SEAL'd Perfection Book 3

by KB Winters

  I jerked up from my chair, sending it flying back, crashing into the wall. I had to get out, the walls of the shop were getting too close, and my entire body was antsy, like an itch I couldn’t scratch. After fixing the chair, I flicked off the lights, shut the blinds, and turned off the flashing Open sign in the window. I had just clicked the lock in the door, about to go upstairs and put on my workout gear to go for a run, when I saw a shadowy figure crossing the street. My body went tight, as I realized it was Kat headed my way. I unlocked the door and swung it open. As she stepped onto the sidewalk, her face became illuminated by the light above the shop, and I could see the deep lines of exhaustion and stress etched into her face, and the dark half moons under her eyes, telling me that she hadn’t slept much, if at all, the past two nights.

  “I saw you closing up,” she explained, pointing over at the dim neon Open sign in the window. She brought her eyes back to mine before continuing, “Uhm…I wanted to tell you I’m sorry for being a bitch last night. I shouldn’t have snapped at you like that, you were only trying to help, and I just wanted you to know I really do appreciate it,” she paused, gathering her thoughts. When she looked back at me again, her green eyes shone with a gloss of unshed tears.

  I reached for her, wordlessly pulling her into my arms. She relaxed into my embrace and I squeezed her tighter, my arms overlapping around her thin waist. “It’s all right, Kat. It’s okay.”

  I’d spent the past few days agonizing over a way to fix the problem, to get her son back, and to make sure her ex never messed with her again, but so far, I’d turned up empty handed. But as she sobbed against my chest, all I could do was reassure her, that somehow, we would find a way out of the mess and make things right.

  “God, I’m such a disaster,” she whispered, still sagged against me, all her strength drained away.

  “You’re not,” I replied softly. I pressed a kiss to the top of her head, holding my lips against her warm skin, drinking in her scent and feel. It was the worst possible timing, but I couldn’t stop my body from reacting to her nearness. Holding her, breathing in her subtle floral scent, and even placing my lips on her face, wasn’t nearly enough. I wanted more. I wanted her—all of her. “Kat, listen to me,” I said, backing her up a step so she was forced to look into my eyes. “We’re going to figure this out. You tell me what you want me to do, and I’ll do it. I get that I got too aggressive last night, I pushed you too far, so now—you set the tone, you tell me what you need, okay?”

  She sucked in the corner of her lower lip, nibbling it while her eyes frantically searched mine, as though the answers were hidden somewhere on my face. “I need a friend, Jace. Will you be my friend?”

  Friend? My stomach twisted at her simple request. I was standing with her, aching to have her, to be her hero, her knight in shining armor, and what she was asking pushed me about as far away as she could without telling me to stay away from her altogether. I shoved down my own selfish disappointment, and smiled down at her. “Of course. You don’t have to ask.”

  She nodded slowly, a smile spreading over her face. “Thanks.”

  “Do you wanna get a bite?” I asked. “We could go out to Damon and Gigi’s,” I suggested, referencing the biker bar I’d taken her to on our first date. “The ride and the music would do us both some good.”

  She paused, and my heart fell, waiting for her rejection, but after a moment, she smiled more broadly and nodded. “You know what, that sounds pretty good. But I have a meeting tomorrow, so I can’t be out too late.”

  “You got a deal. Let me go grab my jacket and the spare helmet and I’ll be right back down.”

  * * * *

  It was impossible to not let my mind get carried away in a world of dark desires as we rode together. With Kat’s arms around me, her thighs opened wide straddling the bike, grazing mine, as she held on for dear life, memories from our night together came back to me. Every sensation reverberated across my skin, every muscle tight with anticipation, and thinking about the way our naked bodies fit so perfectly together, got me hard less than five miles outside of town. I knew I’d need to get myself in check before we got to the bar, especially since I’d just agreed to be her friend not twenty minutes before, but for the time being, I let my mind run wild, without worrying about how I was going to manage to not cross the line she’d just drawn.

  The ride flew by and as soon as we hopped off the bike, I missed her closeness. She handed me the helmet and flashed me a heart-stopping smile. “That was even better than the first time.”

