Her Claim: Legally Bound Book 2

by Rebecca Grace Allen

  “Option one, we restructure.”

  “I like the sound of that. What would a restructuring involve?”

  “For starters?” She waved a hand around the office. “This all goes.”

  Hudson’s smile fell. “What all goes?”

  “The custom-made luxury table in your conference room. The thirteen-hundred-dollar flower vase in your waiting room. This desk. The entire office space itself. It’s all equity, and you need to sell it to put new money back into your business.”

  He looked horrified, like a kid who’d had a very expensive lollipop yanked from his mouth. “You want me to sell my building?”

  “Yes.” Did I stutter? “This property is on Boylston Street, one of the eight most expensive places to have office space in North America. Among the seven before it are Royal Palm Way in Palm Beach, the Avenue of the Stars in LA, Pennsylvania Avenue in DC and Fifth Avenue in Manhattan.”

  It was as if she were naming the most expensive properties in Monopoly. And from Hudson’s snide expression, he felt the same way too. “I publish elite authors, Ms. Allbright. An elite building reflects that.”

  Oh, they’d get to his authors in a minute.

  “Having this elite building is in direct relation to your inability to pay your bills. So you either sell and move to an all-online operation, or lease it to a business that will pay you rent.”

  She took a second to let that sink in. No harm in letting him recover before she went in for the kill.

  “I also feel you need to expand the range of people who write for you.”

  “What makes you an authority on books?” he snapped.

  Cassie wasn’t intimidated by the sharpness of his words. If anything, she found it amusing.

  “I’m not. I’m an expert in bankruptcy law, which is why you hired me. So in addition to going through all your assets, I also met with my firm’s financial consultant, and reached out to a few market experts in the field.”

  She’d done her homework, seeing where Hudson stood in the local and national landscape and only getting slightly sidetracked when coming across the name Dunham and Strauss. Patrick was worth more than Cassie would see in her lifetime, even if she finally made partner and worked until she was dead.

  But as far as Hudson was concerned, her experts had all come back with the same feedback: his handling of his money was half the problem. The other half was his business.

  “Every one of your authors is a white male. Every book is one of their biographies. Books you assured your investors would be windfalls, but didn’t sell as well as you’d hoped. I understand you want your house to be—” Cassie searched for a word that wasn’t snobby or borderline racist, “—unique, but you need to look outside that if you want new contracts. You need cash so you can pay back your creditors, not to mention sending your authors the royalties you owe them.”

  Hudson’s nostrils flared. “What’s option two?”

  “You claim bankruptcy. Which is an expensive, time-consuming and public thing.”

  Exactly the opposite of what he’d wanted. Hudson put his feet down and swiveled back and forth in his chair. “How long would the restructuring take?”

  “Three, maybe four months.”

  He stared at her, as if somehow, if he did it long enough, she’d give him a different answer. Cassie shrugged.

  “It’s your choice, Mr. Grant. Take my suggestions, and we’ll consolidate and come up with a repayment plan, so you don’t lose your connections or respect in the industry as a whole. Or you can ignore my advice and we’ll take our chances in court. You’re welcome to see if someone else will give you a different answer, but I wouldn’t recommend it, because no one is going to do a better job at this than I will.”

  And now that she’d said her piece, Cassie gathered her things. She was taking a gamble here, but she’d played hardball with clients before, and had a feeling her hand would play out.

  She put her last file into her bag and stood. Hudson looked up at her.

  “You’re sure that’s the only way?” he asked.

  “The way I see it, yes.”

  He rose to his feet and reached a hand out. “Option one it is. Send me whatever paperwork you need to get things started.”

  Cassie gave him a firm handshake in response. He held on a bit longer, grinned and reminded her he’d take her up on her offer to hit that hotel up the street any time. She rolled her eyes and pulled her hand away. The guy was a prick, but he seemed to respect her ability to reorganize his company.

