If I didn’t get this job, I would be living on the streets. I didn’t have enough money in my bank account to pay the next month’s rent, not that it mattered. My apartment wasn’t any better than the streets. My water barely came out of the faucet. The heat didn’t work, and I had one window that didn’t close all the way.
As much as I wouldn’t want to live in a jail cell, I envied my sister. At least she had a warm bed, food in her belly, and she didn’t have to worry about making ends meet.
I slid into a section of the revolving door. I actually hated revolving doors. My hand had gotten stuck in one last year at my former place of employment, and since I didn’t care to repeat that move, I pushed on the glass to hurry it along even though the door was moving from others getting into their little carveouts.
Once inside, my phone rang. I found a quiet spot away from the elevators and traffic and plucked my phone out of my purse. I prayed that Mallory—my BFF, who had been instrumental in setting up the interview for me—wasn’t calling to tell me the interview was canceled. I couldn’t take another rejection or another “We need someone with more skills than you have, Ms. Kelly.”
The words “No Caller ID” lit up my screen like a beacon in the night. The “No Caller ID” was usually my sister. Sighing heavily, I debated whether to answer or not. If I didn’t, Savannah would bug me until the cows came home, and I didn’t want to be interrupted during my interview.
“Hello.” A knot formed in my stomach as it always did when I accepted a call from my sister in prison.
“Will you accept a collect call from Savannah Kelly?”
I swallowed thickly. “Yes.”
“Jade.” Savannah’s voice was rushed. “I need your help.”
The panic in her voice made me wince. I loved my younger sister. I’d been trying to take care of her since our parents died. But no amount of words or threats had gotten through to her. However, like a stupid sister, I always gave in to her.
“You’re not stupid,” Mallory had said. “But you need to know when to tell her no. She’s a great liar and knows how to get you spun up.”
It had taken a few years to learn to say no to Savannah. As Mallory had said, Savannah was a great liar, at least with me. I’d bought every excuse she’d given me about how she needed money until she drained me of our life savings.
I took full responsibility for my actions, and with her in prison, I was keeping my fingers crossed that she was learning from her mistakes. “Are you okay?”
She’d been in several fights in prison, which didn’t surprise me. Savannah had been a bully in high school. Where she threw caution to the wind, I did as I was told.
“No. I’m not. You need to get ahold of Duke for me.”
My blood ran cold. “Why? You’re not dating him or working for him anymore.” Savannah had said that before prison she’d tended bar in one of his clubs.
I refused to associate or speak to the devil, and Duke Hart was the devil incarnate. I blamed him for my sister’s foothold in the criminal world, which made it too easy for her to get her hands on money, drugs, and booze.
“He owes me money, and I need it, or else I’m dead.”
The word “dead” should’ve raised a red flag, but I was talking to a cunning person who was an expert in making me panic and feel sorry for her. Plus, she had a flare for the dramatic.
“Savannah, I don’t have time to do your bidding. I’ve got an interview. Call Duke yourself.”
“I tried, sis.” Her tone was sickly sweet.
I rolled my eyes. “Listen, I can’t help you.” I didn’t have time to ask her why she needed money. My guess was either gambling or drugs. Two things she was good at were snorting coke and playing poker.
The sugar in her tone evaporated. “You’re my sister. Family. You’re supposed to help.”
“You should’ve thought harder before you robbed a convenience store.”
Mallory, my best friend, and the only person in my life I could count on, glided toward me from the bank of elevators. If anyone was like a sister to me, it was Mallory. We’d been best friends since the fourth grade.
“Bitch,” Savannah said.
My sister would drive me to drink. Oh, wait. She already has. I often got stinking drunk when she blew into my life, wanting help or money. I thought prison would stop all that. Boy, I was wrong.
Unsure if my words had registered, I said it again. “I have an interview. You know, a job to pay bills and put food in my belly.”
Mallory angled her head, and a stray auburn lock fell out of her messy bun. “Savannah?” she mouthed.
