Sexy Lies and Rock & Roll

by Sawyer Bennett

  Her message was blunt and to the point, and totally nothing more than some legal advice, I'm sure.

  So I moved on.

  Sort of.

  Not really.

  "So how's Emma doing?" I ask casually even though I swore to myself a million times today that I wouldn't ask. I keep my gaze on my steak as I cut a piece.

  She doesn't answer me, and I'm forced to look up. She's staring at me in amusement. "It's about time you asked."

  I shrug like it doesn't matter. "You don't have to tell me anything. I was just making some conversation."

  "Sure you were," she says with a chuckle. She doesn't say anything else, and that totally grates on my nerves.

  But because I'm a stubborn son of a bitch, and I'm not feeling up to amusing her further, I change the subject. "I'm thinking of selling my house and getting something a little smaller."

  "She's in Asheville," Midge says, finally answering my question, and that causes a jolt of surprise to spear through me.

  "What?" I ask, completely forgetting about my totally fake plans to downsize just to make conversation.

  "She moved to Asheville a few months ago," she says nonchalantly. "Had me get her a job at an old law school buddy's firm, doing mergers and acquisitions."

  I stare at Midge, slack jawed as that sinks in. I realize with brutal clarity I had some level of comfort being back in Raleigh, knowing Emma was just miles away from me if I ever got the nerve to go see her. But she's clear across the state now, and that couldn't be a clearer message to me.

  Feels like I lost her all over again.

  "Oh," is all I can say. I put my fork and knife down on my plate and push it away, no longer feeling hungry.

  "Totally a coward move," Midge adds on. "And frankly, I thought she was a little conceited for doing so."

  "Pardon?" I ask, completely off kilter now from the frosty tone of Midge's voice.

  Midge leans across the table a bit and says in a low, judgmental voice. "It's clear, Evan. She thought you would return and try to woo her back, and she knows how devastatingly charming you can be. So she made the decision to cut and run, and she's probably betting you'll come running after her. She wants to lead you on a merry chase across the state."

  I'm shaking my head. "She's not like that."

  "Of course she is," Midge scoffs. "Conceited and self-centered if you ask my opinion. I mean, you explained everything to her, and she didn't even give you the courtesy of considering the truth. You're probably better off to be rid of her."

  One of my eyebrows slowly rises upward and I give Midge a sardonic smile. "Really? You're taking that tack with me?"

  She grins slyly across the table. "Is it working?"

  "No, Midge," I tell her truthfully. "You can't bait me into doing something about this whole fiasco. Ball's in Emma's court."

  She shrugs. "Fine. Sit around and wait until you get gray hair. You're missing out on some happiness."

  "Emma's made her choice," I remind her, sounding determined to my own ears but knowing deep inside that I'd do anything to get her back.

  "Whatever," she says dismissively. "So, back to our fall trip. Cary and I are thinking of taking a month off, maybe more."

  "That's great," I say half-heartedly, because while I didn't like anything she just told me about Emma, I still enjoyed at least talking about her. The hollowness returns with a vengeance.

  "It is great," she agrees. "I'm looking forward to it. No work. No stress. No obligations."

  "You deserve it."

  "I'm glad you think so," she says bluntly "Because you're going to have to find another attorney to represent you against Tyler's lawsuit. I won't have time, and the responsive pleadings will be due when I'm gone."

  My jaw drops. "You can't be serious?"

  "Dead serious," she says. And oh yeah... that look in her eyes.

  Absolutely serious.

  "Assign another attorney in the firm," I challenge her.

  "No can do, nephew," she says with a sweet smile. "They're all too busy."

  "You have almost seventy attorneys," I say in exasperation.

  "And all of them are just so very busy," she coos at me.

  "You're a pain in my ass," I mutter, but secretly inside... I'm glad she's cutting me off.

  That means I have to find a new attorney to help me, and it appears I know of one such other person who could be right for the job.