  She left his office high off her triumph. It was warm and sticky for a mid-September evening, perhaps the last day like that they’d have. Standing outside amongst the brownstones and bustling after-work crowd, she wanted to go somewhere, to meet her friends and celebrate, but Lilly would be at Jack’s by now, and Gabe had been nursing a cold all week. So that left having a triumphant drink by herself, or going home.

  Screw it. She lifted her chin and went into a bar across the street.

  It was a cushy cocktails place, much more her style than the beer-coated floors at Barrel ’n’ Flask. She sat down at the bar with a don’t-fuck-with-me-because-I’m-awesome confidence and ordered a blood-orange cosmopolitan. It may have been sheer luck that Hudson had chosen her. Maybe he’d liked her face on the company website, who knows. But after years of watching the high-profile cases go to the old boys’ club at the firm, and quashing her Cuban side because of it, she was finally on the path to making partner.

  You’re going to change the world, Cassandra.

  The memory came at full impact. If only he was here to see her doing this. He’d never gotten to see her graduate high school or college, wasn’t around for most of her adult life, but she’d felt like he was there sometimes. Every time she made an important decision she got a hint of cigar smoke on the air, like he was puffing on it as he watched over her. It happened again when she’d visited Brown. The first time she’d felt those autumn leaves crunch under her feet, burnt somehow and mixed with the scents of apple cider and pine, she’d gotten a whiff of smoke even though the air was clear around her, and known she was making the right choice. She smelled it again when she’d started at Legal Aid and when she’d gotten her clerkship, but she hadn’t again since.

  She hated cigarettes, but man, she’d loved the smell of that cigar.

  Cassie turned to face the room, people-watching as she sipped her drink. She was enjoying the warm buzz from the combination of vodka and triple sec in her glass when her gaze hit on a familiar face.

  A familiar face that was hitting on an unfamiliar one.

  Patrick fucking Dunham. Did he ever go off the goddamn prowl?

  He was hovering over his young blonde prey at a table in the corner, his body language smooth and predatory like a jaguar. In dark-washed jeans, a crisp white shirt, and a sport jacket left carelessly open, he wore a casual uniform of independent wealth. His nose moved past the young woman’s ear as he whispered something into it, and Cassie’s stomach churned. The man was relentless in his attempts to get in women’s pants. He hit on anything that breathed and was a size two or smaller. Why was he like that?

  Cassie wasn’t a size two. She had curves and thick thighs. And a brain.

  She was smart. Smart enough to know Patrick was going to leave this woman in the morning. Earlier than that, if Cassie pegged him right. So why did it bother her so much, watching him seduce this woman? Why did jealousy snake through her gut as the blonde blushed, her shoulders curling inward under the heat of Patrick’s undivided focus?

  Because she’d been the recipient of that focused attention, once.

  As much as she didn’t want to think about it, she couldn’t help but remember the party he’d thrown at his apartment for Jack’s birthday. A swanky, black-tie affair that hadn’t stopped Jack and Lilly from getting into their very first public argument. Cassie had been standing off to the side watching the couple face off on the terrace when Patrick moved in beside her.

  �
�I take no responsibility for Jack’s behavior,” he’d said grimly. “The guy’s got his head up his ass.”

  “I’ll kill him if he hurts her,” Cassie had growled.

  Their eyes met, and her heart had leapt. Not because of his closeness, but at his expression, his eyes so green and intense and…hungry.

  “What a thing it must be,” he’d murmured. “To be under your fierce protection.”

  “I look after the people I care about.”

  “I know. It’s one of the things I admire most about you.”

  The memory repulsed and humiliated her. As did the sight of Patrick right now, kissing the blonde’s cheek before he stood and walked away. Would he be in that woman’s bed later tonight? She was young and perky, but youth didn’t hold a candle to experience. It might’ve been a while, but Cassie had skills that could turn a man into knots. She could do Patrick better than that twenty-something bleach-job could.

  She caught herself for the thought. What the serious fuck? She didn’t want Patrick. She didn’t at all. And there was no reason to be jealous of this stranger. If anything, she should pity her. But Cassie was still looking at Patrick when his gaze landed on her. His brow lifted, his expression morphing into something resembling delight.

