by Mary Brady
Matthew picked up his list defiantly and scanned it. After several seconds he wadded up the sheet and looked up. “I don’t really care. I’m only here because my dad said I have to if I want to play sports. The money ain’t that much anyway.”
Delainey shook her head almost imperceptibly at Matthew’s attitude and casual language. Hunter doubted any of the others noted her response. She’d make a damned fine attorney.
* * *
ONE DOWN, DELAINEY THOUGHT. She doubted the rest would go down this easily. Last night instead of sleeping, she had tried to predict the response of each one of her frustrated coworkers.
And being yanked from her car and kissed senseless had not been soothing or sleep inducing.
She could barely look at Hunter without wanting to chase the rest of them out of the room and lock the door. He wore a suit of the caliber of the one he had on the day he arrived. This one was charcoal-gray and tailored to perfection. The starched shirt underneath was the slightest peach, making the subtle statement that he might be the man, but he was approachable. She found herself wanting to do just that, approach him, and she was grateful to be in a roomful of angry chaperones.
Patty went next by standing up to show the punishment inflicted on her as she held out her arms, encased in attractive flowing sleeves. Then she brushed her hands down the front of the gray pleated wool skirt Delainey suspected had been in Patty’s cedar closet for several decades. She looked quite nice and Delainey had the feeling they’d see her dress as if she worked in a law firm from now on.
Carol expressed her concern that the unfortunate of Bailey’s Cove might be even more underserved if Morrison and Morrison couldn’t help them out with reduced fees and free services.
Hunter listened quietly, his gaze assessing each one of them and lighting her on fire.
They all spoke the complaints and concerns they were willing to share, which Delainey knew to be far fewer than those mentioned in the break room yesterday.
Without Hunter asking, they did agree to buy their own coffee but were not willing to give up anything else, and the wage freeze was out of the question.
When they were finished, most of them sat with their arms folded over their chests. Hunter did not say a word for the longest time. He sat tall, a neutral expression on his face, leaning slightly forward with his hands on the table over the packet of papers he had brought.
He wore alpha as a suit of armor. Impeccable. Delicious.
After a few minutes of silence, when they were all squirming in their chairs, Hunter stood slowly and placed his fingertips on the table. He looked at each of them, pausing for the person to look him in the eye before moving on to the next.
“As explained in the memorandum you received, Morrison and Morrison is in financial trouble.” He spoke very slowly, in a deadly calm voice. “By Monday I want to hear your collective plan for cutting back on hours paid. I want a plan for the reduction of 2.8 FTEs in this room at nine a.m. If you can’t come up with a plan, one will be provided for you.”
He pushed off the table, turned and strode deliberately away, leaving the door open behind him and the room in absolute silence.
Delainey gripped the seat of her chair hard. It didn’t matter what message Hunter had delivered. He was hot. She wasn’t sure if she agreed with him. Heck, she wasn’t sure of much except that if she had seen this side of him during that last summer, she might have followed him to the moon, lived in a tent if she had to, just to be with him.
The people around her were chattering. Someone shook her.
“Delainey, what do you think?”
She cleared her throat, but the image of Hunter walking away as if...was stuck tight in her brain. She was going to have to do some work on that. Dragging Brianna around in a tent would never do.
“What do you think, Delainey?”
Ah-yuh. If she told Carol or any of them what she was thinking, they might not be scandalized, but they would feel as though she had jumped ship.
“You didn’t present your alternatives.”
“We don’t think this Morrison is going to be here long.” Patty was being petulant. “We can cut 2.8 FTEs from his hours.”
Delainey furrowed her brows hard in disapproval. “You won’t include anything in any plan that involves cutting something from the attorneys.”
Someone sniggered.
“I know what I’d cut,” Matthew said.
“Enough, Matthew.”
“Who made you boss, anyway?” he retorted.
Matthew was as smart as any kid who thought French fries counted as a vegetable and that anybody who didn’t know what zone defense was should just crawl in a hole and pull the dirt in on top of themselves.
“Of you?” Delainey asked as she adopted a relaxed and unconcerned pose. “Your father made me in charge of you. Coach Coldwell made me in charge of you. When he called me, I got you this job so the judge wouldn’t sentence you to community service to be carried out during ball practice. The recruiters you expect to come and watch you play football or basketball or whatever your best sport is made me in charge of you.”
“I can’t see how you can help me.”
She looked around the room at the rest of the people. “Do you really want to do this here?”
“Why not? I’m tired of you trying to push me around.”
She raised her chin. “Each and every one of those people I just mentioned expect you to be a team player by next year, to know how to respect authority. And I’ve been elected to help you learn how. Are we clear here?”
He seemed furious, but the defiance quickly changed to a kind of understanding. He nodded to her. “Yes, ma’am,” he said, and looked away.
“That said, Matthew, I think you will make one heck of a ballplayer if you can do that,” she said, hoping to hand him back some of the dignity he had just lost.
