“Well, yeah,” Madilyn smirks, looking at the babies in each of our arms. “But doesn’t she have to have more than that? Some testimony from earlier on?”
“I think so,” I tell her.
“So why would Janice even be talking about a deal?” she asks. “Why would they think a deal would even be on the table? How could they possibly think they’re winning this trial?”
“Well, that’s the thing,” I reply, looking down at Ashlyn because I can’t bring myself to look Madilyn in the eye.
“What?” she asks.
“I’m the one who was trying to get them to talk settlement,” I admit. “And the case is going so badly for them that this is the first time they’ve been open to such an offer. I obviously didn’t even expect them to be, or else I never would have told you to answer the phone. I thought it was Ron calling to ask if the babies were here yet and what kind of celebratory gift he should get— one of his favorite jokes is asking whether I prefer ‘it’s a girl’ or ‘it’s a boy’ flavored cigars.”
“Ha,” Madilyn laughs. “Ron. I don’t even know what Ruby sees in him.”
She shakes her head.
“But I guess everyone has their own tastes,” she continues. “And mine is apparently in a husband who becomes a softie once he becomes a father?”
“Hey now,” I tell her, trying not to raise my voice so as not to wake our sleeping babies. “That’s not true.”
“But you have a winning case and you would never settle if it weren’t for the babies.”
“I can’t think of just myself anymore,” I tell her. “There are the babies to consider, and you…”
“Why would you settle because of me?” she asks. “You know I’d want you to win.”
“I don’t know how to tell you this,” I tell her, shaking my head. But it’s time to lay it all out on the table. I can’t just pretend this problem doesn’t exist anymore, or hide behind her pregnancy as an excuse now that she’s no longer pregnant. “But they’re calling Jimmy to testify.”
“Jimmy?” she asks, looking confused. “What does Jimmy have to do with any of this?”
“I know,” I tell her. “It’s so dumb. I think it’s just a way to get at me. To attack you so that I’ll settle. They know it’ll work, too.”
“It will not work,” she insists. “Don’t settle no matter what. But what is Jimmy going to say?”
“That I have the propensity to take nice girls and turn them bad, mostly,” I tell her.
“Really?” she laughs.
“I know, right? As if it took big bad me to make you horny and desperate to have sex. That was all his fault.”
“Hey!” she says, quick to defend herself— and me— which is another thing I love about her. Loyal Madilyn. “It definitely took meeting you to draw out that certain part of me that knew what she wanted. Or, who she wanted.”
I smile at her, thinking that if it was her intention to blow up my ego— and something else as well— she’s definitely succeeded.
“How long did the doctor say we have to wait before we can start… doing the deed… again?” I ask, looking down at Ashlyn to make sure she hasn’t overheard anything she’s too young to hear.
“I think six weeks,” Madilyn says, laughing. “But I’ll double check. Dr. Morris might make an exception for us, if you promise to be gentle.”
“You know I can do no such thing,” I tell her.
“Well, I can’t let you go down in this ridiculous case without a fight,” she says. “And that’s exactly what you were trying to do. Not fight, just to protect me.”
“It’ll be so much easier if they just go away and if I can put this behind me,” I tell her. “They don’t even want that much money. They can’t get it— it’s an alimony case and alimony is over. They can only claim I could have made more and paid more, and they know it’s a flimsy argument. They’re just trying to make a point. I should just let them make it, and be done with it.”
“No,” Madilyn insists, bringing out that feisty side of her that I love so much. “I won’t let them. We can’t. Then they’ll never go away. They’ll think we’re weak and they’ll know we’ll cave if they hit us in the right place at the right time. We need to crush them so they know to leave us alone. We’ll ask for sanctions and make them pay for bringing such a frivolous lawsuit on such petty and self-serving grounds.”
“Wow, I really like this fighter’s spirt,” I tell her, genuinely impressed. “I mean, I’ve always known you were a good lawyer, but this is a new side of you.”
“I’m a mother now,” she says, nodding her head. “I need to fight for my family.”
“So what’s your solution, Counselor?” I ask her.
“Put me on the stand,” she says. “I’ll testify that my relationship with Jimmy was long over and that you didn’t do anything to me I didn’t want you to do.”
“You’d say that? In open court?” I ask her.
“Of course,” she says. “We’re married now, and even if we weren’t, it was the best sex of my life and I have no reason to be ashamed of it. Especially, of course, because we didn’t get caught having sex in the office.”
“Not yet, anyway,” I add, and we both laugh. “But it’s a personal goal of mine. One day it will happen. Maybe just when we need our sex life to be spiced up a bit.”
She smiles at me. I look at her, holding our son while I hold our daughter, and I can’t believe how lucky I am.
“You’d do that for me?” I ask her, knowing that if she does that, I’ll win for sure.
The case is already heavily swinging in my favor, which is why Janice wants to deal. But if she testifies, I’ll win for sure.
“I sure will,” she says, kissing Remy and then winking at me. “I’m allowed to stress now, and I feel like doing something for you the way you’ve done something for me. As long as you promise to always tell me things in the future.”
“I will,” I tell her. “Unless you’re pregnant and the doctor says not to stress you out. Or unless it’s a surprise.”