  My cock twitched, knowing that fucking her again would be better than the first time, too. I smiled, but it was strained, mixed with the discomfort of trying to tamp down my overwhelming arousal. Luckily, Kat didn’t seem to notice, as she took the lead towards the bar as though she were a regular.

  Ten minutes later, we were seated at the end of the bar, each nursing a beer, waiting for a pool table to open up. The conversation was light and fun, and although I could sense it was a struggle, Kat managed to talk about Jax without breaking down into tears as she told me stories of him when he was a little younger. I shifted the topic to her classes and couldn’t help but smile as she animatedly chattered on about different design methodologies like it was common knowledge.

  “You ever get that couch situation figure out?” She asked after discussing a recent home design show she’d gone to as a part of her class. She took a long sip from her beer, eying me over the edge, while she waited for a response.

  I laughed. “No, it’s as sad as ever. You see, there was this woman who promised me this solution, and then she never got back to me. I guess she lost interest or something.”

  “What a tease,” Kat said, laughing along with me. “I’ll call my friend tomorrow.”

  I waved her off. “Don’t worry about it—you’ll get to it when you have time. No pressure.”

  Kat nodded but something changed behind her eyes, a layer of sadness that had been absent all night, returned to cloud out her sparkling energy.

  “Whatcha thinking about over there?” I asked, fighting the urge to take her hand.

  After a pause, she shook her head, blinking frantically a few times. “Nothing. So, what color are you thinking?” She asked, obviously trying to recapture the easy teasing from moments before, but the mood had flickered out and died like an extinguished candle.

  “Kat, friends talk to each other,” I said softly.

  Her eyes bounced to mine. “This feels wrong.”

  For the second time that night, my gut twisted inside me, and it was hard to take my next breath. “Being here?” I asked, leaving off my fear that the rest of the sentence would be…with me.

  Kat looked down at her frosty glass of beer, running her nail over the etched logo on the side. “I’m not with my baby, I might’ve lost him for good, and I’m out at a bar. I don’t know what I was thinking…” her words carried off, getting lost in the chaos and noise of the room around us.

  I signaled for the bartender to close us out, and set my hand on Kat’s back. “I can’t say I understand, ‘cause I’m not in your shoes, but if you wanna go, we can leave, no hard feelings.”

  “I’m sorry,” she said, so quietly I could barely hear her.

  “Come on,” I wrapped my arm around her waist and after stopping briefly at the end of the bar to settle the tab, I led her out into the night and took her home, biting back the bitter sense that I’d fucked it all up again.

  Chapter Five — Kat

  “Ms. Ryan? Mrs. Clayton is ready to see you,” the petite brunette receptionist told me from behind a giant oak desk that dwarfed her further, giving the impression that she was a young girl at bring your kid to work day. I looked up at the sound of my name, and she pointed to the door on her right, which, somewhere in the last two minutes, had swung open.

  I stood and gathered my purse and binder of paperwork, flashing a tight smile at the receptionist as I made my way to the door she’d indicated.

 
“Ms. Ryan! Welcome, welcome,” a frazzled looking bottle blonde greeted as I stepped inside. She didn’t look up from her frantic search through the stack of files on her desk. “Please sit, I’ll be…right…with…” her words carried off as she seemingly located the paper she had been hunting down and set about reading it.

  The desk was covered with papers and files, so I sat in one of the worn looking chairs across from her and kept my binder in my lap. “Thank you for seeing me on short notice,” I started. “My ex scheduled this new mediation session on short, well, actually no, notice, so…” I stopped speaking—realizing that she wasn’t paying any attention to me as she continued reading whatever was in her hands.

  A quick glance at the clock on the wall showed me that I had less than half an hour before I needed to leave to get back to work on time. I’d missed so much work lately that my boss was starting to grumble, and had been forced to schedule the meeting with Priscilla Clayton in between the lunch and dinner rush to avoid getting a lecture. Priscilla was a family court lawyer that was willing to work on a sliding scale to help her clients. A fact that at the time I’d scheduled the meeting had seemed like a Godsend, but now, had me questioning her focus. Judging by the swamp of papers on her desk, it sounded like the policy worked to get her a lot of cases which I was starting to wonder if it was really a good thing.

