to it.  This represented more fussing with place settings than what her mom did at Thanksgiving, but it helped her focus on the real reason she was here. 
I’m not here to see Trip.  I’m here to talk with Trip and Jimmy about these lawsuits
.

Seconds later, Jimmy walked in and greeted Marisa with a smile.  “Okay, Killer, what’s the big news?,” he asked, rubbing his hands together expectantly.

Marisa sat at the chair Trip had pulled out for her and the men sat down on either side of her. 
Surrounded by Brannon men.  A girl could have a worse fate.  Now, focus.
  “Nothing concrete yet, but we’ve uncovered something very curious.  I want to go over what we know so far, what we don’t know, and why I recommend hiring a private investigator to learn more.”

“Private investigator?,” said the Brannon men in unison.

“Yes,” she replied.  Then while tapping on her binder with her pen, she continued.  “To bottom line it, all seven of these women were involved in a divorce during the past year.  That alone would be odd, but not worth taking your time.  People get divorced.  What
is
strange is that it appears that at least five of the women plaintiffs with sexual harassment claims are attending the same divorce support group.  I know this seems like a strange rabbit trail to chase, but, in my opinion, it is too odd of a coincidence to ignore.”

“You think this is some sort of conspiracy?  Divorcées in a church basement plotting to sue Branco?,” prodded Jimmy. Trip remained silent and focused on the binder in front of him.