  Shit. Cassie slid around on her stool and faced the bar.

  A glass appeared on the countertop beside her. “See something you like?” Patrick asked.

  He couldn’t resist, could he? Couldn’t help himself from starting up something, his voice warm and amused.

  “Nope,” she replied. “Other than my drink.”

  “It’s satisfying you, I hope?”

  Cassie threw him a glare, but the move backfired. It only got her caught up in his conniving smile and freshly trimmed goatee, his hair that was a little more mussed than usual, curlier and infuriatingly touchable. Why did he have to look so damn good all the time? “Yes, it is.”

  “Is that a cocktail to pass the time while waiting for someone to join you? Or is something at work stressing you out?”

  Since when did he care how her job was? “Neither, actually, I’m celebrating.”

  “What are we celebrating?”

  “Landing a huge client.”

  His expression shifted, as if he were considering saying something, before it returned to its normal glib state. “Congratulations. I’m celebrating something too.”

  “What’s that?”

  He stared at his drink before taking a sip. “Getting through another week.”

  As if being a high-powered, extremely wealthy executive was so tiring for him. “And that’s how you celebrate. By picking up yet another woman.”

  “Is that envy I hear?”

  Anger bubbled up inside her. She wouldn’t dignify that comment with a response. “What do you say to these women to get them to fall into your lap, anyway?”

  His eyes glittered. “Wouldn’t you like to know?”

  Cassie turned away and knocked back a sip from her drink, hoping he would move on.

  He didn’t. “Come on, Cassie. It’s obvious you’re pissed because I’m doing something you wish you could. That’s why you dislike me so much.”

  No, it wasn’t. She was hard up as all fuck, but she had no desire to go home with a stranger every night.

  “Unless…” The way he trailed off forced her eyes back to him. “You want to be the one falling into my lap.”

  Oh, how she hated this man. Pure, one hundred percent loathing. But having him this close, she couldn’t tamp down the attraction she’d suppressed for months. He wasn’t so much tall but thick, his chest and shoulders filling out his jacket. His suit hid it well, but there was a brute strength behind it. She hadn’t noticed before, but there were tiny creases by his eyes and the tiniest bit of salt-and-pepper in his goatee. The small signs of his age weren’t a turnoff. He was still all man.

  Virile, broad-shouldered, sexy-as-hell man.

  Cassie found herself wondering what his torso looked like unclothed, how his skin would feel under her fingertips. If he’d be the one to act out the hungers that haunted her fantasies, to hold her down and whisper menacing things to her, to fight her for dominance until he finally, blissfully won.

  Disgust rolled over her. Jesus, she shouldn’t want these things in the first place, but now she was thinking about them with Patrick, for fuck’s sake?

  She downed another sip of her drink. “You know, you’d be a lot prettier if you didn’t talk so much.”

  Patrick chuckled. The throaty sound sent dual shockwaves of pleasure and annoyance through her. “You think so, huh?”

  “Yep. Maybe I should ask Lilly where I could get a ball gag for you.”

  Patrick nearly spit out his drink. Placing his glass on the bar and wiping his lower lip with the back of his hand, he asked lowly, “Do you know what I know?”

  His eyes were bright, scheming, and Cassie considered her answer. Did he know what she did? Lilly had sworn Cassie to secrecy on the details of her and Jack’s relationship, but that had been months ago, right before the night of that fateful party. The two of them weren’t secretive anymore, not about being together, but Cassie wasn’t sure Patrick knew what they were into.

  “I might,” she said. “What do you know?”

  “I know that necklace Lilly wears isn’t just a necklace.”

  “I know she doesn’t call him Sir just to be polite.”

  “Then we both know Lilly would know exactly where to get a ball gag, if you were into that kind of thing.”

