Текст книги "Friction"

Автор книги: Sawyer Bennett

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Instead, I remember my duty and say quickly, “Let’s go off the record.”

I half expect Leary to refuse, just like she did in Jenna’s deposition a few weeks ago. Instead, she gives me an accommodating smile and says, “Sure.”

“We’re off the record,” the court reporter says, and the assistant working the camera turns it off.

“This is fucking preposterous,” Summerland bellows as he throws the subpoena back at Leary. It veers sharply and then floats harmlessly to the floor beside her chair.

“Dr. Summerland,” I chastise firmly, “you need to calm down.”

Leary simply leans over in her chair, giving me a quick peek at her luscious ass that I’m hoping to tap one day, and picks the paper back up. She does nothing more than hand it across the table to me.

“I’m sure you’ll agree, Mr. Holloway, that your client was duly served with this subpoena.”

I nod at her because she’s right. As an officer of the court, she had him properly served the minute she handed the document to him.

“I’m not doing it,” Dr. Summerland barks as he pushes back from the table and stands up. “I’m not turning over my financial records to some ambulance chaser who represents a whore trying to scam the system.”

My jaw drops open at his crudity, and I immediately stand up to usher him out of the conference room. I want to kick this shit out of this asshole, but more important, I need to get him calmed down so he can finish the deposition.

“Let’s go outside, Dr. Summerland,” I say calmly. “We need to talk.”

“I’m done, Holloway. Deposition is over,” he says, and I’m surprised he doesn’t stomp his foot. Now that he knows the camera is off, he’s going into full-fledged tantrum mode.

“Damn,” Leary mutters. “Should have kept the camera rolling.”

Dr. Summerland shoots her a nasty glare and points his finger at her. “I’m reporting you to your bar association. Your behavior is unacceptable toward a member of the medical community.”

Leary shrugs her shoulders, completely unruffled. “First, it’s not the bar association. It’s the North Carolina State Bar. Their phone number is 919-555-3955. Second, make sure to give them my bar number to make the process go easier. It’s 4850A-45.”

For a moment I think Dr. Summerland might stroke out. His face turns red, then a frightening shade of purple. I swear I can see steam coming out of his ears.

A quick glance at Leary shows her staring impassively at Dr. Summerland.

At this moment, I don’t know that I’ve ever respected another attorney more than I respect her. She’s brilliant, fiendishly clever, completely unshakable, and more mature than this douche who is twenty-plus years her senior.

God, I want to fuck her bad right now.

Leary turns her gaze to me and politely says, “I’m finished with my questions of Dr. Summerland, Mr. Holloway. For now, anyway.”

I open my mouth to suggest to Dr. Summerland we leave, but he simply barrels past me and storms out of the conference room, slamming the door so hard behind him the prints on the wall rattle.

I can’t fucking help myself. I turn to Leary, completely uncaring that the court reporter and cameraman are still in the room. I shoot her a grin and say, “I’ve never seen anything quite like that before.”

The cameraman snickers, but I don’t take my eyes off Leary. She shrugs and starts packing up her materials. “Your client is a prick, Mr. Holloway.”

“Not going to argue there,” I mutter, stuffing my own belongings into my briefcase.

“You have a few minutes to talk?” Leary asks me casually. “To discuss the case.”

I look up at Leary and she’s staring at me with a look that almost makes my knees buckle. It’s one of starving need.

“Sure,” I say, hoping my voice doesn’t give way to the matching lust I’m feeling right now.

“I think we should have a legal rule that says we end all depositions this way,” Leary pants in my ear.

She’s lying on her back on the carpet of her office, her skirt bunched up around her hips and her panties dangling from one ankle. My pants and underwear have only come to midthigh, and my tie is tossed over my shoulder so it doesn’t obstruct my view when I look down to see my cock pounding away between her legs.

“Fucking awesome rule,” I groan as I push and grind in and against her.

“Shit . . . I’m going to come,” she moans.

“Give it to me, baby,” I encourage her with a particularly brutal thrust.

And she does . . .

And it’s spectacular.

I follow right along behind, my mind going blissfully blank as I start to unload inside her, concentrating on nothing but the feeling of her wrapped around me, milking me dry.

When every last spasm has quieted in my body, I roll off Leary and lie beside her on the carpet. Our panting fills the air, but I can hear the noise of the Pit just outside her door.

I can’t believe we just fucked on her office floor with dozens of people right outside. For Christ’s sake, the door isn’t even locked. I followed her into her office, thinking maybe we might make out. She’d no sooner shut the door than she was pulling me to the ground. She was instantly wet for me, and of course I was brutally hard for her.

And one hard and fast fucking later, I am completely at peace with my world.

