"And in the meantime, there's essential information we need from this publicist that we’re not getting,” Dialina presses. “We’re lawyers, you know.”
No shit? We are?
"I’m fully aware of that. As I’ve said, Charlotte will be here shortly." I stand my ground.
I move my gaze back to my laptop and ignore Dialina’s loud exhale of exasperation.
After an intensive hour of brainstorming, Christos, Dialina and I take a much-needed break. Christos is outside smoking, but Dialina insisted on staying behind so that she could break my balls about my ex.
Once I’d read the jaw-dropping headline, I immediately called Christos and Dialina. Charlotte was next on the list, but I was never able to reach her. Christos, Dialina and I all agreed that we’d do some digging on our own before reconvening at their office at eight. After a quick shower, I met up with Derek in one of the free conference rooms in the hotel so we could start strategizing. We scoured the Internet for over an hour trying to patch things together, but there are still so many pieces of the goddamn puzzle missing. Christos brought in three other junior lawyers to support Alek and Derek. They've all been working diligently in an adjacent conference room.
"Thank God I called on the professionals at Artemis PR. At least they won't let us down." She just won't back down. I was hoping Dialina would give it a rest, but obviously I was wrong.
"Neither will Charlotte—”
"Oh, you mean the publicist who isn't here right now," Dialina says sarcastically.
I grit my teeth, forcing down the string of curses I want to unleash on her.
Dialina has been on a crusade to tarnish Charlotte's image. The only reason I don't lash out at her like a pit bull at her in my ex’s defense is because I need her and Christos. I may speak five languages, but Greek isn’t one of them.
"She'll be here,” I say curtly. For God’s sake, I feel like I've been repeating myself for the last ten minutes.
"Well, I'm happy she was able to enjoy her beauty sleep while the rest of us have been working since six o'clock this morning.”
I open my mouth to put her back in her place, when Christos walks in with two of his secretaries in tow.
"Did the publicist arrive?" he asks scanning the room.
Although the answer is obvious, I shake my head. "She’s on her way," I say simply.
Dialina rolls her eyes.
"In that case, let's keep at it," Christos suggests.
"I agree."
"Georgia and Christina have started to translate some of the news that’s already popped up in the Greek media. We might not get the full picture until later today, but we can at least get a snippet right now."
"That's fine as long as we—”
The door to the conference room flies open, cutting me off mid-sentence.
“Good morning. I’m so sorry,” an elegant blonde arriving to the scene blurts out.
All eyes shift to her.
I see nothing but her.
She holds my gaze. She even lifts her chin defiantly, but I catch her cheeks stained in pink.
I love seeing this strong woman blush.
I also love knowing that I’m responsible for that hint of shyness.
I cock an eyebrow amused.
There’s that bloody blush again.
My eyes are glued to her face, unwilling to look away.
Charlotte can look pretty glammed up, but today, she’s only wearing the faintest trace of make-up. Bloody perfect.
She’s gorgeous. Radiant even.
My cock twitches, eager to say good morning, good afternoon and bloody good night.
Down boy.
I shift in my chair in an attempt to alleviate the sudden pressure against my zipper.
Christ.
The Jason Belvedere scandal has managed to do the impossible—curb my appetite for Charlotte. For the last few hours, I haven't been thinking with my cock, consumed by thoughts of fucking Charlotte.
Now that she waltzes in here oozing with feminine sensuality, that all goes to hell.
How can she keep doing that to me?
I drink up her lean and sinful body.
Damn.
When my eyes land on her left wrist, a light chuckle floats out of me.
She’s still wearing the bracelet I gave her.
As I continue my inspection, it doesn't hit me immediately, but when it does, the corner of my lips pull up. It's not a smile. It's simply the realization that a skilled adversary just played a checkmate.
Well, well, well.
I look down at my watch and back up again.
The slow trajectory is a deliberate accusation.
“Barrett—” she starts when our gazes meet.
