by Abby Gaines
“Travis, we agreed there’s nothing between us. I’m free to date whoever I want. Without being spied on.”
“I still want you,” he said, the words a near whisper.
Megan’s mouth dried, even as she melted inside. She couldn’t speak. Instead, she made her way to the bathroom. She steadied herself against the tiled wall, catching a glimpse of her flushed cheeks and bright eyes in the mirror. Splashing cold water on her face and wrists did nothing to diminish the heat.
When she walked out of the bathroom, Nick was talking to Travis.
Oh, hell.
“Megan.” Nick smiled. “I just saw Travis and came over to talk. He tells me he knows you.”
“You know Travis?” She forced a smile.
“Sure, although our paths haven’t crossed for, what, thirteen years, Travis?”
Travis nodded.
“We were at Yale together,” Nick said. “We were both members of the Law Journal.”
Megan put a hand on the bar. She said to Travis, “I thought you graduated from Dayton.”
His smile was gently mocking. “You’re thinking of Kyle Prescott. He was expelled from Yale for cheating, and ended up at Dayton.”
Travis was a graduate of Yale? An Ivy League lawyer, like her? Why hadn’t he said?
He must have known she would be…interested.
He’d wanted her to underestimate him in the Hoskins case, she guessed, and cursed herself for assuming that his friendship with Kyle had started in Ohio. She’d let her prejudice against PPA convince her that Travis couldn’t have a topflight degree.
“Excuse us, Travis,” Nick said. “I’d like to introduce Megan to my father, and I see he’s just managed to extricate himself from the rather gruesome death penalty debate in the corner.” He held out a hand to Megan. “Coming?”
The look in Travis’s dark eyes was unfathomable. She’d figured out why he hadn’t told her about Yale when they first met. But later, after he’d revealed so many other details of his past…why hadn’t he shared this one?
The weeks of work on this party, on the Hoskins case, on impressing her father suddenly piled up, compounded in her head until it felt as if her brain would explode.
“Megan?” Nick prompted.
She grasped his hand. “Let’s go.”
BARBARA HOSKINS’S custody countersuit was heard on Monday morning, so Megan spent another weekend working. That, and her anger toward Travis for judging her relationship with her father, not to mention his failure to mention he had a degree from Yale, left her on a short fuse.
Judge Potter was also low on patience. In the hearing before the Hoskinses’ he’d thrown out a claim against a toy store for promoting Christmas gifts instead of “holiday gifts,” and was muttering darkly about people who wasted the court’s time.
Travis didn’t look much happier than Megan, but he managed to disarm the judge with a quip about Santa Claus and a drunken reindeer. Then he got down to business. He laid out a compelling case for Barbara to have custody of the children. He’d obviously decided not to put Barbara on the stand, so Megan couldn’t cross-examine her about the home-alone incident, which he covered in a way that made it seem like a minor slip up.
Megan didn’t want Theo on the stand either, because Travis would undoubtedly dive into the alcohol issue.
Judge Potter listened intently to both arguments. Megan reminded herself he’d found in her favor the last time she’d appeared in front of him. But once again it was too close to call.
The judge went through his familiar glasses-polishing routine before he retired, then took his sweet time returning. He summarized both sides of the case, then concluded, “I award custody of Marcus Hoskins to his father, Theo Hoskins, and custody of Chelsea Hoskins to her mother, Barbara Hoskins.”
Megan grabbed the edge of the table. She couldn’t think of a worse verdict than splitting up the two children. They relied so heavily on each other. “Your Honor,” she began, “this is unsatisfactory…”
The judge turned glacial eyes on her. “Ms. Merritt, I have announced my verdict, and I am certain you know the proper process for appeal.”
She didn’t want to antagonize him further, so she subsided. But as soon as the judge had left, she dragged Theo into a meeting room. She tossed her briefcase on the table and didn’t bother sitting.
“You need to give up custody of Marcus,” she ordered.
