Legally Yours (Spitfire Book 1)

by Nicole French

  I shrugged feigning indifference as best I could. “You look fine,” I said. He looked fucking incredible.

  “Well, you look gorgeous,” Brandon replied, as if I wasn’t acting like a sullen teenager. ““As I was saying before, you’re a vision in color, Red. You look like spring.”

  “I guess black is more my thing,” I said lamely. “I stand out enough with this hair.” I pulled at a wavy strand of my hair, which was curlier than normal in the late spring humidity. By August I’d look like a red-headed Diana Ross if I didn’t plaster it with conditioner.

  Brandon caught my hand in his, and brushed my knuckles for a moment before reluctantly releasing it.

  “It doesn’t matter what color you wear,” he said in a low, voice, his eyes suddenly burning a brighter blue than my dress could ever be. “You’d stop a man in his tracks anywhere.”

  “Please,” I scoffed, but he stopped me with a shake of his head and a sly half grin.

  “Well, you stopped me, didn’t you?”

  Before I could reply to that, I was tugged into the restaurant, where Brandon gave his name to a visibly balking waitress. She batted her eyes coquettishly at him and gave me a look that was pure jealousy before trotting in front to guide us to a small table in the back patio.

  The restaurant was typically busy for a spring Saturday, full of parents visiting with their kids pre-graduation and older students and faculty celebrating the end of the term. Brandon pulled out my chair before taking a seat across from me. I took in the charming space on the brick exterior, which was lined with potted plants and scattered with iron-wrought tables.

  “Scotch?” Brandon asked.

  I gulped. I was still feeling the after effects of drinking way too much the night before, but he didn’t need to know that.

  “I’ll just have a glass of the rosé, please,” I said to the hostess.

  “Whatever local IPA you have on draft,” Brandon said. “Thanks.”

  The hostess batted her eyelashes at him again while she handed us our menus, then sashayed off with a distinct sway of her backside. I looked up to find Brandon’s deep blue eyes pinned squarely on me, not having even noticed the obvious show for his benefit. He raised an eyebrow, then lowered his gaze to the menu.

  We both studiously ignored each other while placing our orders with the waiter—a Cobb salad for me, and a pastrami sandwich for Brandon. Once we’d been served our drinks, Brandon watched with no little amusement as I quickly gulped down nearly half the sweet, chilled wine in one go before I could find the courage to look back at him.

  “Something on your mind, Red?” he asked with a chuckle.

  I pursed my lips. “Why do you ask?”

  “Well,” he said, leaning forward as if to whisper a secret to me. “You did ask me to meet you.”

  God, he smelled good. I had almost forgotten that amazing scent of his—a mix of expensive soap, almonds, and a tinge of metal, the remnants of his secret hobby that was dead giveaway to his gentlemanly façade. For a second, I wanted to do nothing more than leap over the table and bury my face in his neck right there in front of the entire restaurant. I’d rip open his shirt so I could get my hands on the washboard abs I knew were hiding under those buttons, and have my way with him until he was completely out of my system. Momentarily dizzy, I focused on getting that particular image out of my brain, and took another large gulp of wine to ground myself.

  “I just…I felt bad,” I said lamely. “About the way things ended. And I wanted to thank you for this.” I pulled the white jewelry box out of my purse and pushed it across the table. “It’s beautiful. It really is. But you know I can’t accept it, Brandon.”

  “And…there it is,” Brandon replied dryly. He looked at the box, but made no move to talk it, instead taking a swig of his beer. “Come on, Red, let’s not start that bullshit again, all right?”

  “I don’t want to give you the wrong idea!” I blurted out. Did he not understand how hard it was for me to do this?

  All signs of a smirk erased from his handsome features, Brandon set his beer down and leaned over. He reached both hands across the table to grasp mine gently, brushing his thumbs lightly across my knuckles.

