Of Demons & Stones: A Tri-Stone Trilogy

by Anne L. Parks

  This introduction is something more than a simple “meet-the-newest-penthouse-associate-and-she's-a-woman...aren't-we-progressive?” introduction that I've been subjected to since my move upstairs. Apparently, Stone's underage nephew, Joshua Banks, was caught drinking alcohol at a party. He also had a joint in his pocket when the cops frisked him.

  I turn my attention back to Stone. "Do you know the name of the prosecutor assigned to his case?"

  He blinks several times, and his posture stiffens slightly.

  "No, but I can find out." He thumbs through his BlackBerry, presses a button, and speaks to someone on the other end.

  I smile, remembering his inability to use the phone two mornings ago which prompted me to stop and help him.

  His gaze is locked on my mouth, and I bite my lower lip. He looks away and shifts in his seat. "Amy, look in Josh's file and tell me the name of the prosecutor in his case," he asks whoever is on the other end of his call.

  "Do you have the charging documents? Or the initial citation he received when he was arrested?" I ask Stone while he's still on the phone.

  "Send a copy of the file to Miss Tate," he says to Amy. He looks at me. "Your email?"

  I give him the address, pull a yellow legal pad from my desk drawer, and start running through more questions I want to ask.

  "You should have all the documents shortly, Miss Tate," Stone says, and slides the BlackBerry back into his pocket.

  My email pings with the materials from Stone's assistant. I do a hasty scan for the information I need.

  The office is quiet as the two men watch me read. I reach for the phone and make the all-too-familiar call to the prosecutor's office.

  "Hi, Teri. Kylie Tate. I understand you're assigned to the Joshua Banks case. Charges are intoxication of a minor and possession of an illegal substance. Looks like the hearing is set for this Friday at three. What's the offer on the table right now?"

  I listen to the prosecutor's admonition. "It is a serious charge. We need to nip this in the bud while he’s still young..."

  Blah, blah, blah...

  "Teri, this is a good kid from a good family. He made an error in judgment. He has no prior criminal record. Hell, he's never even been sent to the principal's office. Are you really going to saddle him with a criminal record for going to a party and having a beer? The joint wasn't even lit. Someone handed to him and he inadvertently put it in his pocket, intending to flush it later." I take a breath. "He'll be applying to colleges soon. He doesn't need this hanging around his neck like an anchor."

  I scribble Teri's offer on my legal pad. It's decent, and what I expected for a first-time offender. I hang up the phone and turn to Stone. "They're offering a deferred sentence, three-hundred-dollar fine, and ten hours of community service. It's a good deal, in my opinion."

  It's the standard offer actually, and I wonder why this needs the attention of an experienced attorney instead of the many newer lawyers looking for some face time in court. Any first year associate would've been given the same deal. Not that I mind. Assisting Alex Stone can only help my career here at the firm. And I get the added bonus of spending more time with the man who has captivated my thoughts over the past couple of days. He both intrigued me and pissed me off that day on the side of the road. But one thing is for sure. I won't be getting this man out of my head anytime soon.

  I explain the remainder of the process as he leans back in his seat. I watch as his thumb slowly moves across his bottom lip. The motion is sensuous motion, and and my breath hitches. The corners of his mouth twitch into a faint smile. I blink and break the connection.

  "Have your nephew meet me outside the courtroom on Friday. I'll go over the procedure with him to enter his plea. Make sure he's dressed appropriately for court." It's a programmed and automatic recitation, which I desperately need at this moment. Alex Stone's proximity and intense gaze are entirely disarming.

  Jack is grinning, apparently happy with my work on this sensitive matter. "See, Alex? I told you she's amazing." Jack winks at me.

  Stone stands and provides a glimpse of his incredible physique. "That she is." Stone's eyes are still fixed on mine, a near imperceptible shake of his head.

  "Happy to help." I extend my hand to him once more.

  He leans in toward me. "Thank you again for your assistance earlier this week, Miss Tate. You continue to come to my rescue just when I need you."

