by Jasmin Quinn
After she’d showered, she sat at the desk in the alcove and concentrated on what she would need from her house. Not a lot, but her laptop for sure, all her law books, her purse. She looked up thoughtfully, then saw a slight jog in the paint, where the hook had been, the one that they’d used to restrain Jack’s hands. She shivered as the images stabbed at her. She had asked to let her pleasure him, let her show him her devotion, on her knees in front of him. She gave him her heart and soul that day and it meant nothing to him. Wetness seared her eyes, a fat tear rolling down her cheek and falling on her list, spreading out like a spider’s web.
Now she stood awkwardly, list in hand, this one unblemished by tears. Jack was standing by the French doors overlooking a large deck, staring out at it like a blind man, deep in thought, his expression unguarded. She saw pain frame the set to his jaw, a jagged hurt that ridged his brow, a hollowness to his eyes. As if sensing her presence, his mask slipped into place and he turned to her, a slight upturn to his lips, distant interest as his eyes followed the curves of her body. “I liked you better in the kimono, Mira.”
Mira crossed her arms across her chest. His soft words didn’t move her like they would have six months ago. She felt nothing of the fire his eyes once engendered. “I thought we agreed we weren’t playing that game, Jack.”
Jack smiled. “You’ll have to forgive me if I forget here and there, Mira. I can’t just turn it on and off.”
“You’re so fucking full of shit,” Mira muttered as she stomped over to the table.
Jack stalked across the room, stopping when he reached her, then circled her biceps, his fingers biting into her flesh. “I’m also your boss, your keeper and the man who holds your life in his hands. It would serve you well to remember that when you speak to me.”
Mira took a breath as a shard of fear stabbed through her. “Sorry,” she mumbled reflexively.
He dropped his hands, pulled her chair out for her and helped her slide it in as she sat. Roast chicken sandwiches and mixed greens with a light vinaigrette sat alongside crudités and light lemon tarts for dessert. Coffee and cold cucumber-infused water rounded the meal out. Mira’s appetite returned with a vengeance at the first bite of the sandwich and the two of them ate in relative silence. After, they sat on the couch, coffee in hand, quiet at first as memories flooded them.
She knew he was thinking as she was, his eyes darkening as he watched her, cloudy and wistful. A knock at the door interrupted the moment, and Andre entered. He nodded to Jack and then turned to Mira. “Your list ready?”
“Yes,” Mira set her coffee cup on the table in front of the couch and walked the list over to Andre, explaining what she needed, telling him where she could find it.
“Who’s going?” Jack asked.
Andre’s eyes flicked to Jack’s. “Me and Hector. We’ll stop and pick up Shonan Rosedale. He’ll address the press while we go inside and get what she needs.”
“Shonan,” Mira said faintly. The original lead on Robert’s defense counsel, the one she’d bullied into agreeing to the second-degree murder charge. He didn’t like her much, she didn’t think.
Jack nodded, “Yes, the new second on your team. Maybe he can learn to be a better Pitbull by watching you in action.”
Mira returned to the couch, picked up her coffee cup and took a drink. This was a hostile environment, Jack was so angry with her, but it didn’t reconcile with six months ago. Why the anger now? Because she betrayed him? That’s what he said earlier. She betrayed him! It was laughable given that he took her unwillingly, played with her emotions, made her body crave him, sent her away to do his bidding and now, now he ruined her life. Sure, she betrayed him. She shook her head to clear the absurdity, then looked up as Andre left the apartment.
“You forgot to thank him,” Jack said.
“For what?”
“For picking your things up. For treating you well. For not fucking shooting you in the head, which was really what he wanted to do back at the club.”
Mira shuddered and Jack smirked. “Now you’re getting the picture, Mira.”
Later they sat in his den and watched the news. It didn’t matter which channel they flicked to, her face was on all of them alongside Robert’s and Jack’s. Shonan had done a good job addressing the press. Mostly noncommittal, suggesting that a hearing would take place soon, once Ms. Richardson had an opportunity to get her bearings. A sandstorm of speculation swirled around, and the press were like scorpions, stinging Shonan with their questions.