“Charlotte,” I interrupt, my tone more brusque than I’d intended it to be. “Glad you could make your presence known on this fine morning… or is it already afternoon? I guess it's nearly eight-thirty in London. So, in essence, it's still early in the day.”
Her hazel eyes flash a hint of green and flare on mine. I know damn well she’s irritated by my biting remark, but it’s her own damn fault.
How dare she walk in here purposefully not wearing any of the suits or dresses I bought her?
CHAPTER 16
Charlie
Not only was I royally late to start off with, but there was an accident on the main road. A case of road rage gone bad between two drivers became the thorn in my side when one of them collided in the cement Jersey barrier erected to redirect traffic due to construction. Of course, that resulted in a nightmare of a roadblock forcing my chauffeur to take a long detour to get me here.
To add insult to injury, Barrett’s slicing remark makes me see red. All the while his seductive green eyes are undressing me.
Make up your mind, mate.
Now—in the middle of this conference room with four pairs of eyes riveted on us—we’re involved in one of our legendary standoffs.
I should be apologizing to the entire room, but my gaze holds his. I could lose myself in that restless emerald sea, but suddenly his snippy remark rings in my ears.
“Glad you could make your presence known on this fine morning.”
Bloody asshole.
The other man sitting across from my insufferable ex, coughs, breaking the tension in the room.
"Miss Wentworth, my name is Christos Kazakos. I’m one of the partners at Perraki, Lekkas, Kazakos and Associates," he says standing up and with one long stride he closes the gap between us.
"Please, call me Charlie. It’s a pleasure to meet you, Mr. Kazakos," I say, shaking his hand.
"If you're Charlie, then I’m Christos," he chuckles.
"That suits me perfectly," I smile back.
Although Barrett doesn't say a word, I’m keenly aware of his stare.
“Why don't I introduce you to the rest of the team?” Christos suggests.
"I'd love that,” I say.
“This is Dialina Moras, one of our senior partners. She's been with us for a long time. She's very seasoned and incredibly efficient.”
I immediately recognize the woman as the one who was trying to stake her claim on Barrett yesterday at the precinct. Despite the fact that I disliked her on the spot without knowing her, I still plaster a smile on my face.
"It's a pleasure to meet you Dialina," I say, walking towards her.
I extend a hand. She gives it a quick grasp before releasing it. God, I hate the brush-off handshake. She doesn't even bother to get up from her seat and she barely looks at me in the eye.
Clearly, Dialina is letting me know that this is her territory. Not mine.
Duly noted.
“Barrett did say you'd show up," she cheeps before turning her attention to the dashing man sitting at the head of the table to her right. "I guess you were right," she says, dropping her hand on his forearm and batting her eyelashes at him. "Your friend finally rolled out of bed."
That comment drips with contempt.
Bitch.
"There's a lot on the line." Her cold eyes focus on me again. "Let's hope you’re as… what’s that English word again?" she asks, more to herself. "Oh yes, competent, as Barrett says you are."
Really?
The two of us won’t be getting along anytime soon. That’s for sure.
"I think what Dialina is trying to say is that Barrett speaks very highly of you," Christos jumps in.
"Does he?" I ask. You’d never tell from his icy greeting.
My eyes move to his, but I can't read him.
"He says you’re brilliant." Oh. I have to bite off a smile at Christos’ comment.
Wow!
After introducing me to his two secretaries, Christos invites me to take a seat before he does the same at the other head of the table. I plop myself in the middle, careful to keep a good distance between Barrett and I.
I clear my throat. "Before we get started, I’d like to apologize for my tardiness, I—”
"It's called an alarm clock." Dialina rudely offers her unsolicited advice.
"I'll keep that in mind for next time," I match her snarkiness.
"Dialina, dial it down," Christos snaps. Thank you.
Bitch Dialina mumbles something inaudible and crosses her arms over her ample chest like a fucking brat.
“Traffic can be such a wildcard in Athens," Christos offers.
