“Holy fuck,” I mutter, and it’s loud enough even Mrs. Craig heard it. I lower my voice and tell Leary, “That is the most disgusting fucking thing I have ever seen.”
“I’m right there with you,” she says, her voice sounding awestruck and horrified at the same time.
The baby comes out. After a few more pushes, what I’m guessing is the placenta slithers from her. I start to gag and squeeze my eyes shut. I try to think of Viveka and will my hard-on to come back, which had been deader than a doornail once the doctor took the scalpel to that poor women’s pussy.
The image of Viveka’s beautiful, model-esque face helps. Thankfully the nausea subsides. I take deep breaths—the kind I expect Leary will receive instruction on at some point during this course—and I start to feel a little better.
I’m absolutely terrified though, of what Leary is going to have to go through when she gives birth in a couple of months. I grab her hand and whisper, “Please get drugs. Don’t try that shit without them.”
She turns to stare at me with wide eyes and nods. “Oh yeah… I’m asking for all the drugs.”
♦
Leary walks through the café carrying two cups of coffee. After sitting through what may have been the absolute worst hour of my life, I felt the least she could do was buy me a cup.
I have to admit, she looks apologetic when she sits in the chair opposite of me, pushing the cardboard cup of an Americano toward me.
“I’m thinking I definitely want an epidural,” Leary says with a huff as she eases back in the chair.
I nod. “Can’t they just knock you out or something?”
“I actually think I can schedule a cesarean section and be completely unconscious through the entire thing,” she says, and I can’t tell if she’s joking or not. Given that Leary is probably the strongest woman I have ever met, I know she’s not going to be afraid of a little birthing pain. Still, I guarantee you she doesn’t want to shit herself in front of everybody either.
Leary picks up her cup and takes a sip. She grimaces and sets it back down.
“What’s wrong with it?” I ask.
“It’s not coffee, that’s what’s wrong with it. I can’t have caffeine, so I’m stuck with some decaf herbal tea shit.”
I grimace in commiseration. That would suck to have to give up coffee.
“What’s new with you?” she asks as she puts her elbows on the table and rests her chin in the palms of her hands. Leary’s face is not only fuller from the weight she’s put on with the pregnancy, but her features are softened in a way that’s almost magical. Like she’s filled with some type of weird inner peace that makes everything in her world rosy. She’s going to be such a good mother. I can just feel it.
I toy with the edge of my cup. “I had something interesting happen to me yesterday.”
“Does it have to do with Drake Powell getting shut down at Swan’s Mill?”
My eyebrows shoot up. “How did you hear about that?”
Leary smirks and pushes from the table, settling back into her chair. “Who do you think? Midge.”
Of course. Midge Payne, the senior partner and matriarch of the law firm. She knows everything that happens within that practice, although how is quite the mystery. She never leaves her office, rarely talks to any of us, and is reclusive. Yet, she knows things.
But then it hits me how Midge found out. She has a financial interest as she is a silent investor in the Swan’s Mill development. In addition to being one of the best lawyers the state of North Carolina has ever seen, Midge is also real estate royalty when it comes to the capital area. She actually owns the building that houses our law firm, which is one of the larger ones downtown. Like she herself owns a fucking twenty-six-story building.
“So what happened?” Leary asks.
“Apparently, there’s a woodpecker on the endangered species list nesting there. The attorney got a temporary injunction to stop Drake from progressing on the construction.”
“That doesn’t sound all that interesting,” Leary says, and she makes this observation because she can tell by the tone of my voice and the set to my body when a legal case really excites me.
And I’m sorry, but helping Drake in this scenario doesn’t interest me all that much. I couldn’t give two fucks about the red-cockaded woodpecker.
“There was a woman…” I hedge. She nods in acknowledgment of the fact that with me, it’s almost always about a woman.
“Go on,” she urges.
“She was chained to a pine tree when I got over to the site.”
Leary’s eyebrows shoot up so high they almost disappear into her hairline.
I grin. “A really sexy, blonde Swedish woman.”
Her face twists in disbelief. “You’re making that up.”
“Am not.”
Leary starts chuckling and shaking her head. “Only you, Ford.”
I laugh right along with her for a moment before it fizzles. My tone gets serious. “She represents an animal rights group, and she’s the one who filed the injunction. I fucked her last night.”
I’ll give Leary credit. She has one of the best poker faces around. She doesn’t so much as let a facial muscle tick in response to that.
I continue, “And I really don’t want to get involved in this case.”
That causes Leary to have a slight reaction. By that, I mean her expression gets very worried. She tilts her head. “Because there’s a hot woman involved who you fucked?”
I muster up as much professionalism as I can. “It’s a serious conflict of interest. After last night, I really have no business staying on this case.”
Leary just cocks an eyebrow.
“It would be the professional thing for me to do… step down from the case. Let another attorney handle it.”
Leary leans across the table and murmurs, “Do you intend to continue to see her?”
I shrug. I have no clue whether I should or shouldn’t. I believe Viveka Jones could be very dangerous to get involved with. There’s just too much I actually like about her.
