Her Secret Rival

by Abby Gaines

  Travis propelled himself to his feet. He stuck out a hand and leaned across the table. “Mr. Merritt, I’m Travis Jamieson.”

  Jonah was a couple of inches shorter than Travis, but his sheer presence meant he took over a room. Or a courtroom. His handshake was firm to the point of punishing, his scrutiny piercing. He might not have taken any of Travis’s calls, but from the pursing of his lips he knew who Travis was.

  “You’re Barbara Hoskins’s lawyer.” His tone said he was aware Travis was more than that.

  “That’s right.” He returned Jonah’s scrutiny measure for measure.

  Megan bustled to kiss her father’s cheek. “Dad, you’re supposed to stay away from the office.”

  “It’s only a quick visit.” Jonah pulled out a chair and sank into it. He scanned the room with proprietary satisfaction. “It’s still my firm, despite what the doctors say.”

  Megan’s gaze softened. “Of course it’s still your firm.” She clipped a plastic sleeve of receipts into a binder and sat, too. “Travis and I were just going over the points we agreed upon in our meeting.” The emphasis on were and the pointed look she gave Travis told him he could leave.

  Travis wasn’t going anywhere. Not when this was the first and only opportunity he’d had to connect with Jonah. He suspected she wouldn’t issue a more direct instruction because she couldn’t trust him to fall into line. She wouldn’t want to show weakness in front of her dad. He sat down again, ignored the tightening of her lips.

  “Let’s go grab a coffee,” she suggested to Jonah. “Then we can go to my office and I’ll give you an update on the Hoskins case.” Effectively removing Travis from the scene.

  “No point drinking coffee without caffeine,” Jonah grumbled. He pointed to Megan’s file. “May I?” Without waiting for permission, he pulled it toward him and began to read her notes.

  “As you can see, we’re close to a resolution on division of assets,” she said. Travis would have said close was an exaggeration. “The real battles will be custody and Mrs. Hoskins’s challenge to the prenup.”

  Hardened court warrior that he was, Jonah’s eyes lit up at the mention of a battle. “What are the grounds for the prenup challenge?”

  Travis had supplied Megan with a list of his client’s objections to the prenuptial agreement as part of their preliminary paperwork. They hadn’t got to discussing it yet, but he was a hundred percent ready. He jumped in. “The agreement was signed just five days before the wedding. Mrs. Hoskins asserts there was an element of coercion.”

  Megan scowled at him. “The contract was drafted well in advance, Mrs. Hoskins had plenty of time to read it. She didn’t sign earlier because she was traveling on business.”

  “Then there’s the matter of actively appreciating assets,” Travis said. “Mrs. Hoskins’s financial expertise greatly augmented the value of the preexisting share portfolio defined in the prenup as Mr. Hoskins’s separate property.”

  “It’s Mrs. Hoskins’s opinion that she can take some credit for that.” Megan’s knuckles turned white on her pencil; she looked as if she was contemplating using it as a deadly weapon. Jonah, on the other hand, clearly relished being in the middle of the debate. He stretched his arms out and laced his fingers as he nodded. There was no mistaking his fondness for Megan…nor his interest in Travis.

  “Travis knows his client is on shaky ground,” Megan continued. “Somewhere in there—” she nodded at Travis’s briefcase “—he has our memorandum pointing out that Barbara didn’t disclose all her assets before the marriage.”

  Travis decided getting bogged down in who owned what wasn’t the way to impress Jonah. “There’s some precedent to suggest my client has a strong case,” he said, and widened the discussion to include comparisons with a couple of other divorces, and some commentary on current trends in judges’ decisions about prenup enforcement. Nothing Megan wouldn’t already know, of course. But he had a few examples up his sleeve he hoped would surprise her in court.

  Jonah kicked back in his seat and clasped his hands behind his head. “Sounds like you might have your work cut out defending Theo’s position,” he commented to Megan. She stiffened, but before she could reply, her father asked Travis a couple of insightful questions. Nothing that would require disclosure of client-confidential material—Jonah was the consummate professional—just the kind of questions that made Travis think hard to justify his opinions. He could learn a lot from this man.