I slide my hand over to hers and grasp it. She squeezes me and I can actually feel a satisfied smile in her touch.

“You tore my doctor up,” I say offhandedly.

“He deserved it.”

“Again, not going to argue,” I say with a laugh. “It was kind of hot . . . watching you walk all over him.”

“You were kind of hot just sitting there watching me walk all over him,” she says with a chuckle. “I’d actually planned on torturing him a bit more, but then I made the mistake of looking over at you, and I was just done. Had to get you here in my office.”

A languid smile comes over my face, but she can’t see it because we’re both still staring up at the ceiling, holding hands and waiting for our heartbeats to go back to normal.

Normal, I think with an inner smile to match my exterior one.

I don’t think anything is going to be normal for me ever again. At least not where Leary’s concerned.

CHAPTER 11

LEARY

Blinking my eyes, I give them a quick rub and then peer back at my computer monitor. I’m trying to read our bar association’s weekly periodical that provides digest opinions on all recently decided appellate and supreme court cases. While this isn’t actual legal research, it does qualify as highly boring.

I’ve always been the attorney who shunned relying on the actual particulars of the law, instead trying to argue my way through to victory using cunning and emotion. It’s served me well so far, but I’ve also become dependent on my ability to talk my way out of just about any situation. It’s made me weak on the actual law itself, so I sit down every Wednesday afternoon and read the digest, hoping that maybe if just one-tenth of what I read soaks in, I will be a better attorney for it.

Glancing at my watch, I see I’ve been struggling with this asinine idea for the last hour, and I’m not making any headway. I decide on a break and do a quick scan of my e-mail.

My lips pull into a smile when I see an e-mail from Reeve. He’s been gone the last two days on out-of-state depositions, and I hate to admit it, but I miss him. He sent me a short message to let me know he’ll be flying back into Raleigh tomorrow morning, and wants to know if we can do dinner.

I invite him to my house. While I won’t have time to cook something on a work night, I’ll make sure to pick up something good from the local market we can heat up.

My next e-mail is from a reporter from the Raleigh Times, wanting an interview about the LaPietra case. This pleases me immensely because it’s always good to get public opinion behind you if possible. The bad news is that I suck at the PR stuff. The good news is that Midge does not and prefers to handle it anyway, so I forward the e-mail to her and ask if she can call the reporter.

Then I see an e-mail from Ford. It’s short—not that I’d been expecting an essay. I invited him to lunch today, but his quick reply is that he already has plans.

My eyebrows scrunch up in skepticism as I read it. He’s been avoiding me like the plague the last few weeks, since I started seeing Reeve, claiming that he’s been too busy to get together. This could be true, because Ford is a busy man and we’ve gone long periods in the past when we couldn’t hang. But usually he compensates by at least calling me to check in or stopping by my office to discuss a case.

Since the charity event at the Marriott, he’s been completely absent from my life. This bothers me, because while I don’t miss the sexual intimacy we’ve shared from time to time, I miss his friendship and wisdom.

Resolved to put this out on the table with Ford, I start to pick up my phone to buzz his office when Midge responds to my e-mail.

Be glad to handle reporter. Come talk to me first, though. Bring me up to speed on the case. I feel like drinking a whiskey and I don’t like drinking alone.

My heart starts racing.

I’ve been summoned. I’m being granted entrance into the reclusive Midge Payne’s inner domain. I hate whiskey, but I’ll gladly drink one with her just to spend some time in her presence.

I snicker to myself over the dramatics of my thoughts. It’s true, I don’t see Midge a lot, as she truly does hole herself up in her office. But we have sat down for some meetings on occasion over the years. But just because I don’t have many face-to-faces with her doesn’t mean we don’t communicate. I talk to her several times a week through e-mail or on the phone, and over the years we’ve developed an easy personal and professional relationship.

My call to Ford forgotten, I shoot Midge back a quick e-mail that I’m on my way. Because I immediately get up from my desk and start across the Pit toward her office, I’m betting that I might actually beat my e-mail there.

Her secretary looks up as I approach, giving me a warm smile. “You can go right in, Leary. She’s expecting you.”

“Thank you, Danielle,” I say while smoothing down my dress and straightening the scarf around my neck.

Deep breath in, slow breath out, and I open the door to Midge’s office.

“Leary,” she says as I walk in. “You’re looking stunning as ever.”

I appreciate that sentiment from Midge, but she’s the one who looks stunning. Her hair is sleek and shiny, her makeup flawless, and she’s rocking a pair of tan skinny jeans, over-the-knee black boots with four-inch heels, and an off-the-shoulder black sweater.