“Yeah,” I mouthed back.
She tapped her wrist where a watch would normally be.
Savannah was breathing heavily, or maybe she was crying.
I wasn’t caving. “Savannah, I have to go. We’ll talk soon, okay?”
She growled into the phone before the line went dead.
I took a huge breath, hoping to calm my nerves.
Mallory hooked her arm in mine. “We need to head upstairs.”
“How did you know I was down here?”
“I was coming down to wait for you. You need a keycard to take the elevator.” Mallory had been working for the law firm as a paralegal for the last two years, and she’d told me that very thing the night before.
But because of Savannah’s call, my brain wasn’t firing on all cylinders. Before I dumped my phone in my purse, I flicked the volume to silent. I didn’t want to risk another call from my sister during my interview.
On the elevator ride up, Mallory asked, “What does Savannah want now?”
“She wants me to call Duke.”
Mallory laughed. “Is she nuts? She knows you hate him.”
“Desperation will drive anyone to get what they want,” I mumbled.
“Forget Savannah,” Mallory said. “Are you ready?”
I inhaled a long, deep breath and rolled back my shoulders. “A little nervous, but ready. He knows I don’t have any paralegal experience?”
“He knows you have the basic receptionist skills. And remember, if you get the job, the firm will train you.”
The job was too good to be true. If I did get the job, I would be making two times more than I did at my last receptionist job, and eventually more when I became a paralegal. Butterflies took flight as the elevator doors opened.
The scent of cologne or perfume immediately wafted over me as Mallory and I stepped out onto the eighteenth floor.
A blond receptionist sat behind a rich wooden desk up ahead. She smiled at both of us. “Hey, Mal, the conference room is ready.”
“Thanks, Dina,” Mallory said before escorting me down a long, carpeted hall.
We passed a large cubicle area with offices lined along the back wall. Phones rang, whispers floated in the air, and my pulse pounded in my ears. When we reached the end of the hall, Mallory stopped outside a large corner room that overlooked Boston’s skyline.
“As I told you last night, sit up straight, don’t let his looks rattle you, and sell yourself. Don’t forget to ask for the job before you leave.”
I wasn’t a salesperson. That feat went to my BFF. “I’m not going to drool over his looks.”
Her pink-painted lips curled. “You will. Mark my words.”
I lifted a nail to my mouth. “I’ll be fine.” I wasn’t there to drool over my potential boss. The last boy I’d pined for had broken my heart. I would like to believe I’d learned from my mistakes. Besides, my number one goal was getting the job. “Aside from Kelton Maxwell’s great personality and good looks, what else should I know?”
She gently pulled on my wrist, her blue eyes appraising. “Be yourself and don’t chew on your nails. I’ll let him know you’re here.” She nudged me to go inside before she left.
I took in a few deep breaths, clearing my mind as I went into the imposing room bathed in rich cherrywood. It was furnished with tall leather chairs, a table bigger than my apartment, and a specta
cular view of Boston.
Within a minute, a tall, dark-haired, blue-eyed man came strutting in, dressed in what I would guess was an expensive tailored suit with a light-blue shirt and patterned blue-and-yellow tie. He headed toward me with one hand outstretched while holding a folder in the other. “I’m Kelton Maxwell.”
And you’re intimidating, confident, and stoic. Oh, and handsome for sure.
Mallory had shown me pictures of Kelton from a recent office party. However, the pictures didn’t do him justice, or maybe it was his cologne that was making me swoon.
I swallowed an elephant as he shook my hand, hard and firm. “I’m Jade Kelly. It’s nice to meet you.” I stared at him, unable to look away.
His ocean-blue eyes reminded me of someone I’d once known, someone I’d been trying to forget forever.
He waved his hand at the table, breaking my memory of the boy who had broken my heart. “Please, have a seat.”
Once we were settled across from each other, he leaned back in his chair, studying me as though I were a witness for the prosecution.
My stomach churned, and the need to chew on a nail was stronger than ever. If he were grilling me on the stand, I would cave in a millisecond.
