Five Exotic Fantasies: Love in Reverse, Book 3

by Serenity Woods

  It was a long speech and he finished slightly breathless, only then realising that actually, in spite of years spent in court developing ways to deal with people and get them to tell him what he wanted, he was actually a little nervous about this hearing, and about investigating his peers. He was flattered that Christopher had chosen him, but also aware that Christopher might have thought him expendable—what did it matter to his boss if the Wellington staff disliked Felix? Lawyers weren’t exactly notorious for their altruism. He wanted to do this hearing properly and achieve the right outcome by upsetting as few people as possible. And some niggling sixth sense was beginning to tell him that wasn’t going to happen.

  He also now worried that he might have alienated his only ally, but Christopher had obviously chosen someone to help him who wasn’t quick to take offence. Rob merely held up his hands in surrender, sat in one of the armchairs to the side and put his feet on the coffee table. “All right. Let’s get started. What do you want to know?”

  Chapter Seven

  Coco walked down the corridor, through the workroom, continued along the next corridor to the human-resources department and threaded her way through the labyrinth of desks to Amy’s nook in the corner. She occasionally took refuge here if she needed to get away from her desk, as few people knew of their friendship, and nobody would have thought to track her down there.

  Amy was in the process of logging sick days onto the old and rather slow computer system. Coco thought briefly about Felix’s intimation that their network was out of date and groaned silently. She’d come here to get away from him.

  Her friend looked up and beamed when she saw who it was. “Hey you!” She patted the seat in the corner that Coco used as her thinking and hiding spot. “Can you believe that the annoying Mr. Hotshot Fancy Pants is actually Mr. Sexy Cool Dude from the coffee shop?”

  “No.” Coco sank into the seat and put her face in her hands. “What am I going to do?”

  “Oh dear. What have you done?”

  “Nothing! Nothing.” Coco rubbed her nose. “I almost kissed him.”

  “I’m sorry, pardon?”

  “It was nothing. He was just…nice.” Her eyes met Amy’s and she groaned at the leap of triumph in them. “Don’t look so smug. Really, it was nothing.”

  “It doesn’t sound like nothing. Where did you nearly kiss him?”

  “On the mouth.”

  “Sweetie, I meant where in the building. Are you feeling okay?”

  Coco touched her brow, not surprised to find it warm. “I think I may be coming down with something. And it was in his office. Not in the middle of the workroom or anything. He’s found out my nickname. I asked him not to tell anyone and he said he won’t.” That one nice gesture brought a lump to her throat. He didn’t know her from Adam, or Eve, or the snake for that matter. As far as he knew, she was the Dragon, the strict office manager who—if they were in a TV show—would be the one to know all the dirty secrets about the office and who, as a long-serving, devoted and loyal employee, would feel honour bound to cover them up. He was there to carry out an investigation and he could have used that snippet of information to force her to tell him whatever he wanted.

  But he hadn’t. And his eyes had been kind.

  “Oh…” Amy drew the word out, her face softening.

  “What?” Coco blinked, heart still pounding from the memory of nearly having his firm lips touch hers.

  Amy smiled. “Nothing. So what happened? He went to kiss you?”

  “Yes. No. Sort of. Well, he looked like he was going to, but he didn’t. And then he asked me out for a drink tonight.”

  “I hope you said, ‘Absolutely, Mr. Fancy Pants, just tell me when and where and I’ll be there.’”

  “I said no, of course. And I walked out.”

  Amy sighed. “There really is no hope for you. He’s young, obviously rich—did you see his watch? He didn’t get that from the two-dollar shop. He’s tall. He’s smart. He’s frickin’ gorgeous. Seriously, girlfriend, I think your cheese has slid off your cracker.”

  “I can’t,” said Coco. “He’s only here temporarily and then he’ll go back to Auckland.”

  “So shag him senseless while he’s here and then wave him goodbye. What have you got to lose?”

