“Yes, really. I’ll see you tomorrow morning,” I offer before I end the call, not waiting for a response. “It was one of my partners, Vivian Brown. She wanted me to come back into the office to give her a hand with some research. I offered to help tomorrow if need be.”
“You don’t have to explain anything to me,” Brooklyn lies.
Leaning down, I press my lips to her nose. “I wanted to explain. Now, get all set up and I’ll order us some dinner,” I grin.
She nods, and I watch as she walks over to her bag in the corner of my room and starts to pull on a tank top and a pair of shorts before crawling into bed.
I busy myself with tugging up my underwear and then picking up my discarded suit to toss in the pile for the dry cleaner.
I order Chinese, per Brooklyn’s request, and jog downstairs to get water and beer for us.
When the food arrives, I bring it back up and I notice that Brooklyn doesn’t even flinch. She’s so absorbed in her work that she doesn’t realize I’m here.
I wonder what has her so focused. Then, I watch her for just a moment, admiring her as she is obviously so immersed.
“Food’s ready, kitten,” I announce. She looks up in surprise.
“Already?” she asks.
I crawl in bed beside her and take out her container. “What are you working on?” I ask before I shove some noodles in my mouth.
“Have you heard of slaphouses before?” she asks.
I almost choke on my food. Yeah, I’ve heard of them, but I want to know why in the fuck she’s researching them.
“What exactly are you doing?” I demand, my voice sounding harsh to even my own ears.
She begins to explain to me about Curtis Dunning’s real estate holdings and how she got a bad feeling about them so she went out today to check them out.
My anger starts to rise, then it explodes when she tells me that she showed up at a slaphouse and approached it—almost going inside.
I’m livid, so pissed that I can’t even speak.
“I didn’t know that’s what it was, Lucas. As soon as that guy told me on his way out, I got in Kay’s car and I got the hell out of there. Lucas, these are gambling houses, and they set them up in suburban neighborhoods. They do drugs and everything else there. I mean, I knew Curtis had a gambling problem, but I didn’t think it was illegal like this. He owns the houses where they’re doing this. This is really illegal and pretty scary.”
“Yeah, Brooklyn. I know what the fuck they are. I’m just trying to wrap my head around the fact that you went to one, by yourself,” I state, my voice sounding much calmer than I feel.
She rolls her eyes, which pisses me off just a little bit more, giving me her bullshit of an excuse that she just didn’t know. Ignorance is not acceptable in this instance.
“I didn’t know that’s what it was,” she huffs.
“I feel like I can’t even drop you off at work without watching you. Why on earth did you think this would be something you needed to go and explore, on your own, when you have someone threatening you? Are you that goddamn ignorant?”
She frowns before she bites the corner of her bottom lip, and then she just shrugs. I take a few calming breaths before she speaks.
She looks hurt that I’ve lashed out at her, but I can’t seem to fucking care, she should be goddamn terrified.
“I didn’t think it would be dangerous. I honestly thought they were rental houses and he was hiding the income somehow. Had I known, I wouldn’t have even attempted to go. You have to believe me.”
I let out a heavy sigh, deciding not to ride her too hard on the matter anymore. “Don’t do it again, Brooklyn,” I grind out.
She nods before she reaches for a piece of chicken with her finger and pops it into her mouth.
“Now, I don’t know what to do with this information. It’s pertinent to the case, and yet it isn’t. If I tell them that I know about it, then he’ll cover it all up before the proper authorities can do anything about it,” she explains as she chews.
“File for an extension. Talk to the D.A. and see what can be done with the information you’ve found.”
She turns to me and grins, the dark mood somehow lifting from around us. “You’re so smart. Sexy and smart. How’d I end up here with you?”
“You’re sexier and smarter, kitten.” I shrug. “Now eat your dinner so I can eat you for dessert.”
She shivers as her light brown eyes practically melt. Then she turns back to her food and starts to eat.
I watch her, enjoying the way she fits so perfectly in my bed and in my life.
I am so fucked.
Chapter Seventeen
BROOKLYN
I spend the entire weekend wrapped up in Lucas. The only time we were apart was when he made his way down to the office Saturday morning to help Vivian.
When the city’s fireworks started, we walked out on his back deck and watched, me in his lap, him with his arms around me.
It felt almost normal. As if we were truly in a relationship together. In our bubble, away from the world, me and Lucas really work.
Unfortunately, as soon as Monday rolls around, the spell is inevitably broken.
My hopes and dreams shattered, every week it seems.
Taking Lucas’ advice, I file my extension for the case, first thing, before I’ve even had my first sip of coffee.
I’m sure that Curtis Dunning’s attorneys are curious as hell at my reasoning, but I’m not going to tell anyone anything, not until I’m legally forced to.
Lucas has sworn that he wouldn’t tell Meredith why I’ve filed, either.
I hope that I can trust him.
It’s difficult to be in this vulnerable position, not only emotionally, but career-wise as well. Lucas has completely turned me on my axis.
