Legal Trouble (Texas Hearts Book 1)

Chapter 2

Disbelief sucker-punchedNoah square in the chest. No, she sucker-punched him.

His mystery woman from the gala stepped from his dreams and into his office. Auburn waves fell in ringlets around a soft, heart-shaped face, setting off eyes the color of the Texas sky after a thunderstorm. Freckles dusted her nose and cheeks, and her cotton-candy pink lips beckoned him over for a taste.

She stood about five-seven, with round curves that made him dream of grabbing tight and going for a long, slow ride. A flowing skirt wrapped around her from waist to floor, and her top exposed both shoulders and a hint of midriff. She looked as if she’d dressed for a day at the beach, not the office.

And damn it, now he was picturing the decadent beauty splashing in the surf in nothing more than a bathing suit that barely covered the essentials.

“Mr. Whitlow,” the woman said, confidence polishing her voice smooth. “I’m Emma Morgan with Reynolds, Clark Morgan. You requested a meeting?”

“Uh, Reynolds, Clark Morgan?”

“Yes.” She lifted her leather portfolio. “You wanted to discuss the Lone-Star Tech matter.”

Due to all the blood plunging from his head to his groin, his brain didn’t want to engage. The woman of his literal dreams was Emma Morgan, the attorney David had been grooming to take over the firm when he and Mary eventually retired?

“She’s young,” David had said, “but don’t let her age fool you. I’ve never worked with anyone better. She’s smart, a barracuda in court, and speaks three languages. She’s the entire package.”

The picture David painted had intrigued Noah. He’d planned to drop by the firm at some point for an introduction, but something always got in the way. He’d expected someone with schoolmarm buns and an ill-fitting pantsuit. Not her. Not the woman who’d nearly obliterated his higher brain functions in a single instant. How was he supposed to focus on anything but his desire to draw her close and indulge in the fantasies that had tormented him for weeks?

Emma cursedherself for not insisting they hold off this meeting until she could change clothes. The outfit didn’t make the lawyer, she reminded herself. The mind did. But that was hard to internalize with Noah Whitlow standing before her in his tailored three-piece suit, looking like a model from a male magazine. His unrelenting gaze roaming her body didn’t help, either. What she’d deduced must be irritation made the golden flecks in his brown eyes burn.

“If you’ll please give us a few moments,” Ethan Whitlow said to her with a dismissing wave of his hand, “my cousin and I were in the middle of a conversation that we need to finish.”

While she wouldn’t classify the clipped edge of Ethan’s words as meanness, it was undoubtedly mean adjacent. And Emma tried to avoid men with malice in their voices; in her world, fists all too often followed angry words.

“Actually,” Noah Whitlow said, “Ms. Morgan will not be leaving. You will be, Ethan, but you’re right. We need to finish our discussion. Now, however, isn’t the time. If you’ll speak with my assistant on your way out, we’ll arrange a time that’s suitable for both of us.”

Without another word, Noah strode to the sitting area on the far side of the expansive office and folded his sleek frame onto one of four dark leather chairs, the move dominance and dismissal wrapped into one, and it didn’t go unnoticed by the other Whitlow in the room. For a split second, she feared Ethan might not go, but on a mumbled curse, he stormed out. She clambered out of his way. Angry men always made her think back to a childhood she wished she could forget.

“Come, Ms. Morgan.” Noah Whitlow motioned to the chair opposite him. “We have much to discuss.”

“Of course.”

Head on straight, Ems.

Her legs trembled as she ambled toward him, a wounded gazelle walking willingly toward a mighty lion. Airy filaments of late-morning light streamed through the banks of floor-to-ceiling windows and played over him in an ethereal glow. His golden-brown tie matched the hue of his eyes, and raven-black hair fell to his shoulders in a silky curtain. He was the pinnacle of four-point-six billion years of human evolution.

All hail Mother Nature.

He studied her from beneath dark lashes, but he didn’t speak. She wished she knew what was going through his head, but his expression was as hard to read as a legal contract printed with black ink on black paper. That said, she had a clue what was likely annoying him.

As she sat, she tugged the front of her shirt down to cover her exposed belly. “I apologize for my outfit. I usually don’t dress so unprofessionally at the office, but I was about five minutes away from boarding a plane to Cancún when I heard about David.”

“Cancún? So you are dressed for a day at the beach.” His gaze sharpened—no darkened—and he drew in a slow breath as if trying to calm himself.

Okay, what was that about?

His cell rang. “One moment, Ms. Morgan.” He retrieved his phone from his pocket, the device sleek and beautiful without a bulky protective case. “Whitlow.” Face impassive once again, he remained silent for a long moment. “I don’t want your excuses, Jack,” he finally said. “I want that prototype on my desk in thirty days, as agreed, or you’ll be dealing with my legal team. And trust me, it’ll be the last business failing you will ever make.” He paused. “Jack, no. No. No.” His voice never rose, but each “no” became sharper and more clipped. “I. Am. Talking. And if you know what’s good for you, you’ll shut up and let me.”

The sheer authority in his voice sent unease dancing down her spine and made her sit just a little straighter.

