Dirty Rich Cinderella Story

by Jones, Lisa Renee

  “You say that now, but I’m not in the same place I was then.”

  “I’ll tell you again when I see you and make you believe it.”

  “No,” I say quickly, sitting back up. “We need to talk about this now, and then set it aside.”

  “Is that a rule?”

  “Yes. A rule. And speaking of rules—”

  “Don’t make them yet,” he warns. “Not when I promised to follow those rules and I always keep my promises. Don’t box me, or us, in yet. Not over the phone.”

  “Now, on the phone is safer.”

  “But not better,” he says. “We need closure that won’t give us. We need to talk, and we need to do it in person, away from the office. You know we do.”

  “Cole,” I whisper, shutting my eyes, wanting that talk, but knowing it can’t happen.

  “Ah, sweetheart,” he says softly. “I do really love hearing you say my name again. Get some rest. I’ll talk to you tomorrow.” He hangs up.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO

  Lori

  I fall asleep thinking about the kiss I’d shared with Cole in his office, and I wake up to a text message from him that reads: I finally figured out what you smelled like the night I met you. Honeysuckle and coffee. No wonder I’ve doubled my caffeine intake since meeting you. I wanted more.

  I inhale and let it out with the realization that he really has been thinking about me in the past and the present. Even more so, he’s been contemplating how I smell, in a sexy, want more kind of way. I decide the safest way to answer is with a businesslike explanation and so I reply with: One of my part-time jobs was at a coffee shop, as if that reply somehow deflates the reason he knows how I smell, or changes what “more” means.

  He calls immediately and when I answer, he says, “Look, sweetheart, I’m in a car about to arrive at the office and after that I’m going dark for a while, but I think you need to hear what I was thinking about you last night. Do you remember when I told you that you’re different?”

  How can I not? I think. I was on a sidewalk pressed against a wall, with his big perfect body, close, but yet, not close enough. “I remember.”

  “I read people, too,” he says. “And I know now why I said those words to you that day. I sensed the depth of your character. I sensed the struggles and the fight. It’s what makes you special. Every job, and every struggle you’ve had will make you a better attorney. Remember that. You aren’t behind anyone. You’re two steps ahead.”

  The dogmatic intensity of his words, and the unexpected shift from bedroom to boardroom takes me off guard but I recover with sincere appreciation and concern. “Thank you, Cole,” I say, “that means a lot to me, but please do not feel that you have to—”

  “Coddle you?” he supplies.

  “Exactly. I don’t want you to feel like I’m a delicate flower.”

  “You are most definitely not a delicate flower and that’s not what I’m doing. I’m simply telling you what I think as both a man and your boss. As a man, it’s part of why I can’t stop thinking about you. As your boss, it’s fuel for your job. Think beyond the file and the person you’re dealing with, the way you did when you sized me up, but go deeper. Use what you have learned through your struggles to win.”

  “I will,” I say, and now I’m dogmatic. “I am.”

  “Good,” he says. “And just so we’re clear: none of this means that I’m going to make this journey easy on you or you on me, but that’s okay. I don’t mind working hard for what I want, and I don’t believe you do either. I gotta go and kick some ass. More soon.”

  He disconnects, leaving me to linger on the words: I don’t mind working hard for what I want.

  He wants me. That is clear. And I want him, too, but there are two problems with a man like Cole Brooks that I can’t forget. 1) He consumes you until there is nothing left, and 2) You want him to consume you anyway, no matter what that means or how that ends.

  We need those rules. No. I need those rules.

  ***

  Forty-five minutes later, I exit my bedroom dressed in one of the only three suits I have to change up with different blouses and shoes, this one black, like my strappy heels, while my blouse is an emerald green. I find my mother still in scrubs in the kitchen. I set my briefcase and purse on the table and she offers me a cup of coffee. “Tell me everything,” she says, as I accept the cup she’s personally doctored my way and rest an elbow on the counter.

  “How did you know I was about to be out here?”

  “I have you timed. Alarm. Shower. Exit. Forty-five minutes.”