  CHAPTER 28

  Emma

  My eyes skim over the paragraph entitled Interpretation and Enforcement Notices. I blink hard to keep my vision from going hazy.

  I yawn.

  Completely and utterly bored with what I'm doing.

  With a sigh, I push the document away from me and slouch down in my chair.

  I hate my job with a passion that creates a fiery burn in my belly.

  Hate it. Hate it. Hate it.

  Oh, the people here are nice enough. The firm is well respected, and this is earning quite a feather in my cap. The city of Asheville is lovely and progressive. The scenery is stunning. The food is good. The air smells sweet.

  And I hate it.

  A timid knock on my door arouses me from my dark thoughts, and I mutter, "Come in."

  The door slides open and Ben Cambridge stands there, looking hesitant but determined. "Hey. Got a minute?"

  Not really.

  "Sure," I say halfheartedly.

  "So, there's a jazz festival this weekend and I was wondering if you'd like to go," he says hopefully.

  I have to bite the inside of my cheek to stop from grimacing. To all outward appearances, Ben is exactly the type of guy I always saw myself settling down with. He's five years older than me, does quite well for himself here at this firm, and he told me at lunch the other day he wanted three kids and possibly a cat.

  He's also been hinting around at wanting to ask me out, and I've done everything to discourage it. I've been polite but businesslike with him, trying to focus conversation on this case I'm helping him with. I've refrained from asking him personal questions, and I've brushed off his compliments.

  Apparently, he's not been taking the hint.

  Another sigh, this time internal, but I give Ben a warm smile and tell him the God's honest truth. "I'm sorry, Ben. But I'm fresh off a bad break up, and I'm just not ready--"

  "Well, we could go just as friends," he provides helpfully.

  Shaking my head, I tell him, "That's a really nice offer, but I think I'm going to go back to Raleigh and see my dad for the weekend."

  I truly hadn't been considering doing that, because I know my dad will take one look at my face and know I hate my job and my life here, and I'm not ready to have the "I told you so" speech.

  Ben opens his mouth, to say what I don't know, but my phone chimes and the receptionist says, "Miss Peterson... your two o'clock is here to see you."

  I glance down at the day planner I keep on my desk. This law firm has a very sophisticated digital calendaring system, which I do use, but I also like my handwritten planner. It's old school, and that's still a very big part of me deep down.

  No clue what this appointment is about as the only thing I was provided on my digital calendar, that I dutifully transferred to my handwritten one, was that my client's name was Horace Wigglesworth and that he owned a large construction company that was interested in buying up several local companies.

  This didn't intrigue me and the only thing that has my attention in the slightest is the fact that this man had parents who apparently hated him because that's the most God-awful name I'd ever heard.

  "I'll be right there," I tell the receptionist, then I hit the disconnect button.

  Standing from my chair, I give Ben another polite smile. "Again, thank you for the offer, but it's just not a good time for me and besides... going home this weekend and all."

  "Sure," Ben says, giving me almost a tiny bow as he backs out of my office, but there's no mistaking the disappointment in his eyes.

  Smoothing dow
n my skirt, I nab a yellow pad off my desk along with a pen and make my way up to the reception area. This firm is only about a quarter of the size of Knight & Payne, and it's decorated in a more traditional style. The firm itself is in a converted historic home. Heavy cherry furniture with brocade fabrics, emerald green carpeting and dark paneled walls. It's exactly the type of environment I'd once longed for, and yet I find myself missing the noise of The Pit or the rumble of the highway underneath a tour bus while I worked on my laptop.

  When I step out into the lobby, I immediately focus on the receptionist as she hands me a clipboard with an informational sheet attached to the top that Mr. Wigglesworth--internal giggle because seriously, so stupid--filled out. I give it a brief scan, not really taking in any of the background information.

  Instead, I turn halfheartedly to my newest client as I say his name, "Mr. Wigglesworth."

