“So who’s your boss?”
“Trenton Steele.”
“Is he good?”
“He’s one of the best criminal lawyers in the country. A brilliant strategist. Tough as nails. Knows exactly how to wiggle his way around the law.” That thought leaves a bad taste in my mouth.
“And Gramps wants you to work with him?”
“Uh-huh.”
“Why?”
I spout off the reasoning he fed me. “If I learn the defense side of criminal law from one of the best, I’ll be that much better as a prosecutor.”
“And that’s what you really want to do, Sis. Isn’t it?” Her voice softens. “You want to get the bad guys.”
Given how little time we’ve spent together during the last several years, it amazes me how perceptive she is. With me away at college and law school, we only connected during Christmas holidays and summer vacations, and often we spent those months engaged with our own friends and participating in different pursuits. Yet she knows exactly what drives me. “Yes, I do.”
“Why?”
I drop on the bed next to her, stroke my hand down her amber-gold hair. “You know why, Madison.”
“Tell me anyway.” This time she forgets to shove the phone in my face.
“Because of our parents. Because of what happened to them.” Twelve years ago, our parents were killed during a brutal home invasion. Our father had been shot dead, a single bullet to the stomach. It had taken him hours to die. Our beautiful mother had been beaten and tortured before her throat had been slit. Their murderers had been taken into custody, but a public defense attorney eager to make his bones had gotten them off on a technicality. Their Miranda rights hadn’t been properly read, so the admissions they’d made couldn’t be used in court. Other than the illegally obtained confession, there hadn’t been enough evidence to tie them to the actual crime. Oh, the police had found fingerprints. But they’d been working as handymen in and around our house, so there had been a perfectly logical explanation for them.
Taking pity on me, Madison turns off her phone and gives me a hug. “You can’t bring them back, Madrigal.”
“No. But I can get justice for other families.” Like we’ve never gotten for ours.
“Come on, you two.” Olivia Tremaine, our former nanny and now beloved friend, breezes into the room in her usual no-nonsense style. During the aftermath of my parents’ deaths, she’d healed my broken soul and helped me maneuver the rocky shoals of my teen years. She’d become the mother I’d lost, insisting I go through the usual high school rites of passage—sleepovers, field trips, prom. And on those nights when I woke up from my nightmares, she held me and promised me everything would be fine. Not only did she help me deal with my demons, but she pushed me to be the best I could be. When all I wanted was to crawl into bed and hide, she dragged me out and made me study. For hours on end, she drilled me on everything from Shakespearean plays to American history and mathematical equations. By the time I graduated valedictorian of my high school, I owed my success in large part to her.
I wish she could have helped Gramps as well. But his grief over his only child’s murder turned him into a control freak. Since we came to live with him, he’s managed everything about Madison and me—our education, our activities, our friends. He’s kept us in this golden cage for years. But no more. In three months, this bird will fly free. If I manage to screw up my courage, that is. The thought of living by myself terrifies me. I’ve never lived alone, not even in college when I surrounded myself with trusted friends. But it’s something I know I must do if I’m to be truly independent.
“Time for breakfast.” Olivia always has her feet firmly planted on the ground. One of her tenets is don’t leave the house without eating the first meal of the day.
She doesn’t have to remind Madison twice. Ever hungry, she bounces out of the room and heads for the stairs.
“What about you, dear? How are you doing?” Her eyes shine with kindness, the same expression that has been there all these years.
“Fine.”
“Really?”
“No. But I will be by the time I get some food in me.” Even though a flock of butterflies has taken flight in my stomach.
“I heard you talked your grandfather into letting you drive the Benz to work.”
“Yes. No sense having Hans drive us in the morning and pick us up in the afternoon, not when he has all that gardening to do.” Hans does double duty as Gramps’s chauffeur and head gardener. Given the large size of our estate, the landscaping keeps him more than busy. Freeing up his time would allow him to stay home and do what he loves best.
“Good for you.”
“I thought so. So, um, what’s for breakfast?”
“Oatmeal.”
I scrunch up my face. “Yum.”
She laughs because she knows how much I hate the hot cereal. “It’s good for you.”
“I know.” Like so much of the knowledge she’s imparted.
A knock on the door alerts me to Gramps. He’s sporting a brown plaid jacket, matching slacks, and a brown tie, the same style of suit he’s worn to the office since I first came to live here. Nothing too modern for him.
“Ready?” His proud smile tells me he can’t wait to launch his granddaughter into his world. And who am I to deny him that joy?
I walk up to him and curl my hand around his elbow. “As ready as I’ll ever be, Gramps.”
“Good.”
“Breakfast first, Mr. Gardiner.” Nothing interferes with nutrition as far as Olivia is concerned. Even in college, I heard her voice inside my head cautioning me to eat properly. I never skip breakfast. Or lunch or dinner, for that matter. Which explains why I have such a hard time losing weight.
“Of course, Olivia.” He winks at me. I’m not fooled for one second. Given half a chance, he’d whisk us out the door with nothing to eat. It’s one of the reasons he’s stayed so slim all these years.