  “This isn’t like the Tiffany’s garbage or that stupid trip to Paris, Red,” he said. “It’s not even like the piano, which I meant well, but didn’t really know anything about. This is personal. I had this made especially for you because the artist’s work reminded me of you. It’s strong and solid like you are, not dainty and weak. But it’s beautiful, and that’s because its imperfections make it so unique. Whether or not I ever convince you what I know—what I know in my heart, Skylar, to be true, that we’re meant for each other—I want you to have it, all right? Call it your graduation gift from your old boss if it makes you feel better, but I’m not taking it back.”

  He released one of my hands and used his free hand to open the box and take out the bracelet, which he immediately pressed onto my other wrist. His fingers lingered over the delicate skin of my inner palm, but eventually he released that hand as well.

  “Better,” he said, sitting back again and taking another drink of beer.

  Before I could reply, the waiter arriving with our food. Having skipped breakfast in the wake of my hangover, I realized I was famished, and dug in immediately. Brandon ate with his usual voracity. It was several minutes before either of us slowed down enough to talk again.

  He seemed content enough to make small talk through the rest of the meal, allowing me to avert my gaze when his burning one was too much for me to bear. He asked politely about school, about my family, and about where I was planning to work when I was finished.

  “I, ah…” I wasn’t actually sure I should tell him.

  “Will it be Kieran’s firm or the D.A.’s office?” he asked directly after polishing off the rest of his sandwich.

  My mouth dropped open, causing him to grin at my response.

  “Friends in high places, Red,” he said with a grin. “So which is it going to be? They’d both be damn lucky to have you, although if I had my way, you’d still be the newest litigator at Sterling.”

  I finished my last bite of my salad and pushed the large plate to the side of the table. “Well, if you must know, I’ll be leaving Boston right after graduation.” Then the decision came out of my mouth before I even knew I’d made it. “I’m taking the job with the district attorney.”

  Brandon looked at me with a strange expression that looked like pride mixed with sadness. The blue gaze shot like a laser to the center of my heart, where I thought I had done a good job of patching up the breaks I’d endured since leaving him. No, Brandon Sterling definitely still had the ability to cut right to the quick of me with just one look. He raised his water glass to me in a small, sad salute. Once again, I had to fight myself not to jump over the table and kiss the obvious melancholy off his handsome face.

  “Good for you, Red,” he said before taking a small sip. “I’m sure your family will be happy to have you back.”

  Before I could reply, our server arrived with the check, which Brandon paid with a hundred-dollar bill without even glancing at the final tally. Our meal couldn’t have cost more than half that.

  “Come on,” he said, standing up suddenly and reaching out for my hand. “Let’s take a walk. I don’t know when I’ll see you again.” He glanced at me and leaned down so I couldn’t avoid his piercing blue stare. A lock of dark blond hair flopped onto his forehead, and I fought the urge to muss up the rest just to feel its softness once more.

  “Please?” he asked, holding his hand flat out for me.

  I sighed. “All right,” I said, and let him pull me up from my chair and out of the restaurant. I tried and failed to ignore the electricity passing between our fingers as he gripped my hand so hard I thought he might never let go.

  ~

  “So, I have something to show you,” Brandon said as we walked amiably into Riverside Park and down to the Charles, where the crew
team was out for its afternoon practice. It was the same route we’d taken several times before—the same route he took for his morning runs and occasionally dragged me along on the weekends. There was the bench where he’d given me his sweatshirt…the tree trunk where he’d cornered me under the sunlight just a few weeks ago and started—

  I shook my head, erasing the memories that kept flooding back. No good could come from reminiscing now.

  He hadn’t let go of my hand since leaving The Yard, but did so now to withdraw a folded piece of paper from his pocket. He had rolled up his shirtsleeves in the restaurant, and now the face of his Rolex gleamed against his tanned skin in the bright May sun. His forearm flexed as he handed the paper to me.

  “What’s this?” I scanned the document. It appeared to be a photocopy of an agreement signed by both him and Miranda—an agreement to meet for arbitration in a month to finalize a settlement.

  “It’s binding, that’s what. Once we leave that room, we’re done for good.”

