Approaching the Bench

by Chantal Fernando

  Callum chuckles to himself and lets us both go. “You’re moving down the road, brother, not to Sri Lanka or something.”

  “You never mentioned it was down the road,” I tell Justin, smiling at him. “Didn’t want to be too far away, huh?”

  About six months back, Callum and Justin moved into my house and Callum put up his house for rent. I had more space, so it made sense to do so. I know that Callum has put that house in Justin’s name as a graduation present, so he can either sell it or keep renting it out. I love how Callum looks after his brother. I know he’s going to be an amazing dad, and it makes this whole experience less scary. Between us, Alyssa, Dina, and Eddie, we’ve kind of made our own family. Callum’s dad drops by every Sunday for family dinner too.

  Before it was just me, Alyssa, and Dina. And now?

  My heart is so full every day I can barely breathe.

  “We’d better get to work, Trinny,” Callum says, giving me a sweet kiss. We walk into work and do what we have to and keep our private life private. It’s a conflict of interest, and frowned upon, but no one says anything, since there isn’t a real rule about it, at least not to my face. I’m sure plenty is said behind my back, but oh well.

  They never liked me before anyway. Besides, I’ve heard plenty of rumors about judges sleeping with their law clerks and interns before—why, just because I’m a woman, I can’t do the same?

  Maybe they’ll start calling me cougar Medusa, or some other new name behind my back, but you know what? There’s a reason no one says anything to my face.

  I’m not someone to mess with.

  “Have I told you today how much I love you and how beautiful you look?” Callum whispers into my ear, then slaps my ass. “Even more beautiful with my baby inside of you.”

  I roll my eyes. “Don’t try that Neanderthal shit just because I’m pregnant, buddy.”

  Callum and I already decided that I’ll take a year off after the baby is born, but then I’ll go back to work and he will be with the baby. Bentley & Channing, the law firm he interned at while in law school, said they’re happy to take him back part-time or full-time, whenever he’s ready. Someone as smart as Callum shouldn’t waste his talents completely. It works for our situation and allows him to finish his clerkship.

  He’s onto bigger and better things in his career, and I want that for him.

  I’m not going to give up my dreams either though.

  Except now, we’ll build our dreams together.

  Acknowledgments

  A big thank you to my editor, Marla Daniels, and Gallery books. I love every second of working with you.

  Kimberly Brower, I’m so lucky to have you as my agent! Thank you for everything you do; we make such a great team and you truly go above and beyond.

  Natalie Ram—Thank you for being the most versatile best friend ever, from helping me proofread to making me swag. I appreciate everything that is you. I know I can always count on you to have my back, or help me when I need you. I kind of adore you, and I don’t know how I survived before I had you by my side. You’re my one woman army, and I love you heaps.

  Rose Tawil—I really don’t know what I’d do without you. I can’t say thank you enough for all the work you put in to support my dreams, and you never ask for anything in return. You truly are one of the best people I’ve ever met. You also kick my ass whenever I need it. Love you infinity.

  To my three sons, my biggest supporters, thank you for being so understanding, loving, and helpful. I’m so proud of the men you are all slowly becoming, and I love you all so very much.

  Keep reading for a sneak peek of the next sizzling installment in the Conflict of Interest series

  LEADING THE WITNESS

  A divorce lawyer finds himself stuck between his client and the woman he desires—and soon he’ll be forced to choose sides. . . .

  Coming spring 2018 from Gallery Books!

  prologue

  RILEY

  “WHAT CAN I GET for you?” I ask the two gentlemen who are looking a little out of place in my bar in their fancy suits. Since our opening two weeks ago, most of our customers have been of the blue-collar variety.

  But I’m not complaining. One, because they are both ridiculously good-looking—especially the bearded man—and two, because I’m grateful to anyone who comes in here and gives my new business a chance. I’ve always wanted to run my own bar. I know this sounds like a ridiculous dream for a young girl, but growing up my aunt and uncle owned one, and I was there every day. I practically grew up in their bar with my cousin, Devon. Every day after school we’d help in the back, peeling potatoes for my aunt, or we’d order food and do our homework. Things that aren’t really that common, but no one batted an eyelash about it back then. It was a real family vibe, and I have a lot of good memories there. I guess I wanted to re-create that in my adulthood. I’ve always wanted to be my own boss and not answer to anyone else. And now that I have it, I’ll do anything to make it work.