  Travis observed how Megan hung on Jonah’s words, how she would reach toward him, sometimes touching his sleeve, sometimes pulling back. When it came to her dad, she had a bad case of hero worship. Not that it showed through in her voice; she sounded calm and competent and professional. Only someone as tuned into her as Travis unwillingly was would pick up that she was throwing her all into the discussion and getting increasingly panicked that it might not be enough.

  Enough, presumably, for her father to recognize her potential as a future leader of the firm.

  Travis felt for her. It must be frustrating to be pigeonholed as being at the limit of your capabilities. He had the opposite problem. His parents never doubted he could do anything, which left him scrambling to explain why he wasn’t living the life he’d always said he wanted.

  “I hear Atkins screwed up the cross in the O’Shea trial today,” Jonah said grimly, changing the subject. Like most of Atlanta, Travis had a working knowledge of the homicide case that was hogging the headlines. Atkins was the Merritt, Merritt & Finch partner leading the defense team. In a case like this, based on circumstantial evidence, a solid cross-examination to discredit the witnesses was crucial.

  “I thought your people would Plan B the guy,” Travis said. “There was plenty of opportunity to cast the blame on someone else.”

  Jonah removed his glasses and began polishing them. “Have you done any criminal work, Jamieson?”

  Travis shook his head. “I hold a management role at PPA, which requires me to understand the criminal side.” Which Jonah would know if he’d bothered to read Travis’s résumé. “But I’m no match for a good criminal attorney.”

  Jonah sighed. “Times like this I wish Cynthia wasn’t such a highflier. If she was here the case wouldn’t be in this mess. But when that girl gets an ambition in her sights, there’s no stopping her.”

  “I have ambition, too, Dad.” Megan seemed to speak without thinking, an automatic response.

  “You’re doing a great job running the family division,” Jonah assured her. “Our new managing partner will be playing catch-up until he gets to know the place as well as you do.” His expression became wistful. “If Cynthia was here it would be blessedly simple. She’s an amazing lawyer, a gifted manager….”

  “Since I know more about this place than anyone,” Megan said, “maybe you should—”

  “We’ve talked about this.” Jonah glanced sharply at Travis. “You know where I stand.”

  She subsided, but her eyes glittered. She was hurt. Dammit, the protective instincts that had sent Travis back to the restaurant so he could drag Robert Grayson off her returned in full force.

  With difficulty, he held himself rigid. It would be pure madness to hurl himself across the table and give Jonah a severe shaking for his lack of faith in his daughter.

  Then he heard himself say, “Sounds like Cynthia’s just about as good a lawyer as Megan.” Shut up.

  Jonah and Megan swiveled toward him, mouths identically agape as if he’d launched into a tap dance right here in their meeting room.

  He was glad he’d stood up for Megan. No matter what people thought in Jackson Creek, no matter what his family feared, he hadn’t gone over to the dark side.

  “Megan’s an excellent lawyer, and extremely hardworking,” Jonah agreed stiffly. The corners of his mouth relaxed as he regarded his daughter. “You have rings around your eyes the size of saucers, my dear.”

  Travis stifled a smile that would smack of condescension. Megan might look tired, but she could handl
e her job. Two jobs, probably.

  “Not a problem, Dad.”

  “No point damaging your health,” Jonah admonished her. “What are you doing besides work?”

  Megan flipped over the sleeves in her ring binder, apparently engrossed in the search for some document. Her cheeks were pink. “I had a date last night.”

  Grayson. Travis’s fingers itched to slug the guy all over again.

  “And I, um, I’m going to Six Flags tomorrow evening.” She stared at Travis, defying him to tell her dad the truth. That the amusement park outing was another counseling session with the Hoskins family.

  “There’s a young man,” her father announced, “Nick Stanton, Wally Stanton’s son. He’s just back from a couple of years overseas, and needs someone to bring him up to date with the Atlanta legal system. I told his father you’ll meet up with him. Maybe dinner.”