“Thirty days, and not a second longer. Do I make myself clear?” He didn’t wait for a response, simply ended the call, and placed his phone on the end table to his right. “Sorry for the interruption, Ms. Morgan.”

“It’s not a problem.” Not that she would have told him if it had been.

“Before we get started, do you have any updates on David’s heart attack?”

She shook her head. “Right now, we’re stuck in a holding pattern as the doctors try to stabilize him for surgery.”

He nodded. “Please keep me informed. David and my father have known each other for a long time. This has hit him hard.”

“Of course.” Although she figured a man with Noah Whitlow’s connections and resources could probably learn any change in David’s condition before his own wife did.

“Very good.” The phone on the end table rang, but this time, he silenced the call. “Getting down to the business at hand, considering all the upheaval going on in both my company and yours, I thought it a good idea for the two of us to have a sit down so that we could get a feel for each other.”

In other words, he wanted to make sure she was up to the job of defending his company and his reputation in a court of law, which she couldn’t exactly fault him for. She might know who he was, but he didn’t know her from Jane. If their positions were reversed, she’d probably do the same thing.

She removed the manila folder she’d stuffed into her portfolio, laid it on the table between them, and making a point not to look at the material, rattled off the pertinents of the case. “Lone-Star Tech is a startup company Whitlow Group was set to acquire. Several months ago, however, one of the firm’s three founders, Franklin Bishop, decided he wanted to back out of the sale, despite having signed all the legal paperwork, and subsequently, chaos ensued. Despite the original acquisition terms, which were more than generous and, basically, left the owners in control of the company they’d built, Mr. Bishop has since waged both a legal campaign to stop the sale and to smear Whitlow Group in the media. He is trying to paint the acquisition as nothing more than a mega-corporation stepping on the little man and trying to take what he’s worked his whole life to build.

“Mr. Bishop’s change of heart seems to be spearheaded by his only daughter. His newest lawsuit alleges that some prototype chip initially included in the sale should have been excluded because it is his daughter’s sole property, which was what today’s court case was about. The other two partners have been willingly folded into Whitlow Group, along with all their ideas, prototypes, patents, et cetera, and for all intents and purposes, seem to be quite happy with the arrangement. These constant lawsuits, however, are keeping them and Whitlow Group from furthering any research and development Lone-Star Tech brought to the table.” She leaned back and crossed her arms. “Did I pass your test, Mr. Whitlow?”

A grin spread over his face, and God, the sight was glorious.

“You are certainly something else, Ms. Morgan.” He leaned forward. “Do you really speak three languages?”

“I do. English, obviously, as well as Spanish and French.”

“And do you speak them fluently?”

“I do,” she answered. “I read and write them as well.”

“I’m going to need to speak to David about you, Ms. Morgan. He said you were good, but he undersold you by about two miles.”

“Only two? I’ll need to speak to him as well.”

He laughed, and more of the tension in her gut loosened.

“What are your thoughts on this most-recent lawsuit?” he asked. “David didn’t seem terribly worried about it.”

“And with good reason.” To date, Bishop had filed seven lawsuits, but ultimately, none had done anything but tarnish Whitlow Group’s reputation. “If Bishop landed this suit in front of the right judge, he might get some traction, especially if he has concrete evidence this chip is his daughter’s sole property and not the property of Lone-Star Tech as a whole. However, I doubt this is the case. If they’d have had that kind of evidence, they’d have led with it. This stinks of desperation and nothing more, but I’ll know for sure after I go through all the discovery.”

Discovery was a formal process opposing legal teams went through before the trial. They exchanged information like the witnesses they planned to call and the evidence they planned to use during the trial.

“Very good,” Mr. Whitlow said. “I have plans for that chip.”

“I assure you that this case will be a priority.”

“What’re your next steps?”

“Familiarize, investigate, and strategize. First, I will immerse myself in the case details until I know them backward, forward, and inside out. Next, I’ll start investigating. If possible, I’d like to speak with someone in your research and development arm so that I can better verse myself in the ins and outs of the tech aspect of the case because it’s not a personal forte. And last, I’ll develop a legal strategy.”

He leaned forward. “I think I can help you out regarding part two of your plan.”

“How so?”

“After lunch, I will take you on a tour of Whitlow Group’s on-site research and development wing.”

“You will?”

He nodded, those golden-brown eyes focusing on her and going dark again. “Unless you have a problem with that.”

“No. Of course not. I just know you’re busy, and—”

“I’m not too busy for this.”

Whoa. Did he lean closer? Did she?

Look away,she told herself. Move away. But those smoldering brown eyes paralyzed her, and goosebumps rushed over her arms, sending unexpected jolts of desire cartwheeling through her, and her lungs faltered—all from a look.

A look which haunted her the rest of the morning.

Wasit too late to un-cancel her vacation?

Massaging her temples with her index and middle fingers, Emma leaned back in her office chair. A deranged drum line was beating out a fast, pounding rhythm on her skull. If she had to deal with one more crisis today, she was certain she’d lose her tenuous grip on reality. How did David deal with all this every day?

