For Pete's Sake: An Enemies to Lovers Marriage of Convenience Standalone Romance Novel (Tobin Tribe Book 1)

by Caitlyn Coakley

She nodded. “It’s been a weird day. You were fairly nice to the volunteer. That surprised me. I guess I was expecting, I don’t know, someone meaner.”

  Ethan’s head rolled back as a deep belly laugh roared out of him. “Oh, I can do mean. Big-time mean, especially since I haven’t slept in four days, but I’m starting to feel punchy, so this whole situation,” he made a lazy loop with his hand, “is becoming hilarious. I’ve been living on coffee and Diet Pepsi since I brought Megan and Pete home from the hospital. Mean takes too much energy, and I used the last of my reserves on you this morning.”

  Stephanie rolled her eyes. “I’m honored.”

  He shrugged. “Yeah, well, you can handle it. That volunteer is nearly three times my age and half my size. She’s only doing her job. Hurting her would have been like kicking a puppy, and even Hitler liked dogs.”

  “Hitler? Oh, give me a break.” Stephanie shook her head. “You flatter yourself. No one could be that evil.”

  Twirling his fingers and thumbs near his face, he twiddled with an invisible villain’s mustache. “We’re only getting started; we’ll see how you feel once I’m done.”

  Where was this sudden silliness coming from? Was he trying to impress her with his wit? All of a sudden, this felt more like an awkward first date than an extension of their tension-filled meeting. Punchy, indeed.

  The grandmotherly volunteered shuffled into the room. “Mr. Webb, could you follow me please?”

  As if he’d forgotten Stephanie existed, Ethan shot to his feet. “Can I see my sister now?”

  The volunteer averted her eyes. “Please, follow me,” was all she said as she turned and headed down the hall.

  CHAPTER 12

  THREE MEN GLARED AT Ethan as he entered a nondescript conference room that could have been in any building anywhere in the world. Had management blown their entire decorating budget on the waiting room? Because they sure didn’t care about this place. Off-white walls with generic nature prints evenly placed framed the windowless space that was no bigger than a single-car garage. Hell, his desk would barely fit in here.

  The men, all seated on one side of a conference table about the size of a dining room table, rose to greet him.

  He was being triple-teamed. They were anticipating trouble. He couldn’t say that he blamed them. Considering the years of hard work building his evil reputation, it was kind of a compliment.

  After shaking his hand and introducing themselves, they settled back into their seats. Ethan remained standing, pacing and prowling like the predator he was. “Gentlemen, when can I see my sister?”

  The men on either end turned to the man in the middle. “This is a rather delicate situation,” he said.

  The hair on the back of Ethan’s neck stood up. Could the man’s voice be any more grating? Nasal and high-pitched, he sounded like a teenaged girl with a head cold. “I appreciate your discretion, but when can I see Megan?”

  Suddenly, the men on the ends found the contents of the folders in front of them fascinating. They fixed their eyes on the papers, shuffling through them loudly.

  The man in the middle cleared his throat. “We’re waiting for Judge Banner.”

  It was as if the air had been sucked out of the room. Ethan sank into the single chair on his side of the table. Crap. If they ever got around to making a Purge movie about the legal system, she would certainly be near the top of his list. To be honest, he would be near the top of hers. “This is highly irregular. Certainly, Judge Banner has better things to do,” Ethan protested.

  A force of nature swept into the room. Ethan could have sworn the temperature dropped ten degrees. He was in the presence of Maleficent herself.

  “She has much better things to do, Mr. Webb,” the judge declared.

  If the lawyer’s voice was grating, her voice should be outlawed under the Geneva Convention as a form of torture. God help Mr. Banner. If there was a Mr. Banner, which he doubted. What man would be masochistic enough to saddle himself with a woman like her?

  The men rose while the judge accepted the fourth seat on the other side of the table. “Be seated. Let’s get this over with.”

  Ethan plastered on a tight smile and nodded curtly. “Your Honor, always a pleasure.” He deserved an Academy Award for that.