“Mallory has told me a lot about you. I only have one question for you, Jade.”
I reared back as my eyebrows drew down. Surely getting the job wasn’t that easy.
You don’t even know the question.
I sat up straight.
“Would you represent a client guilty of a crime?” he asked.
I swallowed, feeling my eyebrows coming together. That wasn’t the question I was expecting at all. It wasn’t like I was applying for a lawyer’s position. I scrambled to find an answer in the fogginess of my brain. Maybe his cologne was still interfering with my ability to think.
“You look puzzled,” Kelton said.
I nodded. “With all due respect, I would expect that question if I was a lawyer.”
He chuckled. “Fair enough. I like to know the person who’s working for me. It tells me a little about his or her character.”
I couldn’t argue with him and didn’t exactly want to either. “It depends.”
He steepled his hands in front of him. “Oh? Tell me more.”
“Honestly, I know little about the law. Well, that’s not true. My sister is in prison.” I’d researched unarmed robbery and how long her sentence could be. The judge had been lenient with her since she was a first-time offender, sending her to jail for three years.
His eyes twitched, but he said nothing.
“I believe everyone, guilty or innocent, deserves a fair trial and a good lawyer.”
He was quick with a response. “What’s your idea of a good lawyer?”
I couldn’t tell from his blank expression if he liked my answer or not, but I was telling the truth. Savannah’s court-appointed attorney had fought hard for her, and if it weren’t for him, the judge might not have been as easy on her as he had been.
“A bulldog is the best term I can come up with. A lawyer should know the law inside and out, and whether or not the client is guilty, he or she deserves your best foot forward. At least then if the client goes to jail, they can say their attorney did all he could. Just my opinion.”
His elbow rested on the arm of the chair as he pressed two fingers to his lips. “Of course.” Then he opened the folder. “Jade, I lied. I do have another question for you. Why is your sister in prison?”
“She robbed a convenience store. But I want you to know I don’t have a criminal record. I’ve never been arrested.” The last part rushed out of me like a fast-moving river.
He was back to pressing two fingers against his lips, studying me.
I felt the need to squirm beneath his scrutiny. Instead I held my breath.
“Good to know. But the firm will do a background check on you nonetheless.”
Mallory had mentioned that very thing, and aside from Savannah’s indiscretions, which had nothing to do with me, I was squeaky-clean.
“Do you have any questions for me?” he asked.
“When can I start?” Mallory would be proud.
He regarded me for a long moment before removing his phone from his suit pocket.
Please, please let me get the job.
He tapped on the screen. “Let me look at my calendar to see when I’m in court.”
Once again, I held my breath, not yet sure if that meant I got the job.
“I would like to be here when you start. How about Monday? A week from today?”
I had the urge to fly over the table and hug him. Instead, I smiled. “That works for me.” Although I wanted to start sooner. Money was becoming tight.
Smoothing a hand over his tie, he stood. “Good. I’ll have Mallory prepare the paperwork, and I’ll see you on Monday.”
He escorted me down to the reception area, where Mallory was talking to Dina.
I beamed at Mallory. The giddiness inside me was ready to explode. I couldn’t believe it had been that easy. I almost pinched myself to make sure I wasn’t dreaming.
“Mallory, can you get things set up for Jade?” Kelton asked. “She’ll start on Monday.”
Mallory’s eyes popped wide. “Sure thing, sir. Anything else?” Mallory had also shared with me that she was filling in as Kelton’s temporary assistant.
He flashed his blue eyes at her. “Yeah. I’m expecting Dillon Hart in a few minutes. Can you escort him to my office when he gets here?”
I sucked in a sharp breath.
Kelton angled his head toward me. “Something wrong?”
“Jade knows the Harts too.” Mallory brushed it off as no big deal.
It wasn’t a big deal for her. She hadn’t been kicked to the curb by one of them.
Kelton deadpanned. “Well, Dillon should be here in a few. I have a call to make. Just buzz me when he arrives.” He ambled back down the hall toward his office.
