by Lisa Childs
Ronan pushed his hand, which was shaking slightly, through his dark hair. “I got reported to the bar for misconduct.”
Simon snorted. “So? You’ve been reported before.” With the exception of him, they all had. “What’s the big deal?”
“I have a friend at the bar association who looked into it for me,” Stone said. “The evidence came from our case files, on our letterhead.”
“Damn it!” Simon slammed his fist onto his desk. He was furious that there was a mole in their office. And he was furious that his friends hadn’t come to him right away with this latest threat to Street Legal. “Why didn’t you guys tell me about this?”
“You’ve been preoccupied,” Trevor said. “With her.”
His blood heated as he thought of how preoccupied he’d been—with her crazy, sexy body and their crazy, hot sex. But then it had gotten even crazier than that when they’d shared so much of themselves with each other.
“I was trying to find evidence,” he reminded him.
“In her panties?” Ronan crudely asked.
And Simon surged forward, his fists raised. Before he could swing, Trevor caught him, wrapping both arms around him as he pulled him back from Ronan. He wasn’t quite as tall or broad as the other guys. But they knew how strong he was.
“You son of a bitch!” he cursed his friend. “Don’t talk about her like that!”
Ronan had little respect for women—with good reason, given how his mother had treated his father and how he’d seen other wives treat their husbands. But Bette was different. She wasn’t like Ronan’s cheating mother.
“Oh, my God,” Stone exclaimed, his gray eyes wide with shock. “You’re in love with her.”
It was a good thing Trevor hadn’t let go of him yet. Or he would have swung at Stone, too. “You’re fucking nuts!” he said instead. “All of you are. The mole is not Bette.”
“Just because you didn’t find evidence doesn’t mean there isn’t any,” Stone said, and his voice was lower now, as if he was talking to a child.
Simon glared at him. “I understand that. But she’s leaving for a new job.”
“With another law firm?” Trevor asked.
“With a fashion house,” Simon said. “She’s going to have her own line with a major retailer.” He would have told him which retailer, but Bette hadn’t wanted him to know she designed lingerie so she probably didn’t want his partners to know, either.
But Ronan named the retailer.
“How the hell do you know that?” Simon asked. It had taken him nearly two weeks to find out.
“Because Muriel Sanz will be exclusively modeling Bette’s Beguiling Bows,” Ronan replied, his voice gruff with bitterness.
“Muriel Sanz?” Simon recognized the name of the model and not just because she was famous. “You obliterated her in her divorce.”
“She did that to herself,” Ronan insisted. “She’s a lying, cheating bitch, and I had the witnesses to prove it.”
“So what does that have to do with anything?”
“She’s the one who reported him to the bar,” Stone said, “for the subornation of perjury.”
Simon sucked in a breath.
“She and Bette must have cooked up the evidence together,” Ronan said, “using our letterhead.”
“Anyone in this office could get ahold of our letterhead,” Simon pointed out. “Hell, anyone we mailed anything to would have a copy of our letterhead, like Muriel’s lawyer. You have nothing connecting Bette to that report to the bar.”
“They’re friends,” Ronan insisted.
With the exception of her former roommate John Paul, and she hadn’t introduced them, Simon hadn’t met any of Bette’s friends. They hadn’t had that kind of relationship. It had only been sex.
Would that end today with her last day of work?
Or would she continue to see him if he asked? Or begged? He’d never begged. And he wasn’t about to start now. Not even for Bette.
“Just because Muriel is modeling her line doesn’t mean they’re friends,” Simon said. “Not everyone who works together is friends.” He wasn’t certain how much longer he would be friends with Ronan if the guy continued to bash Bette.
Trevor pulled Simon back a little farther as if he sensed that Simon still wanted to swing.
And Stone cautioned Ronan, “Simon’s right. You have no proof that Bette has anything to do with you being reported.”
Ronan uttered a ragged sigh.
And Simon felt a twinge of pity for his friend. “The bar will dismiss the report,” Simon assured him. “They’ll figure out the evidence is fake.”
“Then Muriel Sanz will be the one in trouble,” Trevor added.
Ronan nodded. But then he stepped closer to Simon and warned him, “Just because we haven’t found any proof that Bette’s involved doesn’t mean that she isn’t. You need to be careful.”
Simon was afraid that it was already too late for that. But he reminded his friend, “Today is her last day. She won’t have anything more to do with Street Legal.”
“What about you?” Ronan asked. “Will she have anything more to do with you?”
He shook his head and yet he didn’t know. Would she want anything to do with him once she was gone? Or would she be too focused on her new career?
He should have been relieved that she wasn’t like all the other women with whom he’d hooked up. She wasn’t looking for roses and a ring. She didn’t want a future with him or with any other man.
And maybe that was what made her so damn sexy. But hell, he found everything about her sexy. While he couldn’t force her to keep working for him, he wasn’t ready to let her go completely. Not yet. Maybe not ever...
And that scared him far more than he’d ever been scared in his life.