  Coco closed her eyes and shook her head. “Amy…”

  “Seriously, Coco. You don’t have to sleep with the guy. I mean, I would but then that’s me, but I know what you’re like. You haven’t been out in ages. I know you don’t like leaving your mum, but she keeps telling you she wants you to have a life and this is the kind of thing she means. Just go out with him. Have a drink. Be sociable. Have a bit of fun, for God’s sake. You’re only twenty-seven, you work hard and you deserve it.”

  Coco bit her lip and stared at the floor. This was exactly the argument she’d been having with her mother lately—minus the shagging part—almost on a daily basis. Eleanor Stark had got it into her head that it wasn’t fair for a bright, pretty woman of Coco’s age to be tied to a mother in a wheelchair.

  Unbidden, her father’s words the last time she’d seen him in hospital before he died rang in her head: “Promise me you’ll always look after her, Coco. She’s not a strong woman—she needs you. Promise me you won’t ever leave her.” It was a harsh instruction to a fourteen-year-old girl, one that had haunted her ever since. She already had to deal with the guilt of having someone else look after Eleanor during the day so she could earn enough money to keep them—and now Eleanor wanted to move into a respite home so her daughter could have a social life. Coco didn’t want a social life at the expense of her mother’s happiness. It was her responsibility to care for her mother, and she’d die rather than see her go into a home.

  She stood, brushed down her skirt, adjusted her glasses and blinked away the tears of self-pity. “I’ve got to get back to work.”

  Amy sighed, used to her friend’s abrupt changes of persona. “Yes, Miss Stark.”

  Yes, she was Miss Stark in these offices, Coco thought as she walked away. She had her Veronica hat on now, and she wasn’t going to let Coco out while she was at work.

  “Multiple Sclerosis?” Felix raised an eyebrow as Rob described Coco’s mother’s condition. “That sucks.”

  “Yeah.” Rob had brought his muffin with him and now proceeded to tuck into it. “I met her once in town. I get the feeling Miss Stark doesn’t shop here much—maybe she usually goes out of town so she doesn’t bump into anyone she knows. She’s a very private person. Anyway, she was pushing her mother in a wheelchair. She introduced us out of politeness, but she wasn’t happy about it.”

  “What did she look like?”

  “The mother?”

  “No, Miss Stark. Out of work clothes, I mean.”

  Rob smiled. “Softer. She doesn’t wear glasses. And her hair was down.”

  Like in the photo. Felix wanted to meet that Coco. Very much.

  But anyway, for now he had to get his head into gear because he had to read through the file before the hearing and it was already nearly nine. “Okay. So come on, give me your opinion. What do you think of Peter Dell?”

  Rob sat back in his chair and linked his fingers. His face had taken on the lawyer’s carefully guarded blankness that Felix knew he himself adopted in the courtroom. “Have you ever met him?” Rob asked.

  Felix shook his head. “No real reason for that—he’s only come up to Auckland once and I happened to be in the Bay of Islands branch at the time—I still work from there occasionally because my family live there. But no, we’ve just never bumped into one another, which I guess is kind of strange considering I’ve been here five years. I wondered whether that’s why Christopher asked me to carry out the hearing. Because he wanted someone independent, who hadn’t forged any opinions about the guy, you know?”

  Rob shrugged. “Maybe. Although…did you get the feeling that McAllister considers there’s even a case to be addressed here?”

  Felix smiled wryly. “I did pic
k up on the fact that he called the case a ‘trivial matter’ when I first arrived. Plus he said he hoped he could leave once it was ‘done and dusted’. I think he’s expecting me to find Dell innocent.” He tipped his head at his colleague. “Do you think Dell’s innocent?”

  Rob finished off his muffin and screwed up the paper bag into a ball. He threw it at the bin and missed, grumbled and got up to put it in. “It’s not our job as lawyers to decide whether the defendant is innocent or guilty, only to put the case to the jury.”

  “Yeah, well, I happen to be the jury on this occasion.”

  Rob sat back down. “And I’m not. I work with the guy—I’ll give you the facts, but I don’t want to pass judgement on him—at least not until after you’ve spoken to him and investigated, if you think it’s necessary. Then I’ll discuss what I think.”