“Absolutely not,” Theo said. “I am as upset as you that the kids are being separated, but if anyone’s going to give a child up, it should be Barbara.”
“Theo, you’ve told me yourself it’s hard work having the kids around full-time.” He’d made the comment every time they’d spoken the past few days. “If you let Marcus go with Barbara, it will stand in your favor when we get a permanent custody order.” There was a chance Barbara would benefit from the move, but she doubted it. “You want shared custody, don’t you? Having the children with you all the time isn’t your ultimate aim?” Poor kids.
“I suppose,” he said sulkily.
“Then show the judge in the next round that you truly have the kids’ best interests at heart. We’ll put it on paper now, present it to Barbara and her lawyer, and it will go in the case records. You still have custody of Marcus, but you’re choosing to let him stay with his mother.”
He ran a hand over his eyes. “Fine.”
She called Travis from her cell phone. “My client has a proposition.” She told him the details. “Can you run it by your client?”
She ended the call aware the problem was only half solved. Finishing it off meant…she closed her eyes and tried to think of another way. Nada.
“Are you okay?” Theo gave her an opening.
An opening to commit professional suicide. She met his gaze, drew a last, sustaining breath, and tackled the man who could kill her hopes with one phone call to her father.
“You need help, Theo. I want you to get treatment for your alcohol dependency.” She held up a hand. “I’m not interested in hearing that you don’t have one—the look in your eyes every time Barbara mentions it tells me there’s some kind of problem. Fix it, for your children’s sake. Or you’ll find that news gets out.”
As threats went, the veil was gossamer thin.
Theo’s jaw dropped and he ran a hand over his thinning, sandy hair. “You would tell people I’m an—I have a problem?”
“News will get out,” she repeated.
He sagged back in his chair. Then sat bolt upright. Then sagged again.
“I can’t…do as you ask…while the divorce is in process,” he said. “It’s too risky.”
She knew that. She waited for him to find a solution.
He licked his lips, as if right now he was craving a drink. “How about if I promise to attend a program—” he couldn’t bring himself to say anything that might incriminate him, she noticed “—the minute we’re done with the divorce?”
In that moment she liked Theo more than she had before.
“That’s acceptable,” she said. A movement in the doorway caught her eye. Travis.
How much had he heard?
Impossible to tell from his blank expression. “I spoke to Barbara,” Travis said. “We’ll take the deal.”
She held her breath, half-expecting him to say Barbara would file for permanent custody now that Theo had “confessed” to his problem. But he turned and walked away.
Theo wasn’t the only one with a dependency, Megan realized. She might have told Travis they were finished, but every cell in her body craved him.
JONAH MERRITT HAD INVITED Travis to a formal interview at his home on Tuesday morning.
The meeting took place in Jonah’s study, amid what Travis considered an excess of oak paneling.
“When you first sent me your application a few months back, I threw it straight in the trash.” Jonah steepled his fingers and eyed Travis as if he was a serial killer in the dock. “If Megan hadn’t told me you were representing Barbara Hosk
ins, I’d never have thought of you again. But that intrigued me enough to ask around.”
Travis doubted anyone in Atlanta had more contacts in legal circles than Jonah. Whatever Jonah wanted to know, he would find out.
“That firm you work for is slime,” Jonah said. He held up a hand as Travis protested. “Yes, yes, I commend your loyalty, and there’s never been any whiff of scandal in your property division. But the fact is, you’ll have trouble getting anyone to take you seriously as a partner at a firm like Merritt, Merritt & Finch.”
Didn’t he know it. Just last night, Travis had heard from the last of the firms he’d approached in recent months about a job, canceling the one interview he’d managed to score besides this one. He’d had high hopes, since he had a couple of clients at PPA who would follow him wherever he went, and he knew the other crowd wanted those clients. Unfortunately, one of the senior partners there was Robert Grayson. Travis’s contact told him Grayson had nixed the idea of even interviewing him.
