Counselor Undone

by Lisa Rayne

  He glanced back at her, eyes soft and concerned. His expression told her he wasn’t acting out of ego or a need to mark territory in front of another male. His thumb rubbed in light waves against the layers under her sweater. The tension building inside her loosened.

  She wasn’t used to this kind of unequivocal support from a man—other than her brother. She’d always faced her battles alone. She’d cultivated internal strength and an indomitable spirit through hard knocks ever since her parents split up when she was nine. Michael’s silent offer of support was as irresistible as it was unexpected, making Jordis do something completely foreign to her independent spirit. She leaned into him to accept and relish in that support.

  A flicker in Keith’s eyes conveyed he’d seen the unspoken bond transpire. The bristle to his male ego telegraphed from the flash of barely controlled anger he directed at Michael. Michael’s expression didn’t change. He stared straight back at Keith, sending the message he wasn’t impressed or cowed by his presence.

  “Trust me.” Jordis regained Keith’s attention. “The air is plenty clear. I meant every word I said when I called off our engagement. Whatever your regrets, their irrelevant to me now.”

  Keith’s head tilted. “Michael Remington,” he said slowly. “As in, Remington Hager & McCormick?” Keith looked right at Jordis as he finished.

  She could almost see the dirty thoughts dancing through his brain, and it pissed her off.

  “Yes,” Michael replied.

  “I see.” Keith directed a condescending I-was-right-about-you grin at Jordis.

  “No, you don’t see—”

  “Oh, yeah, Jordis. I see you wasted no time. How long have you been at the firm now? Has it even been two months?”

  Jordis bit back the obscenity that threatened to burst from her mouth in response to Keith’s veiled personal dig. She didn’t bother to correct him about the length of her employment at RHM. “No, you don’t see.” She took a step forward. “He lied, Keith. He lied to cover his own ass.” Her voice dropped to a dangerously calm tenor, but her body still communicated aggression. “Then he used you to make sure his story stuck.”

  Keith’s eyes flashed a momentary look of doubt.

  She pressed her point. “Yeah, think about it. When a woman’s own fiancé doesn’t trust her integrity, it makes it pretty easy to get others to doubt her word.”

  “Is that what you told him?” Keith gave a mirthless laugh. “He bought that line?”

  Something in Jordis went cold. “If that’s how you feel Keith, why are you standing here claiming you want to ‘clear the air’?”

  He switched tactics. “Look, babe, I miss you.” He reached for the hand not pressed against Michael’s side, a bold move considering Michael’s expression. “I thought maybe you were ready to talk about what really happened. Maybe we can finally get past it, get back to being a team.” His hand eased towards a loose curl dangling across her forehead.

  Michael’s hand blocked the move. “You need to keep your hands to yourself.”

  Keith bristled. “Look, man, could we have a moment alone, please?”

  “No,” Michael and Jordis said at the same time.

  Michael adjusted her body in a way that made it awkward for Keith to continue holding her hand so Keith released her.

  She glared at her ex. “What do you want, Keith? What’s this really about?”

  Keith’s eyes flicked towards Michael.

  “Whatever you want to say to me, say it. Trust me, he’s not going anywhere.” Jordis focused her attention on Keith, but out of the corner of her eye, she caught the look and tilt of head Michael gave him at her comment.

  Keith’s jaw tightened. The familiar tick revealed his mounting anger. “Clearly, this isn’t a good time.” He pulled his wallet from his pocket and retrieved a business card. He placed it in Jordis’s hand. “Here’s my card. I’ll be in town for two weeks. Give me a call when you’re ready to talk.”

  Jordis read the card in her hand.

  Keith looked past her at the man standing at her shoulder. “Michael.” He laced the farewell with a macho inflection.

  Michael’s smile stayed as nonchalant as his tone, and he nodded his head in dismissal. “Keith.”

  * * *

  Michael watched Jordis squeeze Keith’s business card into a wadded ball.

  “He just ruined a perfectly good day.” Her voice held a tense edge that affected Michael in a strange way.