  Felix said nothing. Had Dell appointed Rob, and he felt some kind of loyalty toward him? Or had Dell spoken to Rob and told him not to help Felix? He didn’t think Rob looked like the kind of guy who’d cover up the truth, but you never knew. But then again, maybe Rob really was just trying to be fair and let Felix make up his own mind.

  “Okay,” Felix conceded, “so tell me this, then. As far as you know, did Dell have an affair with Sasha, the secretary who’s accused him of sexual harassment?”

  “Not as far as I know. But that doesn’t mean anything. It’s a big building.”

  “What about with other members of staff? Other secretaries?”

  That made the corners of Rob’s mouth curve up. He sighed and ran his hand through his hair. “I don’t know for sure. I’ve never seen anything with my own eyes. I mean in that sense, what Miss Stark said to you was right—she does give each lawyer a talking to when they join the firm, and if she sees you ‘dallying’—as you so gentlemanly put it—with any of the staff, she soon puts you in your place.”

  “But you’ve heard rumours?”

  “Well, he markets himself as the perfect family man. Lives in a mansion, wife in pearls and twinsets, two perfect kids—the boy’s a lawyer himself, just qualified, the girl’s at university in Auckland. They hold dinner parties, donate to charity, you name it. And as I said, I’ve never seen evidence of any affairs, certainly not at the workplace. But it’s just…the way he talks, you know? Sort of disrespectful to woman—he talks down to them. And the way the other partners talk to him. Innuendo. Sly remarks. Of course that doesn’t mean anything either way where Sasha’s concerned—you’ll see for yourself when you meet her that she’s not exactly overt. I can’t imagine him making a move on her. But if you’re sitting here asking me, do I think it’s absolutely a hundred percent impossible that he made unwelcome advances to her, I’d have to say no. There’s reasonable doubt.”

  “A true lawyer’s answer,” Felix said. He smiled, but his stomach churned. He already knew he wasn’t going to like Peter Dell. And that wasn’t good when his boss was expecting Felix to find him innocent.

  He sighed, stood and stretched, then walked over to the desk. “I’ll take a butcher’s at the file now, I think.”

  Rob frowned, getting to his feet. “Butcher’s?”

  “Sorry. Butcher’s hook—look. It’s a London thing…never mind.” Sometimes it was easier not to explain. “Will you come and get me when they’re ready for me?”

  “Sure.”

  “And where can I get a cup of…” He just stopped himself saying Rosie. “…tea?” That made him think of Coco’s raised eyebrow, and he smiled.

  “I’ll get one of the secretaries to bring you one in,” Rob said.

  “No, I—” Felix gritted his teeth as Rob disappeared. In Auckland, all lawyers made or fetched their own coffee. He liked it that way.

  He opened the file and huffed another sigh. He’d be glad when the morning was over.

  Chapter Eight

  Coco couldn’t concentrate. It wasn’t surprising really, she thought—what with it being a strange mixture of a standard day on the job combined with the actual first official day as office manager, as well as the added pressure of knowing Peter Dell was about to go into his hearing. Of course the sudden ability of her brain to wander off course and start daydreaming had nothing to do with Mr. Hotshot and the way he’d nearly kissed her. She wasn’t thinking about that at all.

  She pushed away her keyboard and got to her feet. The monthly stationery order would have to wait. Her eyes wouldn’t focus on the figures, and besides, she kept thinking about Felix’s words, about how Auckland’s overheads were so much lower than the Wellington branch’s because they were mostly digital.

  What could she do about that? She didn’t dislike technology—she used the internet and email and shopped online and was proficient with lots of secretarial packages. But she didn’t have a tablet, an MP3 player or even a decent phone. She just couldn’t afford it. Technology had always seemed like a wonderful aid for the office and she’d pushed for an update to the branch’s computers a few years ago, and had hired a training consultant to explain to all the lawyers how to use digital voice recording. But it was difficult to be innovative when some of the more senior staff members were stuck in the Dark Ages. There was no way she’d ever get Ted Hoyle to use a Dictaphone, for example, not even an old-fashioned one with the tiny cassettes—he flatly refused to do anything except dictate to a secretary, and how could she fight that when he—and many others—were the ones who paid the bills? Change had to come from above, and she didn’t have that kind of power.