I find myself opening up to him, about all aspects of my life, with little to no return and it scares the absolute shit out of me. I know for a fact that I’m far more invested in us than he is.
Also, I’m fairly certain what I’ve told him in bed about the case could raise concerns with the bar association.
So, my future depends on if I can truly trust Lucas Black.
God, I hope I haven’t made one of the biggest mistakes of my entire life.
Refreshing my email, again, I frown. Lillie didn’t call me back on her birthday, and she hasn’t sent me a new email.
That causes concern.
I know that she’s busy with school, her new man, and her new city, but it’s not like her to not respond to me.
She’s one of the most considerate people I know, and it’s just very out of character for her.
I’m lost in thought when I hear someone clear their throat in front of me.
Lifting my gaze from my computer, I see a man standing at the edge of my desk with a thick envelope in his hand.
“I have a delivery for Brooklyn Myers,” the courier announces. I smile, lifting my chin. “Sign here,” he murmurs, shoving a clipboard in my face.
I happily sign for the documents and take the thick envelope from him.
I notice that it’s from the psychologist’s office.
I lick my bottom lip as I start to read each of the reports. The other attorneys should be receiving their copies as well.
I read Meredith’s file first. It’s staggering. The doctor feels that Meredith has a classic case of Narcissistic Personality Disorder. He goes on to describe how she lacks empathy.
She desires admiration above anything else in her life. She believes she is superior, that her well-being is above that of her son, Fisher’s.
The report is over twenty pages long. I skim the long document, feeling my stomach turn with every word I read.
His recommendation is that Meredith Dunning be admitted into a facility, be monitored, and only be given supervised visitation rights with her child.
Holy shit.
The bad feeling about her that I’ve had since day one was right. She’s bat-shit crazy.
I’m a little afraid to open Fisher’s report, which is next in my stack of papers. I’m afraid of what kind of damage this woman has done to this poor child.
After taking a deep breath, I pull it out and start to read.
It begins with reports from the school, and I scan the dates. Apparently, before the separation and divorce proceedings, Fisher was an extremely withdrawn child. He was shy, jumpy, anxious, and anti-social.
Since the divorce has begun, and he’s been living with his grandmother, his teachers, and the psychologist, report that he’s made a complete turnaround.
He’s become more social, playing with the other children, and he’s even beginning to take an interest in sports.
I don’t have to look at Curtis’ report to know that he’s not a suitable parent, either.
Now it’s time for me to write my recommendation, and I’m dreading it. I never want to recommend that a child is taken from one parent, let alone both.
However, my job is to make a recommendation that benefits the child and creates a safe environment for them. Fisher’s parents will do more harm than good, especially as he grows older.
All children deserve to be raised in loving, nurturing homes. Mrs. Andrea Dunning can offer that and has been, as made abundantly clear by the reports. With a sigh, I start to type my recommendation to the judge.
I hope I don’t piss off Lucas with my recommendation, but in the grand scheme of things, Fisher’s health and safety means more to me than Lucas winning his case.
I recommend that Mrs. Andrea Dunning, Fisher’s grandmother, have complete custodial rights to the child.
I also state that Curtis and Meredith Dunning should only have supervised visitation of the child.
I also suggest that each parent pay Mrs. Dunning the court determined amount of child support for their son.
The judge could throw the entire recommendation out the window, he could side with one or both of the parents.
My duty is to discover and recommend, nothing more. My words are not final. I hate that part.
I wish that my words were final, that judges and parents would do what I say. That isn’t the way the system works, and as broken as it is at times, I can only do my very best to show the judge all of my findings and hope that he makes a sound final decision.
Clicking save, I close my eyes and let out a sigh. This case has completely shredded my heart.
I will be glad when it’s all over.
I love this type of law, but it can be emotionally draining as well—a push and pull of your mind, body, and soul.
I need some fucking chocolate to cope with all of this.
“Is your report finished?” Kay asks from her desk.
Turning my head toward her, I open one eye, then the other, before giving her a nod.
“It was hard to read through all of that and make a recommendation that took a child from both parents,” I admit as I smooth down my hair.
She nods and gives me a pitying gaze. “I would like to tell you that it gets easier, but it never does. Then when you have children and grandchildren, it becomes a million times more difficult.”
I frown, not liking what she’s saying, but knowing deep down that she is absolutely right. I cannot imagine having to hear the stories that I do while I have my own children at home.
Doubt niggles at the back of my mind. Maybe I wasn’t truly meant to do this, or cut out for it. Maybe I should be like Lucas, look for a firm with a kick-ass reputation and fancy offices, be a pit bull and take no prisoners.
Perhaps I could even specialize in a completely different field, it would make things so much easier on my heart.
“Got a delivery,” the receptionist calls out, breaking my train of thought as she brings over a vase full of beautiful pink roses.
I thank her and wrap my hands around the vase, setting them down on my desk as my face heats. I can’t believe Lucas sent me flowers.
It’s only been a few days since he said he wanted to be exclusive, since he told me that I was his, and here he is being sweet. I don’t hide my smile as I reach for the card.
Meet me in the parking garage. Seven.