  My eyes stay on his, but I'm unable to speak. My heart beats double time. The return of his arrogant, smug smile as he releases my hand and joins Jack yanks me out of my state of infatuation, and I remember why this man created such disfavor days earlier. Good looks can only compensate for so much, and Stone's outstanding physique does not offset his egomaniacal personality.

  "Thanks again, Kylie," Jack says.

  I sit at my desk as they leave my office and walk to the reception desk. Shaking hands with Jack, Stone is left in the care of the busty, blonde Sarah with her just retouched makeup. I try to pull my gaze away from him but find it impossible. He is quite possibly the most imposing, sensual man I have ever met. The overwhelming urge to dislike him is arm-wrestling with my schoolgirl crush, which is pissing me off. I'm too old to have this type of a reaction. Add to that a deep distrust of men, and Alex Stone is nothing more than a fantasy that I can live without.

  By the end of the day, I'm exhausted. Between trying to get all my cases squared away and the sudden unexpected appearance of Alex Stone in my office, I'm completely drained. I lean against the back of the elevator, lost in the constant loop of my conversation with Stone earlier in the afternoon and oblivious to the other attorneys getting on.

  Fingers lightly trail up my arm. I pull my arm away, pissed that someone is touching me. John Sysco, an attorney and my ex-boyfriend, is standing next to me, a sly smile across his face. I pull my arm closer to my side and step into the corner of the car. He leans closer but doesn't say a word. His presence is ominous, and a shiver runs down my spine.

  As we exit the elevator, John stops to talk to another lawyer, and I take the opportunity to escape. It's bad enough that I have to work with him on a daily basis, even having to co-chair the biggest case of my career with him. I don't want to deal with him outside the office. There is too much baggage between us, too many ugly memories that refuse to go away.

  I round the back end of my Jeep Wrangler and grab the door handle. His hand is on my elbow, and he spins me around. My breath catches. Icy fear rushes through my veins as a cold sweat breaks out over my skin. I try to climb into the driver's seat, but John fills the space between us.

  "Kylie, don't run off. I want to talk to you. Let's grab a drink or dinner."

  He has the uncanny ability to speak as if we are the best of friends, as if there is not a long, dark history between us.

  "There's nothing to say, John." I toss my briefcase onto the passenger seat.

  He slams his hand against the frame of the Jeep next to my head. I jerk away, and instinctively block a hit to my face.

  "Damn it, Kylie. This shit has gone on long enough. I've apologized over and over for that night. It's time for you to let it go, so we can move on. I think I've been pretty patient with you, but my tolerance is growing thin." His eyes are dark, and red rage floods his cheeks, but his lips are tight and ghost white.

  The Mercedes sedan in the next parking space beeps, and the doors unlock. The owner approaches, staring at us for a moment. He almost looks as if he might intervene on my behalf, but looks away as he opens the car door.

  John takes two steps away from me and shifts too easily to his professional demeanor. "Hey, Allan." He walks around the car and shakes hands with him.

  I slide behind the steering wheel, start the engine, and quickly back out. John looks at me as I pull away. The quick flash of anger says so much. This is not over.

  I drive to my row house, my heart racing out of control. Pulling into the small garage, I sit in the Jeep for a moment. My heartbeat drums in my ears. I dr
ag in a ragged long breath, hoping it will calm my nerves.

  Memories of that last night with John start to seep out of the tight box within my mind, but I quickly push them away. They've been locked up for over a year. There's no reason they ever need to come out. I clawed my way from the pits of hell where I dwelled while in a relationship with John.

  It was so hard for me to see any light at the end of the tunnel. I was sure I would always exist somewhere in limbo, not irretrievably broken, but nowhere near fixed. But the sturdier my box became, the brighter the light grew. I'm not healed, but I exist in light, and that keeps the ever-present demons in my mind at bay.

  And that's a hell of a lot better than where I've been.

  Chapter Three

  My tires squeal as I swing into my spot in the parking garage below the D & R building. I grab my briefcase and slam the door. I clench my fists. Why is the garage empty when I really need to punch someone?