  And now she had a headache, so she decided she wasn’t going to think about it for a while. She walked into the workroom and did a slow tour, checking out the place where the lawyers put their files for typing to make sure the legal secretaries weren’t getting too far behind, ensuring all the printers had paper and were free of jams, briefly stopping to talk to some of the secretaries to see whether they had any queries, a circuit she did half a dozen times a day to the water cooler and back, just to keep an eye on things.

  She noticed Sasha De Langen wasn’t at her seat. Knowing she might have nipped to the bathroom, she said nothing for ten minutes, but when Sasha didn’t appear, Coco walked through to the break room and found the young secretary standing at the window, lost in thought, a mug of tea in her hands.

  “Sasha,” Coco said softly. “Is everything okay?”

  Sasha jumped and turned, looking startled. “Sorry, have I been too long? I was just thinking…”

  “It’s okay, there’s no rush.” Coco walked forward to stand beside her. “How are you feeling?” She glanced at Sasha’s hand where she held the tea—the mug shook slightly, the liquid slopping up the sides.

  Sasha looked back out of the window. Her long brown hair was drawn back into a ponytail, and she wore no makeup—her clear skin looked pale, as if bleached of colour. “I feel a bit sick. I wonder what will happen when they find Mr. Dell innocent. Will I be sacked?”

  “You’ve done nothing wrong,” Coco said, a little sternly. “And anyway, what do you mean ‘when’? You mean ‘if’, surely?”

  Sasha turned scornful eyes on her. “You really think the partners are going to find one of their own guilty?”

  “Probably not, but it’s not a partner who’s running the investigation,” she pointed out.

  “I guess he’ll want to talk to me, won’t he? Mr. Wilkinson, I mean. Is that how it works?”

  Coco thought one of the partners would have spoken to her about the process and cursed inwardly that she was the one who had to do it. She’d speak to the head of HR about that. But it wasn’t fair to keep the girl on tenterhooks. “Yes, I would imagine so. First he’ll speak to Mr. Dell and inform him that he is investigating his conduct. He’ll ask him whether he accepts or denies the allegations you’ve made, and give Mr. Dell the opportunity to explain his actions. After that he’ll decide whether he’s satisfied with the answer Mr. Dell has given—if not, he’ll go on to investigate further, and he’ll talk to you, and me, amongst others, until he comes to a decision.” />
  “So Mr. Dell may explain his way out of it, in which case Mr. Wilkinson might decide he doesn’t need to talk to me.” Sasha’s voice dripped with bitterness.

  “Maybe. Somehow, though, I don’t think so.” Coco thought of the way Felix had agreed not to tell anyone about her nickname. “Mr. Wilkinson is an esteemed lawyer, known for his fairness and decency. I think he’ll want to hear your side of the story before he comes to a decision.”

  Sasha swallowed, then nibbled at a fingernail, and Coco felt a twinge of uneasiness. Although some of the young women on the secretarial staff were the same age as her or even older, and Sasha was probably only a couple of years younger, she was in charge of them all, and she should really have made more of an effort to support Sasha. True, she really had thought HR would explain more details about the hearing and what that meant for the secretary, but still, Coco knew she should have checked on her before this. They hadn’t spoken privately since she’d heard the young secretary’s allegations, partly because she was now semi-management and she wanted to be seen to be neutral, and partly because of the guilt that stirred inside her like a monster rising from the deep. She knew things—things that would have helped Sasha with her case. But she couldn’t reveal them. And that ate her up as if she’d swallowed a cupful of devouring maggots along with her morning breakfast.

  “I’d better get back to work,” Sasha said.

  “Probably best to keep occupied,” Coco replied as kindly as she could. “Concentrate on other things.”

  “Yeah.” Clearly, though, Sasha wasn’t going to be able to think of anything else until she’d heard the verdict.

  Sasha walked off, pouring her cool mug of tea in the sink as she left. Coco watched her go. At least the girl had had enough courage to come in that day. She could easily have pleaded sickness or taken the week off, as Peter had done.