“Maybe,” I admit.
“If it’s just about fucking, there really isn’t a conflict. You can continue to bang her and still represent Drake adequately.”
I snort because Leary is wrong about that. It would be a huge conflict of interest. The reason why she’s downplaying it is because that’s how she met her husband. She and Reeve were on opposite sides of a case, and they were doing a whole lot of hanky-panky while battling each other in the courtroom.
And truth be told, I’m not much for the rules either. There has been an occasion or two over my career that I’ve banged opposing counsel. Never lost a moment’s sleep about it.
Leary’s gaze narrows, and she gives a slight shake to her head. “There has to be more to it than just a conflict of interest. What is your real hesitation?”
I hate to admit anything that makes me seem vulnerable. Then again, this is Leary sitting across the table. There’s no one safer for me to let in on my secrets. “Maybe I don’t want her to lose.”
“You’re not much of an animal lover, Ford. So I know you’re not looking out for the woodpecker’s best interest.”
“I’m aware of that,” I reply dryly.
“That means you like her then,” Leary surmises.
“I don’t even know her,” I return blandly.
She levels me with a knowing smile. “You know her enough.”
She would be right about that. In the last twenty-four hours, I learned enough about Viveka Jones to know she’s different from any other woman I’ve been with. I would like to say it’s probably because she’s the most beautiful woman I’ve ever seen, but that’s not exactly it. I’d also like to hypothesize that her beauty in combination with her clear intelligence and passion about what she does makes her attractiveness unparalleled.
But that’s not quite it either.
I think it all boils down to that one moment where she took my hand, shoved it roughly betw
een her legs, and asked me to get her off. It was probably the first time I remember feeling needed by a woman.
I’m talking about a true, genuine need that wasn’t exaggerated or done with any ulterior purpose. It was a pure request.
And for some reason, I really like that feeling.
CHAPTER 6
Viveka
When my eyes start to glaze over, I know it’s time for me to put the legal research aside. I’m normally a whiz at this sort of stuff, but I’ve been having a hard time concentrating. That’s because the area of law I am researching pertains directly to the injunction I got against Landmark Builders, and I can’t think about this case without thinking about Ford Daniels.
I have come to the point where I need to admit it was stupid to have slept with him. Not that there’s anything wrong with a one-night stand. But they are meant to be over and done with and you don’t think about them anymore.
Now the sexy litigator from uptown is doing nothing but occupying my thoughts.
I back out of the North Carolina Court of Appeals case I had been reviewing where an injunction was upheld when developers tried to encroach on land that held an endangered tadpole. Amazing that such a tiny creature could cause such a ruckus.
I decide to sift through my emails, which have been accumulating for the last few hours while I did my online legal research.
I have a few from some existing clients wanting to know the status of their cases. Since I know every single case by heart and don’t even need to pull the files, I’m able to answer them swiftly. I also respond to an email from one of the assistant district attorneys who is going to be prosecuting an animal cruelty case. I’m often asked to consult because these cases are fairly rare and obscure, and animal rights lawyers such as myself have a better grasp of the law.
Hell, I’ve helped state congressmen draft some of the laws that are in effect today in North Carolina.
I read an email from a concerned citizen that her neighbor, a pig farmer, isn’t slaughtering his livestock in a humane way. Although the thought of it brings tears to my eyes, there is no way I can help on this case. I have my limits, and cruelty cases involving inhumane slaughter techniques is it for me. I respond by giving a recommendation for a fellow attorney here in Wake County who handles cases such as these.
When the door to my office opens, I don’t even bother raising my head. My walk-in traffic is almost nonexistent, and I have no appointments scheduled today. I assume it’s Frannie stepping over while she’s on a short break, so I merely hold a finger up and say, “Give me a minute to read this last email.”
“Take your time,” I hear, and my head snaps up in recognition of that deep, sexy voice belonging to none other than Ford.
He stands there casually in a designer suit with his hands tucked into his pockets, giving me a roguish grin.
“What are you doing here?” There’s no time to analyze my voice, which comes out all breathy and curious at the same time.
“It’s quitting time,” he says.
I glance down at the clock on my computer screen, quirking a brow when I return my gaze to him. “It’s only four thirty.”
He gives me a mischievous grin. “It’s the perfect time to go have a drink. What do you say?”
I want to say yes, yes, yes. The man I’ve been fantasizing about all day is now standing before me looking even better than I remembered him the night before, and the night before was spectacular.
Still, I narrow my eyes and ask, “Is asking me for a drink code for a booty call?”
Ford doesn’t answer me. He doesn’t laugh and shoot me a wink. He doesn’t come back with a witty remark filled with the appropriate amount of sexual innuendo.
Instead, he turns away and walks over to the wall that borders Frannie’s hair salon. If I put my ear up to it, I can sometimes hear people talking on the other side.
With his hand still tucked in his pockets, Ford casually peruses the items that are hanging there. That would include one framed news article that was written about me seven years ago, my undergraduate and law degree, and a cheap print of a basket full of Golden retriever puppies in a plastic gold frame. That’s probably my most favorite because it was given to me by a little boy whose parents hired me to successfully wrangle away a dog who was being abused next door to them.