“Okay, deal,” she says.
“So what have I done for you?” I ask her.
“Oh, you’ve only mentored me, married me, knocked me up with two babies and have proven you’re a great husband and father. That’s it.”
I smile at her. Then I smile at our babies.
“That’s it, huh?” I ask her. “And for that you’re willing to do whatever it takes to fight for me?”
“Yes, Boss,” she says, smiling down at our babies as well.
“I can’t believe my fucking luck,” I continue. “I’m going to have a great life with my amazing life and two adorable babies.”
“Please, Boss.”
“For all I know, maybe we won’t stop at two,” I say, just to continue the game we used to play. But this time it isn’t a game. It’s for real. It’s for keeps.
“More, Boss,” she says, as if on cue.
“And we’ll be together forever no matter what, right?” I ask her, just to hear what she’ll say next.
“Of course, Husband.”
Ashlyn begins to stir, but she doesn’t start to cry until Madilyn says the words I’ve been waiting for. The words I hope to hear when I’m an old man and our kids are happy, healthy and grown. And I’ll still be taking their mom in the bedroom and telling them to play video games and leave us alone for a while.
A good, long while.
“Always, Boss.”
THE END.
KEEP READING for more bonus books.
Miss Veronica and Isaac yet? Their related follow up story I Bought a Fake Fiance is the last bonus book in this collection.
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Their Very Real Baby.
Jensen: A Bad Boy Military Romance
Book # 1 in the Bradford Brothers Series
Copyright 2015-2016 by Juliana Conners; All Rights Reserved.
Published by Swann
Song Books.
Cover design by Kasmit Covers.
Día de Los Muertos/ Day of the Dead image from Hubpages.com.
To Matt, my partner in this crazy thing we call life.
To Quinn, my eternal muse and Sawyer, my earthly joy.
And to the memory of Whiskey Greg. Ride on, party on, and give a kiss to Quinn if your paths should ever cross as you’re both out there making more stars for our beautiful and adventure-filled Universe.
Chapter 1
“Hey pretty lady, what are you doing here?”
An inmate in an orange jumpsuit presses himself up against the bars in front of his jail cell as he spits this question at me. Then he spreads his index and middle fingers across his mouth and wags his tongue at me through them.
I try not to grimace as I recoil at his leering gaze. Then I quickly turn my head away so as not to display my disgust and fear to the man’s face.
But the prisoner’s question is valid, and one that I’m asking myself right now in fact.
What am I doing here?
I’m not the kind of lawyer who works in a jail. Correction: I wasn’t that type of lawyer.
Yet the fact remains that here I am walking into a gritty prison complex instead of a fancy high rise like I have for the past four years of my legal career.
I’m supposedly an up and coming lawyer at the law firm of Holt, Mason and Davis. My goal has been to make partner within the next couple of years. And I think I’ve achieved my goal so far, since I’m not only on the partnership track but according to my bi-annual evaluations, I’m doing sprints around all my fellow associates.
Except for my fiancé Brian, of course. But he doesn’t have to make much of an effort, considering that he’s the son of the firm’s founding partner Jack Holt.
Brian doesn’t think I should be volunteering here, but he doesn’t understand what’s at stake if I don’t.
“Ms. Morrell, keep following me, this way please,” says Tim McDonald— or is it O’Donald?— as he leads me through the prison complex I’d never before entered. “We’re almost there.”
He must know that I’m strongly considering turning around and leaving. Maybe Brian was right— I don’t need to go to these lengths to impress the firm. There has to be something I can do that doesn’t involve trips to the local jail where I’m accosted by lecherous criminals.
But ever since my latest performance evaluation at the firm, Jack Holt’s words have been ringing in my memory.
“Your billable hours are great, your work is solid, your networking is as expected,” he’d told me. “But your pro bono hours are not on track with the other associates’, and the only misgivings expressed by any partner have related to your fit here with the firm.”
“My fit?” I’d asked, squirming in the oversized leather chair in the large conference room occupied only by Mr. Holt and myself.
I’d wanted to ask how I was supposed to find time to do pro bono hours— volunteering to represent clients for free— when I already billed more hours than any other associate, year after year. But I assumed he expected me to figure that out on my own.
And I was intrigued— if not dismayed— by his use of the word “fit.” I needed to fit in at the firm; I needed to make it work. My parents had spent a lot of money on law school and would be furious at me if they knew I didn’t make partner because I didn’t “fit in.”
“As you know, Riley, this firm has a strong and proud military tradition,” Mr. Holt had continued. “And you’re the only associate who doesn’t have some tie with the military.”
I’d thought about it and realized he was right: many of the partners had served in the military before going to law school, and many of the associates were in the Reserves. There were lawyers who had gone to West Point, the Air Force Academy, who had been in JAG before being hired by the firm, and who regularly volunteered at the VA, helping with disability cases or access to health care.
Except for your son, I wanted to point out to Mr. Holt, because Brian was the only other associate with absolutely no connection to the military. But, again, Brian doesn’t count. The normal rules and expectations don’t apply to him.