  He didn’t like her change in mood. Stepping behind her, he placed his right hand on her waist and leaned around her to open her fist with his left. “No, he didn’t.” When her hand unwound, he removed the wadded card. “Because we’re not going to let him.” He dropped the crumple into a neighboring trash receptacle.

  Jordis looked over her shoulder at him.

  “You still owe me a stroll, Ms. Morgan. Come with me.” He took her hand and tugged her towards the street.

  “Where are we going?”

  He pulled his phone from his pocket and sent several text messages. Satisfied, he nodded before placing it back in his coat. “You’ll find out soon enough.”

  He took her hand and pulled her towards the street. As his mystery woman, she’d said they would be hard pressed to do dinner-and-a-movie or getting-to-know-you drinks after their steamy first encounter. He disagreed. They’d done dinner. While a movie wasn’t in the cards, they could certainly take advantage of one of Kansas City’s favorite couple spots. Their first kiss had been above the backdrop of the Plaza lights. It seemed fitting that their first date also occur on the Plaza—even if she didn’t know it was their first date.

  They strolled several blocks hand-in-hand and stopped at a corner where passengers commandeered horse-drawn carriages for a fee. Several people waited in line for carriages to return. Jordis looked at him with a question in her eyes. He gave her that smile often used by parents to keep children in suspense when planning a surprise.

  Soon, the clip clop of horse hooves against frigid concrete drew Jordis’s attention to an approaching carriage. Unconsciously, she squeezed Michael’s hand. Open steel bars shaped like a pumpkin sat atop a carriage bed to create the ambience of the popular Cinderella carriage. Drawn by a speckled white stallion, the glow of white Christmas lights wrapped around the pumpkin cage made the coach appear almost magical.

  “I used to love riding in that carriage at Christmas time when I was a kid.” Jordis’s voice softened with the pleasure of her memories. “I wonder who has the next ride.”

  The carriage pulled to a stop at the curb. The father of a family of four approached the driver of the carriage intending to purchase the next ride. They watched the driver shake his head negatively indicating the carriage was unavailable.

  “It looks like someone has it reserved,” Jordis said. “Too bad. It would have been fun to take a ride.”

  Michael squeezed her hand back. “Then let’s do that.”

  “You brought me here to take a carriage ride?”

  Her baffled expression made him want to laugh. He pulled her along by their still joined hands. “Yes. In fact, I brought you here to take a ride in this carriage.” He motioned towards the Cinderella carriage.

  Jordis stopped moving. Her expression turned from bafflement to disbelief. “But . . . the carriage is reserved.”

  Michael pulled her to him and lowered his voice. “It’s reserved for us.”

  “But, how did you—?”

  “The wonders of modern technology.” Michael patted the breast pocket of his coat.

  “That’s what you were doing? Making reservations for a carriage ride?”

  “Yes.”

  A soft breeze blew more loose tendrils of hair around her face. “Why did you do that?” She shivered beneath her wary expression.

  With the sun down, the temperature had dropped. He pulled her scarf from under the collar of her coat and wrapped it around her neck. “Because I heard you tell my sister that when your mother brought you and yo
ur brother to the Plaza for carriage rides, you selected this carriage whenever it was your turn to pick. No matter what had happened that week or that day, a ride in the Cinderella carriage made you happy. After Mr. Wilson, I thought a little carriage therapy was in order.”

  He brushed the hair off her face. “Now, stop questioning me and get in the carriage. You’re wasting the night.”

  Chapter 9

  Michael offered Jordis his hand and assisted her into the carriage. When he settled beside her, the carriage driver looked back and asked, “All set, folks?”

  Michael nodded and the renewed clip clop of hooves announced their departure.

  Jordis angled her body toward him. “You were listening the whole time.”

  So, she hadn’t realized he’d been paying attention when she’d talked with Raina about her memories of carriage rides on the Plaza. “Yes, I was listening.”

  Jordis smiled, and he almost wanted to thank Keith Wilson for inspiring him to charter a carriage ride to make her feel better. Her smile made the astronomical fee he’d agreed to pay to guarantee the last minute availability of the carriage worth every dime. Of course, he’d still find a way to get back at his old high school buddy, whose family owned the carriage service, for taking advantage of Michael’s predicament to jack up the price. For now, however, he was glad his friend had come through for him so he could counteract the negative effect of Jordis’s interaction with her ex.