  I laugh. “I guess you do, but there’s not much to tell yet,” I say, sipping the warm beverage, “Aside from the fact that my boss is struggling with some of the merger aftermath. He had to go to Houston, so I’m extra busy taking care of things for him today.”

  “Is that Reese?”

  “No,” I say, leaning on the cabinet opposite her. “His partner, Cole.”

  “Ohhh right,” she says. “What’s he like?”

  “Arrogant, good-looking, and brilliant.”

  She gives me a curious look. “Is that good or bad?”

  “Good and bad,” I say, being as honest as I feel I can without worrying her, which is why I change the subject. “What’s up with your architect?”

  She cuts her eyes and then drinks from her cup.

  “What is it, mom?” I ask. “Did something go wrong?”

  She gives a bitter laugh and shoves a lock of her freshly colored hair behind her ear. “I saw him with some other woman at a coffee shop,” she says with a sigh. “I have no right to be upset. We’ve just met, but it felt like there was a connection.”

  “I’ve recently been reminded that assuming really does backfire,” I say, thinking, of course, of Cole. “If you like him, don’t shut him out without knowing for sure.”

  “I’m really not sure I’m ready to date anyway.”

  “You’re beautiful and free,” I say. “Of course you want to date. You’ve lit up over this man and while no man should be the only reason you light up, there’s nothing wrong with them playing a part in your happiness.”

  “I feel guilty.” She tears up and sets her cup down. “I really do, and honestly, honey, I also feel angry at your father for leaving us in this hell. He’s why you left school. He’s why we’re here.”

  I set my cup down. “I know he is,” I say. “And I’m angry at him too, but we’re a team and we’ve made it. Don’t feel guilty. You don’t deserve that torment. He’s gone, and you deserve to live. And I hate this, but I have to get to work.”

  “I don’t,” she says. “I’m back to work and you’re finally living your dream. We did get through this. Or we’re getting through it.”

  “And we’re going to get out of here,” I say, walking to the table to grab my briefcase. “I got the scholarship paperwork. With my monthly benefits, we’ll be out of here in six months.”

  “I’m fine here,” she says. “I’m not worried about me. I’ve made friends here. I want you out of here.”

  “We leave together,” I say. “That’s non-negotiable.” I hug her. “I love you.”

  “I love you, too, honey.”

  I kiss her temple. “I’ll see you later.”

  I head to the door feeling hopeful and thankful, reminded that my mother loved my father, and he loved her, but he was no fairytale Prince Charming. This job is my chance at my self-created Cinderella story. Had my mother created her own, had she retained control, my father couldn’t have left us in the devastating mess we’ve endured. I can’t lose sight of that, no matter how tempting and sexy the boss fantasy might be, and the truth is, it is. Cole is.

  ***

  After a busy subway ride, I arrive at work and quickly surmise that Reese is in court and Maria is crazy busy preparing emergency documents he needs for some other case. The day is fast-paced, and pure insanity. I interview two candidates for Cole’s secretary by noon with no success. I eat lunch at Cole’s conferenc
e table, wishing I knew how Houston was going for him.

  My two o’clock interview is also a bust. Three candidates for Cole, and I choose none of them. I hate them all. At three o’clock, I’m out of time. “What do I do, Maria? He needs someone here Monday morning.”

  Her brilliant advice that isn’t brilliant at all, is, “Bring the best of them in and hope for the best.”

  I reject that idea and head back to Cole’s office, where I call the temp service. I end the call with three interviews lined up for Monday morning.

  I disconnect the call and resist the urge to call Cole, or at least text him for an update. It’s my second day. I don’t have a right to be asking for updates on Houston. Instead, I get to work on the rest of my “to do” list, memorizing attendees of the party and analyzing cases that all feel wrong for Cole. I exchange calls with my mother, say goodnight to Maria, and somehow it’s nine o’clock and there is nothing from Cole.

  I’m back on my bed working, with a salad this time, when my cell phone rings and it’s him. “Hey,” I answer.