Midge is standing at the minibar that is recessed into her bookshelves. When she turns my way, she has two tumblers of neat whiskey in her hand. I have no clue what the brand is—never asked the one other time I drank one with her, when I got my partnership. She keeps her liquors in beautiful Waterford decanters, and only she is privy to what’s actually in those bottles. Knowing Midge, it’s expensive stuff.

“Let’s sit on the couch,” Midge says as she hands me the heavy highball glass. The cuts in the crystal make the dark-amber liquid inside shimmer.

Midge sits on one end of a plush cream-colored couch, and I sit on the other. I lean on my hip and cross my legs. Midge merely pulls one of her legs up under her and slings her free hand over the back of the couch.

“So, how have you been doing, kiddo?” she asks.

This is what I love about Midge. I hardly ever see her, but it’s like that doesn’t matter. When she talks to me, it’s with absolute interest and obvious concern. She might not socialize with her minions, but I know without a doubt she cares deeply for all of us.

“I’m good,” I tell her truthfully. “Jenna’s case is coming along well. Our experts are going to shred theirs, and Dr. Summerland is a douche. The jury’s going to hate him.”

She nods and takes a sip of her drink. “Send me over a very short summary of our theory of negligence and the opinions that bolster it. Then I’ll call that reporter back.”

“I’ll send it before I leave for the day.”

“Now, what about Jenna? How is she going to do on the stand?” Midge asks.

“She’s nervous but she’ll be fine. I think the jury is going to empathize with her.”

“Will they forgive her for being a dancer?” Midge asks wisely.

“Yeah, she’s got good reason to do it. Her kid and all. She’s clean, no drugs or alcohol. No criminal record. Just a hardworking mom who took an unconventional job to support an autistic child.”

Midge nods and rubs her thumb over the edge of her glass. “Any potential problems?”

“Not so far,” I tell her. “The insurance adjuster is a jackass. Doubt they’ll offer anything at mediation, so this is probably going to go all the way.”

Leaning over, Midge gives me a pat on my knee. When she sits back, she shoots me a confident smile. “I’m not worried. You have this one in the bag.”

God, I hope so.

I haven’t been able to even think about the possibility of losing. The actual thought of letting Jenna down is too terrifying to give credence.

“Now that business is out of the way, tell me, how are you doing personally?” Midge asks.

Taking a sip of my whiskey, valiantly able to not grimace, I give her a smile. “I’m good.”

“Got a man in your life?” she asks me point-blank, and I have to contain the surprise on my face. Midge has never shown any interest in my personal life before. Does she know about Reeve?

“Why do you ask?” I say carefully, then take another sip of the whiskey for fortification.

“Why do you ask why I ask?” she asks with a mischievous grin. She scoots a little closer to me on the couch and gives me a hopeful look. “What are you hiding from me, Leary Michaels?”

What the hell is going on here? She has to know about Reeve to be pushing me like this.

I decide to show the moxie that Midge insisted I find within myself all those years ago. Narrowing my eyes at her, I ask pointedly, “Okay, what’s going on here? Why the interest in my love life?”

Midge blinks at me in surprise, and then her face bursts into a smile. She scoots closer to me on the couch and slaps at my arm. “Okay, fine. You got me. I’m dying to know about you and Ford.”

“Me and Ford?” I ask stupidly.

“Yes. There’s something between you two. I’ve known it for years. I mean, hell, why do you think I assigned him as your mentor? I knew he’d teach you to be a brilliant litigator and an even better seductress.”

Sometimes this woman is too frightening in her foresight.

I go ahead and decide to be honest, since there’s no reason to lie. “He’s done both well, Midge. But there’s nothing between us other than friendship.”

The smile drops from her face, and her brow furrows in confusion as her gaze drops to her lap. “I don’t understand. I talked to Ford the other day, and I just thought . . .”

“What did Ford say to make you think something was there?” I ask carefully, because I can’t imagine him ever saying something to Midge about our relationship—or lack thereof right now.

“Nothing, really. Maybe I misunderstood,” she says distractedly.

“Misunderstood what?” I prompt.

“It’s just, we were talking the other day on the phone, and I asked him about the charity event, and he said he went with you. I’ve known Ford a lot longer than you and had no qualms asking him if there was something going on. He quickly denied it. So quickly, in fact, I was sure he was hiding something. I just assumed, but I guess I was wrong.”

“You’re wrong,” I assure her. “Ford and I have had . . . um . . . relations in the past, but it was a no-strings involvement. It’s truly a good friendship.”

At least I hope it’s still a friendship. I have no clue, because he won’t sit down two minutes with me so I can find out.

“Oh, well,” she says with another bright smile. “You’re still too young and ambitious to get tied down, anyway.”