  “Hello there,” the bearded man replies with a way too charming smile. “Knew I wanted to check this place out for a reason.”

  He caught my eye the minute he walked in; there’s just something about him. He must have scores of women after him, with that dark scruff and those blue eyes. He’s wearing black slacks and a light blue shirt, rolled up at the sleeves. It fits him perfectly, like the clothing was made just for his muscular build. He must go to the gym, because I doubt he’d get shoulders like that from whatever professional job he has.

  “That reason had better be a beer and a meal,” I instantly reply in a dry tone, my brow arched. “Because that’s all that’s on offer. For you, anyway.”

  I internally cringe. Great job, Riley, already insulting new customers. Sometimes though, I just can’t help myself. My default mode is sassy, and the attitude just pours out of me.

  The other man laughs at my comeback, and I find my own lip twitching. Maybe they don’t mind my sass. His gray eyes are kind, and I find myself liking him already too. “Could I please order the steak?”

  “Sure,” I say, pulling my notepad from my pocket and jotting his order down. I don’t show it, but I’m a little nervous right now. My chef hasn’t made the steak for anyone yet. I know I’m being ridiculous, but every time someone orders something from the menu for the first time, it’s like my anxiety kicks in, nerves and excitement hitting me as my menu comes together. I’m sure he will nail it. “How would you like it?”

  “Medium rare, please, and with pepper mushroom sauce.”

  I can feel the bearded man’s eyes on me, those blue fucking weapons of his, but I pretend I can’t feel his gaze on my face and instead continue to focus on the gray eyes. Safer eyes.

  “Perfect. Fries or mashed potatoes?”

  “Fries,” he replies, then glances to his friend. “What do you want?”

  Apparently he’s doing my job for me now. Just who are these commanding, sexy, well-dressed men? I reluctantly bring my eyes to the blue ones.

  “Just a beer, please, darlin’,” he says to me, tone gentle and soft.

  And inviting.

  He’s the type of man songs are written about. Books are dedicated to. Movies are made, with fucking Jason Momoa playing him.

  He’s a fucking muse.

  A heartbreaker.

  Our eyes connect and hold, and a feeling I can’t really explain comes over me. With a quick shake of my head, I push it away. “Gotcha.” I all but rush to the back, pushing through the door that leads to the kitchen and staff room. Closing the door, I lean on it, breathing deeply.

  “Fuck, she’s hot,” I hear the bearded one say. “She wants me.”

  I roll my eyes and push away from the door, not wanting to hear any more. Sure, he’s attractive. I didn’t miss those tats on his forearms, giving him the perfect mix of badass and professional. He’s intriguing. He’s the type of guy women should avoid. The exact type I will avoid. Determined to act like they were any other customers, I hand Cheffy the
order. His real name is Trent, although no one ever calls him that. “Time to show off your skills.”

  His expression doesn’t change. Then again, it rarely does. “I can cook a steak in my sleep.”

  “Good,” I reply, grinning at him. “Let’s impress the fancy men then.”

  He mutters something under his breath while I return to the bar to pour their drinks. I don’t know why I was feeling a little nervous; Cheffy has it all under control.

  As I open the door, my hand stills on the PUSH sign because I hear the bearded man say, “That motto isn’t compulsory. Come on, it’s a pretty sweet setup. It has a pool table, the menu looks good, and lots of alcoholic beverages to try.” He grins. “And the waitress is a fucking babe.”

  I appreciate the pretty-sweet-setup comment and I pretend I don’t hear the fucking-babe comment, although the way my heart starts to race tells me that my body has decided otherwise. I push the door open fully, revealing myself to them.

