“Have a seat,” Trent said, indicating a pair of salmon-colored, wood-footed sofas.
The room looked nothing like any office Maisie had ever seen. Thick marble columns on either side of the entry lent it a classic air, though the plaid curtains hanging over the lower windows softened the impression. A second, higher row of windows had no coverings at all.
As she took a seat, she noticed a bar to the left of the entry. She looked longingly at the row of hanging martini glasses.
“Need a drink?” Ethan asked. He pressed on the wood panel below the counter, and a door sprang open. “Water, tonic water, cola, orange or cranberry juice?”
“Is there any vodka?”
He opened another panel and pulled out a bottle.
“Screwdriver, please.”
“One for me as well,” Trent said. He’d taken a seat on the other sofa. “How long since you’ve been out here?”
“Oh, six months,” Ethan said. He carried over two drinks, then returned for two more.
“It’s probably been a year for me,” Trent said. He frowned. “I think that’s how long it’s been since I’ve left the city.”
Ethan exhaled. “Our lives have certainly changed.”
“When all this is over, I’m taking a month off.”
“If the partners agree to let you go,” Ethan said.
Maisie laughed a little, thinking it was a joke. When neither man joined in, she realized Ethan was referring to all of LB&B’s partners, and not just the three founding partners.
She sipped her drink, the acidic juice and slightly bitter vodka mixing on her tongue. Apparently, Raphael’s grandfather was too cheap to spring for good vodka.
The thought of a rich man hesitating to cough up a few extra bucks for quality amused her.
Raphael entered, carrying a laptop. “Welcome to the office,” he said to Maisie. “I always do my best work here, because of the bar.”
He placed the laptop on the coffee table and opened it up, then pulled the ring from his pocket.
Maisie leaned forward to watch.
When he twisted off the top of the ring, a flat prong was revealed. He plugged it into an intermediary device, which he then slotted into the laptop’s USB port.
A moment later, the audio from the interrogation filled the room.
They listened in silence. When Detective Wilder thanked Maisie, she said, “I guess it’s about four minutes until Byron came out to the car.”
Each of her bosses seemed to be in his own little world, so Maisie remained quiet.
Then the audio started up again.
It was difficult to make herself listen to Byron’s threats. When they reached the part where he accused her of being a slut and sleeping with a married man, the room fell so quiet that Maisie wouldn’t even let herself swallow for fear of making a noise.
“I’m sorry that happened,” Raphael said when the recording ended. “And I think I owe you an apology. He’s very convincing.”
Maisie nodded, surprised.
“We’re going to discuss the situation in light of the folder’s contents,” Ethan said. “You did an excellent job, Maisie. Whatever Byron Ballystock believes privately, he doesn’t have a justifiable reason to go after you.”
She nodded.
“You can wander around the mansion if you’d like,” Raphael said. “Or visit the stables. We won’t be longer than ten or fifteen minutes.”
“There’s an indoor pond at the end of the hallway,” Trent said. “It’s pleasant.”
“That sounds perfect.”
“I’ll take you,” Raphael said, standing. His fingers resting on the small of her back, he guided her down the hall.
“Maisie,” he said. “I have to apologize again.”
She shook her head. “It’s my fault. I shouldn’t have been confrontational.”
“Yes and no. We want you perfectly submissive in the bedroom, but outside of it, this is like any other relationship. Being comfortable speaking your mind is vitally important. Yes, your approach was lacking, but after hearing that recording, I can’t fault your emotional response.”
She didn’t know what to say. The whole thing was making her uncomfortable.
“I also happen to think Byron is telling the truth,” Raphael said. “One of the other partners might be staying at the hotel and charging it to the company card. We do allow them a certain amount of leeway, and so long as the firm is reimbursed before the end of the billing cycle, we let it go. Maybe it’s time to end that practice. It would make the accountants happy.”
He rubbed his chin.
“I’ll make it up to you,” he said. “Maisie…”
“Yes?”
He suddenly leaned in and kissed her.
Warmth swirled in her core as his lips devoured hers. He was the opposite of how he’d been in the limo.
But his gentle kiss became increasingly demanding, and the air around them seemed to crackle with lust.
He roughly cupped the back of her head and kissed her harder. By the time he pulled away, her entire body was in aching agony for him.
Maisie stared into his eyes. She felt completely turned around and confused. She liked Raphael. He was attractive and very, very intelligent. Cultured, too.
But there always seemed to be a wall between them. During sex, when he was horny and dominant, taking what he wanted, the wall almost disappeared, but the moment things ended, it was back.
She couldn’t read his expression, but she felt something for him that until now had been mostly reserved for Ethan. Something deeper than lust and infatuation.
“You were in a band,” she said quietly.
She never would have dared, but for the first time, their interaction felt… It felt real. Like something more than two horny bodies vying for physical release.
He smiled a little. “I was. How did you know?”
“The picture on your bookcase.”
He moved closer, until his lips were almost touching hers. His eyes were half-lidded. “Most people never notice that, Maisie.”