Normally, I would agree with that statement from Midge, but for the first time in my adult life, I actually long to be tied to someone like Reeve. We’re so perfectly matched in so many ways that I find myself yearning for his company, both in and out of the bedroom. This is a complete about-face in my philosophy on life and love.

Sadly, I don’t have anyone to discuss these feelings with. Ford is definitely out, and he’s the only person I would consider asking to talk this through with me.

Except maybe . . .

“There is someone, actually,” I blurt out.

“Oh, do tell,” Midge says excitedly, and now I understand. Midge has no girlfriends, either. She spends her time locked in her office, crusading for people’s rights, and she’s made it so much of her life that she’s never left room for anything else.

Because I know her to be a very private person, and because I also know that she’ll find no fault in the way I first got involved with Reeve, I decide to lay it all out for her.

And I don’t pull any punches.

“I’m involved with the defense attorney in the LaPietra case. We’ve been sleeping together for a few weeks now.”

Midge’s eyes flare with shock but absolutely no censure. In fact, she’s smiling deviously when she says, “You’re kidding me.”

“Not kidding.” I tell her about my striptease in the elevator. She cackles gleefully. I tell her about him pulling my skirt up in the hallway, and she dramatically fans herself. I don’t tell her the details of our sexual relationship, but I tell her that the night of the charity event was when I gave in and that we’ve been going at it pretty strong since then.

When I finish, Midge just shakes her head with a smirk. “My dear, dear Leary. You’re turning out better than I ever hoped for. You remind me of . . . well, me.”

“I take that as a compliment,” I say with a grin. And then, because my taste buds are starting to go numb, I take another delicate sip of the whiskey.

Midge leans back into the couch and looks at me appraisingly. “So, is it just sex? Or is there something more?”

I shrug and lower my gaze to the glass. Running my finger down the diamond cuts on the bottom of the glass, I say, “I don’t know. I wanted it to just be sex, but I think we’re surpassing that.”

“A love story brewing,” Midge says and almost bounces on the cushion with excitement.

I cock an eyebrow at her.

“What?” she exclaims and then downs the rest of her whiskey. Standing up from the couch, she walks to her minibar, speaking at me over her shoulder. “I’m a romantic, believe it or not.”

“It’s hard to believe,” I say truthfully. “You aren’t involved in a relationship.”

“No,” she says sadly, “I’m not. I lost my one true love when Grant died, and I’ve never found anyone since. Of course, I don’t expect to find love boning twenty-something-year-old law clerks, but it works for me for now.”

I snicker, and I need to remember to tell Ford that this particular rumor—of the millions swirling around about dear, reclusive Midge—is true.

After pouring another drink, she comes back to sit on the couch. “The point is, please don’t let any of the things I’ve taught you, any of the things I expect out of you, dissuade you from a relationship. When I tell you to use your female powers of persuasion to get ahead in the legal game, it doesn’t mean I want you to sleep with every Tom, Dick, and Harry out there. It merely means you should be cognizant of all of your gifts and use them as you can.”

“Well, I appreciate the sentiment, but I can assure you the only opponent I’ve ever slept with has been Reeve.”

“And that right there should tell you something,” Midge points out. “This is definitely more than just sex.”

“Maybe,” I hedge, but I don’t allow myself to fully give in to that possibility. Reeve and I still have a very volatile case to get through. “We’ll see. I need to just make it through Jenna’s case before I can really explore what we have.”

“Want my advice?” she asks, a twinkle in her eye, and I have to laugh because she’s clearly enjoying this.

“Sure.”

“Don’t wait to explore those feelings. Fuck the case. That has nothing to do with you and Reeve. Open up and take a chance.”

“But what if things get nasty? So far, we’ve worked well in opposition. Well, at least after that first motion. But still . . . this has all been the beginnings of the case. It won’t be so nice during the trial—not when I have to get rough with his client and the experts.”

“He’s a big boy. He can handle it,” Midge says with confidence.

“And what makes you so sure of that?”

“Because look what happened when you tore his client up in the deposition. He respected you for it. He’s going to be able to do his job without taking advantage of the personal relationship, and you’ll do the same, I’m sure.”

Of course I’ll do the same. I have no desire to use my sexual sway with Reeve to get me further in this case. I don’t need it. But I am concerned that I might not be able to keep my personal feelings out of the way when things start to get nasty.

And they will get nasty. Medical malpractice trials are brutal, with both sides bare-knuckle brawling. There’s too much money at risk not to go all-in. It will be Reeve’s job to attack Jenna. It will be my job to attack Dr. Summerland.

Will we be able to open ourselves up to sex, emotion, and genuine affection after a hard day of trying to tear each other down?

It seems impossible to me, but not enough of a mountain that I’m not willing to try to climb it.

And yeah . . . I still want to climb Reeve Holloway.