  “Hey, sweetheart,” he says, and his voice is too weary for me to object to the “sweetheart.” I’d like it if it wasn’t highly inappropriate. If I was ready to live the boss fantasy, but I’m not. “It’s been a hell of a day,” he adds, “but I’m finally on a plane about to take off.”

  “Did it work out?”

  “It did,” he says, “but I had to climb mountains and hang from a few cliffs. The problem with Houston is there’s a lot of my father’s narrow view left behind.”

  “You took over for your father?”

  “I was voted into control when he died, but together he and I had controlling interest anyway.”

  “That sounds concerning,” I say. “If that mentality still exists, won’t this problem happen again?”

  “Not if I’m there a couple times a month, which at this point is a necessity. Reese and I are meeting in the morning to plan pulling as much of the Houston branch into New York as we can. Did you find me a secretary?”

  “Yes. Me. I hated all of the candidates. I have three more coming in Monday, but I just couldn’t stick the wrong person in that role.”

  “Now you know why I don’t have a secretary. My assistant couldn’t find a replacement, and neither could I.”

  “Well, I hate to tell you this,” I say. “But I’m failing on all fronts. I’ve got case files all over my bed right now and I’ve been digging through them for two days. None feel like something worthy of you. They just don’t feel like you.”

  The engine roars in the background. “I have to hang up and just when this was going to get interesting. I was going to ask you what feels like me. Get some rest, and Lori?”

  “Yes?”

  “I wouldn’t take any of those cases. I already looked at them. I’ll see you tomorrow.” He hangs up.

  I’d call him an asshole for testing me like that, only he’s my mentor and teacher, so it’s his job to test me. As to how I’d answer that question—what does Cole feel like? Trouble. The kind prosecutors he opposes hate. The kind that makes me want to do everything I’ve already done with him and add a few extras: like lick every inch of his body—just once.

  Yep, I think. He’s trouble and considering the fact that I just had the “I’m my own Cinderella story” talk with myself this very morning, and I’m already contemplating where to lick him again, I’m in trouble. Especially since no is always easier on the phone, which of course is why he waited to negotiate rules in person.

  And if I’m honest with myself, he knows, and I know I didn’t object. That’s as good as giving a man like Cole Brooks a ticket that reads “no rules, please spank me again” and make it all better.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE

  Lori

  I’m up early Saturday morning, showered, and dressed in my favorite black sweats and pink tee, files in my briefcase, and gone before my mother ends an overtime shift. I arrive at Cat and Reese’s place at nine and Cat greets me in the same uniform I’m wearing: black sweats, a tee, and her blonde hair piled on top of her head. “It sucks,” she says.

  I need no clarification. “Your books never suck,” I assure her, following her inside and shutting the door.

  “There is always a first sucky book,” she says, as we head further into the apartment and cut right toward the main living area. “Times like these make me want to join you all at the firm.” She disappears around the corner.

  I laugh. “You’re talking crazy talk now.”

  I follow her into the kitchen and stop dead in my tracks when I discover Reese and yes, Cole, leaning on the far cabinet, side-by-side, both in sweats and T-shirts, both holding coffee cups. But it’s Cole that I’m aware of most, and in the moment that our eyes meet, I swear I feel his hands and lips on my body all over again, and it, he, steals my breath. Even the phone calls we’ve shared now feel more intimate.

  I force myself to move toward the island, and I don’t have to hold Cole’s stare to know that he’s tracking my every step. I am so aware of this man that my nipples actually tighten with nothing more than him being here, this close to me, and we are not even alone.

  I settle my briefcase and purse on a barstool. Cat is about to sit down when Reese catches her shoulders and pulls her back against him. “Relax, sweetheart,” Reese murmurs near her ear, the “sweetheart” another little tidbit to remind me of that intimacy between Cole and I that shouldn’t exist but does.

  I claim a barstool and I don’t mean to, but my eyes meet Cole’s again. “Morning, Lori,” he says, and he makes “Lori” sound all sultry and rich, the hint of a smile on his brutally delicious lips speaks of a secret, our secret.