His lips brushed hers, and she tilted her head back more, submitting to him.
“What else have you noticed?” he asked between teasing kisses.
“You have a tattoo,” she said, and she was bold enough to press her hand against his belt. “What is it?”
He stiffened slightly. “It’s nothing,” he said, and he was pulling away. “I’ll be back to get you soon. It shouldn’t take more than ten minutes.”
After he’d left, Maisie replayed the interaction.
Something was changing. It wasn’t just Raphael, either.
She was getting accustomed to these men, to having them in her life.
Which meant that when they got tired of their kinky games, they would leave her devastated.
There was so much she didn’t know about them, and right now, they were making decisions that would affect the rest of her life.
10
Raphael had left her at least half an hour ago.
She knew because she’d watched an episode of some new reality cooking show, and now it was finished. She didn’t want to start the next episode.
Thirty minutes, though. That was triple Raphael’s estimate. At the very least, he should have returned to check on her.
It wasn’t like Raphael to forget. He led his life with precision, even when he was smacking her ass and fucking her brains out. And apart from those instances, he was invariably polite.
Frowning, she smoothed down the bottom of the trooper’s shirt and went into the hallway.
She walked past the office. Apparently there were enormous sliding doors that closed the room off. She hadn’t noticed them—twenty-foot-long doors didn’t exist in her world.
She thought about knocking. Why had she come out here, if not to check in?
But had she thought they’d… what? Left her? Of course not.
So, why are you here?
The answer stirred up from deep within her.
Because the meeting was taking too long, and Raphael had been too busy or distracted to update her, which almost certainly meant something was wrong.
Her bosses wanted to keep her in the dark, to protect her, but Maisie didn’t agree with their reasoning. She’d believed them when they’d said they had nothing to do with Norman Ballystock’s death.
Without fully giving herself permission, she drifted closer to the closed doors, then closer still, her neck bent, her brow furrowed in concentration.
She couldn’t hear a damned thing.
For all she knew, they’d gone somewhere else… and might be returning at any second.
Just as she was about to pull away, she heard a man clearing his throat.
“I’m not saying it’s a bad plan,” Ethan said. “But it’s our last resort.”
Someone groaned. Probably Trent; Raphael was more likely to give a detailed argument listing the reasons he disagreed.
She couldn’t walk away now; she had to know what the plan was.
“Let’s think about this rationally,” Raphael said. “How much risk are we facing? What can we do to mitigate our exposure if we don’t take this preemptive step?”
“It’s easily undone once everything is settled,” Trent said.
“Oh?” Sarcasm dripped from Ethan’s voice. “So, I suppose you’re volunteering to sacrifice yourself?”
“My family would disown me,” Trent said. “Being second-generation Japanese comes with baggage. You know that.”
“My family’s not much better,” Raphael said. “I don’t want to get written out of my grandfather’s will.”
“So, you two came up with this brilliant idea, but I’m the one who will have to deal with the daily consequences.”
“It protects us all,” Raphael said. “Anyway, you were the one who brought it up first.”
“That’s a good point,” Trent said quickly. “What changed?”
Maisie’s frown deepened.
Were Trent and Raphael trying to talk Ethan into confessing? It had to be something along those lines.
They wanted Ethan to play the hero, yet again. He’d gotten the scar on his face while saving a former employee. Maisie still didn’t understand exactly what had happened that day—the two stories she’d heard had conflicted greatly on some pretty important details—but Ethan’s role of hero was indisputable.
Poor Ethan, she thought.
“Nothing changed,” Ethan said.
“You thought I’d be the one doing it,” Raphael said. “And I would. But after my brother’s antics the last few months, I can’t do that to my parents.”
“What if you don’t tell them?” Trent asked.
“What if you take the hit but don’t tell your parents?” Raphael asked.
“You know very well I can’t do that,” Trent said.
“All right,” Ethan said. “We don’t have to make a decision this instant.”
“Sooner is better than later,” Raphael said. “If we go that route, it needs to happen in the next week. You know that.”
“Maisie is probably getting restless,” Trent said. “That woman gets into trouble when she’s bored.”
Maisie scowled. She didn’t want to miss anything they said, but she especially didn’t want to get caught eavesdropping, so with great regret, she pulled herself away from the door and hurried back to where Raphael had left her.
She’d barely gotten herself situated when Raphael strolled in, his hands buried in his pockets, his expression distracted.
“Is everything all right?” she asked.
He tilted his head and looked at her for what seemed like an eternity. Fear began to crawl along Maisie’s spine—what if they knew she’d been listening?
She was just about to confess, to point out that she’d only overheard a little, when Raphael smiled.
“It will be,” he said. A thoughtful expression crossed his face. “I forgot to mention that your friend called the office this morning. Heather Plithen. From Lotani.”
Maisie felt like she’d come down with a sudden fever—chills and everything. “We went to school together, but I wouldn’t say she’s a friend.”