  When my gaze lands on him, a surge of adrenaline washes through me and my knees almost buckle as I see Evan sitting in a high-backed Victorian chair done in gray, mauve, and green paisley silk. He swamps the chair with his frame and looks completely out of place in his classic rocker wear. Faded jeans with a hole in one knee, black Chucks unlaced, and a dark gray V-necked t-shirt. He's got a burgundy-colored beanie on his head under which his bangs are tucked, exposing the smooth lines of his forehead and making me take stock of his brilliantly expressive hazel eyes as they bore into me.

  "What are you doing here?" I whisper.

  "Having a consultation," he says as he pushes up out of the chair. "I'm in the market for a new lawyer."

  My head snaps back to the receptionist, intent on glaring at her for letting a man into this firm who's clearly not a Horace Wigglesworth, but as I look at Gloria with her gray-bunned hair bent over her computer and her old-fashioned reading glasses on, I realize she'd have no clue who Evan Scott was. As famous as he is, she's not exactly his demographic of fan.

  Taking two steps, I walk up to Evan. In a very low voice so Gloria can't hear me, I tell him, "I'm sorry. I'm not taking new clients on, so if you'll excuse me--"

  Evan's hand shoots out and grabs my upper arm. His head drops down, and he whispers back to me in a very threatening tone, "If you don't meet with me about my case, I'm going to toss you over my shoulder and walk right out of here with you in tow. So to save yourself some embarrassment, how about finding us a nice, quiet conference room or something where we can talk civilly."

  A pure thrill of excitement runs through me over his words, and I find myself strangely not offended in the slightest. In fact, there's something frankly wicked about the whole prospect of him doing such a thing.

  I'm sure the folks at Crowley and Padrick, a firm that's been around for over eighty years, would be completely scandalized if Evan did such a thing with me.

  I would be completely scandalized. I'd be mad, affronted, and completely embarrassed. It wouldn't be appropriate, completely unprofessional, and I wouldn't be able to look any of my peers in the face for as long as I live if it happened.

  So I square my shoulders, notch my chin up an inch, and glare at him. "I have nothing to say to you, so I'm going to ask you to leave."

  Evan's eyes flash with challenge, and he emits a small growl of victory. Then my world is spinning as his shoulder goes into my belly and I'm flipped practically upside down over his back. His hand goes to my butt to hold me in place, and I can't help the small shriek of surprise--no, happiness--that runs through me over his alpha ways.

  I hear Gloria gasp in shock as Evan spins toward the door, and I raise my head up to look at her. She has her hand covering her mouth and her eyes are wide with surprised uncertainty. Her other hand hovers over the phone, and I'm pretty sure she's thinking of dialing 911.

  "It's fine, Gloria," I huff out since breathing is a bit difficult from this position. "Mr. um... Wigglesworth is an old friend. I'll be back soon."

  "Don't count on it," Evan mutters as he strides right out the door and onto the sidewalk.

  Without pausing, he turns sharply left and walks down the block with me bouncing on his shoulder, causing unladylike grunts to come out of me.

  "For God's sake, Evan," I say as I slap at his back. "Put me down. I can't breathe."

  I expect him to ignore me, but, to my surprise, he lowers me down, letting my feet touch the concrete gently. But then he's got my hand in his and he's dragging me back down the sidewalk.

  For a brief moment, I think to be affronted, but I can't bring myself to do it. For the past two months, I've kicked myself in the butt so many times for not reaching out to Evan, so now I couldn't be any happier that's he's here. I have no clue why he's here, but I'm just so freaking happy right now.

  Evan turns left at the next intersection and marches me twenty yards to a black car parallel parked. He opens the passenger door and says, "Get in."

  So I get in.

  I watch as he walks around the front, holding my breath until he slides into the driver's seat and closes his door. He then turns to face me. "So will you take my case?"

  I cock an eyebrow at him. "I don't know, Mr. Wigglesworth. What's it about?"