Mallory grabbed her iPad from the reception counter. “I’ll walk you down to the lobby.”
I was about to probe her on Kelton and how he knew Dillon when the elevator doors opened, and Dillon Hart strutted out. The man hadn’t changed since high school. He was still tall, dark, and handsome. I didn’t see a ring on his finger, but I was sure he didn’t have trouble getting women.
His thick thighs were encased in worn, distressed jeans. A black button-up shirt was stretched over his broad chest. And if that weren’t enough to make women drool, then the three-quarter sleeves he had rolled up showing off a rather large diver’s watch had to set women’s panties on fire.
But I wasn’t into dark hair, dark-eyed men, no matter how delicious Dillon Hart was. My palate salivated for his younger brother—blond, blue-eyed, and a stud in bed.
Stop it, Jade. You’re getting wet and flustered, and Dillon is going to think you like him.
Dillon pinned his dark gaze on me. “Jade Kelly, is that you? Wow.”
My cheeks were burning.
He sized me up and wasn’t in the least bit subtle about it either. “I need to tell Denim.”
Let him tell Denim you look hot. Let Denim suffer knowing how well you’re doing.
On that thought, I lifted my chest. It was a little more than a handful for most men. “It’s nice to see you,” I finally said.
Dillon slipped a hand into his jeans pocket. “Do you work here?”
Mallory gushed with pride. “She’ll be working for Kelton Maxwell.”
Dillon’s dark eyebrows shot up. “For real? You know Kelton is Denim’s lawyer.”
“Is that true?” I asked Mallory.
What’s next? Denim getting out of prison?
The latter couldn’t be true. If I had my math right, Denim wasn’t up for parole for another year or two.
Mallory’s pretty features pinched. “To my knowledge, Denim isn’t a client.”
“Mm,” Dillon said. “Then why is Kelton helping Denim prepare for his parole hearing?”
Na
usea sat heavy in my stomach. If I worked for Kelton, I might see Denim. I wasn’t sure I was ready for that. The problem was I needed the job.
3
Denim
I couldn’t move. I couldn’t breathe. The intake of the stale air in the room burned my lungs.
“We thought that might resonate,” Travers said at my back. His deep New England accent came through the derision in his words.
I fisted my hands at my sides. The urge to throttle the FBI agent vibrated in my bones. I didn’t know what bothered me more, his voice or his cocky attitude.
Slowly, I pivoted on my heel, hoping with all hope I could burn him alive with just my glare. “What makes you believe Duke had a hand in the murder?” My muscles were rock-hard as I opened and closed my fists as though I had stress balls in them. I sure as hell could use a fucking stress ball at the moment. But my ire jumped from the agent and splattered on Duke. The brother I’d looked up to since I could walk could have set me up. I blinked, shaking the cobwebs from my brain.
“We have our informants,” Brock chimed in.
Liars for sure. No fucking way had Duke had a hand in Hector’s murder. He’d hated the guy, but he had no reason to kill him. “Bullshit.” My teeth clamped together hard. “My brother didn’t even know Hector.” He’d known of him but hadn’t broken bread with the man.
Brock cocked an eyebrow. “Are you certain of that?”
No. Doubt pricked the base of my brain. During my trial, the prosecution’s goal had been to put doubt in the minds of the jurors. “Convict beyond a reasonable doubt,” the judge had firmly ordered.
The prosecuting attorney had been giddy when he’d told the jurors in his opening monologue, “By the time the defendant’s trial is over, there will be no doubt in your mind that he is guilty.”
The murder weapon in my backpack had been the glaring evidence. But my fingerprints weren’t on the gun. The forensic analysis had only shown Hector’s on the trigger. But that hadn’t mattered. The prosecuting attorney had added the perp could’ve only done one thing—used gloves. That was the only obvious piece to support his claim. I’d had a pair of black gloves in the front pocket of my backpack.
Hart of Vengeance: The Hart Series Page 2