“I don’t expect anything to come easy,” Travis said.
“Ah, blue-collar nobility,” Jonah said good-naturedly. He picked up a gold pen and jotted something on his notepad. “I can see running this firm would be a dream come true for you. But what’s in it for me?”
“It’s your dream that will benefit from having me on board,” Travis said.
Jonah snorted, a heftier version of Megan’s.
“You’re about to lose control of a business you’ve nurtured from its conception,” Travis said. “You’re at the mercy of whoever takes over. If you’re lucky, or smart, you’ll choose someone who’s not going to rest on your laurels, but who’s going to take the firm forward.”
“And that’s you.” Jonah pointed at Travis with his gold pen; momentarily it glowed in a ray of sunlight pouring through the sash window.
“One thing about working at Prescott Palmer, we know how to win business, and how to hold on to it,” Travis said. “In my division, we have a twenty-six-percent profit margin, and we’ve had double-digit growth every year. Triple-digit some years.”
No mistaking Jonah’s interest. “I suppose you can verify all those numbers?”
“Of course.” Travis leaned forward. He knew he looked too eager, but he couldn’t help himself. “You might be wondering how I could ever command the respect of your staff, especially your partners. I’m afraid my strategy for that is a little crass.”
Jonah frowned.
“I plan to buy their respect,” Travis said. “When I tell them what bonuses I expect them to achieve and how we’re going to do it, I anticipate they’ll do exactly what I want until they can see if I’m telling the truth. And I always make my targets.” He added, “I assume your blue-blooded lawyers are as wed to the mighty dollar as my red-blooded ones.”
“They might be,” Jonah conceded, “but I don’t want to see Merritt, Merritt & Finch turned into the kind of money-grubbing operation you have at PPA.”
“That would hardly achieve my objective of the respect of the legal fraternity,” Travis said. “I’m saying there will be improvements I can make to your firm that won’t detract in the slightest from its reputation. I’d be more than happy to clear them with you first.”
Jonah sat back and regarded Travis through hooded eyes. “One of the key partners whose respect you’d need to earn is my daughter.”
“Megan’s the best lawyer I know.” Travis didn’t add a qualifier like besides me or besides you. Jonah acknowledged that with an amused smile. “While she may initially be surprised at my getting the job, I assure you the respect is mutual,” Travis said. “I understand she recommended me to you.” Which she would never have done had she known all the facts.
Jonah gave him a searching look, and Travis wondered if he would mention Megan’s interest in the job. He guessed her father would protect her confidentiality, just as he would protect Travis’s.
“I have to say, this is all very interesting.” Jonah laced his fingers on the desk. “You’ve given me plenty to think about.”
Travis’s mind reeled. Jonah Merritt was taking him seriously.
He couldn’t go another day without telling Megan the truth.
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
MEGAN WASN’T SURPRISED when Travis called and said he wanted to see her. Ever since he’d whispered that he still wanted her, the words had resonated through her. Burrowing into her emotions. Demanding satisfaction.
She assumed he felt the same.
“Come to my place for dinner,” she said. It was time to tell him what was on her mind.
Silence.
“You can cook,” she offered. “Just give me a shopping list.”
Travis showed up in jeans and a white shirt, open at the neck. He looked tan even in winter. Megan’s clingy grape-colored cashmere sweater and black velvet skirt were much dressier…but that was the least of their differences.
She almost got cold feet. Then, boldly, she went up on tiptoe to kiss him on the mouth. After the briefest hesitation, he responded. She sensed he was still holding back, and it made her tremble. Later, she would do her damnedest to unleash his passion.
Travis followed her into the cream-carpeted living and dining area that opened to a slate-floored kitchen. “Classy,” he said.
“It’s not as homey as your place,” Megan admitted. “But it’s handy to Dad’s and in daylight it has great views over Chastain Park.” The apartment was also a decent size, thanks to her substantial partner’s salary at Merritt, Merritt & Finch.