  “I don’t need you arranging my dates,” Megan protested. She ducked her head, so Travis couldn’t see her face.

  “He’s a decent fellow,” Jonah said. “Do it for me.”

  Ah, that old standby, emotional blackmail. Always more effective when the recipient is insecure in the blackmailer’s affections. Travis shifted in his seat.

  “I’ll consider it.” Megan’s glower warned Travis not to butt in. Yeah, well, he had no intention of interfering if she wanted to date Nick Stanton. It had been a long time since Travis had hung out with him, but he knew for sure that the guy was no jerk she needed saving from, like Robert Grayson.

  He was Megan’s perfect match.

  Through the rushing sound in his head, Travis became aware of Jonah dusting his hands together. “Good girl.”

  Travis waited for Megan to blow up at her dad the way she would at him if he tried a line like that. But she settled for a taut smile.

  “Maybe you should hold off until you’re done with the Hoskins case, though,” Jonah suggested. “You’ll need your wits about you if you want to do your best for Theo.”

  Megan’s shoulders were rigid with humiliation.

  “Mr. Merritt—” the words slipped out of Travis before he consciously articulated them “—don’t you think that as a senior partner Megan has a handle on how to run a case by now?”

  Megan started; her pencil went rolling across the table.

  “Excuse me?” Jonah said.

  Travis couldn’t back down now. “I was under the impression Megan hasn’t lost a custody case in five years.” A statistic he would do well to remember.

  Jonah drummed his fingers on the table. “Doesn’t mean she might not make a mistake.”

  “Excuse me, I’m right here,” Megan said.

  “Most likely it does mean that,” Travis replied. “My father believes his kids need support and encouragement, not doubt and undermining.”

  Megan made an inarticulate sound.

  “And your father would be?” Jonah demanded.

  “Just a regular guy with a lot of faith in his kids to live the way he raised them.” Which was why Travis was mired in guilt right now, the whole reason he was after this damned job. “My dad’s the man I respect most in this world.”

  Jonah’s finger-drumming grew more agitated. Travis gathered from Megan’s fascination with the movement that this wasn’t a good sign.

  “You have a nerve walking into my company and telling me how to talk to my daughter.”

  “I tell it like I see it,” Travis returned.

  “You won’t be doing that again,” Jonah said, with a significance that bypassed Megan but made Travis’s heart sink.

  He’d just talked himself out of a job.

  Jonah stood up and held on to the back of his chair, breathing heavily. Great, had Travis just given him another coronary? “I worry about you, Megan,” Jonah said. “I’m not trying to undermine you—I know you’re as smart as anyone.”

  “Thanks, Dad.” She kissed his cheek.

  Travis might as well not have bothered sticking up for her. Well, wasn’t this peachy, he thought, as Jonah left without saying goodbye to him. Father and daughter relations were mended, and meanwhile, he’d just blown whatever slim chance he’d had of impressing Jonah Merritt and getting the job that would restore his own father’s pride in him.

  CHAPTER NINE

  AFTER SHE SAW her father to the elevator, Megan walked back to the meeting room on leaden feet. Despite the crumb of comfort her father had tossed her, she was as far away as ever from convincing Dad to give her a chance.

  Despite Travis’s defense of her.

  She paused in the doorway. Travis had his elbows on the table, his head in his hands. He looked like she felt. That didn’t make sense.

  “I appreciate your attempt to help,” she said awkwardly.

  He glanced up. “No problem.”

  She advanced to the table. “Dad doesn’t like being told he’s wrong.”

  “Doesn’t mean you should let him get away with undervaluing you.”

  She snapped her binder closed. “I don’t need your advice.”

  “As always, your need to put me in my place outweighs your gratitude. Lucky I enjoy it.”

  He stretched, and she caught the ripple of muscle beneath his shirt. She’d managed to go through the meeting with Travis without thinking about last night. The humming of her pulse told her the statute of limitations was up. “That suggests your life has singularly little fun in it,” she said. “You surprise me.”

  Just like that, the atmosphere shifted, lightened.

