Her Secret Rival

by Abby Gaines

  Her face reddened. “If that’s your idea of a pickup line…”

  He held up his hands and grinned. “I just got a little sidetracked.”

  She looked irritated, not like someone who was worried he might be good enough to beat her in court.

  He pushed a little further. “Are you married?”

  “Could we be professional about this?” she demanded.

  “That wasn’t a line, either. It’s relevant to the Hoskins case.”

  “How?” she asked.

  “I’m trying to figure out your attitude to divorce, because it’ll influence your client.”

  She looked at him as if that was the stupidest thing she’d ever heard. She opened her mouth, then she closed it again. “I’m not married.”

  He fixed his gaze on her brown eyes. They were unexpectedly warm. “Y’know, that surprises me. You being so pretty.”

  He felt a twinge of guilt at employing Prescott Palmer style tactics on her. But no doubt Merritt, Merritt & Finch had its own little tricks to unnerve opposing counsel. When it came to protecting a client’s interests, all was fair.

  Megan wasn’t sure if she should slap Travis’s face or slap him with a sexual harassment suit.

  Neither. If she vented her true thoughts, she wouldn’t be able to stop herself from giving him a dressing-down that would warn him of her capabilities in a courtroom.

  But how to respond? The few men who’d told her she was pretty were Ivy Leaguers, lawyers whose names were almost as well-known as Merritt. Nice guys, smart guys. Dull guys. She had no idea how to handle a man like Travis.

  She drew from the same well of desperation that had led her to chase Theo Hoskins halfway across the country, and said sweetly, “And you’re a pretty man.”

  He roared with laughter, turning heads in the hush of the restaurant.

  “That’s the first time a woman’s told me I’m pretty,” he said.

  She didn’t want him laughing at her, she wanted him unsettled, the way she was. She leaned forward. “Y’know, that surprises me.” She parroted his earlier words. “You have deep, dark eyes, the longest lashes, a well-shaped mouth…” She’d gone too far, way too far for her own peace of mind.

  He leaned forward, too, so that well-shaped mouth was very close. “That’s interesting, because your lips are rather appealing, as well.”

  The charge of electricity that snapped between them was almost physical.

  Megan shot backward in her seat. “Okay, whatever this game is, you’re better at it than I am.” She hated that she sounded breathless.

  Travis straightened lazily. “I’m not so sure about that.”

  The waiter delivered their entrées, bringing the game to a merciful end.

  “How about we talk about the Hoskinses?” Travis picked up his knife and fork. “My client is prepared to be reasonable.”

  “So is mine. I assume Mrs. Hoskins doesn’t plan to fight the grounds for divorce?”

  “They’re her grounds, why would she?” Travis looked puzzled. “Habitual intoxication is automatic grounds for divorce in the Georgia code.”

  Megan found herself sputtering again. She put down her glass—it might be safer not to drink in Travis’s presence. “Habitual intoxication? Theo?”

  “That’s what Barbara told me.” He raised his eyebrows. “Not where you’re coming from?”

  “Adultery,” she said flatly.

  Travis swore.

  “According to Theo, she had an affair,” Megan said.

  “She says he gets drunk every night. Maybe he’s hallucinating.”

  “We have photos.” Megan’s lips pursed in disapproval.

  Travis had been having trouble keeping his eyes off those lips ever since they’d turned into a topic of conversation. She’d taken him unawares with her flirting in response to his, but she obviously hadn’t meant a word of it. Travis grinned as he absorbed the blow to his ego.

  And saw her eyes follow the movement of his mouth. Fascinating.

  “The question is whether the adultery is what caused the marriage to break down,” he said. “Barbara says Theo is drunk nine nights out of ten. That might drive any wife to adultery.”

  “She has kids, for Pete’s sake.”

  “Irrelevant.”

  “I don’t agree.”

  Was Megan taking her client’s side because it was her job, or was that light in her eyes a spark of anger?

  He idled his fork. “I hope you don’t plan to let this case turn sleazy.”