  “Cut the bull, Mr. Webb. A friend of a friend called in a favor to arrange this meeting. The courthouse is crawling with media, and I have no desire to turn my courtroom into that kind of circus. So here I sit. Do not make me regret my decision.”

  The media. Of course, the media would be all over this. A distraught young woman endangers her newborn. News directors across the country must be drooling over the salacious nature of the story. No doubt the video was trending on every social media site, leading every newscast around the country, if not the globe. Local mental health care professionals were on set explaining the reasons why a new mother might be driven to harm her baby. Add him into the mix, and every enemy he’d ever made was falling all over themselves to find a way to blame him. There was no way to deny it; he had made a ton of enemies. Until today, that hadn’t been important. But now that it affected Megan and Pete, it was monumental.

  “Of course not, Your Honor.” Pain shot through his jaw. If he clamped down any harder, he’d break a tooth. Or two.

  Judge Banner turned to the man to her left. “I’ve watched the videos, read the police reports, and talked to first responders. Has Mrs. Smith been admitted under a 302?”

  Ethan scrubbed his fingers and thumb across his forehead. Emergency psychiatric evaluation. He’d expected that. His gut told him the five days allowed under the involuntary measure weren’t going to be enough. He was in for a long, brutal battle against the one woman with the power to crush him professionally and now personally. To destroy the only things that gave his life meaning—the things he had clawed and sacrificed to build and protect. She would enjoy every minute of it, and it was his own damned fault.

  “She has,” the man in the middle responded.

  “What about the baby?” the judge asked.

  “A pediatrician has given the baby a clean bill of health. He’s been turned over to Child Protective Services,” the man on the far right explained.

  The acid from the gallons of coffee keeping him upright rebelled in Ethan’s stomach. He shot to his feet. “Your Honor, my associate is filing an Emergency Petition for Special Relief. Please, let me take my nephew home.”

  “Sit. Down.” The judge barked. “Did you not hear me say the media is up my backside on this? I have to do everything perfectly. I’m up for retention next election, and I can’t give my opponent any ammunition to use against me.”

  Ah, so there it was. Politics. It didn’t surprise him she would her put career ahead of everything, including the wellbeing of a newborn. Screwing him in the process was a fat, juicy bonus.

  He wrapped his hands around the back of his neck, letting his head fall back. “His bed, his toys, his clothes, everything he needs are all at my house.”

  He might as well have been talking to the ceiling. The judge was not impressed. “Your house, not your home. I see. Those are material things. You’re a single man; you work insane hours; who is going to be there to take care of the baby? A string of nannies? He might as well be in foster care where I can monitor and control him.”

  Control. Yeah, she was all about control. And by controlling Pete, she was controlling him. He had three cases on her docket the next few weeks. Would she be petty enough to use Pete against him? Of course, she would.

  “I have a girlfriend,” he lied. He was a lawyer; it was allowed. Sort of.

  “Living in sin is worse. How is it going to play in the press if I release the baby to a pair of fornicators?”

  Fornicators? What century was this? “But...”

  The judge held up her hand to silence him. “Given your reputation, you are simply not a candidate to take care of the baby. Are there other, more suitable relatives?”

  Ethan collapsed into
his seat. He rested his forehead in his hands and stared at the floor. Eye contact was not an option if he wanted to keep his emotions in check. “No, ma’am. Since I was fourteen months old, the day Megan was born, it’s only been the two of us. Mother MIA. Father unknown. If we have the same father.”

  There were tests for that, but the results wouldn’t have changed anything. They had decided long ago that they didn’t need science to confirm what they knew in their hearts. Besides, God only knew what “they” would do with a DNA database. Yeah, he was that paranoid.

  “We grew up in the system, and it’s no place for a baby; trust me on that.” He took a deep breath and let it out to quell the tears burning behind his eyes. He’d never cried before, even during the worst of the abuse. He wasn’t about to start now. He raised his head with as much dignity as he could muster. “Please don’t punish Pete because of what I’ve done. He deserves better.” His heart stuttered midbeat at the cold eyes staring back at him, but it was the twisted, reptilian smile that threatened to stop his heart permanently.

