“Who are you calling crazy?”
“Oh, gee, I don’t know. Maybe the man that ran after me to remind me that I’m here to do a job? The guy who’s standing in this freezing cold parking garage telling me that I need to focus? The guy who doesn’t know basic parking lot etiquette?”
“I don’t know basic parking lot etiquette? Me? Are you fucking kidding me?”
She rolls her eyes, shaking her head. When she looks at me again, her eyebrow arches.
“Are you serious?”
“Deadly.”
She laughs humorlessly and gives me a little wave. “Don’t worry, Big Shot. I won’t bother you anymore, as long as you stop following me around.”
My jaw drops open, but before I can respond she drives away.
Idiot! What did that accomplish? All I did was make myself look like a total lunatic.
Maybe she’s right. I’ll talk to Carmen in the morning and get her to give the Guildford Media stuff to one of the other paralegals. I’ll make up some excuse.
I know one thing—I can’t be in the same room as Nicole under any circumstances.
7
Nicole
I rage-swim until my body is exhausted. With every kick, every stroke, every breath, I just think about Martin’s stupid sexy scowl. Who is he to tell me that I need to take work seriously? Did he not see the amazing work I dropped on his desk this evening?
Is this because I said lilies were dumb, stinky flowers? Maybe they suit his dumb, stinky face.
I flip at the wall and kick off, gliding under water until my muscles burn and my lungs are screaming. I come up and swim faster than I’ve swam since before the accident. By the time my workout is over, my chest is heaving and my whole body feels tired. My back aches, and the pain runs down my side in deep throbs.
I take a deep, painful breath. I went too hard.
I’ll blame Martin for that, too.
Pulling myself out of the water, I sit on the edge of the pool and catch my breath. I run my hands along my side, waiting for the familiar pulsing pain to stop.
It eases more quickly than usual. I take a deep breath, filling up my lungs down to the very bottom. Usually, that would make my ribs ache down to the marrow, but this time it doesn’t. I take another deep breath, but pain doesn’t come back.
Maybe I’m actually getting better.
Maybe the pain that’s plagued me for a year is finally starting to ease off. It’s that agonizing physical reminder of everything that I’ve lost—the pain that continually reminds me that I, unfortunately, survived.
I stare at the clock on the wall, spinning around and around as swimmers time their laps. Time marches on, and it doesn’t matter whether I’m in pain or not. Time doesn’t care about my pain, my body, or my grief. I stare at the clock until my skin prickles into goosebumps and I realize I’m cold.
Pulling my goggles and swim cap off my head, I pad toward the change rooms. I glance toward the entrance, almost hoping to see Martin waiting for me.
I shake my head.
Why would I think that? Why would one of the partners at Sanders & Perry, Denver’s most prestigious law firm, be waiting for me to finish swimming? I snort at myself and head for the showers. It’s not until the hot water hits my cold skin that I start feeling like myself again. I stretch my body from side to side, feeling for any aches or niggles that might be hiding in the corners of my body.
I smile when I can move with only a bit of aching in my side.
At least Martin was good for one thing. I haven’t pushed myself that hard in swimming for fear of hurting myself. It just took a bit of good old-fashioned anger and outrage to make me realize that my barriers were mental, not physical.
When I pull dry clothes onto my freshly washed body, I breathe a sigh of contentment.
“I hope you’d be proud of me,” I say under my breath as I reach for my wedding ring. I take it out of my bag and look at it for a few moments. Tiredness settles into my spirit as I remember all that I’ve lost.
Jack used to tell me that if anything happened to him, he wanted me to move on as quickly as possible. Easier said than done, Jack. I slip the ring onto my finger, just as I’ve done every day since the day we were married. Except this time, I hesitate.
I unclasp the gold chain around my neck and slip my ring onto it. When I tie it back around my neck, I touch the cool metal against my breastbone and take a deep breath. I glance at my finger—so naked now, without the rings that I’ve worn for years.