"Alas, I experienced it firsthand this morning. Two drivers thought they were qualifying for a racing competition."
"Welcome to the land of terrible drivers," Christos laughs.
"Unfortunately for me I was already late—the alarm on my iPhone didn't go off this morning—but the accident made it worse," I tell him.
"These things happen," he sympathizes.
“Late night partying, Charlotte?”
I should've known Barrett wasn't going to keep quiet for long.
I stare him down hoping that the daggers I shoot his way are enough to silence him.
“I didn't sleep the night before and I just came back from South America last week. My body is still adjusting… it all caught up with me," I explain curtly.
“Hmph,” Barrett hums. “Your body?”
Bloody hell! Is that all he picked-up on?
And why do those two simple words remind me of him shagging me?
Almost as if he was having a conversation with himself, he shakes his head and then a slow, almost mischievous smile starts to spread across his face. It’s like I’m watching it happen in slow motion. Uh oh. Something is brewing in that handsome and devious head of his. The question is, can I handle it? Since he doesn’t say anything more, I figure that’s that.
Of course, that's wishful thinking.
"Good thing you had time to change into something... appropriate for our meeting," he says arching one brow.
Bugger off.
“Nice dress.” His voice is husky and his green eyes dance with mischief. “It’s the perfect combination of classy and trendy.” What is he now? A freaking wardrobe consultant? With all of this morning chaos, I almost forgot that my fashion choice is a big fuck you to my ex. “You wear it well. It compliments your bracelet perfectly,” he adds, his eyes falling to my wrist. There’s softness in that last statement and for a few seconds, I’m thrown off my game.
“Thank you,” I say when I recover.
“Right.” His mouth is nothing more than a thin line now. “Well, now that you're here, please don't make us wait any longer than we already have.” The abruptness of his tone is like a slap in the face. “Did your assistant bring you up to speed?"
He’s all business. There’s little fanfare, not even an offer of a coffee or a glass of water. But that deep rich voice… pure sin.
"Absolutely," I respond.
"So, you're ready?" he asks.
"I always am. That's what makes me the best at what I do." I couldn’t resist.
He offers a small smile in response before asking, “What have you been able to dig up?”
* * *
Now that the painfully awkward introductions are behind me, I launch into professional mode.
"Jason was caught with his trousers around his ankles. The only thing is he didn’t expect to suffer the same humiliating fate as Pretty Boy Grandmont.”
"Who?” Dialina asks.
“Hugh Grandmont is one of the hottest British actors of our time with an equally hot girlfriend—Eliza Hurlington. Last year he was caught in a park in LA doing dirty things to an escort’s breasts with his co—I mean manhood.” Barrett chuckles. “The police showed up before things got too heated and arrested the poor chap. It’s only when the escort went public to cash in on a quick fifteen minutes of fame that Hugh found out that his booty-call-for-hire had more manly parts than he expected,” I explain.
"So that’s pretty much what we’re dealing with now?" Christos asks.
"It's worse. The public and the media were quite sympathetic to Hugh. It’s not the case with Jason. Our client is viewed as a petulant child. Not to mention that Hugh’s escort looked nothing like Jason’s.”
"What do you mean, Charlie?" asks Christos.
"We’re dealing with a plastic surgery junkie who loves the limelight."
“What do we know about this prostitute? The media has yet to reveal a name." Dialina asks.
“My team cracked that code," I say proudly.
“Really?” Barrett raises his eyebrows.
"Yes!" I might be late, but I still know what I'm doing. "Bibi—pronounced BeeBee, not ByeBye—has decided to make this a moment to remember. My team has collected quite a lot on the escort since the news broke."
"How did you manage that tour de force?" Barrett asks. "We've been scrambling to find any shred of information we could, and frankly, what we’ve come up with so far is pathetic given the severity of the situation."