  When Wilson had approached Jordis, the force of Michael’s immediate dislike of the man had surprised him. He wanted to know more about their relationship. He’d gleaned the two had been engaged and the relationship hadn’t ended well. He wanted to know why, but he wouldn’t risk a downturn in her current mood by asking. He’d broach the subject some other time.

  Jordis hunkered into her coat.

  “Are you cold?”

  “A little. I guess I spent too many years in LA, and my blood hasn’t thickened back up yet.”

  Michael leaned towards the driver and asked him to pull over up ahead. He turned back to Jordis. “I’ll be right back.”

  He jumped out of the carriage and walked purposefully into a coffee shop. A few minutes later, he returned with two tall cups of steaming liquid. Climbing back into the carriage, he handed her a cup.

  Jordis took a sip. “Mmm. What is this?”

  “Good?”

  “Delicious. It tastes almost like gourmet hot chocolate, but it clearly has some coffee in it.” She took a long swig and a look of ecstasy crossed her face.

  Michael chuckled. “I noticed you always drink tea. So, I told the barista you’re not really a coffee drinker, but I was trying to corrupt you. She came up with this. It’s a milk chocolate turtle mocha. Do you like it?”

  “It’s incredible. What’s in it?”

  “Two types of gourmet chocolate—including chocolate shavings—real cream, flavored cappuccino, nuts and something secret I can’t get the owner to tell me.”

  “Well, I wouldn’t tell you either if I had a hot chocolate recipe like this. I’d be a millionaire from hot chocolate sales alone.” She adjusted in her seat. “Have you talked to them about possible trade secret protection for their recipes?”

  His brow furrowed. “Actually, no. I never thought about it. But you’re right. Dana should be taking precautions with her recipes.”

  “Dana? You know the owner well?”

  “Yes, she graduated from high school with my sister, Liliana. She was always at the house for some reason or another.”

  “I’d love an introduction. Some intellectual property protection and a targeted social media campaign and we could make this shop the place to come for gourmet beverages. Then, Dana and her staff could upsell their other goodies.”

  He’d never thought about a business pitch to Dana. He rarely got involved with clients until they had a dispute they wanted to squash or litigation they needed to win. Jordis’s brain seemed to work on a proactive basis at all times. He admired that. The transactional team led by his Business and Finance partner had been after him for some time to work on a targeted cross-marketing campaign with the Intellectual Property Litigation group. Maybe he needed to put Jordis to work on the project as a liaison between the two departments. He filed the thought away for later consideration.

  His attention returned to his carriage companion. The tension in her shoulders from the encounter with Wilson had started to ease. The calming motion of the gliding carriage and the hot beverage appeared to have relaxed her. He placed his arm along the seat behind her head. Every once in a while, his fingers slid through the hair of her ponytail.

  After a while, Jordis asked, “So, your grandparents live in Milan?”

  He nodded. “My maternal grandparents.” He didn’t usually talk about his family. People, especially women, had a way of taking personal information and using it like weapons in warfare. His ex had. She’d gone so far as to pretend to share his interest in motorcycles by buying one of her own. But, whenever he made plans to ride with her, something always came up. It wasn’t until he’d found out about her plans to fawn her pregnancy by another man off as his that he’d finally put two and two together. She’d taken lessons and gotten her motorcycle license, but she didn’t really like to ride. She’d scoped him out and planned his seduction like a professional mercenary staging a coup. The devastation she’d wreaked on his faith in women and belief in romantic love still lingered.

  Somehow with Jordis, he didn’t feel the tight pull of angst that usually accompanied a woman’s inquiry into his personal life. In fact, he felt compelled to tell her about his Italian roots.

  “My parents met the summer after my father graduated from college. He embarked on a summer tour of Europe. On his jaunt through Milan, he spied a beautiful Italian girl coming out of a gelato shop with a group of friends one day. According to my father, she’d been breathtaking. He couldn’t take his eyes off her. Eventually, she noticed him staring and smiled at him before disappearing from the piazza.