When I stand up, I almost expect the rings to weigh me down like a yoke around my neck. Instead, I feel lighter. I touch the ring once more and then sling my bag over my shoulder.
Martin seems to calm down over the course of the week. Another paralegal comes on the case, and he mostly communicates with her. Carmen gives me work from two more cases to do, and Martin and I learn to coexist.
As much as I hate myself for it, it still gives me a little thrill every time he walks by.
On Friday, I walk into the kitchen to see him standing by the coffee machine. He’s not wearing a tie and the top button of his shirt is undone. My eyes linger on the little triangle of skin a bit longer than they should. Heat zips through my spine and I glance at his eyes.
He’s watching me. Sometimes it feels like he’s always watching me. We hardly speak to each other, but I know that he senses when I walk in. Every time we’re in the same room, his spine stiffens, and he meets my gaze for a brief moment.
“Careful with that thing,” I say, nodding to the machine.
His eyes stare at mine for a few moments, and then drop to my lips. I watch him glance at my body, my breasts, my legs, and then turn back to the coffee machine. All the blood rushes to my center, and I think I might pass out.
“It’s a hazard,” he finally says, pouring himself a mug. “You want some?”
“You sure you can handle it?”
His lips twitch. What would he look like if he smiled—I mean really smiled?
He glances at me for the briefest moment and then nods. When he hands me the coffee cup, my fingers brush his and my heart palpitates. I nod in thanks.
“Good work on the Guildford Media case,” he says, leaning against the counter. He drags his hand through his hair, mussing it slightly. I resist the urge to fix it, instead gripping my mug a little tighter.
“Thanks. You guys think you’ll get a settlement?”
“They’ve made an acceptable offer. We just have to get our clients to agree to it.”
“Easier said than done,” I laugh. “I remember another class-action that I worked on about six years ago. It was a dream settlement, and it all fell through because of one man. Ed Drury—I’ll never forget him.”
His eyes have settled on my hands, and he frowns. “You’re not wearing your wedding ring.”
My eyebrows shoot up, and I glance at my hand. “Is that a problem?”
“No, I just… Are you…? Is everything okay?” He scratches his ear and clears his throat.
I laugh. “Are you a marriage counselor now?”
“Forget it.”
“If I didn’t know what a jerk you were, I would think that you cared.”
He turns away from me, and I laugh again. I pull the chain around my neck out from underneath my shirt. I show him the rings and smile.
“My husband died last year.” My voice sounds small, but it feels good to say it out loud. His eyes widen and his lips drop open in a small ‘o’.
“Car accident. Hit and run.”
“I’m sorry.”
“Me too,” I say, snorting bitterly. There’s a silence between us. I don’t want to tell him I know about his wife, but I feel like we share something that no one else understands. He stares in my eyes and sees my pain. I know he does, because I see the grief swimming in his eyes. Maybe that’s why we get under each other’s skin so much.
“My wife died last year as well.” He takes a sip of coffee and then stares at the liquid in his mug. “S
he was at risk of miscarrying and had to have an emergency C-section.” He swallows, and his Adam’s apple bobs up and down. “She never woke up from it. Died a couple days later.”
“Oh.” I take a step closer to him. “And the baby?”
He shakes his head, and then inhales sharply. His lips purse and his eyes go cloudy. When he finally turns to me, my heart cracks under the weight of our shared pain. Martin gives me a sad smile.
“Maybe that’s why you bother me so much, Nicole.”
God, it sounds good when he says my name. I want to put my hand on his arm and feel the warmth of his body. I want to stroke his cheek and rub his head until he groans in satisfaction, but I just stand there, painfully close and painfully far.
I clear my throat. “I bother you?”
“Horribly.”
“Well at least we have that in common.”
“You don’t have the nauseating positivity of people who haven’t lost. I can’t hate you like I can hate everyone else.”