Mr. Holt rarely speaks of my relationship with Brian at work, but when he does, it’s to tell me that he’s glad his son hooked himself to a rising star: that I’m good for Brian and can keep him focused on the expectations at work.
But the only real expectation of Brian when it comes to work is to show up at the office once in a while. He’s expected to go to happy hours and golf tournaments with the partners, not slave away as a billable hour drone like the rest of us.
And apparently he doesn’t need to have any military connection, although everyone else, including me, has to meet that requirement. Which I’d only just recently learned was a requirement.
So it’s no wonder Brian doesn’t understand. When I began calling around to military legal service organizations where I could volunteer, the Veterans’ Legal Alliance was the only one that responded immediately. So I jumped on the opportunity to obtain a pro bono gig as quickly as possible.
Tim had explained to me that the VLA organization provides all types of legal services and representation to military veterans, including representation in criminal trials. It’s a totally different world than I’m used to, but I’m open to anything that will help me become partner at the firm.
Now, Tim leads me to an open meeting room or visiting room of some type. A handful of inmates stand around speaking in hushed tones to each other, while others sit quietly by themselves.
“These are some of the men in our program, who are waiting to meet with their lawyers or be transported to the hearing room for their cases to be called,” Tim explains.
He sits down on a bench at one of the tables a few feet away from the men. I follow his lead and sit down at the bench on the other side of the table.
One of the prisoners catches my eye and I can’t help but stare. While the rest of the men have short, buzzed, military style haircuts, this man has a gruff, outdoorsy look: long hair and a long beard.
His short-sleeved jumpsuit reveals muscular pecs covered in tattoos. I can’t take my eyes off of a Día de los Muertos/ Day of the Dead tattoo on his right arm: it’s a colorful skull full of flowers and a cross.
The stranger returns my stare, his eyes the color of dark coal. I feel them burning into my pale blue eyes as if I’m Lot’s wife looking back on Sodom in a rebellious, forbidden act. I tear my eyes away from him and force myself to look at Tim, hoping that I won’t turn into a pillar of salt.
What in the world was that? I wonder, as a scourge of electricity curses through my veins. I cannot possibly have felt attracted to that… criminal. He’s not even my type.
I like nerdy, intellectual guys, not long-haired convicts covered in tattoos. And I’m engaged, I remind myself, almost as an after- thought. But I can’t seem to stop staring at this guy’s luscious brown hair, mysterious dark brown eyes, and seemingly constantly flexed muscles.
“It’s amazing how many military personnel are arrested while serving or shortly thereafter,” Tim is explaining, handing me a thick binder full of information.
Veterans’ Legal Alliance, Inc., it reads on the front cover, and then: How to represent a service member or veteran charged with a crime in state criminal court.
“I’m not really knowledgeable about…” I begin, but Tim holds up his hand and smiles kindly at me.
“We know you don’t have criminal law experience,” he says, easing my fears. “But since you routinely handle complex commercial litigation and white collar crime- type fraud suits between business partners and the like, I’m sure you’ll get the hang of it quickly. These kinds of cases are more difficult in some ways but the basic procedures will be a cakewalk for you. And we are here to train you and provide you with all the support and resources you need.”
“‘We’ being…?” I ask, looking around the room and noting the lack of any other lawyers.
<
br /> I suddenly feel a presence immediately behind my right shoulder and jump, realizing that Mr. Not My Type is standing directly behind me. I’m not sure how long he’s been there. I feel goosebumps spring up all over my body, and it’s not because I’m cold.
It’s not even because I’m afraid. There’s something undeniably attractive— rather than repulsive— to me about this particular criminal.
“Myself, as director of the organization,” Tim continues, “and all other staff and attorneys. I must admit we run a slim ship, which is due to the lack of willing personnel, but those that do help are incredibly passionate and talented at what they do.”
“I see,” I say, trying not to blush and hoping that Mr. Not My Type can’t tell what an inexplicitly powerful effect his presence has on me.
The inmate clears his throat and says, “Mr. McDonald?” in a polite yet bold tone of voice.
There’s something about his voice that makes me shiver. In a good way. It’s as if he’s whispering in my ear, even though he’s not even talking to me.
“Yes, Jensen?” Tim responds, with a smile. “Call me Tim. And this is Riley Morrell. She might be volunteering temporarily with our organization. Riley, this is Jensen Bradford.”
“Hello, Riley,” says Jensen, extending a well-built forearm in my direction. There’s something about the way he says my name that sounds so foreign and new, as if I’ve never been called it before in my life. “It’s nice to meet you.”
“Nice to meet you too,” I say, reaching out to meet his grasp.
He shakes my hand like a lumberjack and I wonder how tall he is. Definitely quite tall. But his eyes remain focused on Tim’s.
“Mr. McDonald,” he continues, dropping my hand and leaving it to feel suddenly completely empty. “I’m wondering if Dylan is here? He said he’d talk to me about my arraignment hearing before it starts, and that’s relatively soon.”
“I believe he was held over in court,” Tim answers. “He has a busy docket today. But I’m sure he’ll be here soon.”
Sold as a Fake Fiancee: A Virgin and a Billionaire Romance Page 54