“Maybe it was Mr. Morrison’s fat salary that pushed us into bankruptcy,” Eddie the intern offered.
“Not helpful, Eddie.” Delainey doubted Hunter had accepted any money from Shamus, nor was he likely to, but defending him wasn’t going to help at all.
Cammy stood up. “I’ve got something to say.”
Everyone stopped talking because Cammy rarely said anything. “If we’re all wrong and Mr. Morrison is right, I’ll give up 0.2 of my hours if it means the office will stay open.”
That kept them all quiet. Cammy could least afford what she was offering. She had four children and her father-in-law lived with the family, too.
“Why don’t we all go back to work and we’ll each think of our own plan to cut 2.8 FTEs. And this time, we’ll bring our cost-cutting ideas to Mr. Morrison and see if we can hack that 2.8 back a bit by cutting in other ways.”
Maybe Cammy’s wisdom and generosity would help the others see this wasn’t an us-against-them but a fight for survival that required teamwork.
Monday would be an interesting day.
When the room cleared, Delainey found herself drawn to the two portraits of the founders of Morrison and Morrison on the wall for probably the millionth time over the years. They were both a bit heavy and the family resemblance between them was scant at best. The blond one might have a trace of resemblance to Hunter, maybe the ears or eyes. The other man, his great-great-uncle, had dark eyes that seemed to be opened slightly in surprise. They almost looked like Brianna’s. Every time she thought that, she had to remind herself, so did many other dark eyes on the planet.
* * *
ONCE SHE’D FINISHED almost everything she had to do that day, the office was nearly deserted. She wanted to talk to Hunter about Stevie Anning. Since she expected an argument or at least a protracted discussion resulting in extra time at the office, she called her mother and asked her to keep Brianna for an hour or so longer than usual. Her mother agreed cheerfully, maybe
too cheerfully. Her arthritis must have been kicking up, but heaven forbid she turn one of her daughters down. At least Brianna wasn’t much trouble anymore.
Stevie Anning’s photo clipped to the outside of his file made her think of him every time she came into the office. His innocent face made a knot of anger form in her stomach. She picked up the file and headed across the hall.
Morrison and Morrison might be the only hope for this little boy.
She paused to prepare her addled brain to face Hunter. She had to be able to control herself for the sake of accomplishing something and for her own peace of mind. All she’d thought about last night had been Hunter. She had played out every scenario she could think of to put the two of them together for happily every after and each time, she’d come up with the same answer. She and Brianna in Bailey’s Cove and Hunter in Chicago or jetting around the world in the high-stakes, adrenaline-producing game of international monetary law. One woman and one child just didn’t stack up against the rest of the world.
CHAPTER TEN
HUNTER’S DOOR WAS OPEN, but his back was turned. When Delainey tapped on the oak of the old paneled door with frosted-glass windows on the upper third, he turned in his chair and placed the file he had been reading on the desk. He looked up at her and pressed his lips together as if he expected the rest of the staff to be right behind her and wanted to make sure his arsenal was full with all guns ready to fire at once.
The alpha Hunter was still here. This mind-set must make him put out mating pheromones, because the urge to leap up onto his desk and slide into his arms was nearly irresistible.
Nearly. She’d come for another reason. She’d focus on that.
“I’m by myself,” she reassured him.
He smiled. “Did I look that obvious?”
“To me you did.” The connection she’d thought might have been irrevocably broken was still there.
She took one of the chairs, moved it until it was directly across the desk from him and sat down as if she were at home. She needed to make the situation seem as though she already owned it.
“Hunter, I have something to talk to you about.”
“That much I knew because you’re here when you are usually dashing out the door to pick up your daughter from your mother’s. And you’ve moved my furniture around to your own liking.”
“You know my mother babysits my daughter because they talk a lot in the break room.”
“And in the hallway, the lobby, the bathroom. Do they really not know how well the sound travels in this old building? Every time a toilet flushes or a loud discussion goes on in the bathroom, I hear it.”
“Sorry, I know that and so do most of them. We should have installed you in Harriet’s office until she got back. At least you can’t hear the plumbing as well over there.”
She put Stevie’s file on the desk. The innocent face stared up at him, but Hunter didn’t seem impressed as he opened the folder to look inside.
When he saw the big N/C Carol had put at the top of the first page, he glanced up at her. “It didn’t take them long.”
There was a challenge in his eyes, but when his unwavering gaze inflamed her at the core, she was sure it did not have the effect he had intended. The challenge heightened his allure. He probably smelled wonderful, of wood smoke, spice and man. He certainly looked tantalizing, with his tie loosened and the collar of his shirt unbuttoned. She wanted to put her lips on his bare throat.
And she so much wanted to get control of herself and get the job she’d come for done.
She leaned forward in her chair and touched Stevie’s file.
“I thought you should have a look at this. It’s time for an attorney to look anyway. Most of the work has been done off the clock. They worked on this one even before you came. I didn’t see it until last week.”