  I looked up and handed the document back to him. “Why now?”

  Brandon sighed. “Because it’s time. Because I threatened to take it to trial if she didn’t, and my bluff paid off. She doesn’t want this public any more than I do. Miranda has been incredibly stubborn about all of it. She said it’s because she’s Catholic, but I don’t really think that’s why she hasn’t signed anything so far.”

  I snorted. “No, it wouldn’t be. Not with billions of dollars at stake.”

  He continued as if I hadn’t said anything. “Half of Boston is Catholic. I thought it wouldn’t matter. I didn’t mind supporting her, not really, and I figured I’d never want to marry anyone again anyway, so what did it matter if I stayed married to her? Technically, anyway. But then…well, you read my letters. At least I hope you did.”

  “Yes, I read them.” I kicked a rock off the path with my toe and watched it tumble down the sloping grass toward the river. The idea of him staying married caused a ringing in my ears, and the intensity of what he was implying made my heart pound so hard that I tried hard to block out by focusing on the crunch of gravel under my feet. Victor Messina. Victor Messina. I chanted the name in my mind to keep myself from wrapping my arms around Brandon’s neck.

  “So now she’s suddenly going to agree?” I asked.

  Brandon shrugged. “We talked. I told her…I told her that I’m ready to move on.” His eyes softened at me briefly, but he wisely chose not to pursue that line of thinking. Instead, he slapped his hands together and rubbed his palms as if preparing for battle. “It’s not going to be cheap, that’s for sure. She’s angry and has new hotshot representation from Stern and Bouvier. You know them?”

  I nodded. Everyone knew them. They were the most cutthroat divorce lawyers in the city, the kind of attorneys who encouraged their clients to throw around false accusations of domestic abuse and the like to earn sympathy in court. They would dig up every piece of dirt on Brandon Sterling they could find and reframe him with the arbitrator to make him seem like the worst husband possible. It wouldn’t matter that Massachusetts was a no-fault state—there were lots of ways to gain sympathy.

  “Please tell me you’re not going to self-represent,” I said.

  “Why, you want to be my lawyer?”

  I snorted again. “Seriously, Brandon, you’re going to be smart about it, aren’t you? You have to keep your mouth shut. They’ll make you look like an ass without blinking an eye.”

  “You sound like my lawyers.” His mournful half smile made me want to wrap my arms around him and tell him he’d be all right; as an alternative, I crossed them around my waist as we continued to walk.

  “You know I’ve already retained counsel,” he said. “Don’t worry. It’s not me.”

  “Kieran.” It was a statement. I’d already pieced that together, and I remembered seeing her name on the original divorce documents.

  “And a few others. You actually saw them the night we met.”

  “Why don’t you hire someone from Sterling?” It was odd, really, that he wouldn’t keep his money in the firm.

  “It would be like hiring your brother to be your sex therapist.”

  I stifled a laugh.

  “Plus, I needed someone I could trust, and that’s Kieran. Anyway, our family law department needs a little work.” He gave me another sly look. “Actually, that was one reason I was hoping you’d come to us after the internship. But I guess we’ll have to settle for that fool from BC. He doesn’t have your legs, but he’ll be fairly merciless.”

  I couldn’t help but smile a little. He really did track all the new hires. I looked away so he couldn’t see the flood of red I could feel rising up my throat. It didn’t matter. I’d already decided I wasn’t going to be a part of this.

  “Something wrong?”

  I sighed and stopped, looking out to the river. It was uncharacteristically warm for early May, and most of the trees on the waterfront were already a mix of blossom and bright green leaves. New growth. New beginnings. I stepped off the path and onto the grass so we wouldn’t be in the way of oncoming runners and other people taking strolls by the river with their families. The soft grass gave slightly beneath my heels.

  “I think it’s great that you’re trying to move on,” I said slowly.

  “But?”

  I took a deep breath. I could do this. I had to focus on the water and avoid the magnetic pull of those baby blues.