Is this because of Mira’s prior relationship with Jack Creed?
He’d replied that a short relationship five years ago was irrelevant to the events today.
Is there a current relationship with one of the Creed brothers?
“There is not. This was a professional decision made by Ms. Richardson when the DA refused to revisit the facts of the case.”
Don’t Mira’s actions smack of contempt?
“Ms. Richardson’s actions are courageous. She is a lawyer first and foremost, not a political puppet. She recognized a miscarriage of justice and made a decision to rectify it.”
Jack snorted and Mira wanted to. Shonan was good. Maybe she could get him to do all the talking, but she knew that would be futile. The press would want her. She turned to Jack. “Maybe we should set up a press conference. Rather than the three-ring-circus outside my house, maybe Shonan and I should address the press on neutral ground.”
Jack muted the television and turned to her. They were on the couch in the den, sitting at each end, facing the TV, like an old married couple, talking about the day’s events, strategizing. “When would you do that?”
Mira rubbed her temples, trying to banish the tension and tiredness from her body. “May I have a drink?”
Jack grinned disarmingly and her belly flared with heat. Fuck! “Of course you can have a drink. You may help yourself to anything in my home, your home now.”
Mira was relieved when he left to get the drinks - she needed to regain her composure. She didn’t want to start this all over again. Her heart couldn’t take it. Jack couldn’t be trusted, he was using her, and in the end, he would discard her again. Didn’t matter that his smile brought her hunger to the forefront. She couldn’t let him seduce her.
He returned with two glasses and two bottles, one scotch, the other red wine. He poured the wine and handed it off to her. She murmured her thanks and swallowed a large mouthful. It hit her belly, overshadowing the heat Jack had generated and she was thankful for that.
“I need an office with a couple of desks, for Shonan and me to work. Who else will be on the team?”
“Just the two of you for now. Get Rob out first. After that you can decide who else you’ll need.”
Mira nodded. “I’ll set up a press conference for afterwards. Just me and Shonan. It will distract them from you and Rob so you can get yourselves away.”
Jack nodded. Didn’t disagree. “Your office is next to mine. Smaller, but sufficient for what you need to do.”
Mira dropped her eyes to the glass in front of her as another wave of despair hit her. She raised it and took a swallow. “I feel done, Jack.” Her voice was soft, whispery, fragile.
“What does that mean?”
Mira shrugged. What did it mean and why was she wasting her time sharing her feelings with this cold-hearted bastard? She took another large mouthful of the wine.
“Uh unh, baby,” he shifted closer, tugged at her hair then let it filter through his fingers, drawing his hand away from her. “You can’t make a statement like that, then not follow through on it.”
She didn’t move, didn’t flinch, didn’t look at him. “I don’t know what it means. It’s just how I feel – done, broken. I don’t know if I have the strength to see this through.” Tears dripped from her eyes, falling on her hands. She swiped at them and then took another swallow of her wine.
She heard Jack take a deep shaky breath, felt the heat as he reached his hand towards her, then
as she looked up, saw him falter. “Dig deep, Mira. You have the strength to do this. You don’t have a choice.” He tapped the back of the couch with his hand, then stood, picking up the bottle of scotch, taking it and his glass with him as he left.
Mira felt abandoned and relieved at the same time. She needed space to process, to think without Jack and his subtle and overt threats, his presence overwhelming her senses. At the same time, she wanted him near, she wanted to try to see her way into his heart, his head. Wanted to understand what he was thinking, had been thinking when he destroyed her. She wanted to hate him and at the same time, she wanted him to love her. And she hated herself for that.
She took another swallow of wine, then grabbed the wine bottle and her glass and left the den, making her way out of the apartment to the office he said was hers. His office door was open and she heard him inside, talking on the phone, his voice quiet, contained, but commanding and arrogant. A small sliver of dread snaked through her.