  Patrick grinned, a salacious one Cassie couldn’t help but mirror. Her heart rate spiked with a rush of adrenaline. It was like a game, trading clandestine information. Their usual verbal warfare was present, but the vibe was different—without the anger, and a hell of a lot more sexually charged.

  “Submission is Lilly’s thing, not mine. Being on my knees isn’t my number-one fantasy.”

  “What is your number-one fantasy?”

  Cassie started to answer, then paused. What was she doing? She’d already confessed more to him than she ever thought she would, but she was buzzing off their banter. And off a little more than that, if she were being honest. Patrick was close enough now for her to catch his scent, all woodsy pine and vanilla and man. For her to look at his lips beyond his bristled goatee, and wonder what it would feel like to kiss him.

  And that, ladies and gentlemen of the jury, was her cue to exit. She was too turned on, too captivated with the way he was leaning into her, eager to discover her secrets. The risks of following through on this were far too high. She’d never worried what their friends would think if she and Patrick slept together—everyone knew she detested him, and she had a feeling her post-fuck attitude toward him wouldn’t be any different. But she wasn’t about to let her guard down. She wasn’t going to tell him her deepest desires, or fool herself into thinking he was actually interested.

  Like that night months ago, she was nothing more than another chase.

  Repeating Patrick’s earlier tone, she tipped her head toward his and asked, “Wouldn’t you like to know?”

  He chuckled again. Cassie reached for her bag, left some cash on the bar and stood. “I think it’s time for me to call it a night.”

  “So soon? I thought things were finally getting interesting.”

  “I’m always interesting, Patrick. But you wouldn’t have any idea about that, would you?”

  “I guess not,” he replied with a broad grin.

  “Oh well.” Cassie hooked her bag over her shoulder. “I hope you’re able to find someone half as satisfying to spend your night with.”

  She started out, hoping her words landed the punch she’d said them with and knowing full well Patrick’s eyes were on her ass. She glanced over her shoulder.

  Yup. Still looking.

  Power coursed through her as she sashayed to the exit. He was definitely still interested, and leaving him high and dry was the cherry on top of a pretty fuck-awesome day.

  Ca
ssie stepped outside and headed toward the T.

  “I’ve always loved your spitfire attitude.”

  Patrick’s voice cut through the night. Cassie stopped and whirled around. He was standing at the doorway to the bar, his arms crossed like a bouncer or a Greek god.

  “Have you now?” Cassie cocked her brow and placed a hand on her hip. “Well, you’d love me in bed then. I’m a spitfire there too.”

  The words popped out before she could stop them, but she didn’t regret it. For once, she wanted that bastard to know the chance he’d passed up. Because she might never have been in love and had dated some serious losers, but damn it she knew how to make a man moan.

  Patrick dropped his hands to his sides and quickly closed the distance between them.

  “Prove it,” he said.

  “Prove what?”

  “That you’re a spitfire in bed. Unless all you can do with that mouth of yours is talk.”

  It took everything in her not to snarl. He was baiting her, seeing how pissed off he could get her, like he always did.

  Screw the consequences. She’d had enough of his attitude. This time, she was calling his bluff.

  She dumped her bag on the ground and got into his space. “I really don’t like you.”

  “Same here.”

  Cassie grabbed him by the collar and closed her fist around his shirt.

  “Good,” she said, and kissed him, hard.

  7

  Patrick had never been thrown by a kiss before. Every time his lips met a woman’s, it had been calculated. Planned. He’d never expected Cassie to kiss him. After how angry she’d looked, he’d expected her to spit in his face and tell him how repulsive she found him.

  Instead her lips were sliding over his, her mouth open and wet and demanding. Demanding more.

  In a move that was half reclaiming his footing, half dying to touch, Patrick found Cassie’s hips with his palms. Her soft moan was the cue he needed. He gripped her hard, mapping the curves he’d been aching to feel for far too long before his brain kicked into action.

  What the hell? She wanted him?

  Forcing himself to break off the kiss, Patrick opened his eyes. Cassie was breathless and glaring at him and hotter than fuck.