Dirty Rich One Night Stand

by Lisa Renee Jones

  “If you slander us, if you lie about us,” she says, “if you repeat anything you shouldn’t repeat, we will sue you and your family for all you and they are worth.”

  Kara appears beside me. “I think it would be a good idea if me and my gun walked you back to the courthouse.” She walks away.

  My cellphone rings and I glance down to find an unknown number. I have too much going on to ignore it, and I hit accept.

  “Cat, it’s Royce.”

  “Lauren called you.”

  “Yes, but I’m actually on the bench right across from you.”

  I look up to find him sitting there. “You’re following Kelli,” I say.

  “Yes. And I wanted you to know that if she gets close to you, we’re close to you. I sent you a warning text you ignored.”

  I glance at my phone, and sure enough, there’s a message that reads: This is Royce. Kelli Ward is heading your way, but I’m here with you.

  “If she approaches you again, Kara is going to immediately join you. We’re here.”

  “She’s not going to touch me,” I say. “That would be stupid, and that woman isn’t stupid.”

  “We’re here, Cat.” He hangs up.

  He didn’t agree with me, but I’ve been around people like her. I’ve helped convict them. And I’m going to help convict her, too. I text Reese: Kelli got in my face. Royce was watching. But she’s your girl, Reese. Get her.

  He calls me immediately. “Are you okay?”

  “Of course. I worked for the DA’s office. This is not new to me. I just wanted you to know that her loose cannon is getting looser.”

  “Text me when you get to the courthouse. I won’t answer, but I need to know you’re here. Be careful.”

  We disconnect and I get up and start walking, the words “be careful” now burned into my mind.

  I disconnect with Cat and glance around the conference table where my two co-counsels sit, along with Nelson Ward, who is directly in front of me. “Your wife not only had that confrontation with me today, she just confronted Cat and threatened her as well. Control her.”

  Nelson’s lips thin. “I’ll handle her,” he says.

  “Like you handled her when you got on that plane Saturday night?”

  “We’ve covered that to the point that it’s a baseball bat hitting me over the head. It was a mistake.”

  “If you don’t handle your woman better than you did then,” I say, “I’ll have her banned from the courtroom, and I’ll get a protective order for Cat. Actually, that works for us. We need suspicion cast elsewhere. If your wife is volatile, that does the trick.”

  “What the hell are you talking about?” he demands, leaning forward.

  “Are you protecting her?” I press.

  “Why would I be protecting her? From what?”

  “Did she kill that woman and her unborn child?” I ask.

  “I’m not protecting her,” he says.

  “That’s not an answer,” Elsa chimes in, sounding appalled. “Did she kill her?”

  “No,” he says, cutting her a sharp look, and then eyeing me. “Kelli didn’t kill her.”

  “What if she was jealous of Jennifer?” Elsa pushes, while I listen with interest.

  “I met Jennifer at a coffee shop,” Nelson snaps back. “You know this story but since you’ve forgotten and you’re one of my attorneys, let’s repeat. She was crying. She wanted to leave her boyfriend. She said she needed a job. I saw her there several times. She was never without tears. I told my wife about Jennifer. Kelli generously decided to help Jennifer get a job. And the baby wasn’t mine. DNA confirms that fact.”

  “But Kelli didn’t have DNA testing when she found out Jennifer was pregnant,” Elsa argues.

  “There was nothing sexual between myself and Jennifer Wright,” Nelson breathes out. “It hurts my heart to know that she is dead. I still can’t believe someone pushed her down the stairs. It seems more of an accident than murder.”

  “The evidence says it’s murder,” Richard says. “The good news is that the evidence against you being the one who committed that murder is circumstantial.”

  “And yet I’m on trial,” Nelson states.

  “Have you not once considered your wife as the killer?” Elsa says, apparently not ready to let this go.

  “No I have not,” Nelson bites out, irritation in his voice. “She’s devastated by all of this.”

  “And so she ran off to Vermont and left you to be devastated alone,” Elsa rebuttals. “Such love.”