  “He certainly does deserve better, and it’s my job to make sure his best interests are served.” Her words dripped with malice. “In my opinion, and may I remind you that right now, my opinion is the only one that counts, and in my opinion, placing the child with you is not in his best interest at this time.”

  Ethan drew in a ragged breath. “Your Honor, for the love of God—”

  “God?” Banner’s cackle bounced off the room’s hard surfaces. “God. That’s rich, Mr. Webb. How many times have you pulled the separation of church and state card on me? And now, when it’s to your advantage, you want me to consider God? This is an extension of my courtroom, and in my courtroom, I am God.”

  Ethan shoved a knuckle in his mouth and bit hard. His shoulders rolled involuntarily; his chest heaved. The vulnerable youth he’d channeled barely two hours ago swamped the man. Everything inside him crumbled. The nearly unbearable ache for acceptance, for affirmation, filled every corner of his being. He simply could not lose the only family he’d ever had. He would do whatever he had to do to claim and protect what was his. A minute passed, then two. When he was finally able to speak, his voice shook. “What do I need to do to change your mind?”

  CHAPTER 13

  STEPHANIE STARED AT the silent TV in the corner, reading the closed captions on CNN’s Headline News.

  So many other things that needed her attention, she shouldn’t be here. But the world didn’t stop because she was on bereavement leave. She was afraid to check her messages which, by now, had to be close to fifty. Why had she demanded to accompany Ethan? She should have shoved him out of her car without coming to a complete stop and hightailed it to her appointment with the club bartender.

  But she hadn’t.

  That had been a mistake because right now, a dirty martini sounded damned good.

  At least she’d been able to shoot off a text to Uncle Brian to cancel their lunch date. So, what if she’d been driving at the time? Ethan hadn’t needed to continually cross himself and mumble prayers. Never in a million years would she have thought he might be religious. Well, he did cross himself with his left hand; the nuns had always claimed that was a sin. But considering his right hand had never left the door handle he’d practically welded it to as soon as he’d buckled up, maybe he could be forgiven this once. After all, her driving tended to bring out prayers even from her heathen brothers. If you considered, “Jesus Fucking Christ, Steppie!” a prayer. With them, that was as close as it got.

  She glanced around the room. What was keeping Ethan? She’d been waiting more than an hour; surely, his meeting would be over soon. Then what? She had absolutely no idea.

  As they had for the past two cycles, CNN lead with the video of Megan standing in the middle of the street with the baby. Stephanie couldn’t watch it again. She might as well use this time to catch up on some work.

  Bracing herself for the onslaught, she pulled her phone out of her purse and started paging through the text messages. Hmm... only thirty-two, twenty-six of them from Walter, the chairman of her board of directors. The man was becoming a serious pain in her ass. Becoming? No, he had been a thorn in her side since the day after she’d buried her father. The day Mr. Walter Bengtsen had made it abundantly clear he was gunning for her.

  It had started small with daily requests for insignificant information he could easily have accessed for himself. Cheerfully, in the vain hope of turning him into an ally, Stephanie had culled through the minutia to satisfy him. Slowly, his questions expanded to the point where finding the answers took up most of her day, which left her with mountains of her own responsibilities to deal with, keeping her at her desk deep into the night. No wonder Smitty had looked elsewhere for companionship.

  She’d finally had to put her foot down and remind him he had an executive assistant to play fetch with. And that’s when things got ugly. Today was merely the newest scene of his off-off-Broadway melodrama Screwing with Stephanie.

  The text messages had started innocently enough: from the announcement he and Uncle Brian had finished their meeting and concluding with a curtly worded blast demanding to know why she wasn’t at her desk where she belonged.

  Had the man never heard of bereavement leave? Well, at least he had admitted she belonged behind the desk from which a Kerrigan had reigned for more than fifty years. Or else he was being sarcastic. Yeah, probably that.

  Next, she tackled her voice mail, and again, no surprise, most of the messages were from Walter basically repeating what he’d already said in his texts. Now that was downright insulting. She had an MBA, for crying out loud; she did know how to read.