  “Um, Mrs. Clayton?” I asked, keeping the edge of frustration out of my voice.

  She started like I’d fired a starting pistol in the air, and a few papers fell from her hands, fluttering to the mountain below. “Yes, yes, let’s begin. Umm…Ms. Ryan. Right, right,” she stumbled over her words, beginning a new dig through the paperwork. She pulled out a thin file, and took out the single page inside. “Okay, here you are. Right…”

  I sighed. “My ex husband and I have been divorced for two years, we have joint custody. I get our son, Jax, during the week, and he gets him every weekend as well as two full weeks in the summer for vacation. We split holidays, alternating Christmas and Thanksgiving every year. Two days ago, I woke up to a social worker on my porch with a petition, signed by a judge, stating that I’m an unfit mother, and she removed Jax from my home to go with my ex and his new wife, full time until we can go back to court,” I hurriedly explained to her, firing off the situation in bullet point bits of information.

  Priscilla looked stunned into silence, and sank down into her chair in slow motion. At least she’s looking at me now, instead of her freaking paper pile, I thought bitterly to myself.

  “I need a lawyer who can take on Mitch, that’s my ex, in court and make sure we get back to our originally agreed upon custody arrangement.”

  Priscilla tapped a pen against her lips while she pondered my statement as though it were more of a question. My fingers gripped into the edges of the binder in my lap, the sharp plastic biting into my skin. I was about to jump up and leave before she finally started speaking, “Who is your ex’s lawyer?”

  “Charles Bingham and Mathias Jeffers.” Two names that raked nails down my spine. They were both partners in the family court sector of a huge Chicago firm that was famous for representing high powered political families, businessmen, and even celebrities. Mitch played golf with one of them, and had once upon a time offered some sage business advice, and in exchange, won their representation.

  Priscilla’s mouth formed a silent “oh” and then she went back to the tapping with the pen.

  I glanced up at the clock again. “Listen, I’m sorry, I don’t mean to be rude, or rush you, but I have to be back to work soon. I know Bingham and Jeffers are tough to beat, but they don’t have a case! I can assure you, I’m a very fit mother, I work full time, go to school, I don’t do drugs, I don’t even have a speeding ticket on my record! They have nothing on me to justify this ambush. I just need someone who will go to war for me and get my baby back.”

  Priscilla smiled sadly at me, and even before she said the words, I knew what her answer was. “Ms. Ryan, I appreciate you coming in to see me. I’ve been practicing law for about five years now, and I’ve worked…well, as you can see—” she spread her hands over the cluttered desk, “—a lot of cases. I know my limitations, and what odds I have going into a case. One thing I pride myself on, is being a straight shooter, and I’ll tell you that you can hire me, and I will fight tooth and nail for you, but Bingham and Jeffers are tough. Even without digging into the case, I can tell you, the odds aren’t good.”

  It was like all the air had been sucked from the room. I already knew everything she said, it had all been stewing in my mind for three days, but somehow, having it said out loud by someone else, felt like a punch to the stomach.

  “I’m terribly sorry, Ms. Ryan. I’m just not at that level,” Priscilla finished. She folded her hands on her desk and waited for me to get it together.

  I loosened my fingers from the death grip on the binder that contained everything that had been brought to court the first time around, along with anything else I found pertaining to the records of care Jax received, my financial, school records, and a letter from Hilda that she’d left on the kitchen counter that morning, giving a glowing review of my parenting skills. I took a slow, steadying breath, and stood from my chair. “Thank you for your honesty.”

  Priscilla nodded, that same sad expression frozen on her face. It was a look of pure pity, as though my fate had already been decided. A wave of nausea ripped over me and I braced my hand on the chair. “I wish you the best.”