  “But I think I need to focus on what’s important in my life right now,” I said, making sure each word was perfectly enunciated. I didn’t want any confusion. “That’s moving back to New York, passing the bar, and starting my new job.”

  “And you don’t think I could help you with any of that?”

  I could hear the smirk on his face rather than see it. He had already offered to give me a job multiple times, if only to keep me close. I knew that. Images of him helping me study for the bar naked popped into my head, and I cursed myself for enjoying the idea of his particular form of persuasion and being unable to keep the smile off my face. I shook my head. We weren’t together any more, and weren’t ever going to be.

  “No,” I blurted out. “I’m sorry, but no. I don’t need any more distractions. I’ve worked too hard to get here, and I need to do this for myself. You’re wonderful, Brandon, truly.” Mentally I kicked myself at the crack that resounded through my voice.

  We had stopped walking, and stood there for a moment, me looking out at the river and the crew team passing by again, him staring a hole right through me. No wonder the guy had made his fortune twice over as an attorney; he could probably intimidate just about any answer he wanted out of anyone.

  Finally, I found the courage to look up.

  “What?” I asked weakly. “What is it that you want?”

  “I want to know why you’re being such a damn chicken,” he said softly, his voice barely carrying over the breeze coming off the river. “I don’t know what’s stopping you from doing what you and I both know is the right thing to do, but it’s not this damn divorce. It’s all but over. It’s been over for years. So what is it, Skylar? What’s really holding you back?”

  I shook my head frantically back and forth as the tears I never wanted to show anyone came welling up without provocation.

  “I just can’t,” was all I could say in the low, creaky voice that probably revealed every emotion I was desperately holding at bay. But I didn’t want to tell him I knew about his payoff to the Mafia. For all I knew, he worked for them too, and the less he thought I knew, the better. These people didn’t take kindly to others knowing their business, and even though I knew Brandon would never do me any harm, it was best he could answer truthfully should Messina ask if I knew about him.

  “So all that time didn’t mean shit to you, did it?” Brandon’s tone suddenly turned nasty as he kicked a polished toe into the grass, uprooting small tufts.

  “Of course it did!” I cried out, causing a few passersby to peek at us curiously.
“It’s just…it’s just too much, Brandon. I told you that!”

  He grabbed my hand and yanked me further down the small slope, down to the water’s edge, where our voices might be muffled a bit more.

  “Obviously it didn’t mean that much,” he said bitterly as he released my hand. “I meant what I said, Skylar. You’re it for me. You’re all I want. But when I tell you I fucking love you, that I want to marry you, you’re out the door the next fucking morning. Did you forget that you said it too? Did you forget how good you felt in my arms, in my bed, up against the wall in your shower, baby? You and I both know that if it weren’t for this, this, bullshit!” He snatched the arbitration agreement from his pocket and shook it wildly in the air. “If it weren’t for this, you’d be flat on your back on my kitchen table, screaming my name out so the whole Commons can hear me take you five different ways before dinner!”

  My hand flew out and smacked him across the cheek before I could contain the action. He brought a calloused palm up and touched the red handprint I’d left, visibly shocked, his eyes burning bright with words he hadn’t yet said.

  “You don’t get to talk to me like that,” I spat. “Like having me is some kind of right you’re entitled to, you spoiled, selfish prick!”

  “Not a right, baby, just a need. I need you like I need air to breathe, so you’re damn right I’m going to fight for it!”

  We were chest to chest, so close if I had been a few inches taller our noses might have brushed. His inhaled deeply, and his eyes drifted south down to rest on my lips. His fingers twitched impatiently at his sides. He was fighting every instinct he had, as was I, and our bodies were literally vibrating with the urge to collide. With immense effort, I took a step back.

  “This was a mistake. This lunch, this meeting, you, me.” I yanked off the bracelet and dropped it at his feet. “It was all a fucking mistake.”

  I hoisted my purse over my shoulder and scrambled back up to the path toward campus before I could be drawn further into his penetrating gaze. Whatever I was looking for by meeting with him today, it didn’t matter. I was leaving. Closure accomplished.