That makes me laugh. I shrug. “I never knew being bitter, jaded, and alone was such a great personality trait.”
“Neither did I.” His grin widens, and my heart explodes in my chest. It’s almost a real smile, and it’s blinding. He has dimples—two of them. His perfect teeth could be in a Colgate commercial, if they needed ultra-sexy lawyers to represent their toothpaste.
Then, his smile fades and the moment's over. He drains his mug. “I’ll need copies of the settlement offer for this afternoon’s meeting.”
I nod. “Yes, sir.”
Martin’s eyes flash as he glances at me. Then, he walks out of the kitchen and I’m alone.
8
Martin
The Guildford Media case gets settled out of court, and Carmen assigns Nicole to other cases that have nothing to do with me.
When that case ends, so does most of our interaction. I shouldn’t care, but I do. She doesn’t slip into my office to give me some files anymore or lean against my desk as she chews on the end of her pen. She doesn’t give me shit for being an arrogant ass.
A week after the case finishes, I walk in on her near the copy machine, laughing at something that the IT guy says. His hand drifts to her shoulder and she wraps hers around his back in a half-hug. Anger bursts through my chest. He must sense my gaze, because the IT guy drops his hand. Nicole turns to follow his gaze and frowns at me.
I march away from them, cursing myself.
Why the fuck would I care if she wants to fuck what’s-his-name from IT?
I get back to my office and slam the door behind me, but someone stops it from closing. Nicole stands in the doorway, her long dark hair falling in soft waves around her face. She’s wearing red lipstick today, and I wish those perfect lips were getting messy all over my cock.
“What do you want?”
“What the fuck is your problem? You scared Neil half to death! He thinks you’re going to fire him.”
“I should.”
“For what?”
“For touching you inappropriately.”
“Excuse me?”
“He had his hands all over you.”
My heart is racing. She takes a step inside and shuts the door with her foot. I stand my ground as she walks toward me until we’re chest to chest.
“What is wrong with you, Martin?” She’s asking it as if it’s a serious question. As if she wants to know what, in fact, is wrong with me.
“He shouldn’t be touching you.”
“He wasn’t.”
“He had his hand on your shoulder.”
“What, like this?” She puts her hand on my shoulder and my breath hitches. “Are you going to fire me now?”
“Stop it.”
“No, you stop it. You’re a moody fucker, you know that, Martin? Maybe if your head wasn’t stuck so far up your ass, you’d actually be able to form meaningful relationships with people instead of skulking like some bratty teenager.”
Her hand squeezes my shoulder. It drifts down slightly, and I know she can feel my heartbeat. Her grey eyes look almost silver in this light, and her cheeks are bright red. My hands are itching to brush along her jaw and cup her face, but instead I just turn away.
“You should leave now.”
“Why?”
“Because I don’t want you here! I have work to do.”
“Martin.” She takes a step toward me, and I feel her hand on my arm.
I glance at her, shaking my head. “Just go.”
“Neil just lost his dog. He’s a mess right now, and he doesn’t need you scaring him half to death.”
“That’s just a lame excuse to put his hands all over you. I know what men are like, Nicole.”
Her eyebrows arch and a grin plays over her lips. “Why, Mr. Henderson, if I didn’t know any better, I’d think you were jealous!”
“I’ve got work to do.”
Her hand lingers on my arm until I sigh.
“I’ll apologize to Neil. I’ll go easy on him.”
A smile spreads on her lips and she nods. “Good.”
I watch her walk out the door and let out a frustrated sigh. The thought of another man touching Nicole makes my blood boil. She ignites every possessive, animalistic, jealous bone in my body. She makes my blood run hotter and my entire body feel like it’s on high alert.
She makes me feel alive.
So, three weeks later, when a pro bono case gets dropped on my desk, my heart goes to my throat. I have to take the case, for Brianne and for myself, but it’ll be the hardest case of my career. I can only see one way of me taking on this case without going crazy. I go to Carmen’s office and ask for Nicole to work on it with me.
