by Lisa Childs
“I know why you seduced me,” she told him. “That it was just part of your sick plan to get evidence that I’m the office mole.”
His phone began to buzz on his desk. He didn’t need to read the text to know what had happened but he glanced down at the warning from Stone. “Ronan talked to you.”
“Talked?” She made a noise and blinked as if tears were about to sting her eyes. “He accused me of being a con artist, of tricking you and selling out the practice.”
“He shouldn’t have done that,” Simon said.
“Why not? It’s what you thought,” she said. “I wish you would have just told me that instead of playing games with me, instead of having sex with me.” Her face flushed and her eyes gleamed with anger. “That must have been quite a sacrifice for you, sleeping with me in order to get the information you were looking for.”
“Sacrifice?” He snorted now. “It was never a sacrifice.”
“I know you,” she said. “I know you would do anything for this practice. I guess even me.”
“Bette...” He’d thought he’d convinced her that she was beautiful and desirable, that he wanted her for her. But that wasn’t why he’d started showing an interest in her. And now she knew that. “You know I want you. Even now.” He stood up and reached for her, pulling her soft body tightly against his hard, tense one.
Her lips parted on a soft gasp. “Simon...”
“You make me crazy,” he told her. And he proceeded to show her just how crazy she made him as he leaned down and covered her mouth with his. He kissed her deeply, sliding his tongue in and out of her open lips. He pushed her back onto the desk, atop his papers and pushed up her skirt.
She didn’t fight him. Instead, she locked her legs around his waist and ground her hips against him. She wanted him, too.
He kept kissing her, his mouth making love to hers. But he pulled out a condom as he did it, fumbled with the packet and rolled it over the cock he barely managed to release before it shoved right through his zipper. Then he was inside her—and she was already wet and ready for him, already half coming as her muscles clutched him.
She convulsed around him, squeezing him until he came, too.
“See how crazy you make me?” he asked.
“According to your friend, I’ve conned you,” she said. “Do you believe that?”
“No!” Maybe he’d said it too quickly or maybe he’d hesitated too long. Either way he hadn’t answered it correctly because she jerked out of his arms. He reached for her again, but she stepped farther away and jerked down her skirt.
“You don’t trust me,” she said.
“I don’t trust anyone,” he told her. “And you know why.”
“You trust your friends,” she said.
“I grew up with them. I wouldn’t have survived if they hadn’t been worthy of my trust.”
“So you must believe Ronan—about Muriel.”
He tensed now. “Is she your friend?”
She nodded.
“Why didn’t you tell me that?” And now he was suspicious. Could he have been wrong about her? Had she conned him after all?
“Do I know all your friends?” she asked.
He chuckled. “Yeah, you probably do.”
Her face flushed.
“Why didn’t you introduce me to any of your friends?” he wondered. “Were you embarrassed to be dating me?”
He hadn’t considered it until now. But it made sense that she might be, considering their practice had hurt one of her friends.
“I didn’t know what we were doing,” she said. “And I didn’t expect it to last as long as it has.”
“No,” he agreed. “That was why you started it so I would release you early from your two-week notice.” So she had conned him. “Was your contract with the fashion house your only reason for leaving Street Legal?”
“No,” she admitted. “I don’t respect the way you do business. The way you and that PR company obliterated Muriel.”
He sighed. It hadn’t been pretty. He couldn’t deny that. “Ronan had witnesses. He had proof. It was the truth.”
She didn’t argue that, just replied, “It wasn’t fair.”
“If you want to win, you can’t always fight fair,” he said.
“Winning shouldn’t be that important,” she said. “It shouldn’t be at the expense of other people.”
“When we win, someone else loses,” he said. “That’s life, Bette.”
“That’s your life,” she said. “And I don’t want any part of it anymore.”
He didn’t think she was talking about just her job now. “Bette...”
But she wouldn’t look at him. Instead she was looking down at her wrist and the thin gold watch on it. “My two weeks are up,” she said. “I never have to see you again.”
She didn’t have to. But did she want to?
“And Ronan can threaten as much as he wants,” she continued, “but he’s never going to find any evidence that I’m the mole. I haven’t done anything wrong.”
He knew he was wrong to have doubted her again, even for a moment. Hell, he’d been wrong to ever doubt her. She was no con artist.
“Except get involved with you,” she continued. “That was stupid. I should have known it would bring me nothing but pain.”
He had hurt her with his doubts and suspicions. “I’m sorry,” he said.
“Why?” she asked. “You won. So it doesn’t matter if the other person gets hurt, right?” She must not have cared what he really thought, though, because she didn’t wait for his reply. She ran to the door, unlocked and dragged it open, then she ran out of his office.
And out of his life...
So Simon couldn’t tell her what he’d just realized. He hadn’t won. In fact, for the first time in his life, he’d lost. He’d lost her...forever.
* * *
Bette stared down at her sketch pad, but the page was blank. She hadn’t felt very inspired the past couple of days, not since she’d run out of Simon Kramer’s office and out of Street Legal.