  “My dad always chuckled when he described how, try as he might, he’d been unable to stop thinking about the Italian beauty. So, he returned every day for four straight days to the same spot at the same time of day hoping she would show up again. On the fourth and final day, he resolved that if she didn’t show, he would relent and move on to the next city on his seat-of-the-pants itinerary. He sat outside the gelato shop that day for five long hours. As dusk began to filter over the piazza, he gathered his disappointment and rose to leave. That’s when he spied my mom walking alone. She’d come specifically to find him. From that moment on, the two spent every possible minute together. They decided to make it permanent after knowing each other for only two weeks.”

  “Wow. That’s very romantic.”

  “My grandfather didn’t think so.”

  “No?”

  “Nope. Apparently, he was dismayed when the ‘smooth-talking American’—” He made air quotes. “—requested permission to marry his daughter. Grandfather had expected my mom to marry a nice Italian boy and raise tons of children in Milan, not abscond to another continent with an Anglo.”

  “Ah.” She nodded her head. “Same story. Different country.”

  He stared at her for a moment. “Is it?” Those eyes of hers watched him closely, waiting for him to explain his question. He caressed her cheek with a bent finger. “How do you feel about Anglos, Jordis?”

  Jordis fumbled the coffee cup in her hand. She tried to grab it, but shaky hands and marked surprised weren’t a good combination, and the cup tilted from her grasp. Michael managed to grab the cup before leftover chocolate mocha filled her lap. He tucked it aside.

  “I . . . um . . . What do you mean?” Her soft voice contrasted with the look of amazement on her face.

  Her eyes darken slightly, the way they had last night when he’d kissed her. The realization that she wasn’t wholly immune to him sent a jolt of testosterone pulsing through every cell of his body. He’d initially been reluct
ant to bring up the topic, but the more attracted to her he became, the more he ached to know her preference in men. Her reaction told him a lot, but he needed to hear her say it.

  Enjoying her discomfiture, he leaned back in his seat. He undid the sole fastened button on his coat to counteract the sudden rise in his body temperature. “I think you know what I mean.”

  * * *

  Jordis’s eyes slid over him from head to toe in the few seconds it took her to adjust upright after the coffee scare. Michael Remington had sex appeal in spades, and she suspected he knew it. His posture oozed confident masculinity. An odd set of contrasts comprised his persona. Staunchly proper and GQ in the office, he came off as conservative and straight-laced. Here, on a carriage ride wearing black jeans and a black sweater, he looked edgy and even a little dangerous.

  He was quite yummy . . . for a white guy. Hell, who was she kidding? For any guy. The last thing she needed, however, was for him to know she thought so. So, she tried to keep her expression neutral.

  Holding her gaze, Michael pressed for an answer to his question. “There’s that old cliché that women like their men tall, dark and handsome.” He was sporting a smile she’d bet a year’s salary made women of every persuasion want to drop their panties. “I’m just curious. What’s your perspective?”

  Responding to the flirtatious mischief in his eyes, Jordis gathered her aplomb. “My perspective is there’s usually a basis for most clichés.” She positioned her back into the corner of the carriage bench farthest away from him. “I’d have to say tall, dark and handsome always worked for me.” She flashed her own mischievous grin.

  He angled his body towards her. “So, just how dark does your tall and handsome have to be?”

  They stared at each other for five seconds that felt more like five hours. “Are you . . . asking me . . . ?” Her voice trailed off. She dared not voice what she thought he was asking.

  She was riding through the Plaza with the heir apparent to one of the most successful law firms in the city. Everyone knew he, as the only attorney amongst the living relatives of the founders of the firm, reigned as crowned prince and soon to be managing partner. He’d been labeled the most eligible bachelor at the firm. He was probably one of the most eligible bachelors in the city. Yet, no matter how many women threw themselves at him, he managed to avoid office interludes and serious relationships. So, she couldn’t fathom why he sat asking about her preference in men as if interviewing her to be his potential paramour. Surely, she was missing something.