Her office was utilitarian. Two desks, a couch and three chairs surrounding a small coffee table. A bookshelf, a couple of small tables with office chairs. The drapes on a large window behind one desk open and sun flooding the room. But the curtains were heavy so when the sun got too high in the sky and the heat got oppressive, they could be closed. She claimed the desk in the sunshine and sat down in the chair behind it. There was a phone on the top and she pulled it to her, running her fingers along its edges while she readied herself for the conversation she was about to have. She took a deep breath and punched in the number.
“Aaron Leeds.” His voice was terse as he answered.
“Aaron, it’s Mira.”
“I should have changed my fucking number.” Clearly, a day later had not softened his animosity.
Mira squared her shoulders. “I’m calling as Robert Creed’s attorney.” She adopted her cool, dispassionate, professional voice. Aaron knew her so well that he would see right through it, but still, that’s who she was when she was working, and he would understand that this was not a social call. “I watched the media circus this morning. Thanks so much for that.” Her anger flared a little at this man, her former boss, who would not listen to her side of the story, would not hear what she had to say.
“I told the truth, Mira. You probably didn’t recognize it, since it is such an unfamiliar concept to you.”
Mira tapped her fingers on her desk, but kept her voice steady, kept the agitation out of it. “I want Robert Creed out this week. Who’s the lead?”
Aaron barked his laughter. “Me, you silly bitch. I’m taking the lead on this one. I will do everything in my power to ensure both you and your fucking Creeds go up in flames.”
“Mr. Leeds,” Mira said sharply, her stomach in knots, her heart beating in her throat, but her voice, soft, authoritative and unyielding. “Your personal feelings regarding this case do not belong in this conversation. If you wish to have a private discussion with me, I would be glad to set up a meeting. In the meantime, since you are the lead on this file and you have made the decision to ask the courts to overturn Robert Creed’s conviction so you may proceed with first degree charges, I want him out of prison this week.”
She heard a small movement and looked up to see Jack leaning in the doorway, arms crossed, dark eyes steady on her face. She reached for her wine, took a swallow and turned her attention back to the call. Aaron was speaking and she’d missed his first few words “… is already in motion. My secretary’s been trying to call your cell number all morning, but to no avail. Did you sleep in?”
The intimation was clear in his words. “I have misplaced my cell phone. I apologize for not calling sooner with an alternate number. You may call me directly at…” and she reeled off the number on the phone, then added, “and you can also leave a message for me at the offices of Sugarman and Bryson. They’ll ensure I return your call in a timely manner.”
“No secretary, Mira? Too afraid Jack Creed will fuck around on you?”
She looked up again into Jack’s face, looking for reassurance, seeing nothing but hardness. “I haven’t had the time to arrange for a personal assistant. Once I do, he or she will connect with you directly.”
“Fine,” Aaron snarled. “As soon as the word comes in on the court date, you’ll be the first on my list to call.”
“Thank you.” Mira kept her voice cool, professional and impassive. “Mr. Leeds, in our future conversations, you will refrain from addressing me in derogatory terms, commenting on my personal life or making innuendos regarding my relationship with Jack and Robert Creed. If you continue to do so, I will file a motion to have you replaced as you are clearly hostile and biased against both myself and my client.” She said all this staring into Jack’s eyes. “Good day, Mr. Leeds.” She hung the phone up softly.
Twenty-Four
Jack heard her on the phone from his office, her voice cool and efficient, then slightly raised, angry, referencing the media circus. His curiosity got the better of him and glass of scotch in hand, he walked over to her office and stood in the doorway, leaning on the frame. She didn’t immediately realize he was there, her fingers tapping at the desk, her face flushing. She was clearly agitated, but her voice was cool, her words succinct. Without seeing her, he would have heard nothing but a professional, dispassionate woman. His admiration grew even as he wanted to cut fucking Aaron Leeds off at the knees as he listened to Mira’s responses.
When she hung up, he said, “Do you want me to handle Leeds?”