  Evan smirks at me, and God... I missed his smirk. How can I miss a smirk?

  "Tyler sued me for wrongful termination and breach of contract," he replies.

  "That asshole," I exclaim with indignation.

  "I know," he says sagely. "And I refuse to pay him a dime. I'll fight this to the death, and I need a really good attorney to handle this for me."

  He wants me.

  Well, as his attorney.

  My gaze drops to my lap. "Midge would handle it for you."

  "She absolutely would," he agrees softly, and his hand comes out to rest over mine, which are clenched together. I look up at him. "But I don't want her."

  "You don't?" I whisper.

  "I want you," he says gently. "Like really bad."

  "You do?" I ask in awe, because... how could he? He reached out to me two months ago. Explained everything that happened. He had been manipulated. Violated by his best friend. And I turned my back on everything we had because my feelings had been hurt, and not even by him.

  "Yeah, Emma," he says gruffly. "I want you. Completely. In every way a man could want a woman."

  My gaze drops back down again, my cheeks heating. It's been so long since he's made them warm, but this time it's not with embarrassment, but with guilt aimed directly at myself. "I don't understand why. I didn't give you the benefit of the doubt. I ignored you. I cut you off, even when deep down, I knew you were telling me the truth of what happened that day."

  "You gave me your opinion," he tells me.

  My head snaps his way. "I what?"

  "You sent me an email and you told me not to take the Phoenix deal," he reminds me. "I'd been after you for weeks to tell me what you thought I should do, and you wouldn't. You always held back, afraid to trust that I would value your opinion in something that would have a very major impact on my life."

  "It was just a thought--" I try to argue, but his hand squeezes mine to cut me off.

  "It was the moment you showed me that you trusted me enough that you'd risk giving your opinion," he says with surety. "You may not have seen that for what it was, but I did."

  "Then why didn't you respond to me?" I ask him, my eyes searching his face for an answer that is very important to me.

  "Because I think at that point, everything was still very raw for you," he explains. "I mean... your message was very short and blunt. It gave me no further encouragement to do anything, and frankly... I think you needed to sort of figure these things out. So I waited for you to do that and then reach out to me once you were sure."

  "But I didn't reach out to you," I point out.

  "Yeah, you did," he assures me. "You walked into Midge's office and demanded a job on the other side of the state. You knew that would provoke me."

  "No, I didn't," I deny vehemently, but then I give him a small truth. "But maybe deep down, I hoped it would.
"

  Evan chuckles and he moves his hand from mine, bringing it to the back of my neck where he grips me gently.

  "Evan," I say with complete apology, "I should have reached out. I should have told you I believed in you."

  "It's okay," he offers me gallantly.

  "No," I tell him with a shake of my head. "I was too afraid to make the move. Every day that went by I didn't hear from you, or that I failed to reach out to you, I convinced myself you'd moved on. I just figured you'd given up, and that I would be totally humiliated and hurt all over again if I contacted you. I convinced myself I'd blown it, and I wasn't brave enough to find out if that was true or not."

  "Emma," Evan says as his fingers tighten on me to make a point. "It's done. That's all in the past. I'm here now. It's time to figure out what we want to do with our future."

  "Do you forgive me?" I ask, because I really need to know if I still have some more groveling to do.

  "Only if you forgive me for ever letting myself get put into that stupid position," he says with a smile.

  I shake my head and reach out, placing my hand on his chest. "No. That was all Tyler. You trusted him and never would have thought he'd betray you that way."

  Evan gives me a curt eye roll, and then silences any further protest by pulling me into him and placing his mouth against mine. His kiss is all at once savage and regretful, sweet and fulfilling.

  I missed it so much.

  When he pulls away from me, he leans his forehead against mine. "So how soon can you move back to Raleigh?"

  "I need to give two weeks' notice," I say without hesitation.

  "Then you'll go on my payroll," he tells me, and this causes me to pull back so I can look at him.