He flipped the file cover closed so he could see the picture again. “He looks about Brianna’s age.”
He wanted to see the boy’s face again. There might be hope to be had in that fact. “A year younger.”
“Too young to know if what his uncle is telling him is real or a lie.”
“Old enough to recognize there will be consequences if he doesn’t do as his uncle says.” Anger twisted her gut and made her want to rush out and steal the boy away. Let the adults sort out the facts when the child was safe.
“Has anyone vetted the neighbor besides the police?”
“She’s Carol’s sister’s best friend.”
“Of course she is. Does Carol wear that getup often?”
“At Christmas she has a pair of green glasses she wears with it.”
He was trying to keep things light. It would be easier to let her down softly if she was in a good mood. Sorry, Hunter, suddenly, I read you like an open book, she thought.
“How good is this office’s rapport with the Department of Health and Human Services?”
“So-so, since everyone is more jittery around privacy laws. All we really know is the claims have been considered unsubstantiated on both complaints lodged by Carol’s sister’s friend.”
“Does Carol have any more details that aren’t in the file?”
She shook her head. “I spoke with the officers and they couldn’t give me anything except more frequent patrols. I think Carol sent her sister back to try to find out what the friend reported to the police, but nothing from that quarter yet.”
“Why do we think this man is guilty?”
Why do “we”...? “Because Carol’s sister is insistent that her friend is not a nutcase.” She tucked her hair behind her ears.
He nodded but still didn’t seem impressed.
“Because the boy is five and there might be no one to help him if we don’t,” she continued.
“If we wanted to, could we do anything about him today?” Hunter asked, using the most deadly of weapons—logic.
“Not unless we have proof.” Delainey’s hope ebbed and she shifted her gaze from the boy’s picture to the purple light of the waning day outside the windows. “And sitting out front of his house to get it didn’t go well for me.”
She looked up at him. Hadn’t gone well at all.
He held her gaze. “We need to table this for today and we can talk about it if anything changes.”
Delainey nodded. There was nothing they could do right now. The wheels of justice sometimes moved slowly.
“You can tell Carol to keep me posted.”
Nodding slowly, she stared out the window again, feeling more than a little relief he didn’t tell her Morrison and Morrison wouldn’t be doing any more work on the case.
The fluffy clouds floated by as if there were nothing in the world to be concerned about. What would her world look like if there were nothing to be concerned about? What if she had no cares at all?
She’d be an attorney in Bailey’s Cove. She’d have her own practice. Her parents would be happy and well. Her daughter would be sweet, smart and lovable—well, at least she had that one.
She brought her gaze back to Hunter and found him studying her. She didn’t care. She had no cares in her world. She studied him back. He had a part in his hair. He didn’t used to have one. He used to wear his hair all pushed back, an easy comb job with his fingers. His face held that pallor most of them got from the long darkness of winter. But it didn’t detract from his looks. His eyebrow arched at her and she let a small smile crook her lips.
After another moment, she got up from the chair, closed the office door and turned the lock. Then she went to the window, where she flicked the blinds closed. By the time she stepped around him and leaned against his desk, she had found enough courage to continue.
“I can’t stop thinking about kissing you, Hunter.”
She ran the tip of one finger down his cheek. When she got to his chi
n, she changed to her thumb and pressed the pad into the sexy depression she had always loved.
She stared at the spot at the base of his throat. She wanted to kiss him there.
She’d regret it if she did, but she might regret letting this pass by even more if she didn’t press her lips to that tempting hollow.
She took hold of his tie and untangled the knot. He watched her, his expression neutral, but his nostrils flared and she knew he felt the same river of heat threatening to sweep her away.
Then she slid her hands inside the jacket of his suit and smoothed her palms across the luscious peach shirt. Moving her hands up to his shoulders, she pushed until he shifted back in the chair, his eyes locked to hers. With one hand, she reached behind her and pushed everything on his desktop aside.
She was crazy to do this and crazy with wanting him. With a movement she made look lazy and casual, she hiked up her skirt so she could lift her leg high enough to sit on the cool, smooth wood of the desk.
And then she brought his chair closer, until he had to look up at her. His lips parted and when they did, she took his face in her hands and slowly lowered her mouth to his.
Hunter. She would have Hunter again.
Their lips touched and this time softness quickly became searching need. He put a hand behind her head and deepened the kiss. She slid her hands into his hair and splayed her fingers to hold his head captive, to make him stay with her, with the kiss.
He rested one hand on her knee and squeezed gently. Raging need inside her wanted him to touch her. Take her to heaven. Give her back what she had lost all those years ago.
She moved her mouth away from his and down his neck until she could bury her lips at the base of his throat, that vulnerable spot.
As she kissed around his collar and back up to his mouth, he inched his hand slowly up her thigh, pressing, massaging until she thought she would have to have him touch her or she’d die.
She leaned forward and he tugged her off the desk and into his lap. He pressed hard against her thigh and his hand moved upward until his fingers touched her birthmark.