Mira looked at him sharply, “No, I do not want you to handle Mr. Leeds.” She huffed out a breath than swallowed down the last of her wine and poured several more ounces into the glass. A flare of lust shot through Jack. They were both drinking too much, trying to cope with this day, with being together again, this time in anger, in hate. It was never good – too fine a line between fury and passion. Too easy to bridge with a bit of the bottle.
Mira stood and circled her desk, wine glass in hand as she sat down in one of the armchairs. She looked at Jack expectantly, as if he should join her. He did, sitting on the couch, at the end nearest to her. There knees could touch if he spread his thighs just a little. Mira leaned forward. “If something happens to Aaron or his family, we’re done, Jack.”
Jack’s desire was replaced by anger. She didn’t fucking know her place. He said as much. “I decide when we’re done, Mira.”
She didn’t respond to his threat. “Let me do my fucking job. It’s why I work for you now, isn’t it?”
Jack sneered. “Do your job, you’ll get paid well. Fuck this up and you’ll regret the day you ever met me.”
Mira glared. “I already regret the day I ever met you.”
Jack shrugged, that was fair. “What do you need?” Time to change the subject, away from the war between them, the growing anger, the simmering passion. Time to get back to the job at hand.
Mira swallowed more wine. “An assistant at the firm that the DA’s office can connect with. Someone efficient who will track me down no matter where I’m at. I need him or her in court with me.”
“Her,” Jack said.
“Who?”
“Whoever your assistant is. It will be a her. It’s bad enough you’re working with Shonan.”
Mira raked her bottom lip with her teeth. “I really don’t get you, Jack.”
“Let’s move on.” Jack cursed himself for the slip of possessiveness. But he also didn’t care. He couldn’t have Mira, at least not right now, but no other man was going to fucking touch her while he was around. And she was too tempting, too vulnerable. A perfect storm of possibilities.
“Fine,” Mira snapped, “I need my cell phone, where ever the fuck it is.”
Jack reached out abruptly, pinching her chin between his fingers and squeezing it until her eyes watered, “Stop swearing, Mira.” He dropped his hand and leaned back in his chair, away from her. His pulse was pounding in his temples. He wanted to drag her to the playroom, bend her over and paddle her ass for bei
ng so enticingly defiant.
Mira stared at him, her mouth slightly open, waiting for him to explain himself. He shouldn’t have to, wouldn’t under normal circumstances, but he hated the profanity coming from her sweet mouth. It wasn’t her and he wanted her back, not this bitter, angry woman in front of him. “You don’t swear, Mira. It’s not who you are.”
“Who I was,” Mira countered.
“Who you are,” Jack corrected. He brought a hand to her knee and squeezed it hard. She tried to shift away, but he didn’t let go. “You will respect me, my men, my home. You swear again and I will paddle you.”
Mira snarled and shoved his hand away as she stood up and walked to the desk. She emptied the bottle of wine into her glass, and then took a deep swallow. “I need a cell phone, my cell phone.” She dropped the empty bottle into the waste paper basket. “And,” she added as she left the office. “Another effing bottle of wine.”
Jack noted that she was still not wearing shoes as he followed her into the apartment. He couldn’t tear his eyes away from her. She was so strong and so vulnerable, willful and submissive. When he caught up with her, she was at the bar, pulling a bottle of red wine from the shelf. “Okay,” he said. “Drink your face off today, if that’s what you need to do, but then it stops, Mira. The drinking, the swearing, the feeling sorry for yourself.”
Mira turned to him, glass in one hand, bottle in the other and threw his words back at him. “I can’t just turn it off on a whim, Jack.”
He walked up to her, stood over her, wanting to take her in his arms, breathe her in, comfort her, slap her, fuck her. He took the bottle from her hand instead, replacing it on the shelf. “One glass of wine at a time.” Then, “What did you think would happen if you and I became a couple? That you could continue to work in the DA’s office? That your boss would tolerate your relationship with me? You of all people understand the conflict of interest that comes with us being together.”