  Making her feel like a stupid little girl was the latest twist in his campaign of terror. Simply put, he was gaslighting her; lying to her in private then denying he’d ever said such a thing in public. It had gotten so bad, she had started documenting all of their interactions with a follow-up email that usually started with, “As per our conversation...” and ending with, “I will move forward with this information unless I hear otherwise.” Her personal cloud account and Uncle Brian always got a BCC. Stupid little girl my ass.

  Given the sheer volume of today’s communiques, Stephanie had no choice but to call Walter back. She pulled up his contact info and punched the call icon with her middle finger. True, he would never know, but she would. And right now, that was all that mattered.

  He picked up on the first ring. “Where the hell are you?” he snarled.

  “Good morning to you too, Mr. Bengtsen. How are you this beautiful spring morning?” It was a good thing she wasn’t diabetic because that would have sent her into shock for sure. She tapped the icon on her phone to start recording. Again, with her middle finger. It was the little things, after all.

  “Cut the act, Mary Sunshine, we both know you don’t shit roses.”

  Wow, that was crude. She sent a silent thank you to her computer-genius baby brother for installing the recording app; there was no way Bengtsen was going to be able to wiggle out of this. She decided to egg him on.

  “All right, Walter, we’ll play this your way. I am currently on bereavement leave in accordance with Kerrigan Financial Services employee protocol four dash five point one. It’s on page sixteen if you want to double-check me.” Thank God for her nearly photographic memory with numbers. “It was one of the last pieces of policy Daddy introduced, and you approved, before his accident. It’s still in effect.”

  “Don’t read company policy to me, little girl. I was hip-deep in it while you were still in diapers.”

  Oh, this was too easy. “Sorry, given how you’re old enough to remember me in diapers and all, I thought your memory might be fading. Advanced age will do that to a man. Among other things.”

  “Smartass.”

  The man was anally fixated today. As if today would be any different. “What do you need so desperately that you had to intrude on my grief?”

  “I’m sorry, you do deserve the time t
o put your life back together. God knows you’ve had a lot to deal with this past year. It’s no wonder you’re falling apart; starting to let little things fall through the cracks.”

  A one-two punch: a bit of compassion followed by a jab. Walter was getting good at this gaslighting thing. Maybe he’d looked it up on the internet. Nah, more than likely, he’d watched the old Hitchcock movie on cable. Walter didn’t know how to use the internet. Or email, apparently.

  “Nothing is falling through the cracks. What can’t you find this time?” she asked.

  “I need the final numbers for the first quarter. They were due last week. But I guess you’ve been too busy to do your job,” he said.

  “Yes, things got a little hectic last week with Smitty’s accident and funeral, but I sent you those numbers before I went to lunch on Tuesday. They’ve been sitting in your inbox untouched since then. Go look for it; I’ll wait.”

  He must have put his phone on his desk and hit speaker because Stephanie could hear him swearing as he tried to access his email account. The man needed to drag himself into the twenty-first century. Considering that email had been around for a while, Stephanie would be happy if Walter could stumble his way into the twentieth century.

  “Jesus, it’s buried under a pile of other crap. No wonder I missed it. You need to be more careful when you send me things,” he complained.

  “Yeah in retrospect, I guess ‘Final First Quarter Numbers’ wasn’t a good subject line for my email. Next quarter, I’ll come up with something better,” she said dryly.

  He hung up without another word. Asshole. If she’d had any doubt before, it was gone now. Walter Bengtsen wanted her out of Kerrigan Financial Services. Yesterday.

  Before she had a chance to catch her breath, a different older lady wearing a pink smock made her way to the center of the waiting room. In a soft but clear voice she called out, “Is there someone here waiting for Ethan?”

  At first, Stephanie didn’t answer. What was she expecting, her name blasting from overhead speakers like at the grocery store? Of course, discretion would be paramount in a facility like this. After the volunteer’s second attempt, Stephanie finally responded, “I’m waiting for Ethan.”