"Last night, I gave instructions to my assistant to have two publicists—Cynthia and Nicole—solely dedicated to the task of following the hashtag #jasonbelvedereingreece. I wanted to track anyone who had posted that on social media. Cynthia found Bibi’s profile at about three o'clock in the morning. At the time Bibi was just another groupie on a long list of fans excited that the popstar was in town and sharing that enthusiasm on social media. When the news broke, Bibi immediately became a person of interest."
"What does that mean?" Dialina asks.
Yeah, I guess I'm more than just a little competent.
"My team went back to Bibi’s Instagram account. It's a veritable gold mine. When my assistant called me this morning, I gave him the green light. We now have three people translating everything.”
“What’s Bibi after?” Barrett’s question doesn't surprise me. That's what makes him a formidable lawyer.
“Bibi, aka Ervin Fidan Kukeli, is a twenty-one-year-old Albanian. He was born a male. After twelve breast augmentation surgeries, Bibi is now an impressive 38 LLL. The multiple nipple piercings only make this all the more ridiculous. As if that wasn't enough, Bibi’s two butt surgeries would put Jessica Rabbit to shame. Add to that a tiny twenty-two-inch waist thanks to rib removal surgery—”
“Who the hell paid for all those surgeries?” Barrett barks.
“That’s a very good question,” Christos agrees. "Last year, I represented a renowned plastic surgeon who was being sued by a rich sixteen-year-old—the daughter of a shipping magnate—because he refused to perform a grotesque augmentation on her due to her age. Long story short, we won the case, but I was able find out the cost of one of those operations and I was completely shocked."
"My point exactly," Barrett quips.
"Indeed, breast augmentations are exorbitant. Luckily, it isn't something I have to concern myself with,” Dialina says sticking out her chest. “I’ve been blessed.”
Really?
She even flashes me a little smirk and drops her eyes to my boobs.
Good for you, Giant Tits.
For a few seconds, no one says anything. I think we’re all fairly dumbfounded by
her over-share.
Snapping out of my stupor, I continue. “Well, that’s not all. Bibi also had two nose jobs and cheek implants. The addition of long blonde extensions and blue contact lenses help complete the package. If that was all we had to deal with, I’d say we were lucky."
"But it's not," Barrett tempers.
"Unfortunately not, as we all know now," I concede.
"Do we know if Jason swings that way?" he asks.
"Did he know that Bibi was born with an eye-popping thirteen-inch penis? That’s still unclear. But Bibi’s giant breasts and massive penis have officially become Internet sensations."
“Had Jason been caught making out in public with a girlfriend or boyfriend, the police officers might have turned a blind eye. Had Bibi been a registered prostitute, they might have received a slap on the wrist, but no jail time. Albania and Greece are neighbors. We have a major problem with illegal Albanians crossing the border—too many become street prostitutes. Everything is pointing to the fact that Bibi isn't registered. That also means the judge will come down hard on Jason,” Christos explains.
"What a bloody nightmare," Barrett grumbles. "Charlotte, you still haven't answered my question. What is this prostitute after?"
“I know Hugh’s publicist very well and it was a setup—”
“It was never proven,” Barrett quips.
“That’s the problem. Hugh had proof, but he backed down. He didn't want to get lawyers, or the police, involved. He wanted to put this mess behind him as quickly as possible—”
"You think this is a setup?" Barrett asks. "Bibi hasn't made any demands yet."
"In my opinion, it's only a matter of time,” I tell Barrett.
"What makes you say that?" he questions.
"After analyzing the briefing notes my assistant sent me, a few things jump out at me. One, how can Bibi afford all those surgeries? I'm not sure what the going rate is for an escort—”
“It can be up to two thousand pound a night," Barrett jumps in before I finish my sentence. "Weekends can fetch as much as fifteen thousand. Twenty for girls in high demand." I arch an eyebrow in surprise. "I've had to dig a number of clients out of sticky situations. I don't pay for sex, Charlotte," he pauses for a beat, almost to make sure he has my undivided attention. “I don't have to."
You're All I Think About_Second Chance Romance Page 10