  “Actually, I’m the owner,” I say, then turn to Gray Eyes. “I’m Riley.”

  “Jaxon,” he replies, offering me his hand. I accept it and give it a quick shake. The second I let go, my hand is gently clasped again, and soft lips are pressing onto my knuckles. “I’m Hunter.” He raises his head. “We work down the road, at the Bentley and Channing law firm.”

  Hunter?

  “Appropriate name.” I roll my eyes and say out loud before I realize I’m insulting a customer. Again. I pull my hand away from his reach. Get it together, Riley. You need this place to succeed. I pour his beer, avoiding his gaze and ignoring the burning sensation his lips and fingers have left on my skin.

  “Never seen a lawyer covered in tattoos before.”

  I don’t know why I said that. Nothing else came to mind, and I felt like I needed to say something. I shouldn’t have though, because now he knows I’ve been studying him. He doesn’t need to know that. I might never have seen a lawyer with so many tattoos, but I’ve never seen one so fucking good-looking either.

  I suppose I should be happy that I didn’t blurt that out instead. It can always be worse.

  “I’m one of a kind,” Hunter replies, and I can hear the smirk in his tone. I slide the beer to him, then finally raise my eyes to his.

  “Probably a good thing,” I fire back, then disappear into the kitchen to check on Jaxon’s meal. Or maybe to escape, I don’t know. Why can’t I control what I say around that man? I think I just need a little air.

  A few moments later, I hear Preston. “Is the owner here? I’m late for work, and she’s a she-devil.”

  I roll my eyes and shake my head in amusement. Preston is something else, but he’s been growing on me. He’s a huge pain in my ass, but he’s also been such a help since Riley’s opened. Preston’s worked in many bars across the city, and he’s truly good at what he does as a bartender. He comes up with delicious new, creative cocktails and mixed drinks. I was lucky that the bar he was working at closed and he needed a new job. With his talent comes his attitude though, which is usually amusing but can sometimes be exasperating. I can’t exactly judge him for that—it’s probably why we get along so well.

  I walk back out, only to almost bump into him. “Preston, you’re late.”

  “I know,” he tells me. “It’s a long story. One I’m sure you don’t have time for, so I won’t bother explaining.”

  I sigh deeply, exaggerating my annoyance with my hand on my hip. It’s good to focus on him and not the bearded lawyer who gets under my skin. “How the fuck are you the best bartender in town?”

  “I have skills,” Preston says with a smirk on his face. “In the bar and in the bedroom. And I’m a mixologist, not a bartender. Don’t make me sound average.”

  “Don’t be late again, Preston. Fancy bar skills or not, I’ll fire you without hesitation,” I tell him, although we both know it’s a lie.

  “Noted,” Preston mutters, but I don’t miss his lip twitching. He loves me.

  As soon as I head to the back again, I hear him say, “See? She-devil.”

  “I can hear you, asshole!” I yell, shaking my head.

  I hear the men laughing.

  Great, they’re going to think this is the worst bar they’ve ever been to and they aren’t going to come back. The owner mouths off to customers and the bartender is inappropriate.

  Hunter’s blue eyes flash in my mind.

  Maybe it’s a good thing if they never come back.

  I can’t afford to be attracted to some rich, arrogant, model-looking lawyer. A stranger who is now making me feel so weird in my own fucking bar that I’m hiding out so I don’t have to face him again.

  When did I become shy around the opposite sex?

  Maybe I’m just out of practice.

  “If you can hear back there, can you get me another beer?”

  I can tell its Hunter calling out to me. This is just great. I already know his voice.

  I grit my teeth. Luckily Preston is here now, so he can get him another beer and bring them their food. I don’t need to go back out there again. Instead, I keep myself busy with inventory.

  I’m married, I remind myself.

  Not happily, but that’s beside the point. My body shouldn’t be reacting to any man like it just did to Hunter.

  Shit.

  What the hell.

  I’ll never see him again anyway.

  chapter 1

  RILEY

  One Year Later

  “WHO ARE YOU PUTTING on red lipstick for?” The question comes from behind me, making me jump. I turn from the small mirror hanging in our staff bathroom and scowl at Preston, pressing my lips together.