He nodded as if that made sense. “Well, she set an appointment for tomorrow. It seems Lotani is looking for new representation. If we were to take them on, they’d be one of our biggest clients, Maisie.”
She swallowed. “I think Heather might not be serious.”
“That was my first thought.” He sat on the chair beside her. “To be honest, her first message sounded like a prank. She claimed she’d met Ethan yesterday, but he only has a vague recollection of her. But because she also said she knew you, we returned her call.”
“You didn’t have to do that,” Maisie said, unable to savor the small victory of Ethan not having noticed Heather. She was worming her way in anyway.
“I’m glad we did. She’s coming with the Bobs. That’s Bob English and Robert Hollis, the founders of Lotani. Whatever you said to her on the street, she was impressed.”
“I didn’t—”
“Don’t be modest, Maisie. If we sign them, you’ll get a referral bonus. It would work out to quite a bit of money. Six figures.”
That was a lot of money. Enough to cover moving expenses when the owner of her condo found a buyer. She could pay off most, if not all, of her student loans and credit card debt.
But Maisie didn’t trust Heather. The scheming witch was up to something, and it probably had to do with Ethan.
11
Maisie was huddled in the doorway of the building next to Fortune Tower. She’d been staked out there for twenty minutes and counting.
Heather and the two Bobs were likely to show up any second now. Maisie didn’t know if they’d be coming in a taxi or a chauffeured car, so she scrutinized every vehicle that stopped in front of the building.
A dark gray sedan glided up to the curb.
Maisie couldn’t see the occupants, but she counted three people in the back.
The driver got out and sprinted around the car to get the door.
Now Maisie was positive. Heather was the kind of person who expected everyone to roll out the red carpet for her.
A pair of long legs emerged, followed by the rest of Heather.
Holy. Shit.
Heather’s tight black dress was completely inappropriate for the meeting. It was made from two fabrics, one solid black, the other a softer shade. It molded to her waist and hips.
The two men who followed her out of the car didn’t seem to be paying attention. Maybe they’d gotten desensitized.
But Heather would be a feast for the eyes of any heterosexual man. She tossed her head, and the sunlight played with her gleaming blonde hair.
Maisie’s mouth had gone completely dry. She pressed deeper into her hiding place. That fucking dress. It stopped several inches above Heather’s knees. It was suitable for a nightclub, not a business meeting.
But then, LB&B were the ones being interviewed here. Heather could show up in whatever she wanted, and no one would complain.
God, oh, god, why the hell had she told Heather where she worked?
One of the men said something—they were both in their fifties, Maisie guessed—and Heather threw back her head and laughed. Maisie didn’t need to hear it to know it was fake.
The three headed into the building, Heather’s hips swaying provocatively. Guys walking by stared openly.
That dress had probably been very expensive.
Up close, it was probably even sluttier.
Maisie paced in front of the building. Her heart was pounding in her chest, her throat, her head.
This was a spectacularly bad idea.
If she went up there, her bosses would probably kill her.
But then she imagined Heather in that skintight, low-cut dress, leaning on the conference table, giving Ethan an eyeful.
Maisie’s entire body shook with repressed rage, and she dipped into her purse to grab her cell phone.
“Good afternoon. LB&B Law. How may I help you today?”
It was Mrs. Donahue. Maisie would have recognized that voice anywhere; it populated plenty of her nightmares.
“Hi,” Maisie said, disguising her own voice, making it a little higher and assuming an exaggerated Southern accent. “May I speak with Jayne Torrabadella, please? It’s about a meeting.”
“One moment.”
The silence gave Maisie a chance to change her mind.
To think this through before it was too late.
But then an image popped up of Heather sitting on the edge of the conference room table, spreading her long, toned legs… Ethan pulling at his tie, lust in his eyes as he unzipped his pants and—
“Hello?”
“Jayne! It’s Maisie.”
“Oh, hi. How are—”
“Listen, LB&B has a referral program, right? Because I referred a friend, and she’s meeting with you guys today. It’s a corporate client. I’d like to attend the meeting as well.”
“Look at you, hustling. You don’t need to worry about getting your referral,” Jayne said. “They’re very honest about that.”
“Yes, well.” Maisie’s mind raced. It was difficult to think when she was in full-out panic mode. “My friend would feel better if I was at the meeting. I originally told her I couldn’t make it, but my job interview let out early, and it so happens that I’m here now.”
“Ok,” Jayne said hesitantly. “When’s the meeting?”
“In ten minutes. My friend is probably already there. She’ll be thrilled to see me.”
Maisie remembered how Heather’s ass had looked in that dress.
Then she remembered the one thing that Jayne always complained about: she never got to do any work for big clients.
Maisie felt like a piece of shit, but this was important. “The client is Lotani.”
“Lotani is looking for new representation?”
“I bet you’d fit in with what they’re looking for.” You’re scum, Maisie. She ignored the voice. “I should put in a good word for you. If you’re interested…”
Willful Violation (Lawyers Behaving Badly Book 3) Page 5