  “You really do think I’m out dating every night, don’t you?” Travis’s voice was low and taunting.

  “I don’t actually think about you all that much,” she said apologetically.

  “Liar.” He bounced to his feet. “You know what we both need?”

  Her whole body tingled. Not that. “A time-out from each other?”

  He walked to the window; she wondered if he would glimpse her father walking away. “A relaxing dinner. This has been a hell of a day.”

  “I need to go to bed,” she said. And realized her mistake.

  “If you insist,” he said generously. “But I’d rather we ate first. Purely for stamina reasons.”

  “Alone,” she managed to say, over the bombardment of images—heated flesh, tangled limbs, hungry mouths—his words provoked.

  “If you go home now, you won’t get to sleep,” he said. “Your mind will be racing all night.”

  “Maybe,” she conceded, when there was no maybe about it.

  “There’s this place I know, it’s relaxing, with home-style cooking.”

  It sounded like bliss. “I guess I do have to eat.”

  “I’ll drive.” He dangled his keys from one finger. “No point both of us fighting the rush-hour traffic.”

  She hesitated. She almost never let a guy drive her on a date. This isn’t a date, it’s a business dinner. Probably. She rolled her shoulders. “Okay, but only because I’m tired enough to fall asleep at the wheel.”

  He grinned, with a flash of his usual energy. “That’s what I like, to be the choice of last resort.”

  “I’m sure you’re used to it,” she said affably.

  He laughed. Something about Travis’s laugh always made the stresses of her job fade into, if not insignificance, something much more manageable.

  Megan fastened her seat belt as they left the underground parking lot. “Where are we going?”

  “My place.”

  She grabbed the door handle. “No way.”

  He put a hand on her knee, anchoring her. “I do a mean steak, and it’s easier to relax at home than in a restaurant. We’re not going far, I’m in Virginia Highlands.”

  “Travis, this isn’t a good idea. We’re colleagues.”

  “It’s the best idea I’ve had all day,” he said. He flipped his turn signal and moved into the left-hand lane. “Call it a pity meal.”

  “I’ll bet your life is full of those,” she muttered. Not.

  Virginia Highlands, with its mix of
cute cottages and more expensive homes, and one-off stores, was Megan’s favorite part of town.

  Travis’s street was in the process of gentrification, some homes renovated and some in what Realtors liked to call original condition. Travis’s two-story cottage was somewhere in between, he told her as he opened the front door. “It still needs work, but you’ll get the idea.”

  He switched on the hallway light, illuminating polished wooden floors scattered with colorful, modern rugs. Megan followed him into the living room, where floor-to-ceiling bookshelves lined one wall. On the other wall, above the fireplace, hung a painting—she recognized it as one by Dawn Rodriguez, a local artist.

  “This place is so cozy,” she said.

  “You think anyone who works at PPA must be a slob?” He crouched in front of the fire, set a match to the kindling in the grate.

  “Just wondering why you need a homemaker wife, when you seem to have talents in that direction yourself.”

  “I only do the macho stuff, the things that need power tools. My wife will have to be the cook.” He slid her purse from her shoulder and tossed it onto the couch. “The rest of the place isn’t so civilized. It’s taking me longer than I wanted. I need to get more time off work.”

  “Any more time off work and you’ll be a renovator moonlighting as a lawyer.” She perused the bookshelves and found a collection far more eclectic than her own.

  “You should try this.” He pulled a book down for her. Silence in the Tomb. The book he’d been reading that day outside her office. “It’s good,” he said. “Give it a try.”

  “I don’t have time to read.” But she stuck it in her handbag just to be polite.

  In the corner, stood a Christmas tree, a real pine, with haphazard decorations: a snowman here, an angel there, a few stars. “You overpaid your decorator.” Megan plucked a pine needle and ran it beneath her nose, inhaling the forest scent.

  “Those are my own efforts you’re knocking.” Travis clapped a hand to his chest. “After all of those Martha Stewart videos I watched.”

  “Let me guess, she’s your pinup girl.”