* * *
Simon had given her a heads-up about the going-away party. He’d told her that morning, as they lay in bed together. Since that first night he’d stayed, he’d spent every subsequent night. She should have been freaking out because she felt smothered or overwhelmed. But those weren’t the reasons she was freaking out. She was freaking out because she was beginning to expect him to stay.
And she knew that was stupid. No woman held Simon Kramer’s interest for very long. She wasn’t sure how she’d had him for two weeks. In the two years she’d known him, that was probably the longest he’d dated anyone.
Not that what they were doing was really dating. She wasn’t sure what the hell it was, but that she wasn’t ready yet for it to end. Would it—once she left Street Legal?
Should she stay?
Not forever. Not even full-time...
But she could help out for a while, make the transition easier for her replacement. Even while she’d been working for Simon full-time, she’d had the time—and maybe the inspiration—to come up with the designs that had become her own line.
But staying, after her going-away party, would be awkward and anticlimactic. No. She had no choice now but to leave Street Legal.
What about Simon?
Should she just end that—whatever it was—too?
Her heart ached at the thought of no longer seeing him, of being with him. Was she in love with him? No. That wasn’t possible. She wasn’t that stupid.
She drew in a deep, bracing breath and stepped out of her office. Someone called out, “There she is!” Music began to play and confetti rained down on her from some kind of gun Miguel blasted at her.
She blinked against the bits of paper and wished now that she’d worn her glasses. But since Simon had accused her of using them to hide, she only wore them when she was sketching now. Otherwise, she really didn’t need them. She also left her hair down, too, which meant it would probably be full of those bits of paper.
But she forced a smile since she was the guest of honor. At least for
some. The gossips from the bathroom glared at her with resentment. To them, she was probably the guest of dishonor.
No. Leaving was a smart move. Working with Simon and sleeping with him was stupid. She’d known that when she’d started and couldn’t believe it had lasted two weeks. But she was glad now that it had.
She only wished it would last longer.
Sleeping with him...
Not the work.
The gossipy women weren’t the only ones glaring at her. A couple of Simon’s partners were, as well. Where was Simon? She peered around the crowd of faces but couldn’t find him.
With his good looks and charm, he always stood out in any crowd. So he hadn’t arrived yet.
Was he coming? Had he authorized the party and warned her about it only to not attend himself? It made no sense.
“Here’s a drink,” Miguel said as he pressed a flute of champagne into her hand. “Not that I care to celebrate. I’m really going to miss you.”
Warmth flooded her heart. “I’m really going to miss you, too,” she said. Despite his past, she’d always felt safe with Miguel—like he had her back and wasn’t going to stab it like some of their coworkers. She hugged him.
As he pulled back, he peered over her head. “Guess I’m not the only one who doesn’t feel like celebrating,” he said. “Simon’s not here.”
She’d already known that, but a twinge of pain struck her heart with Miguel’s confirmation.
“He hasn’t even interviewed replacements for you yet,” he said. “Of course quite a few current employees have been jockeying for your position.”
“I’m sure they have,” she said with a sigh.
Miguel squeezed her again before releasing her. “They don’t understand you’re special to Simon. They will never have the relationship with him that you do.”
She wasn’t sure what they had could be called a relationship. Yet it was deeper and more meaningful than anything she’d had before.
“You should take the job,” she told him. “He can hire someone else for your position.”
Miguel tilted his head as if considering it. “I love Simon. But I kind of like being the guy at the door.” That was kind of what he was—the bouncer, allowing people into an exclusive club or throwing them out.
Would he throw her out after today? Would Simon?
“Speaking of which,” he murmured as the elevator dinged. He walked off to find out who’d arrived after hours.
Other coworkers replaced him, offering hugs and well-wishes—some sincere, some obviously not. She smiled over how most workplaces were similar to high school. How there were cliques and outcasts in both.
She had never cared to be in the cliques, so she’d been an outcast. But she hadn’t minded. She’d used the free time to design. And it had paid off.
“Congratulations,” a deep voice murmured.
And she turned to face one of Simon’s partners. It was clear from the coldness in Ronan Hall’s dark eyes that he wasn’t any more sincere in his well-wishes as some of her catty coworkers had been.
“Thank you,” she murmured back.
“You’ve accomplished what no one else ever has,” he told her.
Her head began to pound with confusion. “I’m not sure what you’re talking about,” she admitted. “Plenty of other designers have established their own lines.”
She knew Simon was close to his partners, close enough that he would have shared what he’d learned about her with them. Her face warmed, but it wasn’t with embarrassment over designing lingerie. As Simon had pointed out, she should be proud of her accomplishment. No. She was embarrassed over what else he’d probably told them about her, about having sex with her. Had he told them how wild, how wanton, he made her with his kisses—with his touch?
They were grown men. Not boys bragging in the locker room. But then she reminded herself that like so many other places, Street Legal was like high school. Of course he might have bragged about banging her.
“I’m not congratulating you about that, and I think you know it,” Ronan said as his voice dropped to a low, gruff whisper.