  He almost laughed at her outraged expression.

  “Only one of us is likely to turn this case sleazy, Mr. Jamieson—” so, they were on last-name terms now, were they? “—and we both know it’s not I.” Her voice dripped ice. “Neither of our clients will want to fight this case in the tabloid headlines, so I suggest you rein in whatever mudslinging you plan.”

  “I plan on winning this fair and square,” he assured her. “No dirty tricks.”

  She tilted her head to one side, as if it hadn’t occurred to her he might think he had a chance of winning.

  Her reaction wasn’t unjustified. Travis had had to go a long way back to find a blot on her court record. And she’d never emerged the loser in a big divorce.

  But everyone lost sometimes.

  “I’ll hold you to your no-dirty-tricks promise,” she said.

  Through the rest of the meal, they talked process—what information had to be disclosed on each side, whether there was any chance the case wouldn’t go to court. Which seemed unlikely. Plus where and when they should hold a meeting with both clients.

  The mundane aspects of the conversation were interspersed with the occasional personal comment from Travis, usually leading to a calm put-down from Megan. When they stood to leave, Travis realized he hadn’t had such an enjoyable evening in a long time. He almost wished he could take advantage of the mistletoe the restaurant had pinned above the doorway.

  “Who’s paying for dinner?” Megan asked as she shrugged into her coat. “Your client or mine?”

  “Mine,” he said. “It’s only fair, given yours will be paying later.”

  The look she gave him as they walked out to the parking lot was definitely not intimidated. Travis escorted her to her car, a sporty red BMW at odds with her reserve. He’d bet she had this car totally under control.

  “Thank you for dinner.” She stuck out a hand.

  He shook it, found himself holding on. Her fingers were cool and steady, just like the rest of her. On impulse, he leaned forward to kiss her cheek. She saw him coming and dodged. But she made the wrong call, went the wrong direction, and his lips brushed across her mouth.

  Her mistake was no hardship. Megan’s lips were warm and soft, and out of instinct she puckered in response to his kiss. That fleeting half second set Travis afire from head to toe. He jerked his head away.

  She touched her mouth, wide-eyed.

  “Sorry,” he said. “I was going for the cheek.”

  “Don’t go for anything,” she ordered. “I’m not in the habit of kissing opposing counsel.”

  Pity.

  He saluted her. “Yes, ma’am.”

  As he drove his Chevy truck toward his home in one of the few streets in Virginia Highlands that hadn’t yet been gentrified, he couldn’t shake that kiss. He should have done the damn thing properly, save him thinking about it now.

  But he wasn’t likely to get the chance. Sooner or later—probably sooner—Megan would discover his true motivation for pestering Barbara Hoskins to let him represent her. And when that happened, kissing him would be the last thing on Megan’s mind.

  CHAPTER THREE

  THE ONE GOOD THING about the dinner she’d shared with Travis Jamieson on Friday night was that Megan was convinced she could win the Hoskins divorce.

  Travis might have been…unsettling personally, but professionally she had his number. He’d said nothing of substance when they’d talked about the case. Megan had never been beaten by a gradu
ate of a small Midwestern college. Not by a lawyer who’d flirted with her, either.

  Which made her feel marginally better about the embarrassing end to dinner, she told herself on Tuesday, as she reviewed her notes for this morning’s meeting.

  She’d kissed Travis! The only small mercy was that he’d realized she was trying to duck away and, thankfully, he’d been gentleman enough not to accuse her of actively seeking the kiss.

  It was crazy she could still remember the firm warmth of his mouth, the smell of expensive aftershave overlaid with soap and coffee and man.

  Megan cleared her mind of anything personal as she pushed open the door of the third-floor conference room. She smiled a greeting at Theo Hoskins and at Trisha, who would take notes on the meeting, and Mark, the junior associate helping her with the case.

  “Are you okay?” she asked Theo.