She’d thought maybe coming here—to the fashion house—would inspire her. She was around all the beautiful people since models, photographers and other designers overflowed the old warehouse. But none of those people were as beautiful as Simon. He was really beyond handsome, beyond gorgeous.
And the way he touched her, the way he kissed her...
Heat rushed through her body as tension wound inside her, tension only Simon could fully release. Her vibrator had no effect on her the past couple of nights. She wanted Simon instead.
“Hey, Bette Bow!” a husky, feminine voice called out before slender arms wrapped around her from behind. A head settled onto her shoulder as Muriel Sanz peered down at the sketch pad. “What gorgeous confections are you creating for me to advertise next?”
She tensed in her friend’s embrace. And Muriel pulled back. “What’s wrong?”
“You should have given me a heads-up,” she said, “before you went to the bar association.” Then she wouldn’t have been so blindsided. But then Simon should have been honest with her about his suspicions, as well.
“I left you some messages to call me back,” Muriel reminded her. “You’ve been MIA since you gave your notice at Street Legal.”
She couldn’t deny that, but she didn’t want to admit why she’d been. “In one of those voice mails, you could have told me what you’d done.”
“You had to know I would go straight to the bar association,” Muriel replied, her usually smooth brow furrowed with confusion, “when you gave me those notes.”
Bette shook her head, and the pins holding up her hair pulled at her scalp. She wore her glasses, too. But she wasn’t hiding anymore, not like she’d done at Street Legal. Her hair was up to get it out of her way. And her glasses were so she could see her ske
tches...if she ever again summoned the inspiration for a design.
“I did not give you any notes,” Bette said. “I don’t know what you’re talking about—just like I had no idea what Ronan Hall was talking about when he accused me of betraying the firm for my friend.” Now she wasn’t sure how good a friend Muriel really was.
Bette had thought the supermodel was sweet and down-to-earth. But maybe that was just an act. Maybe everything Ronan and that PR firm had said about her was true. She couldn’t be trusted.
“Ronan...” Muriel’s wide mouth twisted into a grimace of distaste as if just the sound of his name on her lips made her sick. “Of course he would be furious at having his lies exposed.”
He was mad. But he’d also been self-righteous. If he’d been lying, would he have felt that way?
Bette didn’t know what or whom to believe. She only knew one thing. “I didn’t give you anything,” she said. “I had no idea what he was talking about.”
Muriel’s pale green eyes widened in shock. The light color of her eyes was such a startling contrast to her naturally tanned-looking skin. Her hair was a mass of different-colored streaks of blond, red, brown, gold and black. But it was too random to have been salon styled. The woman had inherited only the best trait of each of the many nationalities making up her heritage. “Those notes really didn’t come from you?”
Bette shook her head. “Why did you think they did? Was there a note or anything?” Had someone forged her name? Now she wanted to know who the hell this mole was, too.
“No,” Muriel said. “The envelope was just shoved in my box. It wasn’t even postmarked. I don’t think it had been mailed.”
“So someone personally dropped it off?” Bette asked. “What was in it?”
“Notes on Street Legal stationery. Notes about the witnesses and what Ronan had told them to say about me on the stand.” She looked sick again, sick of the lies that had been uttered and then spread to ruin her reputation.
But Muriel had risen from the ashes. No matter that it was a lie, she’d started making the most of her bad-girl reputation. And modeling Bette’s Beguiling Bows was one of the ways she’d come back into the limelight.
“I can’t believe he would do that,” Bette murmured.
Muriel gasped. “Do you think those people told the truth about me?”
“No,” Bette assured her. Despite her brief moment of doubt, she believed Muriel was a good person. She wasn’t the monster her ex-husband and Ronan had made her out to be. “But I can’t believe Hall would commit the subornation of perjury and risk his law license.”
He, like his partners, had had to overcome so much to become lawyers and build their practice. There was no way that Simon could have known the truth. He cared too much about Street Legal to risk its future.
“He’s a bastard,” Muriel said. “They all are.”
But Bette could not agree with her. She’d seen Simon do good things. He was so patient with his older clients, so supportive of former street kids like Miguel. He was not the bad guy Muriel thought he was. He was not the guy Bette had once thought he was.
She felt a flash of regret over slapping him. But she’d had a good reason. He had seduced her. Too bad she wished that he would do it again.
And again.
But he’d only been doing it—doing her—to find out if she was the mole. He didn’t really want her. Like she wanted him.
She had to forget about him and focus on the future she’d fought so hard and for so long to realize. But her pen didn’t move across the page. She’d lost her inspiration.
She’d lost Simon.
Chapter Sixteen
“SO WHAT DID you think of that one?” Miguel asked from where he leaned against the jamb of Simon’s open door.
He glanced up from his desk and focused on his employee, his favorite one now that Bette was gone. He just shook his head.
“She’s not Bette?” Miguel wasn’t the one who asked this question. Trevor had replaced their male receptionist in the doorway. The two of them were too big to share the space. And Simon could hear the phone ringing at the front desk.
