I don’t dignify her question with an answer. She won’t like my reply, so I continue to type out the report I was working on before she barged into my broom closet and messed with my chi.
“Check your email,” she huffs. “I want you to attend a meeting with me this afternoon. It’s a new client. Assume you’re running this one end-to-end. I believe you can handle what’s needed.”
“You want me to take a case?” I ask, allowing only my eyes to trail up from the screen to meet her glare.
It’s a first. Junior associates are rarely offered to take the lead on cases in this firm. Corporate law is riddled with nuances and vague precedence, and the high net worth clients and companies we handle demand excellence. Newbies like me perform the behind-the-scenes grunt work that our paralegals can’t handle.
She gives me a cold, annoyed nod. “Do your best to prepare the assessment of all entertainment facility assets of both hotel chains outlined in the documents. Net annual earnings, valuations, itemized asset inventories, everything you can dig up.” As she turns to leave, she adds, “This is one of those make or break opportunities, Vanessa. I hope you make it count.”
I scramble to switch screens from the report I’m working on to open her email. Halfway through reading her message, the clicking of my mother’s Jimmy Choo’s subsides as she returns to her large, bright corner office down the hall.
Wow.
She wasn’t kidding.
The email lays out instructions to help a client I’ve never heard of, O’Sullivan Entertainment LLC. The sole owner is Craig O’Sullivan, and his company founded Wild Irish Rose, a successful chain of bars and pubs across New York, New Jersey and Washington, DC. Mr. O’Sullivan’s about to do a deal with two large hotel chains to take over all bar operations, and hired our law firm to manage the transaction.
I scratch my head in confusion for two reasons. The client’s company is worth under half a billion dollars, which is strange because Wilkes Macmillan has a habit of only taking on clients worth a few billion or more. Mind you, the deal we’re about to manage between them and the hotel chain is a two-billion-dollar transaction. Still, even that’s unusual. There’s no high net worth co-buyer and no mortgagee noted in the initial paperwork. It suggests that whoever owns O’Sullivan Entertainment must have a ton of liquid capital somewhere.
I’m intrigued. The prospect of taking the lead on my first case is exciting too. While letting it all sink in, I close out the email and do a quick third reading of the addendum and briefs for Mom. The truth is, they’re finished. I do have my priorities straight. I finished them before I started the work for Poppy. But I know from experience that my mother will give me hell if I send her anything that isn’t completed to her standard. After the read-through, I email the files to Sharon, Mom’s executive assistant, and move on to the O’Sullivan Entertainment file.
After poring over the documents of my first client ever for close to four hours, the thirty-minute meeting alert pings and pops up on the calendar item I added to my desktop. Lunch can wait. This looming agenda item makes the moment too nerve-wracking to eat anyway. I’m ready for this O’Sullivan meeting, but decide to pop by my mother’s office to get some questions answered before the client arrive. Grabbing my planner and paper copies, I stride down the hall to her office. Her door is open, which is a good sign.
“Do you have a few minutes?” I ask, giving a brief knock on Mom’s open door.
“I know what you’re going to ask, but sure. Come in,” she answers without looking up from whatever’s on her screen.
She knows what I’m going to ask? Is she a mind-reader now? This woman knows how to push my buttons. Still, I don’t want to fuck up this new case by looking stupid in front of the client. I don’t need to contradict my mother, to make incorrect assumptions, or to ask questions that have already been answered by the senior partner who brought in Mr. O’Sullivan.
“Thanks,” I say instead of the smartass response I was itching to deliver, and force myself not to roll my eyes. I take a seat facing her in the guest chair on the other side of her desk, and I wait.
Since she knows everything, including what I’m about to ask.
“The O’Sullivan purchase is a fully funded transaction,” she starts off. “No mortgages or other encumbrances. No partnerships, either. And they have no plans to go public. Does that help?”
It does, but hell, I don’t want to give her the satisfaction of confirming that she can anticipate my thoughts. I ask her a few less critical probing questions, including the item of which senior partner brought in the client, as the intake document doesn’t identify a name. Her composure changes for a split second, and I know something’s up.
“Consider it an external referral,” she says stiffly. “Happens all the time.”
The way she tries to explain it away so dismissively tells me I’m barking up the right tree. She’s hiding something. I want to press her further, but we’re minutes from the scheduled start of the meeting. Making a mental note to confront her later this evening, I smile and drop the topic. If she’s hiding anything at all, I’ll find it.
“Ready to go in?” I get to my feet without waiting for an answer.
Her executive assistant calls her on the phone intercom before Mom can answer, letting us know the client is here and waiting in boardroom three.
Mom confirms that we’ll be there in a minute and flips through a folder on one side of her well-organized, clutter-free, mahogany desk. A desk that’s about the size of my entire office, I might add. “Yes. I’ll take the lead for the first few minutes,” she finally answers. “You can handle the rest.”
“Excellent.”
I wait for her to leave the office first, and follow her down the hall and around the corner to the row of private boardrooms we use for client meetings. Walking into the room, I catch my first glimpse of the two men waiting for us inside.
Then I almost freeze.