  He nodded. She’d met with him alone yesterday, and he’d been outraged about his wife’s accusation of habitual drunkenness. If the allegation made it into the newspapers, it would have a serious impact on his business. Megan had spent two hours calming him down so he could take the moral high ground today. Their first step was to paint Barbara Hoskins as the guilty party.

  The phone on the table rang, and Trisha answered it. Travis and his client were there. “Send them in,” Trisha said.

  “Barbara, how are you?” Megan shook Mrs. Hoskins’s hand. She’d met the woman several times at charity benefits. Megan judged her to be in her early forties, probably a few years younger than Theo. Like Theo, she was impeccably groomed, and her demeanor was arctic. Which was easier to work with than hysterical, although it was too soon to say whether today’s meeting would go that way. You could never tell with divorces.

  Megan shook Travis’s hand, ignoring the way his eyes drifted to her lips. His custom-made dark suit made him look like a…I am not even going to think foreign prince.

  Trisha phoned coffee orders to a secretary. Travis chose a latte. He could afford to, Megan thought bitterly. He didn’t have a serious reputation to maintain.

  “Espresso for you, Megan?” Trisha said.

  Megan nodded. “Thank you for coming in this morning.” She addressed Travis and Barbara, subtly pointing out they were on Merritt, Merritt & Finch’s turf. “The purpose of today’s meeting is to find areas of common ground before we appear in front of a judge. The more we can agree in the privacy of this room, the less time you spend airing the details of your marriage in a public court.”

  Both clients nodded. Megan glanced at her notes.

  “We need to talk about the grounds for divorce,” Travis said. Megan’s head shot up. She was leading this meeting, by implication if not by agreement. “We also hope to make a start on financial settlements and custody issues.”

  Okay, Mr. Hotshot, so you know how a divorce case works. Big deal.

  “Thank you, Travis,” she said.

  His mouth twitched.

  “The easiest way to get a low-profile divorce is to claim the marriage is irretrievably broken,” Megan said. “But that means both of you will have to drop your current grounds.” She could never understand why couples argued over the grounds for divorce. But so often, people wanted to have the final word.

  Didn’t they know divorce hurt just as much either way?

  “You mean, pretend she never cheated on me?” Theo glared at his wife. Megan felt unreasonably annoyed that her client should be the first to crack.

  Her annoyance faded a second later when Barbara weighed in with a diatribe about a father whose kids said he “smelled funny” on the rare occasions he turned up in time to read a bedtime story. Then both clients were shouting to be heard over each other, fists clenched on the tabletop.

  Travis slammed a hand down on the table, to Megan’s irritation, mainly because it startled her as badly as it did everyone else. “If you want to end up on the front page of the Journal-Constitution,” he said, “you’re going the right way about it. Let me give you an idea of what you’re facing.” He drew on his apparently considerable knowledge of sleazy divorces to paint a horrifying picture of the Hoskins family being dragged through the muck.

  “I think we’re all agreed we don’t want to go there?” Travis glanced around the table, securing nods from both Hoskinses.

  “One other thing,” Megan said. “The judge is more likely to respect your wishes if it’s clear you’ve made an attempt to save the marriage.”

  That led to another round of accusations, not as heated as the last. Travis held up a hand. “Megan’s right.”

  She sent him a look that she hoped said, I know.

  “You two need to attend at least a couple of counseling sessions. If you don’t, there’s every chance the judge will order it anyway.” Judges were increasingly using their powers to force couples to at least attempt reconciliation.

  “Make it family counseling,” Megan said. “The children should be involved, too. I’ll give you the names of a couple of counselors recommended by the Court.” She drew a breath and waded into the next battle. “If we can reach agreement on custody of the children, this case will be over much faster.”

  “I want full custody,” Barbara said.

  Theo just about blew a gasket. “No way do you get to take my kids. We’ll share custody, or I’ll have them.”

  “My client believes their father’s alcohol dependency is detrimental to the children’s well-being,” Travis said to Megan.

  “I am not dependent on alcohol,” Theo roared. “If you were married to her, you’d need a drink before you could go home at nights, too.”