She sucked in a breath of surprise. Even if Simon had talked about their sex life, it was crass of his friend to bring it up.
“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” she said. “Or why.”
She glanced down at the glass in his hand. It was empty. Maybe he was drunk. That might explain why he was making no sense.
“Simon,” he said. “He’s the ultimate con, you know.” But he said it like he didn’t expect her to know.
“He told me about his past,” she said. “About his father.”
“Wow!” Ronan exclaimed. “You really are good, lady.”
She didn’t miss his ironic emphasis on lady. Obviously, he didn’t consider her to be one at all.
“You’ve conned the ultimate con,” he continued.
And she laughed. “That’s ridiculous.”
She’d had enough of his drunken rambling. Even if he wasn’t drunk, Ronan was her least favorite of the four partners. He took too much pleasure in his work as a divorce lawyer. And he was so determined to win the best settlement for his client, that he didn’t care what means he used or how mean he got or who got hurt. Recently he’d hurt someone she’d come to care about so badly that he’d nearly destroyed her.
She started away from him, but he grasped her arm—not painfully, just hard enough that she wasn’t going to go anywhere.
“Somehow you managed to convince Simon that you’re not the office mole,” Ronan said. “But I know he’s wrong. And I’m going to prove it.”
Wishing she’d worn her glasses, she squinted and stared up at him, trying to see if there was amusement in his eyes. He had to be kidding. “Office mole?”
“Someone’s been selling secrets from our case files,” Ronan said. “But you know that. And you’ve taken it a step further when you and Muriel Sanz fabricated evidence to report me to the bar.”
She gasped. She’d missed a few calls from Muriel but hadn’t had the time to return them—with how busy she’d been with Simon. What had Muriel done? Not that Ronan didn’t have it coming. He’d done far worse to her.
“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” she said as she tugged at her arm.
“Ask Simon,” Ronan said. “Ask him why he seduced you. It was to find the evidence that you’re the mole.”
She’d wondered why he’d suddenly found her attractive after two years of ignoring her. Was this the reason? He’d suspected her of something. Then she remembered all those times he—and his partners—had acted suspicious of her. Her stomach churned, and she felt sick.
That was why he’d searched her apartment. For evidence.
“I am not a mole,” she assured him, although she had been called mousy so many times that it had affected her self-esteem. Simon had tried to fix that, though. Or had that only been a con, as well?
Ronan shook his head, refusing to accept her word. “I don’t believe you. And I can’t believe you convinced Simon that you aren’t. You must be damn good.”
If he hadn’t been holding her wrist, she would have swung at his face. “You son of a bitch!”
“Yeah, I am,” he agreed. “That’s why a woman like Muriel Sanz or you would never con me the way you’ve conned Simon.”
“Ronan...” It was Stone Michaelsen who spoke to him. She hadn’t even noticed him approach, but he must have been near this entire time. He put his hand over Ronan’s on her arm. “You’re out of line here.”
Ronan shook his head. “I might be out of the bar association because of her and her friend.”
Bette looked at Stone and assured him, “I have nothing to do with anything he’s been accusing me of.”
Ronan snorted in derision. “Yeah, right. Simon was supposed to seduce the truth out
of you. And instead you seduced him into believing your lies.” He shook his head in disgust.
Simon was supposed to seduce the truth out of you...
Suddenly it all made sense. And she knew Ronan wasn’t lying. He was wrong about her being the mole. But he was right about what Simon had done, about why he’d done her.
Pain squeezed her heart so hard that she could barely breathe. Tears burned her eyes so she could barely see. She rushed off, but she wasn’t entirely blind. She knew exactly where she was going.
Chapter Fifteen
SIMON WAS NO HYPOCRITE. He couldn’t go out there—to the party in the lobby—and celebrate her leaving. Not when he selfishly wanted her to stay. It would be selfish to expect her to stay here, in a position for which she was overqualified, just so that he would get to see her every day just as he had the past two years.
He’d wasted those two years. Of course he hadn’t wanted to risk a harassment charge. But Bette was obviously attracted to him, as well.
Wasn’t she?
Or had she been conning him like Ronan believed? No. He could not accept that—and not just because of his ego but because of Bette. She was not a con.
The door to his office opened and he glanced up from his desk. His heart flipped in his chest at the sight of her. She was so damn beautiful, never more so than now with her hair flowing down her back and around her shoulders. Bits of colored paper peppered the sleek, sable-colored strands. She closed and locked the door behind her.
And another part of his body leaped to attention, his dick hardening. “Bette...”
He was so damn happy to see her. He stood up and rushed around his desk to her. But as he leaned his head down for her kiss, her hand connected instead of her lips. And his head snapped back with the force of her slap. His skin stung from the blow. “What the hell?”
“What the hell?” she echoed. “How could you think I would betray Street Legal? That I would betray you?”
“What?” he asked. But he knew and he took a step back to sit on the edge of his desk as his legs began to shake slightly beneath him.