  “Morning,” I say, and then add, “boss.”

  If I think this will dissuade Cole from being Cole, which I have certainly learned means bold and sharp-witted, I am wrong. “I am,” he says, “aren’t I?”

  “Don’t worry, Lori,” Cat says, twisting around to kiss Reese before claiming her barstool. “They’re going running like they used to back in the day, apparently.” She glances over her shoulder at Cole. “And your boss promised not to hijack you today, probably because he doesn’t know how good you are yet.”

  “I’m simply trying to stop your meltdown,” Cole comments, his eyes finding mine again. “I told her that I needed you today,” he adds, “and the ever unbreakable, cool, calm, Cat—”

  “Did not melt down,” Cat says. “Stop saying that.”

  “She melted down,” Reese chimes in. “She’s convinced the book is a disaster.”

  “Well, it’s not,” I say. “I’ve read most of the book. It’s brilliant, but with every successful endeavor she puts more and more pressure on herself to stay on top.”

  Reese and Cole look at each other and give a little nod of understanding and agreement that Cat can’t see, but I do. It’s a very human moment for the two superstar legal powerhouses, and the fact that they were willing to make this acknowledgement in front of me stirs the sense of belonging in me I’ve always felt with Cat and Reese. And now there is Cole.

  I pull out my MacBook and focus on Cat, who everyone in this room seems to believe needs me right now, and being needed feels as good as belonging. “Send me what I haven’t read.”

  “Don’t you want coffee?” she asks. “You don’t do anything without coffee.”

  “You’re stalling,” I reprimand, because a) she is, and b) she’s right, but Cole is standing by the pot and Reese and Cat are too smart and aware to not feel the charge between us that I don’t need to turn into a flame.

  “You don’t function without two cups of coffee.”

  God, the woman knows me. “I’m one cup in already.” It’s out before I can stop it, and I quickly scoot off my stool and walk toward Cole. I deflect back to Cat. “But I’ll make cup number two if I return to my computer with a manuscript to read.”

  “You’ll have a manuscript when they leave,” she says. “They’re overwhelmingly them and it’s
making me crazy.”

  I laugh at that, understanding completely. These two men take up a lot of space, in all kinds of ways. Cat then says, “How is your mother?”

  There it is. That personal part of my life that Cole is slowly sliding inside. “Still good,” I say, stopping next to him and grabbing a cup from the cabinet, my arm brushing his in the process. Heat jolting up my arm and without intending to, I look up at him.

  “Sorry,” I murmur, when I’m not, but it’s necessary that I responded as if I am.

  “Don’t be,” he says, his eyes finding mine. “We’re all good here.”

  We’re all good here. I know what it means, but it’s generic, easygoing. I cut my attention to the task at hand and stick a pod in the Keurig.

  “Any gossip on the man she’s seeing?” Cat asks, pulling my attention back to her.

  I consider my reply, and the fact that I’m now headed into territory that is personal to Cole and I, but it’s also unfinished business that feels like it needs to be finished. “Actually yes,” I say, rotating to lean on the cabinet next to Cole, to find Cat turned in this direction. “She saw him with another woman in a coffee shop and she’s convinced he’s a manwhore.” I choose the word manwhore precisely because it’s what I’ve called Cole in the past.

  “Oh no,” Cat says. “Oh no. She deserved a Prince Charming after all she has gone through. I want her to find a Prince Charming.”

  Prince Charming.

  What a choice of words.

  “I hope she’s going to stay away from him now,” Cat says. “Before he does more damage.”

  “Or,” Cole presents. “She could actually talk to him and ask him what’s going on.”

  “I agree,” Reese says. “Have her just go at him like Cat goes at me.”

  Cat laughs. “I go at you, huh?”

  “Hell yeah you do, but a good fight and fix works miracles.”

  “But you’re you,” Cat says. “What if this guy is a jerk?”

  “Or not,” Cole presents again.

  “Or not is what I told her,” I say. “Everything isn’t what it seems. She should talk to him.”