  Megan ignored him. “The Court frowns on absent fathers and is likely to welcome our request for joint custody,” she told Travis.

  “Not where substance addiction is involved,” he said. “You might want to look at Smith versus Barrett. Or Larson versus Van Arden.” He added helpfully, “Decatur County Court and Clayton County Court.”

  Okay, so he knew how to research. Megan did, too. She countered with a couple of strong cases of her own, illustrating how women who had affairs could lose their children.

  It might have worked, if Travis hadn’t cited a case where a woman who’d committed serial adultery had managed to obtain sole custody of her kids from their hardworking, morally upright dad.

  To her vexation, Megan ran out of cases to quote. “I don’t believe we’ll reach agreement on custody today,” she said. “I suggest we move on to the matrimonial property.” Surely things would prove less emotional than children.

  In short order, the couple agreed Theo would keep the condo in Dallas and the beach house on the South Carolina coast. He’d already moved out of the family home in Buckhead, here in Atlanta, which Barbara would have. Cars, a boat, artworks, jewelry and furnishings were all dealt with easily.

  Then Megan reached item number eighty-four on the list Theo had supplied. “Two Atlanta Hawks executive club seat season passes,” she read out loud. “Valued at three thousand dollars apiece.”

  Travis snorted.

  “Excuse me?” she said.

  “My husband knows damn well those seats are worth a lot more than that,” Barbara objected.

  Megan looked at her client.

  “I paid three thousand dollars apiece,” he said stubbornly.

  “They’re some of the best seats at the arena,” Travis clarified. “A lot of people want them.”

  “I’m not giving up my ticket,” Barbara told her husband. “I was a Hawks fan long before you were. You never even used to like basketball.”

  “I’m not giving up mine, either,” he said. “Not tonight, not any night.”

  Megan vaguely remembered newspaper headlines about a series of games this week.

  “You can’t go tonight,” Barbara protested. “I’m going and I’m not going to sit with you.”

  Just like that, they were arguing again. Houses and boats might not be emotional, but basketball tickets apparently were.

  Two of Megan’s colleag
ues walking past the glass-walled meeting room glanced in. It would be just her luck for someone to call her dad and say she’d lost control of a meeting. With her most important client.

  She slammed her hand down on the table, the way Travis had earlier. He was the only one who didn’t start.

  “Neither of you is going to that game tonight,” she said. Travis folded his arms and eyed her with what might have been enjoyment.

  Theo’s jaw dropped. “But we’re playing the Pistons, it’s our big chance to get out of this slump.”

  “You’re not going,” Megan reiterated. “We can’t risk both of you turning up and this becoming a public argument.”

  “Travis,” Barbara said suddenly, “I’d like you to have my ticket.”

  “That may not be appropriate,” Megan began.

  “Thanks, Barbara.” Travis grinned.

  “You can’t go with my lawyer,” Barbara told her husband triumphantly.

  “You might as well take my ticket,” Theo grumbled to Megan.

  “Thank you,” Megan said automatically, “but—”

  “Much appreciated, both of you,” Travis said smoothly. The look he gave Megan said, Let’s set a good example here. She subsided with a glare.

  Megan checked her watch—four o’clock. It felt as if they’d been here a week. “I suggest we finish for today. You both have a lot to think about. How about we reconvene Thursday?”

  Thursday was agreed, and the clients left.

  Travis shook hands with Mark and Trisha, then turned to Megan. “What time shall I pick you up for the game?”

  It took her a moment to get it. She laughed. “I’m not going.”

  “Why not? We’ll only have to meet again tomorrow to talk through this stuff.”

  “It’s not professional,” she said, conscious of how unprofessional things had ended up the other night.

  “You had dinner with me.” His low tone said, You kissed me back.

  “It was a dinner meeting.”

  “This would be a basketball meeting.”

  “No.”

  “They’re great seats,” he coaxed.

  “No.”

  “I’ll buy the hot dogs.”

  “You’ll be eating them on your own.” Aware of Trisha watching the exchange with interest, Megan held the door open for him to leave.