The large lump in my throat is near impossible to swallow. I’m more confused than ever, and thankful that my mother plans to lead the meeting for the first little while. I’ll need that time to unstick my tongue from the roof of my mouth. Because I’m acquainted with one of the two men standing before me, but never put two and two together. He’s not just an acquaintance, I know him intimately. In the biblical sense. Because we’ve had our on-again, off-again, very casual, late-night hookup thing going on for over four years.
What the hell is Liam O’Sullivan doing here?
6
Liam
I watch all the color drain from Vanessa’s face as she follows her mother into the boardroom where Craig and I have been waiting for the past five minutes.
“Mr. O’Sullivan, it’s great to meet you in person,” Diane Worthington greets my uncle with a firm handshake.
“The pleasure’s all mine,” he replies and motions toward me. “I brought along my nephew, Liam.”
“Good to meet you, Mrs. Worthington,” I say, taking her hand.
“Please, call me Diane,” Vanessa’s mother replies.
“Liam will be my backup, and has signing power of attorney just in case I need to travel for any reason,” my uncle adds.
“Excellent,” Diane nods toward her daughter, still standing halfway between the conference room table and the door where they both entered. “Craig, Liam, I’d like you to meet my daughter, Vanessa. She’s the associate working on your file and will take the lead on the transaction.”
“It’s a pleasure,” my uncle tells her as they shake hands.
I don’t give Vanessa the opportunity to act as though she doesn’t know me.
“What an interesting coincidence, Vanessa,” I address her from my spot, then step around the table and across the room to face her. She does not get a handshake. Oh no. That would be one hell of a missed opportunity. Pulling her into my arms, I kiss the top of her head. “Did you know about this meeting?”
“Liam… Hi… No, I didn’t,” she stammers out in a
daze, her body stiff in my arms from the discomfort of this very public display of affection.
“I take it you two know each other?” Diane asks, briefly glimpsing at my hand as it lingers around Vanessa’s waist.
“Yes… Liam’s a fr—” Vanessa starts, but I cut her off quickly.
“I guess it’s time to let the secret out, isn’t it, love?” I asked confidently, pulling her in more tightly to my body, flicking my gaze down into her face, and then making eye contact with both Diane and my uncle. “Vanessa’s my girlfriend.”
And there’s the thrust.
“Oh… Well, that’s great!” Diane declares through the controlled shock on her face. “You’re the first date Vanessa has ever introduced me to. She’s usually quite secretive in her personal life.”
“Trust me. I know.”
“How long have you been seeing each other?” Craig asks us, his eyes studying Vanessa with more interest now that I’ve let the cat out of the bag.
“Not for long, but we’ve known each other for several years, haven’t we honey?”
“We have,” she answers with much hesitation, but she doesn’t flat out call me a liar, so I’ll take the more than slight resistance in her voice.
Her mother clears her throat. “That’s wonderful. Given my back-to-back schedule this afternoon, we’d better get down to the details of this deal. Let’s start seat, shall we?”
Vanessa pries herself out of my arms and takes a seat beside her mother. Just to keep her a little off balance, and so she can soak in my mic-drop, I sit in the chair on the other side of my uncle, the seat that’s directly opposite her.
Her mother opens a slate gray file folder like the two my uncle brought along with him. Vanessa does the same, and I lean forward with keen interest, waiting for her or her mother to kick off with the details.
For a split second, Vanessa’s hand slides up to her neck. Two fingers cover the yellow gold, oval-shaped, vintage locket on the necklace she has on. I’ve seen her wear it to bed a few times, always careful to take it off to avoid damaging it. It must mean a lot to her. She touches it by default when she’s nervous, or contemplative, and most often when she feels strongly about something we’re discussing. I have to remember to ask her about it sometime.
To be honest, I can’t be more pleased.
I have Vanessa right where I want her.
7
Vanessa
I’m in shock.
The man I’ve been seeing off and on as a casual hookup just told my tough-as-nails lawyer Mom that I’m. His. Girlfriend.
What the hell?
I never saw that coming.
But my mother’s reaction throws me further off my game. She seamlessly redirects the subject to that of our intended meeting. It’s almost as though she doesn’t think it’s a big deal that Liam just said I’m his girlfriend.
Did he really do that?
I’m in utter disbelief, even as Mom starts in on the executive summary and whips through the paperwork, answering all of Mr. O’Sullivan’s questions. Thankful doesn’t cover the layers of feelings or the tidal wave of other emotions that confound my mind and control my body. Hell, the room is almost icy from the air conditioning, but there’s a thin film of sweat between my breasts and on my forehead under my long bangs.
“Everything sounds promising,” Mr. O’Sullivan croons with satisfaction in his mild Irish accent.
Mom nods. “The Cromley hotel chain is smooth sailing. They’ve been around for decades and moves with trends, which shows from their numbers. It’s not easy to be in the black within five years of an IPO.”
“I don’t doubt that,” Mr. O’Sullivan agrees.