Carmen’s eyebrow arches.
“You want me to take my most efficient paralegal off paying cases, and put her on this pro bono case? You do realize that we’re in the business of making money, right?”
“Everyone else is snowed under,” I say. It’s true, but that wouldn’t normally stop me from asking them to do more work. This time, though, it’s different. I need Nicole.
Carmen sighs, tenting her fingers in front of her chest as she leans back in her chair. She sighs.
“Fine. But if this interferes with any of her other work, I’m taking her off it.”
I fight to keep the smile off my face. Instead, I just nod. “Understood.”
When I head back to Nicole’s desk, my heart is thumping. I haven’t spoken to her in a couple days, and it’s like I’m fiending for her. I need a hit of my favorite drug. I need that sweet, floral perfume-wearing, peach-assed, sassy-mouthed drug.
When she’s not at her desk, I frown. I turn to Clarissa, another paralegal.
“Any idea where Nicole is?”
“She left at lunch, said she had a doctor’s appointment.”
“Is she coming back?”
Clarissa shrugs at me. “Do you want her phone number? You can call her and ask.”
I sigh, running my hands through my hair. I wasn’t expecting this. I’d wanted to brief her on the case and get started right away. I nod to Clarissa.
“Sure.”
She gives me the number, and I take it back to my office, closing the door behind me. Why am I nervous right now? I’m calling a coworker about a work-related matter. Nothing to be nervous about.
Still, my palms feel clammy and my mouth has gone dry. I take a sip of water and then sigh in frustration.
“Nicole,” I say when she answers. “How are you?”
“I’m okay,” she says. “What’s up?”
“Carmen’s just given me a pro bono case and wants you on it with me.” A little white lie never hurt anyone.
“Okay,” she answers. I hear her shuffling something and then she makes a noise. “I should be done here in an hour, and I can come to your office as soon as I’m back. I’m at the doctor.”
“No problem.”
The hour crawls by. Finally, a light rap on the door tells me that Nicole is here.
“Hey, Big Shot,” she says, poking her head through.
“Stop calling me that.”
“Isn’t that what you are?” She says, closing the door behind her. The room gets a couple degrees warmer.
Nicole takes a step toward the bookcases lining the wall, running her long, slender fingers along the spines of leather-bound books.
“You’ve got your fancy law books, your fancy degrees, your fancy car. Youngest partner in the firm’s history.” She glances at me, grinning. “If that isn’t a big shot, I don’t know what is.”
I grin. “Fine. I’m a big deal.”
She laughs and comes to sit down across the desk from me. We stare at each other for a few moments until she spreads her palms.
“You rang?”
I nod. “New case. Pro bono.”
“I didn’t know big shot lawyers took cases for free.”
I grin. “I don’t, usually. This one matters.”
I slide the file to her and watch as she flicks it open. Her eyebrows shoot up. “Medical misconduct in relation to an expecting mother. She lost the baby. Isn’t this a bit close to home?”
“That’s why I can’t turn it down. And you’re the only one who will understand that.”
She glances at the papers again and nods solemnly. “I do.”
“Good.”
I launch into a brief of the case as Nicole takes notes. She sits up straight, listening closely. I watch her pen move across the page as she writes, and my eyes drift up to her chest. Her shirt dips down to show her collarbone and I imagine what it would feel like to run my fingers across it—or my tongue. I stumble over my words, and Nicole looks up.
“Sorry,” I say.
“S’okay,” she says, sticking the end of her pen into her mouth. “So what’s your defense strategy?”
“Establish a pattern of behavior. Discredit witnesses. The usual.”
She nods. A strand of hair falls from her bun to the side of her face, and all I want to do is tuck it back behind her ear. Instead, I clear my throat and stand up.
Love/Hate: The Complete Enemies to Lovers Series Page 4