Arms firmly linked, we head out of my room and down the sweeping stairway. “Once we arrive in the office, you’ll meet Trenton Steele first thing.”
“That’s good.”
“Now don’t let him intimidate you. He can be a little gruff, but he’s the best. You’ll learn much from him.”
Great. As if I wasn’t nervous enough before.
CHAPTER 3
Trenton
By the time I arrive at the cocktail party, the welcome-to-the-firm shindig for the summer interns is in full swing. I may dodge the social events outside the firm, but I can’t avoid the ones held in the office. As the head of the criminal law practice group, I’m expected to attend.
Planning to work the reception for half an hour and not a minute more, I stroll to the bar set up in a corner of the Potomac conference room and order a glass of Pinot Grigio. What a colossal waste of time. I’d rather be at my desk prepping for the Willie Vaughn appeals case. While I wait for my drink, I smile and nod to a couple of real estate associates. Scuttlebutt has it they sit around all day twiddling their thumbs. They might as well guzzle the firm-supplied hooch as well.
Dick Slayton stands at the opposite end of the space, chatting with my intern, Madrigal Berkeley. Even from across the room, his lascivious interest in her is clear. Oh, he’s being subtle about it—a brief touch of her shoulder, a brush of his hand across his groin. But it’s painfully obvious to me. Whatever he’s selling, Ms. Berkeley’s not buying, though. The arch of her brow and the twist of her lips tell me so.
“Your wine, sir.” The smiling bartender pushes the goblet at me. He’s young, in his twenties, and has a hungry look to him. I should know. Been there myself.
“You do this full-time?” I ask.
He shakes his head as he handles the next order. “Part-time only. I go to school full-time.”
“What are you studying?” I ask, taking a sip.
“Economics at GW.”
That degree will stand him in good stead. “Good luck.” I drop a twenty-dollar bill in his tip jar and stroll in Slayton’s direction.
“May I interrupt?” I use my most polite voice. Can’t arouse his suspicions that I know what he’s up to. For the sake of the firm, I must keep my hostility toward him in check.
The pencil-thin mustache over Dick Slayton’s top lip quivers with distaste. Nothing new. He thinks I’m a mongrel from the wrong side of the tracks. When he nods his consent, his comb-over slides over his brow. Absentmindedly he brushes it back with a well-manicured hand.
Ignoring his vain attempt at primping, I wedge myself between him and my intern. “Madrigal.”
“Mr. Steele.” Her lashes drift upward as she smiles at me. In another woman, that gesture might brand her a flirt. But Madrigal Berkeley doesn’t give off that vibe. If anything, she seems . . . ingenuous. Unfortunately, that move rouses my interest. But I can’t afford to indulge my sexual appetite with her, beautiful though she may be. Besides the fact she’s too young and innocent for me, she is the granddaughter of the founding partner of the firm. For now, I must do the proper thing.
“How did your first day go?” I sip the wine. The stuff’s barely drinkable. But it will take the edge off this unwelcome hunger for her.
“Spent the morning in orientation and the afternoon in computer training.”
“Dull, but necessary.”
Someone sidles up to us. Joss Stanton and a young woman who looks to be another summer intern. Thank God. Maybe she can do something with Dick, who’s gnashing his teeth at my commandeering Madrigal’s attention.
“Dick, you’ve met Nina Webster.”
“Yes, I have.” He flashes his gums at the poor recruit.
“More wine?” I grab Madrigal’s empty glass from her hand, drop it onto the discard tray, and steal her away.
“Yes, um . . .” She glances over her shoulder while I lead her to the bar.
“You really didn’t want to talk to that blowhard, did you?”
A giggle escapes her before she chokes it back. “You shouldn’t . . . He’s not.”
“I absolutely should, and he is.” I glance back in Slayton’s direction, where the new intern appears to be hanging on to his every word. “See how happy he is talking to Nina. The poor girl doesn’t know what she’s in for working for him.”
“He’s not that bad.”
“You’re right. He’s worse.” Slayton tends to get a little touchy-feely with the interns. If I know Joss, and I do, she’ll keep her eye on him and that female recruit to stop things from getting out of hand.
Madrigal does that eyelash thing again while biting down on her lip, probably to keep from laughing.
A surge of lust shoots through me. She’s fucking gorgeous. Dark hair that cascades down to her ass, purple-blue eyes that remind me of pansies, and a pair of luscious ruby lips. I can only imagine the things I could do with that mouth. Damn. How very inconvenient.
I sip more of the crappy wine to cover up my unrest. “Ready to tackle your first assignment?”
“Of course.” Her smile is a thing of beauty—honest with a touch of playful. How very unique she is.
“Good. We should talk in the morning. I have a research project for you.”
Something crashes behind us, and we both turn our heads.
A plate of cheese puffs has landed on the floor. No wonder. Something’s wrong with the hors d’oeuvres table. The wait staff grab what plates they can before more end up on the floor.
“How did that happen?” she asks.
“The table’s leg has bent.”
“That’s too bad.” She sips from her wineglass, leaving a lip stain on the edge.