“Classy wasn’t an insult,” he said, amused. He caught sight of her Christmas tree, a puny, artificial number next to the TV she seldom watched. “That, however, is a disgrace.”
“I’m never here,” she protested. “I’d be forever sweeping up pine needles without having time to enjoy the tree. I have Christmas at Dad’s place and he has a real one.” Supplied and decorated by a professional, unlike Travis’s.
She led him into the kitchen. “I bought all the food, even the tamarind pulp, though I have no idea what it is. It looks like hundred-year-old Jell-O.”
“It softens up when you know what to do with it,” he said. Their gazes met.
After a long moment, Travis turned to the counter. “Point me at your knives, and I’ll get started.”
While she watched, he prepared a Thai chicken curry, fragrant with cilantro, basil and coconut, and served it on steamed rice. He seemed quiet, reflective…or maybe that was her.
“This smells amazing,” Megan said, as she sat down at right angles to him at her polished oak dining table.
He dug into his meal.
“Don’t you like it?” he asked, when he realized she was just pushing the food around the plate.
“It’s lovely.” She took another of those deep breaths that had served her so well with Theo the other day. “But it’s not what I want.”
As always, he was on her wavelength. His eyes darkened and he pushed his plate away. Extended a hand to her. A minute later, they were ensconced on the couch in her living room.
Travis leaned forward, elbows on his knees, hands clasped. “I said I wanted to talk to you.”
“We talk too much,” Megan said.
He lifted his head. “Excuse me?”
“All talking does is raise our differences.” She shifted so she was slightly angled to him. “I’m sick of talking about kids and careers and families. Can’t we just forget about the future and do…this?”
She put her hand on his knee.
He jerked back into the cushions.
“Megs,” he said, “I wish it was that simple.”
“It can be.” Megan ran her fingers over the length of his thigh. Travis groaned. “I care about you,” she said, as honest as she dared. “I care a lot. I want to show you how much, even if it’s just once.”
She continued her journey up over his hip to his waist. She tugged his T-shirt out of his jeans and pressed her palm to his stomach.
“You’re…going to have
to stop that.” The words came out uneven, through a dragging breath.
Reveling in the effect she had on him, she slid her hand across his abdomen. “If you want me to stop, you’ll have to make me.”
He clamped her hand firmly in place.
“Dammit, Megan,” Travis said hoarsely. He hauled her into his lap. This was new, this bold ardor of hers, and he was only human. He shoved aside the guilt and concentrated all his senses on the woman in his arms.
Megan might have started the kiss, but Travis took control. His hand in her hair, he tugged her head back and deepened the kiss. He cupped her butt possessively, drawing her against him.
Releasing her mouth, he rained kisses over her face, then down her neck to the base of her throat, where he licked and caressed that tender spot. Megan curled her fingers into his hair and groaned. “Please,” she half gasped, half sobbed. “Travis, please.”
“What is it, Megs?” he said raggedly.
She reached a finger to trace his mouth. “Tonight. Just tonight.”
There was nothing he wanted more.
But tonight was meant to be about telling Megan he’d applied for the top job at Merritt, Merritt & Finch. That through some miracle—or more precisely, thanks to her intervention—he’d found his way onto the short list. Which meant he might, just might, end up her boss.
He ran his thumbs down her cheeks to the corners of her mouth and couldn’t think of a way to say it that didn’t sound seedy. Dishonest. His throat seized up like a rusty latch, and not one damn word could get out.
“Megan,” he managed to say at last, “I can’t begin to tell you how much I want you. Not to mention I like you, I like being with you.” Her gaze flickered at the lukewarm sentiment; he pressed on. “But I can’t make love to you without putting everything on the table.”
To his surprise, her hands fisted, drummed against his chest. “Those things that could come between us…they don’t matter, Travis. Not when we’re only talking one night. My father told me something tonight that makes a relationship between you and me even more of an impossibility. I want to make love with you before everything gets even more complicated.”