  I'm late, really late. I finally give up waiting for the elevator and head to the stairs, hoping I'll have more luck in the lobby. At the very least, I’m moving, which in my current mood, is much better than standing still.

  My litigation team was supposed to meet an hour ago to review new evidence in the Trevalis case. I was forced to return home to change clothes after the idiot who cut me off caused my entire travel mug of coffee to spill all over my suit.

  My lack of sleep is not helping my mood. I had a fitful night of tossing and turning through endless nightmares, all of them starring John.

  "Hold the elevator, please."

  Luckily, someone inside catches the door and forces it back open, allowing me access.

  "Thanks," I offer breathlessly. I proceed to the back, passing two men I've seen around the building but don't know.

  Releasing a heavy sigh, I relax against the wall—until I focus on the man standing directly across from me.

  Alex Stone stands with his arms crossed over his chest, leaning pretentiously against the side of the elevator. He's more casual in a white dress shirt, no tie, top two buttons undone. And I cannot take my eyes off of him. He exudes raw sexuality. A slow burn creeps into my belly, and my thighs quiver.

  The elevator comes to a stop on the third floor. The two men exit. I'm alone with Alex Stone.

  "Miss Tate," he says as the elevator doors close.

  My knees turn to jelly at the sound of his silky voice practically making love to my name. I curse my body's reaction to him.

  "So nice to see you again." He looks me up and down. His gaze stops momentarily on my black pencil skirt, tanned legs, and black high heels.

  It's irritating how he can stand there all calm and collected while I feel so exposed. "Mr. Stone. We don't see you in our offices for fifteen years, and now, you've graced us with your presence two days in a row."

  "I now have a reason to come here more often. I'm finalizing the details on a new venture." A sly smile crosses his face. "I do hope my presence is not distracting, Miss Tate."

  "Not at all, Mr. Stone." Liar.

  Alex Stone's presence is more than distracting. It's enticing and seductive. And he's beginning to make me consider things I vowed never to entertain again. Stone is heartache I can do without. If only I could get those mesmerizing eyes out of my dreams.

  He pulls himself from the wall and takes a step toward me. "You seem a bit agitated this morning. Is everything okay?"

  I'm shocked to see a sincere look of concern in his all-too-beautiful eyes.

  "Yes. Thank you." I say, softening my tone and running my hands over my skirt to unnecessarily smooth it. "I've had a trying morning so far, and I'm late getting to work. I'm just a bit out of sorts at the moment."

  The ding of the elevator announces our arrival at the penthouse. The doors slide open, and Stone places his hand on my elbow, escorting me out of the car.

  "You seem very well put together to me, Miss Tate." A wicked sparkle glints in his eyes, making them a deeper blue.

  Releasing my elbow, he turns to greet Jack, and the two enter one of the conference rooms.

  I walk down the hall to my office. What the hell was that all about?

  My mood has improved since my encounter on the elevator, but I can't get past the dichotomy of Stone's personalities. I’m feeling manic, my head swimming in a sea of confusion. He's charming and flirtatious but quickly morphs into a smug asshole. There is no denying that my body yearns for his touch, but my head is telling me to keep him at more than arm’s length away.

  The outer space of the penthouse is a conglomerate of floor-to-ceiling glass walls. The entire penthouse—except for Jack's office—is open for display. All the offices. All the conference rooms. There is very little privacy.

  My litigation team has taken over one of the conference rooms for our weekly meetings. Stone and his legal team are in the adjoining conference room. For the most part, I’ve been able to focus on the Trevalis murder. On a few occasions, I've glanced into the other conference room, and my eyes met his. The intenseness of his gaze made my heart rate increase and my mouth go dry.

  By mid-afternoon, my team is going in circles on how to a get a key piece of evidence admitted at trial. Gazing into space, I listen to the back and forth bantering of my team. I'm running my fingers through my long auburn hair. It's a habit when I'm trying to focus on an issue.