My entire body freezes. It turns to granite as I look over the penmanship of the note. I know for a fact that it isn’t Lucas’.
I recognize it and it sends a chill down my spine, because it has the same slant, the exact same everything as the message that was written on my bathroom mirror. I couldn’t ever forget what that looked like, not in a million years.
“Who are they from? They’re gorgeous,” Kay asks.
“Lucas,” I quickly lie.
Thankfully, she walks away from me without another word. I fold the card in half, wishing that I could burn the damn thing. It isn’t ending, it hasn’t stopped, it’s only escalated.
My heart starts racing and I begin to pant, my breath coming out in short, quick puffs of air.
My hands shake, so I shove them in my lap. I have all afternoon to worry about who could want to meet me, and why.
A million different scenarios rush through my mind and not a single one of them is good.
I want to stand up and sprint, get the hell out of here, curl in a ball, and cry. I don’t do that. What I do is pretend that everything is fine.
I mask my fear, hiding it from the people around me, in hopes that my false bravado will suddenly become actual bravery.
Reaching for the phone on my desk, I pick it up to call Lucas but then decide against it. He’s busy working, he’s made it perfectly clear that his firm is nothing short of utterly demanding.
Lucas informed me that he had a full day of meetings and would probably stay at his office late to catch up on paperwork.
I was surprised by how upfront he was, that he was taking my feelings into consideration by telling me his schedule. I actually love it, and all morning, until this point, I’ve felt like I’ve been walking on air.
Closing my eyes for a moment, I let out a breath. Naturally, all of this has happened on a night when I told Lucas that I needed to go back to my place.
This morning he even dropped me off at home so that I could pick up my car.
I spend the next several hours anxiously staring at the clock. I don’t get any amount of work done.
My high from this weekend with Lucas, it’s all gone. I’m full of nervous energy, and the last hour in the office I spend completely alone—watching and waiting.
When seven o’clock hits, I quickly grab my laptop, my purse, and grip my cell in my hand.
I’m tired of the calls, the notes, and feeling scared. Sometime between receiving the flowers and now, I’ve shifted from terrified to angry.
I’m ready to get this all over with, whatever the outcome.
Lucas shouldn’t have to feel like he’s constantly protecting me.
Our relationship is new.
We should be having fun, discovering each other, and not stressing out about some unknown threat.
We should be able to be free to enjoy one another.
“You showed,” a deep voice calls out from behind me.
Spinning around, I come face-to-face with Curtis Dunning. Standing next to him is a man I recognize, a man I’ve had a meeting with—Sang Nguyen. My eyes widen at the sight of them.
Mr. Nguyen and I had a lovely lunch, where he assured me that he only knew Curtis professionally and didn’t have anything to do with his personal life.
I didn’t know that what he meant at the time was that he knew him through his illegal profession.
“Stop poking your sweet little nose around where it doesn’t belong and you’ll be safe,” Sang states.
I gasp as I take a step back. My heart begins to slam against my ribcage, my breathing becomes short and comes out in pants.
I’m immediately, downright terrified.
Choosing to stay silent, I figure it as my best defense, not pissing them off with my smart mouth.
“You don’t leave well enough alone, you�
��ll regret it,” Curtis warns.
Without another word, they turn around and walk away from me, leaving me physically unharmed, but scared out of my wits. I wait until they’re completely out of sight, my body trembling in its spot.
Once they’re gone, my shaky legs eventually carry me toward my car and with trembling fingers, it takes me three tries, but I eventually unlock and open my door.
It takes me three more tries to get my key in my ignition before I can turn it over and start it.
With a tight, iron-like grip on my steering wheel, I drive home. When I pull into my driveway, I shift my car in park, but I don’t turn off the engine. I don’t want to go inside alone.
I don’t even want to walk up the drive. I breathe as I stare at my front door, anxiety and fear climbing up my throat.
Unable to force myself to actually exit my car, I change directions. Shifting my car into reverse, I make my way toward the only place I’ve felt safe since all of this began.
I go to Lucas.
LUCAS
Walking into my empty house somehow feels more hollow than normal. I know why. It’s been weeks since I’ve been alone after work.
I’ve had Brooklyn with me every day or I’ve been with her at her place. She fills up a space, even without saying a word. She just makes me feel—satisfied. I find that I simply miss her presence.
Fuck.
How did I allow this shit?
Serious as fuck, I don’t know how this has happened. Part of me likes it, likes the idea of keeping her.
But there’s another part of me that feels like I’m being strangled.
Shaking all of the thoughts of Brooklyn out of my head, I jog upstairs and quickly rinse the day away.
I let the hot water wash over my body, massaging my stiff shoulders from another day of sitting behind my fucking desk all day long.
Once I’m clean, I towel off and throw on a pair of blue jeans, leaving the top button undone and only zipping them.
Making my way downstairs, I go in search of food. It’s already eight o’clock in the evening, and I haven’t eaten since the shitty sandwich I had Peg bring me for lunch.
DISCOVERY (Esquire Black Duet Book 1) Page 19