  “What are you talking about?” My brow furrows. “I wear lipstick all the time.”

  He leans against the wall and studies me with his dark eyes, amusement written all over his smug face. “No, you don’t.”

  I cross my arms over my chest, facing him. “What do you care if I’m wearing lipstick? I pay you to make drinks, not scrutinize my every move.”

  Preston may have started out as my pain-in-the-ass bartender—or mixologist, as he likes to correct me—but over the last year he’s grown on me, like a fucking fungus. I don’t have many friends, yet he somehow wormed his way into my heart. Don’t ask me how, because he’s completely inappropriate, can never take anything seriously, and is nosy as hell. But ever since I started going through my divorce, he’s been there for me, and I really appreciate that.

  “I don’t care.” He chuckles, running his finger over the gauge in his left ear. He has one on each side, and I think they suit him. “Just pointing out a fact.” He glances down at his watch. “I’m sure it doesn’t have anything to do with the fact that Hunter comes in around this time.”

  “Hunter who?” I sniff, lifting my chin. “I have no idea what you’re talking about.”

  Instead of calling me out on my blatant lie, he just laughs.

  I roll my eyes and head back to the bar, leaving his laughter behind me. Fiddling with the red bandanna I’ve tied around my neck, I ponder his words. So what if I want to look decent when Hunter comes in? Not that I’d ever admit it out loud to anyone, including myself, but there’s nothing wrong with wanting to look your best. Hunter looks good every time he comes in for lunch, dressed in one of his expensive suits. So I can make sure I’m put together when he comes in. It’s just good customer service.

  With an audible sigh, I move behind the bar and stand next to Callie, my newest bartender. She’s never worked in a bar before, but when she told me her story, I couldn’t not hire her. She’s having a life crisis and decided to take a break from her law career to find herself. When I asked her if she knew how to make cocktails, she told me she makes them at home all the time. For herself. I don’t know if that counts as experience, but I hired her anyway, and she’s been here about six months now. She’s a cool chick, a fast learner, and makes a nice addition to the team. One of my regulars, Kat, also happens to be Callie’s best friend. It’s
like a reunion every time Kat comes in, the two of them carrying on like they haven’t seen each other in years.

  “Is it just me, or does that guy keep staring at me?” she asks under her breath. I have no idea who she’s talking about, so I scan the crowd, but none of the three male occupants are looking in our direction.

  “Just you,” I say, lip twitching in amusement.

  She lifts her head, closing her eyes and wrinkling her nose, inhaling deeply. “You smell good.” She then tilts her head and studies me. “And you look good too. What’s the occasion?”

  “There’s no occasion. Do you want me to handle those tables, or are you good?” I ask, hopefully changing the subject.

  She glances down at her watch and nods, then casually adds, “Oh, it’s almost time for Hunter to come in. You worry about him. I’ll make sure the rest of the customers are sorted.”

  I grit my teeth and throw my hands in the air. “What is wrong with all of you? One, I look nice every day.” The threatening look I give her dares her to say otherwise. “And two, he doesn’t even come in every day.”

  “Who doesn’t come in every day?” Hunter asks, making my head snap toward him so fast I’m surprised I don’t get whiplash. As always when I look into those blue eyes, it’s hard for me to look away. I manage to give him a quick once-over though, taking in his gray suit, with, just my luck . . . a white shirt. Maybe I should turn up the heat in here so his jacket will come off. I love when he wears white shirts; I don’t know why. Especially when he has the sleeves rolled up so I can sneak a peek of his tattoos. Is there anything sexier than a smart, successful man in a suit? Yes, there is. One who has tattoos hidden underneath, hinting at a bad side I’d like to explore but will never let myself.

  Of course he had to walk in during this very conversation. How much of it did he hear? I’m hoping just the last line, but I know I’m not that lucky.

  “No one,” I say, forcing a smile. I glance around but don’t see any of the other people from the firm with him today. “Here without the squad?”