“Because I argue with you?” I ask, but I’m pleased that he is pleased. No matter what, he is my boss and I admire his work.
“Yes, actually,” he says. “You think about all angles and then you’re smart enough to argue and make sense when you do it. A wise man once told me that if a group of people sit at a conference table and they all agree, only one was needed.”
There’s a knock on the door. “Here we go,” he says, standing, and I do the same. “She’s a diva,” he says. “Don’t let that shake you.”
“I won’t,” I say, and I believe it, really believe it, right up until the point that Tara, in all her blonde Marilyn Monroe glamour, bursts into the room. That means her, and a mass of two bodyguards, Chanel No. 5, Gucci jeans, a low-cut white glittery T-shirt, and boots, along with some sort of furry white jacket.
“Cole,” she says, pursing her lips and rushing him. She then throws her arms, and her half-covered doubleD boobs against him. “Thank you for being here for me.”
“People do not hug their attorney, Ms. Knight,” he says formally, removing her arms from his waist.
“They should,” she says, flipping her hair. “Who better to hug than the person who keeps you out of jail?”
“We are not fucking,” he says tightly. “We’re fucking other people who want to fuck you with professional dignity.”
Just hearing him say the word “fuck” to her gives me a knot in my belly I do not like. I have no reason to be jealous, but she’s stunning, and a fantasy to millions of men around the world, which isn’t easy to completely ignore.
And she’s still practically standing on top of Cole, who quietly repeats, “With professional dignity.”
“Sorry,” she says, taking two steps backward, but she doesn’t sound sorry at all.
Cole motions to the guards. “They stay. We’re going to the dining room.” He glances at one of them. “If you want to check out the room, go do it now.”
One of them, a burly dark-haired man in a suit, nods and both men divide and conquer. Tara’s eyes suddenly fall on me. “Who are you?”
“My associate, Lori Havens,” Cole says. “She’ll be working the case with me.”
She looks at Cole. “I don’t know her. I don’t trust her. She needs to leave.”
I am not easily rattled, but the words, attitude, and energy, along with that hug and her boobs, come together like a blow. “I can step into the office,” I offer.
“She stays,” Cole says. “Or I leave. Frankly, all I’m doing by being here is to taunt a hungry bear that wants my throat as well. I can recommend a replacement and fully update them on the situation.”
“Over this woman?” she asks in disbelief, looking me up and down, like I’m trailer trash. “You’d walk away from being my attorney for this woman?”
“This woman is the future of my firm, and someone I trust and believe in, while you, I do not yet trust and believe in at all. Just to be clear, I haven’t decided to represent you. I do, however, feel obligated to get you through the interview and ensure you aren’t being punished for being your father’s daughter.”
Her bodyguards walk back into the room. “All clear,” each proclaims separately.
“Now,” Cole says, “will Ms. Havens and I be helping you get through your police interview or not?”
Her expression tightens. “Yes. We will be sitting down. Where?”
“Follow the hallway to the dining room,” Cole replies.
She tilts her chin upward and marches in that direction, with one bodyguard following her and another by the door. “Guard the door from outside,” Cole orders them.
They stare at Cole and seem to want to argue, but they do as directed. The minute they’re outside the room and we’re semi-alone, Cole closes the small space between me and him. “Did you offer to walk away for personal or for professional reasons? Think and answer honestly.”
“Both.”
“No one tells you to leave a room you belong in, and do not walk into that room and act like you don’t belong or you won’t. Understand?”
“Completely,” I assure him, because I not only deserve the reprimand, I appreciate the fact that he has kept his word. He is not being easy on me because of our private relationship.
“Claim one of the seats opposite her. Ask your questions, as I approved them in advance, and if you think of others, don’t hold back.”
“Understood,” I say.
“One more thing.”
“Yes?”
“I do not want to fuck her. I do, however, always want to fuck you, including tonight, in my bed.” He motions me forward. “You first.”
I don’t move. “You didn’t have to say that.”
“No,” he says. “But if it were reversed, I’d damn sure want to hear it. I did want to hear it when it was Lance.”
He is honest. He is direct. He is going to make me fall in love with him.
CHAPTER THIRTY-NINE
Lori
I walk ahead of Cole and down the hallway, aware of him at my back closely following me. Tara is sitting at the far side of the table, and I sit down one seat over and across from her. Cole joins us and claims the spot across from Tara. Tara looks at me. “Apologies, Ms. Haven. I deal with being tabloid fodder often and I woke to headlines about me being a drug dealer, and killer, on the very day I’m hosting a breast cancer charity event.”
“Apology accepted,” I respond.
“Let’s get started,” Cole says. “I’d like to move this upcoming interview here to the hotel, and I need to feel good about what we’re doing before I push for that.”
“I’m ready,” she says. “Where do we start?”
“Tell us how you got involved,” he says, leaving her room to hang herself, which he’d already told me he’d do, just as the police will as well.
“Apparently, because I fucked David Curry ten thousand years ago, I must have drugged him,” she blurts.