  “She was having a panic attack when she left for Vermont,” he claps back. “How could I not go after her?”

  “Exactly,” Elsa says. “And she knew that. She knew that would get you arrested.”

  “Kelli is going to take the stand, at the appropriate moment.” I interject. “I hope you’re certain that she will protect you as you’re protecting her. If not, we both lose this trial. Only I get to take the hit and move on. And you get to be thankful the death penalty no longer exists in New York.”

  Nelson stands up. “I’m paying you to defend me, not destroy her.”

  “You’re right,” I say, standing up as well, pressing my fingers to the conference table and leaning forward. “You’re paying me to defend you,” I say. “That means I find the killer or we put this decision in the hands of a jury that likely hates your guts.”

  “I know the press hates me but that’s about selling papers. They have heard the evidence. I didn’t do this. They need to hear from me.”

  Richard chimes in without standing up. “If you go on the stand, the prosecutor will highlight everything there is to hate about you. And in case you don’t see that clearly let me spell it out. You’re rich, good looking, and did I say rich? Oh, and your wife is hot and they think you still banged another chick, got her pregnant, and killed her.”

  Nelson scowls at him. “The DNA links the baby to the boyfriend. What part of this do you people not understand?”

  “I didn’t forget,” Richard says. “But as you’re being called a baby killer who fucked this woman, how likely is it that the jury forgets?”

  “Then remind them,” he snaps, looking at me, a wild animal quality to his eyes. “Remind them.”

  I arch a brow. “Anything you want to tell us?” I ask.

  “Do your job.”

  “Even if I get you off,” I say, “you still have to shut your eyes and sleep every night next to her.”

  A guard pokes his head in the door. “Five-minute warning.”

  “It’s time for court,” I say, heading for the door.

  I exit the room and start walking down the hallway when Elsa joins me. “He’s covering for her.”

  “I know,” I say.

  “Why would anyone cover for someone who did such a hideous thing? What makes a man willing to do anything for a woman?”

  I don’t answer, but I know firsthand, there’s no explaining what makes a woman a man’s everything. I’m living that experience. I just obviously chose my woman a hell of a lot better than Nelson Ward. Which means I’d better keep her. Which means I’d better get out my running shoes, because Cat isn’t done running.

  The afternoon is a win for Reese. Every witness he calls plays his tune, and every witness the prosecution crosses fails to turn on Reese. When the courtroom adjourns, Reese sends me a text message: Meet me at the coffee shop in an hour.

  I text back: I’ll work at the coffee shop and wait on you.

  Right about that time, the crowd breaks and he’s staring at me. We both smile, and I swear my cheeks heat, as if the man just whispered naughty things in my ear. I give him a tiny nod and turn away before the cameras catch us. I melt into the hordes of people trying to get out of here, and it takes me ten minutes to get out of the courtroom. Once I’m outside, I hurry through the busy crowds swarming the New York streets, the chilly evening warmed by the pure volume of people.

  I order coffee and quickly claim my favorite table in the corner, eager to work on m
y column and finish it if I can before Reese is done. With plenty of notes for the day, I’m fast. Forty-five minutes later, my coffee is gone, my column is sent to my editor, and I ask one of my neighbors to guard my things while I run to the bathroom. I’m just washing up when my phone buzzes in my pocket. I pull it out and read a message from Reese: I’m here.

  My heart starts racing just at the idea of seeing him. It’s crazy how intensely this man affects me. I open the door, and he’s standing right in front of me. “Reese.”

  He answers in a quick wave of action. He walks me backward, into the bathroom, his hand under my sweater, hot on my skin. “We can’t do this,” I say, but he’s already locking the door and maneuverers me against it. “I missed you.”

  “You didn’t have time to—”

  His mouth closes down on mine again, and I forget what I was going to say. He’s drugging me. That has to be it. I can’t think until his lips leave mine and in the meantime, he manages to tug my shirt up to my waist. “We can’t do this here,” I say firmly this time, pushing on his chest.