Mom closes her folder and relaxes into her chair. “I’ll have Vanessa keep an eye on the Wainwright Group. They’re in good shape, but I won’t lie. There’s been rumblings of shaky finances and a reorganization. We’ll need to press them for definitive answers on how much of a shakeup they’re looking at before going forward. The last thing we need is for them to make changes that impact your bottom line. But not to worry. We’re on it.”
“Perfect, and agreed.”
“Tell me something, Craig. What kind of contingencies do you have in place for the transition? Taking on the operations of close to five hundred facilities across twenty US states is a massive undertaking. Are you comfortable with just twelve months of lead time?”
Mr. O’Sullivan nods confidently. “I’m certain of it. We have that many pubs across the home country. All the locations are operational already. The plan is to have three waves of launches, including facility leasehold improvements where needed, and mirroring the timelines for nation-wide recruitment, onboarding, and training. I agree it’s a lot to commit to at one time. But there are years of experience under our belts. I’m confident we’ll make it happen.”
“Great. In the meantime, I’ll keep nudging them for updates. I’d prefer to hold out for official word on their strategic direction, but we’ll take the deal as far as it’ll go for now.” She pushes back her chair slightly and turns to me. “How about you schedule a longer meeting this week to run through the noteworthy points from the seller’s fine print, Vanessa?”
“That sounds like an excellent plan, Diane,” I reply and can hear the gratitude in my voice. If we weren’t on such strained terms, I’d want to hug her.
“My daughter learned she’d run point on this file this morning. Give her a couple of days to research the details, and you won’t be able to hold her back.”
“The apple didn’t fall far from the tree, then,” Mr. O’Sullivan replies eagerly. I’m not too keen on any comment that suggests my mother and I have much in common. I don’t want to be anything like her. But for the sake of ending the meeting five minutes early and sparing me five minutes of tripping over every word, I smile and nod.
A few more handshakes are exchanged—as well as another blatant PDA from Liam to me—and the meeting comes to an end. My mother makes small talk with Mr. O’Sullivan while I trail behind her with Liam at my side. I can’t wait much longer to get away from the group, but while he’s here, Liam needs to explain himself.
“Can we have a quick word in my office?” I ask him on the way to the elevator bay.
His uncle glances back and tells us he’ll use the time to make a few calls. Perfect. As Liam has his arm around my shoulder, I turn the last bend and cut across the reception area to give him a piece of my mind in my tiny office. The shock has had time to morph into a bit of curiosity and a substantial amount of anger, and now that we’ll have a moment alone, I can vent.
“What the hell was that?” I demand the instant my office door closes. I whip around to face him. “Your girlfriend? Seriously? I can’t even… you need to explain yourself.”
“What’s there to explain? I said it, and I’m not apologizing for it.”
“How could you do that without giving me a heads-up?”
“The same way you could believe we can maintain the status quo beyond four years.”
“You don’t mean that. We have an understanding. I thought we did.”
“Things change.”
“And that’s why I like to keep things casual in my personal life. Do you understand that it was perfectly private until you went and told my mother, of all people, about us? And a relationship? Late night sex sessions and a few texts here and there to check in on each other doesn’t make a relationship, or anything remotely close to dating.”
“You need this as much as I want it.” He rests his hands on my shoulders.
“Oh, so you know what I need now,” I mutter.
He takes a step toward me and lowers his lips to my ear. “Always have. This move isn’t any different.”
“I can’t believe you just said that.”
He kisses the spot along my neck that he knows can spark my arousal. “Don’t make me prove it right here on your desk… Maybe that’s why you asked me in here.”
“My love life isn’t a game, Liam,” I
bark and try to shove him away but he barely budges. And if I’m being honest, being this close to my fake boyfriend has a way of unleashing the dirtiest thoughts in my head.
“You can always break it off,” he tells me, with a chuckle.
“Oh great. A fake breakup from your fake girlfriend. That’s classic.”
“You’re not my fake girlfriend,” he remarks.
“What would you call it? Maybe ‘forced’ girlfriend is a better label.”
“Hmmm. I’d refer to it as strongly encouraged. From more casual to more…involved. And you’re welcome, by the way.”
“Excuse me?”
“Give it a few days. You’ll be thanking me.”
“Why the hell for?”
“Just a hunch.”
I point a shaky finger toward my door. “Get the hell out of my office. Your fake girlfriend has real work to do.”
The bomb Liam drops has turned my brain to a distracted mush. It takes me twice as long to do anything, and before I know it, my phone buzzes with a text from my best friend, Cherry.
I have to tell her what just went down, but this text that comes in is a group message to me, Dahlia, Rosa, and Emily.
Cherry: Hi girls. Just a quick reminder about this Saturday. Can’t wait!
Me: Huh? Do you realize that today’s Monday?
Cherry: And a five-day reminder’s a must with you.
Me: Right. Guys, I’ll probably be late for the fitting this Saturday.
Cherry: You can’t be late. The shop manager is your contact. And you promised drinks.
Me: Oh. Shit.
Emily: It’d be great if they did these fittings at the bride’s house, or wherever we want. Then drinks could be at my restaurant. I’m swamped, but you’d all get to sample the peach-glazed roast I came up with.
The Billionaire and the Bad Girl Page 3