“Didn’t you just tell TMZ you didn’t sleep with him?” I ask.
“I deny everything with TMZ, per my manager.”
“No comment is the only answer you have to anyone from this point forward,” Cole states.
“Okay,” she says simply.
“It seems a wide stretch that the police would assume your guilt because of a long-lost connection,” Cole comments.
“It’s not long lost,” she says. “We’re still friends and occasional fuck buddies. Some people are just better at being fuck friends than real friends. We were those people.”
“You don’t seem very broken up about the loss of a good friend,” I observe.
“We fucked six times,” she says. “We didn’t share life stories. We didn’t contemplate everlasting love. And it hasn’t even hit me yet. Right now, I’m scared for me. They’ve taken away my ability to grieve for him.”
It’s cold and callous, but not without believability. I don’t like Tara, but that doesn’t make her a killer, and I can’t call her a bad person for flirting with Cole. She doesn’t know he’s with me, and let’s face it, he is hot.
“Tell me about the police encounter you had,” Cole orders.
“They came to the door,” she says. “I told them I needed an attorney to talk to them. After what happened with my father, I wasn’t taking any chances by saying one single word without you.”
“Why would they come to your door?” I ask.
“David called me last night, so I was in his recent calls. He wanted to get together. He was a good fuck, but not good enough to look like shit today for the party.”
“How do you know they’re accusing you of giving him the drugs?” Cole asks.
“They didn’t,” she says.
“You told me they did on the phone,” Cole reminds her.
“They wanted to question me. I assumed.”
“Why would you assume such a thing?” I ask. “What don’t we know?”
“I was in rehab last year after my father was in the press,” she admits.
“Does your father know this?” Cole asks.
“Yes,” she says. “He’s very disappointed. Outside of him and my agent, no one else knows. They’ve kept it out of the press. If it gets out, it’ll drive the insurance costs up on my films and reduce my dollar demands.”
“But the police don’t know that, as far as you know?” Cole presses.
“They can’t know,” she says.
“But you assumed they did last night,” Cole rebuts.
“I don’t know what they can see on their own,” she replies. “Is there a database of some sort? I don’t know what the police know, but if they ask, and I lie, I’m screwed. If they ask, and I tell the truth, they hate my father. I have to assume they’ll leak the information.”
“What kind of addiction?” I ask.
“Pain pills,” she says. “I got hurt on the set of a movie, and the damn things just got the best of me. I didn’t realize I was in trouble until it was too late.”
“I need a list of every medication you’re on now,” Cole says. “They’re going to want it.” He slides a piece of paper and pencil to her.
“I’m on an antidepressant. I really don’t want that to get out. Do I have to give them this list?”
“They can subpoena it and we can fight it, right up until the toxicology report returns. We’ll win unless he OD’d on something other than an over-the-counter medication or one of his own prescriptions, and we’ll make damn sure they prove that before we turn it over. But I need to know what I’m dealing with. I need medication names and what they are used for.”
She hesitates and writes down a list of ten drugs and then slides the paper toward us. “I have MS,” she says. “My father doesn’t know. No one knows, not even my agent and managers, in this case. It’s probably the reason I got hurt on the job. It’s definitely what made me susceptible to the pills. Hollywood is brutal. If this gets out, I’m done. And again, my father doesn’t know. He can’t know. I have a lot that we disagree on, but I love him. I won’t let him take the fall for me, and while I doubt he would now, if he knew the real reason for my rehab, I think he might.”
Suddenly, her diva persona shows itself as a warrior’s shield, but I have to think about the case, so I stay focused. “Does your mother know?”
“No,” she says. “My mother is in love and in another country. Why ruin that for her?”
Cole stands up and motions for me to do the same. “Ms. Havens and I are going to step out of the room and call the detective,” Cole says.
Tara stands up. “Are you formally representing me?”
“No,” Cole says. “I’ll decide after the police interview. I want you to think about your story. I don’t like surprises. Is there anything else I need to know?”
“No,” she says. “There’s nothing.”
Cole motions me forward and when he joins me in the hallway, he says, “Office.”
We head that direction, and once we step inside, we stand face to face. “Tell me your assessment,” he orders.
“I believe her,” I say, “but I don’t like her.”
“Same,” he says. “And she’s right. Her father is not my father. If her father finds out about the MS, he might go down for her.”
I think of my father in that moment, and what my mother said about always feeling loved. He did love me. He would have gone down for me, and I realize now, that maybe, just maybe, it’s time to offer him a little forgiveness. Cole, though, he hasn’t forgiven his father, and it hits me now how new that loss is for both of us. He said he needed to be saved. Maybe he does.
CHAPTER FORTY
Lori
Cole perches on the edge of the desk, making it clear he’s in no rush to return to the dining room where our movie star client awaits. “I’m going to call the detective on speaker,” he says, “so that you can start getting used to dealing with assholes like him.” He scrolls through his contacts, clearly looking for the number, and for just a moment I simply admire this man. He’s beautiful, yes, but there is this air of confidence in him that one can only describe as “presence.” He’s confident in the powerful way that most imitate and few master, but it’s inherent to Cole. Or perhaps he simply felt he had to be so perfect from such a young age, it became a learned trait. Whatever the case, you know when he is in the room. His confidence radiates in a way that makes you want to know what he knows, be what he is.