  I nodded and turned away slowly, using my hand to guide me out of the office. When I reached the doorway, I stopped short of leaving, a new question coming to mind. I turned back and Priscilla looked up from the file in her hands. “Was there something else, Ms. Ryan?”

  “What would you do?” I asked. “If you were me, I mean. What would you do? Who would you hire?”

  “Kirk Folger. He’s in Chicago. He’s got a personal vendetta with Jeffers, and word is when those two get in the ring together, sparks fly. I’d say he’s your best bet. He’s a hell of a lawyer, and against Jeffers…he’d be an outright monster.”

  * * * *

  It took a short phone call to dissolve the small amount of hope that Priscilla had given me. I’d called Kirk Folger’s office to ask about the retainer, and found that he required a twenty thousand dollar retainer, not to mention his astronomical hourly billing rate. I’d hung up the phone, hands shaking, and raced off to work, without giving myself time to fall to pieces again. There was no way I’d be able to get that kind of money together. I couldn’t even afford the retainer fee on my own.

  “There you are!” Patrice called when I pushed into the diner. I raced around the counter and threw on my apron. “Harry was here looking for you…”

  “Shit.” I squeezed my eyes closed. If I lost this job…I couldn’t even let myself imagine the fallout.

  “I told him we ran out of ice, and that the machine broke, so you went to get more.”

  I released a deep sigh of relief. “Thanks, Patrice. Sorry I’m so late.”

  She waved off my apology and followed me into the kitchen where I stashed my purse. “No worries. But girl, I gotta ask, what’s going on with you lately? Is this about tattoo guy?”

  I nearly laughed at the question, wishing that Jace was the only issue on my radar. The diner was nearly vacant, so I gave Patrice the quick version of what had happened. I normally wouldn’t share something so personal, but Patrice and I had become friends over the course of working together every day, and I knew she wasn’t a gossip.

  “I’m so sorry, honey,” she said when I finished giving her the recap. “What are you gonna do?”

  I shook my head and shrugged at the same time. “No idea. Start buying lottery tickets?”

  The door bell rang out before she could press for more information. “I’ll go deal with that, you take all the time you need.” She raced out of the kitchen and I took a minute to breathe and adjust my ponytail.

  Patrice appeared a few minu
tes later. “Guess who,” she said, smiling at me. “You want me to take care of him?”

  “Do you mind?” I asked. Everything with Jace was on good terms, and when he’d dropped me off at home the night before, things had been fine—if I ignored the urge to rip his shirt off and let him help me forget all of my problems—but I didn’t want to face him, knowing he would ask about the meeting with the lawyer.

  Patrice was halfway back out the door again, when she paused and looked back at me, “I’ll take care of this, but once he’s gone you’ve gotta tell me what’s going on there, okay?”

  I laughed. “There’s nothing to tell. We’re…friends.”

  “Right, and Santa Clause and the Easter Bunny come in every Sunday for brunch…” She rolled her eyes and disappeared.

  Chapter Six — Kat

  In an effort to avoid Jace—and Patrice’s list of invasive questions—I hunkered down in the storage room. “I really should just put a plaque on the door and declare this my office,” I sighed to myself, sitting down on a pile of boxes. I pulled my phone from my pocket, and checked for missed calls from Mitch. I’d called every single day, and hadn’t been allowed to speak to Jax. I’d railed at Mitch, cried, and begged, but none of it had done anything, he’d hung up on me each time, and refused to answer when I called back again. I’d contemplated calling Hannah’s cell phone, but decided that it would be too weird to call the woman burned in my mind as Mitch’s mistress to ask for help.

  I was flipping through pictures of Jax, smiling through the tears as his little face flashed before me, memory after memory coming to life in front of me. A soft knock on the door stirred me from my reminiscing.

  I pocketed the phone, and stood up from the dusty box. I stepped to the door, brushing off my behind before opening the door. “Sorry, just needed a—” I started, but stopped as I realized Jace was the one on the other side, not Patrice. “Oh, I thought you were…uhm…did you need something?” I asked, bizarrely pointing at the industrial sized ketchup jars, like it was normal for customers to raid the storage room when their condiment cups ran dry.