  My iPhone buzzes on the table in front of me. I pick it up and read the text message.

  You shouldn't do that with your hair, Miss Tate.

  It's from an unknown number. Who the hell is this? I glance around.

  I peer into the other conference room. Stone is gazing at me with those penetrating blue eyes. He looks away.

  My heart takes off, in a race with my brain, which is furiously trying to figure out how Alex Stone has my number.

  Caller ID. That morning, on the side of the road when his car had broken down, I gave him my cell phone. He called someone for a ride.

  I hit Reply and decide two can play at this game.

  And why is that, Mr. Stone?

  I resist the urge to look at him. My phone dings almost immediately.

  Because it does things to me.

  I pull my lower lip between my teeth. This is not the game I thought we'd be playing, but it's still making me hot as hell. I quickly type another message and send it before I can change my mind.

  Good things or bad things, Mr. Stone?

  A hot flush hits my face and neck. I look over at Stone glancing at his BlackBerry. His smile turns to an all-out grin, and he begins pressing buttons on his phone.

  Ding.

  I quickly open the message, uncharacteristically giddy, especially at work.

  Naughty things, Miss Tate.

  My racing heart halts. I'm speechless. I might be in shock. I'm never without a witty response. A soft giggle escapes my chest, and I squirm in my seat, uncomfortable with how this man makes me feel yet wanting more.

  I look into the other conference room, but it's empty. Twisting in my seat, I catch sight of Stone as he steps onto the elevator and faces me. A boyish grin crosses his face. He drops his eyes and shakes his head as the doors close.

  And then, he's gone.

  So Alex Stone has a playful side. A slow, long breath escapes my lungs as I sit back in my seat. Who would've thought?

  Still in awe of my unprofessional texting with our top client, I look across the table and meet John's stern gaze. His face is red, his nostrils flaring.

  I ignore him and address the rest of the team. "Okay, I think we've been here way too long, and done enough damage for one day. Let's meet again next Tuesday."

  I grab my pile of legal pads containing various notes on the case and head for the door.

  "Lisa, ten minutes in my office. I need to go over some things on my calendar." I don't wait for a reply.

  Just past the reception area, I feel a tug at my elbow. John. His cold, hard eyes drill into me.

  "What the hell was that? You have something going on
with Stone?" He digs his fingers into my arm.

  I wince and yank it from his grasp. "None of your business," I say, and continue down the hallway.

  He's close behind me as we enter my office. Cold wraps around me whenever he's near. I head behind my desk, dump my notes on the credenza, and place much needed space between us.

  John stands across from me, hands fisted at his sides, his dark eyes smoldering.

  I exhale, pissed that he's effectively doused my good mood, and put me on edge. "What do you want, John?"

  "I want to know what you're doing with the billionaire playboy?" He slams his fists down on my desk.

  I flinch and look to the hallway to see if anyone has seen his outburst.

  "And I've told you, it's none of your business." My voice is firm and strong, but I'm anything but that at the moment. I'm a quivering mess inside. I know all too well the violence that erupts when he's been pushed too far.

  "It is my business," he says through gritted teeth.

  "No, John, it's not. We're not together, and we haven't been for a while. What you do is your business, and what I do is mine."

  Lisa stops abruptly in the doorway, her eyes wide.

  I wave her in. Attempting to control my voice, I say, "Now, if you'll excuse me, Lisa and I have things to go over." I gesture for him to leave.

  The office provides a sense of security, which allows me to be blunt. This discussion, however, would be very different outside of this building. Away from this sanctuary, John's anger is not as tightly guarded, and he wouldn't hesitate to unleash it on me.

  He shoots one last look at me over his shoulder. He's a mass of pain, hurt, and fury.

  I hate that I'm forced to work so closely with him. I prayed he wouldn't be assigned as co-counsel on this case, but Jack thinks we make a good team. Jack, however, has no idea of the horrors John put me through. For the most part, we work well together. Lately, however, John has extended periods of bitterness—either from being passed over as lead attorney or due to our breakup.