I hiss in a breath. “That’s the problem with erections. What good are they unless you can depend on them?”
Her cheeks flush red, and her mouth snaps to a straight line. She disapproves of what I’ve said. How very delicious she is. But I have to shift gears. I’m making her uncomfortable, and that’s the last thing I want. “Looking forward to spending the summer with us?”
“Absolutely,” she says, biting her lip.
Swear to God, she does that again and I’m hauling her somewhere dark and private.
Her salvation comes in the form of her grandfather, who steps up and pounds me on the back. “She’s smart as a whip, Steele, and will give you a run for your money.”
“I’m sure she will.” Over the wineglass rim, I fix my eyes on her. She squirms beneath my avid stare.
“You treat her right now,” Holden says.
“Not to worry, Holden. She’s in good hands.” And she will be, as soon as I get my lust under control.
She darts a nervous glance at me.
My nostrils flare, my eyes narrow. I can’t keep this up. Not in front of everyone. Someone’s bound to suspect my interest in her. I drop my wineglass on a passing waiter’s tray. “As a matter of fact, I was just about to give her a tour of the new criminal law suite.” I had no such plans. But I need to get to a place where there are no prying eyes.
“Splendid.” Holden beams at me. He has no clue that given half a chance, I’ll gobble down every inch of his granddaughter.
“Shall we?” I gesture toward the conference room’s glass door exit.
I might make her nervous, but since I’ve just been given her grandfather’s blessing, all she can do is nod. “Okay.”
Before we walk away, Holden reminds her, “See you in half an hour. Don’t forget. We have dinner reservations at Beauchamps to celebrate your first day on the job.”
“I won’t.” She smiles at him.
Fighting off the urge to do something stupid, I silently lead the way to the elevator. We ride to the twelfth floor, where my new suite awaits. As soon as we step through the door, the whiff of sawdust smacks us in the face.
She wrinkles her nose and coughs. “It’s not finished.”
“No. But it’s far enough along that you can get a feel for the space. As you can see, the carpenters have been busy building bookcases and secretarial stations, as well as framing offices.”
She fights back a sneeze. “When will it be done?”
“End of summer.”
Her gaze darts back to the elevators. The only illumination is provided by overhead construction lamps that throw more shadows than light. “Wouldn’t it be better if you showed me the floor where I’ll actually be working?” I make her nervous. Three guesses why.
Grabbing her elbow, I lead her deeper into the suite. “You’ll see that soon enough. For now I want you to see the possibilities of where you could be ten years from now.”
She comes to a dead stop and turns to me. “Did Gramps put you up to this?”
Doubt Gramps approves of me seducing his precious granddaughter. But that’s not what she’s talking about. “Put me up to what?”
“Selling me on the idea of coming to work for the firm. You should know, Mr. Steele, I don’t plan to work on the defense side. Ever.”
“Neither did most of the associates now working for me, Madrigal.” I lean forward to emphasize my point. “I stole most of them from prosecutors’ offices.”
Her brow wrinkles. “Why?”
“If you’ve worked the other side, you can anticipate their moves, plus you’ve made friends with some of the prosecutors. That will stand you in good stead when you bargain down a plea.”
She sneers. “Which means what exactly?”
Great. Not only do I need to battle my attraction to her, but I must also deal with her hostility. When Holden approved this space for the criminal law practice, he made it very clear that he wants me to convince his granddaughter to come work for him. A tall order given her aversion to the defense side of the law. “They might be more amenable to cutting a deal.
”
“Is that why you’re so successful?” Her upper lip curls in disdain.
“No, Madrigal. The reason I’m so successful is because I know the law and I know how to argue on my clients’ behalf.”
She crosses her arms across her very luscious breasts. “Right. And you’re fine with defending scum?”
I’m so tired of these arguments, the ones that assume every client is guilty. But I can’t afford to lash out at her. “Everyone deserves a defense, Ms. Berkeley,” I explain in my most reasonable voice.
She huffs. “Even a rapist?”
The hell with being reasonable. I step into her personal space. She’s such a tiny thing. A few inches over five feet, and I’m six three. The height disparity forces her to look up at me, which is exactly what I want to demonstrate my power over her. “The hockey player? Is that who you’re talking about?”
Full of righteousness, she raises her chin. “Yes.”
“What if I told you he was innocent? A green kid who got tricked by a floozy more interested in getting some of his hard-earned money than having him prosecuted?”
Her arms drop to her sides as her gaze signals doubt. “Is that what happened?”
It is, but I can’t share the details with her. Taking a breath, I step back. For a second there she got me to drop my guard, and that’s something I don’t allow many people to do. Maybe it’s because I’m attracted to her. Maybe it’s her belief that her point of view is the right one. I’ve lived long enough to know there’s no black and white, only shades of gray. “Unfortunately, Madrigal, I can’t discuss the case.”
“Of course.” She bites down on her lip again. And my cock gets good and hard. Obviously this excursion hasn’t tamped down my desire for her. If anything, it’s made it worse.
She darts a nervous glance toward the glass door we just came through. “We should return to the conference room.”
Shattered Virtue Page 2