Ford stands before it, examining it as if it were a Degas in the Musée d’Orsay. He lifts his chin up, indicating the picture of the puppies. “This is humbling.”
I cock my head. “How so?”
He cranes his neck to glance over his shoulder briefly before turning back to the basket full of puppy goodness on the wall. “I’ve got about twenty thousand dollars’ worth of sculptures and art in my office, yet I bet this one little picture has more meaning than the entirety of my office.”
My mouth drops open over his observation, but nothing seems to come out. I knew Ford had to be loaded since he was a partner at Knight & Payne. I’d also went to his fancy high-rise apartment that would fit my entire little house in his living room. With wealth comes luxuries, so I’m not surprised the art in his office constitutes almost half my yearly income.
I am surprised, however, that he understands that what’s hanging on my wall tells a very important story about me and the career I’ve chosen.
Ford moves over to the news article I’d had framed. It was one of my prouder moments, helping Congressman Irving in our district to beef up the animal cruelty statutes here in North Carolina. The article only mentions me in one line, and I’m not even quoted, but the congressman gave me most of the credit for drafting the new statutes. It was sweet and very rewarding.
Ford stands before the article and reads it. I don’t say a word.
When he finally turns to face me, he says, “So you protect endangered species and you help draft legislation. Past that, though, I have no fucking clue what an animal lawyer does.”
My head falls back to make room for the unbidden laugh that comes over the consternation in his voice. I lean back in my chair, completely amused. He doesn’t ask for an invitation, but moves over to elegantly sit in one of my guest chairs opposite my desk.
“I do a lot of different things,” I explain because my area of law is indeed quite obscure. “I work on animal cruelty cases. Sometimes, I’ll help the D.A. prosecute abusers, or I’ll sue for custody of an animal that’s being mistreated. I review contracts related to animals—like sales contracts or even divorce custody clauses over who gets the cat and the dog. I’ve taught some law courses and helped set up a few nonprofits. Really, I’ll do anything that relates to the protection and safety of animals.”
“And that’s all you do? No other type of law.”
“Just animal law,” I say proudly.
“I’m guessing it doesn’t pay a lot,” he muses, but not in a snobbish way. More like he’s testing the weight of my career. It’s non-monetary value.
“Let’s just say I don’t have twenty grand worth of art,” I say with a chuckle.
Ford doesn’t reply. Rather, he slaps his palms on his thighs and stands from the chair. “Okay… let’s go get a drink and then grab some dinner.”
My head starts spinning slightly over his domineering ways, and God help me… it turns me on, too. But I can only shake my head. “I can’t. I have plans tonight.”
“What type of plans?” he asks in a low voice, not quite irate but clearly not liking my answer.
I could tease him or tell him it’s none of his business, but I don’t want to play games. “With my bestie. She owns the hair salon next door.”
“Do or Dye,” Ford murmurs, and I’m surprised he even noticed something like the name of the business next door. “Very clever.”
“She’s a very clever person,” I reply softly.
“No matter,” Ford says almost jauntily. “It’s Friday, four thirty, and we deserve a drink. Let me buy you one before you meet…”
“Frannie,” I supply.
“Frannie,” h
e affirms with a nod. “What are you two going to do tonight?”
“Mud masks on our face, wine, cheese, and a corny eighties’ movie,” I tell him. All true and completely lame. “I know it sounds weird, but it’s our thing.”
“I attended a Lamaze class with my bestie today,” he returns. That catches me off guard. In a million years, I couldn’t imagine Ford in his impeccably groomed suit at a Lamaze class. I’m also a little surprised his bestie is a woman, and I’m not quite sure how that makes me feel.
Before I can process that, though, he jerks his chin toward the door. “Come on… we can talk all about it over a drink. You can choose the place.”
♦
“Sorry this isn’t very fancy,” I say, swirling the piece of celery around my Bloody Mary.
His brown eyes sweep around the bar, before coming back to me. “Who doesn’t love TGIF Friday’s?”
I cock my eyebrow. “Have you ever been in one before?”
The guilty expression on his face says it all. Still, he admits, “Can’t say I have.”
“Well, cheers,” I say, holding my drink up to him. He raises his Jack and Coke, and our glasses clink before we each take a sip.
When Ford puts his glass down on the small round table we had taken in the bar area, he says, “Okay… I know we don’t have but about an hour before you leave to go meet Frannie of Do or Dye for mud masks, wine, cheese, and corny movies, but let’s utilize the time wisely and start with you giving me a rundown of your life’s history.”
Amazement covers my face. “So this really isn’t a booty call? Or an attempt at one?”
His lips curl in a sly grin. “I am more than willing to come over to your house after Frannie leaves for a booty call if you want.”
I can’t help but laugh, but I don’t admit I would open my door to him if he came over.
“What do you want to know?” I ask as I start to slowly stir my celery around my drink again.
“How did you get from Sweden to the United States?”
The Pecker Briefs Page 5