  “Why?”

  “People—”

  He kisses me again, and oh God. His hand is under my panties, sliding along the now wet seam of my body, and I’m arching into his touch. “Come for me and we will wait to fuck until we get home.”

  I grab his arms. “This is wrong, Reese.”

  He lifts me and sets me on top of the sink, spreads my legs, and goes down on one knee, wasting no time once there. Already his tongue is on my clit, sending a shockwave of sensation through my body. I lean against the mirror and my hands grip the sink. I have never experienced anything like this with any other man. This total inability to feel anything but him. He’s licking me. Touching me. His fingers are inside me. My leg is on his shoulder and I don’t remember him lifting it. And then it happens. Right here in the bathroom of my favorite coffee shop. That rise of bliss that renders me incapable of moving right before I quake. Oh, and how I quake and tremble and how perfectly he licks me through it all. Fast. Slow. Perfect.

  I’m a limp noodle when it’s over, and Reese lifts me to the ground, pulls down my skirt, and kisses me, with my taste on his tongue. He follows that kiss with the declaration of, “That’s how I want to taste for the rest of my life.”

  I take that in with a jolt and possibly another sway. Maybe it was one of those after-sex statements, but those words, “for the rest of my life,” affect me, but he doesn’t back away from them. He strokes my cheek in that gentle way he does with his knuckles and says, “Don’t say I didn’t warn you. Let’s go get you some extra things at your apartment.”

  I don’t argue. I want to be with him. How can I not want to be with this man?

  A few minutes later, I’ve packed up my briefcase up at my table. In the process, I try not to look at anyone, for fear they will see “girl who just had an orgasm compliments of Mr. Hotness standing right by her” written all over me. Once my bag is loaded, Reese throws away my cup and then, to my surprise, shrugs out of his coat and slips it around my shoulders. “It dropped about ten degrees outside. You’ll need this.”

  “What about you?”

  Those blue eyes of his smolder. “You can warm me up when we get home.”

  Home.

  There is that word again. “Your home or my home?” I say before I can stop myself.

  “The one we’re sharing right now, Cat,” he says, lacing his fingers with mine. “Come on, sweetheart.”

  He leads me forward and we step outside, and he’s right. It’s chilly and we walk the short walk quickly, and as we do, I can’t help but feel this man’s presence next to me. I’m aware of him on every level: his smell, his coat, his energy. The world, my world, is simply warmer, no, richer, is the better word, with him in it.

  Once we’re in my apartment, I pack up, and Reese calls us a car to make carrying my bags easier and traveling to his place warmer. I’ve finished packing, including enough items to get me by for a week, if necessary. Once I’ve zipped up my bags, I pull on my favorite Chanel trench coat and exit to my bedroom. Reese is sitting on my bed, looking at a photo from my nightstand of me and my mother about six months before she died. My heart squeezes just thinking about that night. “Your mother,” he says, looking up at me.

  “Yes. My mother.”

  “You look like her,” he says, setting the photo back on the nightstand.

  “I hear that a lot.”

  “How old was she when she died?”

  “Fifty-five. Too young.”

  “When, Cat?”

  “Two years ago. Christmas week. She gave me this coat for Christmas three days before she died.”

  “Right when you—”

  “Broke up with Mitch and left my legal career. Yes.”

  He stands up, his hands sliding to my shoulders. “I admire you for what you did. You left everything, lost your mother, and re-created yourself.”

  “Thank you. It was hard to make changes in my life, but my mother was miserable and that inspired me to not be miserable. And I know this, because she left me a letter. She told me that she used this apartment to get away from my father. She said for me not to live my life for my father like she had.”

  “And you bravely listened to her.”

  “Bravely? No. I was terrified. Sometimes, and I don’t know why I’m telling you this, but sometimes, I still am. I think—my father pretty much disowned me. I haven’t spoken to him in six months. It messes with my head sometimes.”

  “But you talk to your brothers.”