Simon sighed and admitted, “Nobody will be.”
“So go get her back,” Trevor advised him.
“She has a new job,” Simon reminded him. “In the field she always wanted to work in. Hell, she has her own damn line. She’s not coming back.”
“I didn’t mean to the office,” Trevor said. “Get her back to you.”
Simon shook his head again. “She’s damn well not coming back to me, either. Not after Ronan told her I was only sleeping with her to get evidence against her.”
“Ronan was upset,” Trevor defended their friend. “He ran his mouth when he shouldn’t have.”
“He doesn’t regret what he said,” Simon reminded Trevor. “He still thinks Bette was the mole.” Which left them vulnerable to the real mole. But Simon already had some other potential suspects—the women who’d been trying to take Bette’s place—in his bed more than her office. He had no intention of seducing the truth out of them, though.
“You don’t think she is?” Trevor said.
“I did for a little while,” Simon said. “That’s why I got close to her in the first place.” Why he’d seduced her. He hadn’t been able to defend himself against those accusations because they’d been right. Then Bette had defended herself. “But no, she’s not the mole.”
Trevor nodded. “I trust your judgment.”
“Bette will never trust me again,” he said. She thought everything had been a con. And they could never build a relationship—a real one—without trust.
For the first time in his life, Simon wanted a real relationship. And for the first time in his life, Simon knew that his charm and his drive wouldn’t get him what he wanted.
No matter what he did or said, he wouldn’t get Bette back.
* * *
Bette jumped as her doorbell rang. But she shouldn’t have been surprised. It was probably Muriel. She lived in the same building and was the one who recommended Bette find an apartment in it. And since she’d learned Bette had nothing to do with those notes from Street Legal, she’d felt so bad over using them that she kept apologizing.
Bette had forgiven her friend. It was Simon whom she couldn’t forgive. Sure, he hadn’t known her very well when he’d suspected her of betraying the firm. But once he’d gotten to know her, he should have been honest with her. He should have made sure she wasn’t blindsided at her own going-away party the way Ronan Hall had blindsided her.
At least she never had to see the sleazy divorce lawyer again.
But then she wouldn’t ever see Simon again, either.
Her heart dropped at the thought, hanging low in her chest. She missed him so much, even though she saw him everywhere in the apartment: in the closet, in her bed, in her living room.
She passed through it on her way to the front door. And as she reached for the knob, she allowed herself to hope that when she opened the door, it would be to him. But when she opened the door, Ronan Hall was the man she saw first. He wasn’t alone, though. The other two partners from Street Legal stood on either side of him.
Only Simon was missing.
God, she missed him.
“What do you want?” she asked the men. Were they serving her with papers? Suing her for breach of something or other? Not that she’d done anything wrong...
Ronan Hall had been scary mad when he’d confronted her at the party, though. Maybe he’d pressed charges against her or filed a lawsuit.
“We’d like to talk to you.” Trevor spoke for the three of them. Usually Simon spoke for the four of them. He was more than the managing partner of Street Legal. He was the gorgeous face of the law practice.
“Talk?” she asked, allowing her skepticism to creep out. “I already told you that I ha
d nothing to do with those notes Muriel sent to the bar association.”
At just the mention of the model’s name, Ronan’s mouth twisted into a grimace of distaste. Hopefully, he wouldn’t run into the model on his way out of the building.
She held tightly to the door, prepared to swing it closed in their faces, as she added, “So we have nothing to talk about.”
But Stone pressed his palm against the door, holding it open. “Simon. We’re here about Simon.”
He didn’t have to push his way inside then. She hurriedly stepped back to allow them to enter her apartment.
“Simon!” she exclaimed as her pulse quickened with fear. “Is he all right? Has something happened to him?”
He dealt with trusts and wills and such, not the kind of clients or cases the rest of them handled. So she doubted a client had hurt him. But a jealous ex-lover might have. Or some random criminal. He could have been mugged. Or run over on the street.
Her heart pounded fast and fiercely with panic at the thought of all the horrible things that could have happened to him.
The three of them stared at her. So she prodded them, “What is it? What’s wrong?”
Ronan sighed. “Damn it.”
And more panic clutched her heart. If something had happened to him... “What?” she asked. “What is it?”
“Simon was right,” Ronan said, his voice gruff with disappointment. “You’re not the mole.”
“No, of course not,” she said. “While I didn’t often agree with how you tried your cases—in the media—I wouldn’t interfere. And I wouldn’t betray the practice.” But most especially, she wouldn’t have betrayed Simon. “Now, tell me what’s wrong with Simon!”
“You,” Ronan replied, but his voice was softer now, his dark eyes warmer. “You’re what’s wrong with him.”
Her head began to pound with confusion. “I don’t understand.”
“We didn’t at first, either,” Stone said.
“Speak for yourself,” Trevor remarked. “I got it.”
Ronan snorted. “Well, I sure as hell didn’t. None of us has ever seen him like this.”