“Here we go,” Cole says, glancing up, and catching me watching him. “What is it?” he asks.
“Nothing work-related. Nothing bad.”
“Well then, I just hope that you’re thinking of the same things I keep thinking about.” He winks, and punches in a number, the ring echoing into the silent room before the detective answers with, “Cole Brooks. I hope you’re on your way.”
“We’re going to need you to come to us to avoid a press bomb,” Cole says. “We’re in a hotel and no one knows she’s here.”
“All right,” he says, a bit too easily, I think, proven by his next comment. “How’s next Wednesday?”
“Today,” Cole says, no inflection in his voice just firm certainty. “As planned. And here at the hotel. This is a courtesy interview, unless you plan to charge my client.”
“I’ve got things to do today here at the precinct that don’t include coming to you,” he replies. “I can give you a courtesy visit to the hotel next week. Actually, I’m not available today after all. I’ll stop by when it feels right.” He hangs up.
Cole grimaces. “That little prick. He’s trying to keep me here to interfere with my work. It’s a game he’s not going to win.”
“What are you going to do?”
“I could call the chief, who I know, but I think we’re going to do what they don’t expect. Go to the police station and issue a statement. Someone will take it.”
“Why?” I ask.
“Because then our client looks compliant to a judge, while our detective looks like an asshole who insisted she do this interview today, the day after losing a friend while hosting a breast cancer event.”
“Waller is willing to risk looking that way because he wants to make her uncomfortable,” I assume, “and he wants her to turn on her father.”
“Oh yeah,” he agrees. “He and his cronies might even tip off the press that we’re coming, and just take the pain that comes with it. She’s a weapon in a battle we’re fighting, but don’t understand yet, but we’re going to make it work for us, not them.” He straightens, and catches my hips, walking me to him, before his hands cup my face. “I’m going to kiss you now unless you tell me it’s against the rules, despite the closed door.”
I think of Tara rubbing her boobs against Cole, and of all the men that would have forgotten me for her. But he’s still here, with me, with us. I push to my toes, my intent to kiss him, but he’s already kissing me, a deep slide of tongue before he says, “That was to remind us why we want to end this today and go home tonight.” He sets me away from him. “Let’s go talk to our client.” I reach the door first and open it. I exit directly in front of him to find Tara standing in the living room.
“I got antsy in that room,” she says. “What’s going on?”
“You’re going to make a big deal about going to the police station,” Cole instructs, laying out his plan to set her up to win any future battles.
***
Cole
Lori and I drill Tara for an hour before we head to the police station, where we will show up on my schedule, not anyone else’s, and demand we give a statement. When we’re finally ready, Lori and I do not stay for the clusterfuck of security and covert mission operations it takes to get Tara out of the building, nor do we ride with her to the police station. Once we’re there, inside and secure, we wait. Tara’s car pulls up to the station, and the press erupt over her. Her security does a good job of getting her inside and they have the sense to stay on the other side of the secure area. The press also does a good job of making the station a nightmare.
>
Detective Waller, a forty-something man, with salt and pepper hair, a tall, broad stature, and a distinctly sharp nose to match his sharp attitude, greets us just past security. “Obviously you’re Cole Brooks,” he says, already looking at Tara, or rather her ample cleavage, a hint of male appreciation on his face. “I see the world knows you’ve arrived here,” he says, greeting Tara and offering her his hand.
“Sorry,” she says, folding her arms under those breasts, and pumping them up. “I can’t shake hands. If I get sick, it throws off a lot of people’s schedules. And this place is very dirty.”
She comes off as a diva bitch, but I don’t know much about MS. She might really need to be cautious. She might really wear that diva badge as a shield, and I can’t say I blame her. Waller glances at Lori. “And you would be?” This time he doesn’t offer his hand.
“Lori Havens,” Lori says and following my lead from earlier, she adds, “Cole’s associate.”
“Associate,” he says smirking. “They don’t make associates the way they used to.”
“I’ll assume that to be a compliment,” Lori replies. “And you have mustard all down the front of your shirt.”
Tara shows good sense and doesn’t respond, nor do I. We simply let him suffer in the moment, when a young pretty associate turns around an insult on him. His eyes flicker slightly, embarrassment quickly banked before he recovers with, “In case I need some later. Let’s get this done.” He turns and starts walking, as I place Tara to my left, and Lori to my right, glancing over at Lori to give her a wink of approval. Her lips quirk, but she says nothing.
A long walk and an elevator ride later, we’re in an interview room, the three of us across from him, a camera in the corner. The drilling begins and with a bang. “How many times have you fucked the deceased, Ms. Knight, prior to him being deceased of course?”
“Six times,” she says, without hesitation.
Waller just blinks at her then says, “Not seven?”
Dirty Rich Cinderella Story Page 22