  “I do speak to Daniel, the one who lives in Texas, pretty regularly. Gabe, the one that stopped by my place, sometimes. Reid, he’s the oldest, and the closest, to my father. Hardly ever.” I let out a breath. “Let’s leave. I suddenly like the way I feel at your house more than here.” I twist away from him, and he catches my arm, and the next thing I know, he’s cupping my face and kissing me.

  “I just needed to kiss you,” he says, his voice low and rough. “You’re beautiful and strong and I’m crazy about you.”

  “Yeah?”

  “Yeah. This is where you say you’re crazy about me, too.”

  “I am,” I whisper. “You know I am. But as much as this place is about happiness to me, it sometimes suffocates me with her absence. I know that sounds silly, but it’s what I feel and I really want to leave now.”

  “It doesn’t sound silly. It sounds like it’s time to leave.” He kisses my forehead and releases me.

  We gather my things, including one big roller bag I grab. Reese takes it over, and heads for the door when my cellphone rings in my pocket. I dig it out to find Liz’s number on caller ID. “Hi Liz,” I answer, as Reese and I step into the hallway.

  “The publisher is going back to the board for more money,” she says. “More soon.”

  “How soon?” I ask as we walk toward the elevator.

  “A few days at most,” she says. “When will the trial be over?”

  I don’t like this question. It feels like prodding for Dan, and I hate that I feel this with Liz, of all people. “The only person who knows that answer is Reese Summer, and you’ll have to ask him yourself.”

  “That was an innocent question for our negotiations,” she says. “It had nothing to do with Dan and I know that’s what you’re thinking. He is not my client. You are. You matter.”

  I breathe out. “I know. I’m sorry.”

  “Apology accepted. I’ll be in touch.” She hangs up.

  Reese and I step in the elevator. “That was Liz, of course. She wanted to know when the trial was ending. You heard my answer. And in case you’re confused. I rehired her because she explained the situation.”

  “Which was what?”

  “She was trying to protect me from Dan’s relative that works for my publisher. Now she’s trying to get me more money.”

  “Dan has a relative at your publisher,” he says. “That explains a lot.” His eyes narrow on me. “You still seem bothered.”

>   “I don’t like that Liz wasn’t straightforward with me. It feels like a lie, and I’ve had too many of those in my life.”

  “But you rehired her.”

  “Despite the fact that she tried to get me to do something for money that compromised my morals, because Dan has none, this is her job. It’s to make money. She’s also smart and savvy. I genuinely like her and I’m a loyal person. She got me my first deal and it wasn’t small. She’s otherwise been good to me. I also don’t like the whole “the grass is always greener” mentality. In my experience, the grass is usually not greener. It’s just different.”

  “Are you trying to convince me or yourself?” he asks. “Because that was a long pitch for Liz.”

  “I’m convinced. Are you?”

  “I’ll let you know based on how she handles this book deal.”

  The elevator arrives on our floor, and we’re soon on the ground floor. We are crossing the lobby, when I have another one of those revelations I’ve been having: I talk to Reese about things I would never talk to anyone else about. No one. Lauren and I are good friends but there is a reason Julie is her best friend, not me. Since the whole Mitch nightmare, I tend to withdraw. I shut people out. I don’t call her for weeks at a time. I embrace alone so it can’t sneak up on me. But I talk to Reese. Once we’re in the car, my feelings for this man are begging to be named and swelling inside me. The minute the car starts moving, I turn to Reese, and this time I cup his face, and press my lips to his. “I just wanted to kiss you,” I say, repeating what he said to me.

  He kisses me again, a long, deep slide of tongue that I feel inside and out, that swell of my emotions expanding between us is now ours. He feels it, too. I don’t know what it is, but I don’t want it to end. Our drive, however, is short, and it’s not long before we are out of the car and walking into the lobby of his building with my bags in tow, to find Blake waiting on us at the security desk. “I’ll make this quick,” he says, glancing at my bags, a hint of a smile on his lips, before he refocuses on Reese. “The secretary had some interesting information.”