Including herself, the firm had three equity partners, ten non-equity partners, and close to fifty associate attorneys—and that didn’t include the paralegals, legal secretaries, and other support staff—and for the time being, she oversaw them all. Her new workload and sudden appreciation of everything David juggled was the only reason for her headache. The discomfort most certainly had nothing to do with the fact she couldn’t stop thinking about how a certain sexy billionaire had looked at her.

For a moment in his office, she’d have sworn he’d been about to lean in and kiss her. She’d have put money on the fact his lips were about to land on hers, but then he’d pulled back, confirming she shouldn’t gamble. It also showed how out of touch she was with men.

Her experience with the male species could best be described as awkward. Things usually went fine with male clients or co-workers, where there was no sort of mutual intimacy. Her relationship with her brother was the closest thing she had to a stable male relationship, but these days, thinking of her big brother was too sad.

What she wouldn’t give to have just one of Preston’s bear hugs right about now.

She pushed to her feet and stepped to the window along the far wall. She missed her brother every single day. He’d kept her sane and as safe as he could manage during a childhood she wished she could forget, but her damn past was always with her, no matter how much she’d tried to forget it. Oh, she no longer believed the lies she’d been force fed; she wasn’t hideous or worthless or useless, and by god, she wasn’t stupid.

No stupid girl graduated high school at sixteen, college at nineteen, or finished at the top of her law class at twenty-two. No worthless girl landed a job at a place like Reynolds Clark only a few years out of law school. No useless girl was promoted to equity partner of said prestigious law firm at twenty-seven. But despite all she accomplished, her past still haunted her.

“Not helping your headache,” she mumbled to herself. “Focus. People are counting on you.” She returned to her desk, popped two ibuprofens, washed it down with the last of her latte, and hit the intercom button. “Gwen?”

“Yes, Oh Sarcastic One?”

“Come in here for a minute. We need to synchronize our schedules. Also, what’s with ‘Oh Sarcastic One?’”

“Just figured you needed a shiny new title now that you’ve been promoted,” Gwen answered. “Thought I’d have plenty of time to come up with the perfect one while you were on vacation, but alas, guess I’ll just have to try them out as they come to me.” A few moments later, Gwen strode into Emma’s office, an iPad in one hand and her Apple pencil in the other. “Ready when you are, boss.”

“Ugh, not that either.”

“The Almighty Legal Mind?”

Emma shook her head.

“Boss lady?”

“Definitely not.”

“Oh, oh. How about Lady Boss?”

Emma considered the title. “I’ll allow it.”

“Yea!” A triumphant smile curled Gwen’s purple-painted lips.

Emma rifled through the bazillion papers littering her desk. “Okay, first, I’m gonna need the rest of today and tomorrow to become an expert on running a law firm and on every aspect of the Lone-Star Tech file. I’m also gonna need that time to familiarize myself with all David and Mary’s cases so that I can reassign them where they’ll best fit. Then, on Wednesday, I’ll draft a response to the newest Franklin Bishop lawsuit. Keep Thursday clear for now. That way, I’ll have a day open just to deal with whatever matters I still need to deal with. Then, Friday, you can start filling my schedule.”

Gwen cocked her head. “You sure you don’t want to take the entire week? That’s gotta be pushing it.”

“Who needs sleep?”

“Pretty much everyone, but that’s just according to the scientists. And what do they know?”

“I’ll find time to catch up on sleep soon. Until then, just keep the lattes flowing.”

“Sure thing, Lady Boss.”

Emma chuckled. “I know David likes to schedule his client meetings and whatnot in the morning, but I still want to keep my current schedule, if possible.” Emma preferred to research and draft pleadings in the morning when she was still fresh, and then save phone calls and client meetings for the afternoon. “Also, get with David and Mary’s secretaries today. I want the three of y’all to prioritize their cases. If y’all can do that, it’ll give me a headstart.”

“Got it, got it, and got it.”

Emma scrubbed her hands over her face. “That’s it for now, but for the rest of the week, ‘Expect the Unexpected’ is our new motto.”

“I hear that, Lady Boss. If you want, I could print that out and frame it so that you can hang it in your office.”

“Get out!” Emma wadded up the paper in her hand and tossed it at Gwen, but Gwen used her iPad like a tennis racket and sent the object flying right back at Emma.

“Too slow, Lady Boss,” Gwen taunted as she made a quick escape.

Emma thanked whatever force of nature had sent that insane woman into her life—and into her heart.

Emma pulled up a Word document on her computer and began typing her thoughts and questions stream-of-consciousness style:

A knock sounded at the door. Without looking up, Emma said, “Unless you have caffeine, pastries, and Xanax, I’m busy until further notice.”

“Well, I’ve got two of those three, but if Xanax is a deal-breaker, I know some pretty shady characters. I can probably arrange something.”

A smile blooming, Emma stood to greet the tall, fit woman in the doorway. If Hollywood ever recast James Bond as a woman of color, Andrea Cole would be the perfect candidate to model her after. Andi was former Army Special Forces, one of the few women to achieve such a position. She could take a man down with both her wit and a roundhouse kick. These days, she’d hung up her boots and served as head of Whitlow Tower Security.

As Andi set a brown pastry bag and a white cup with a green logo on Emma’s desk, the overhead lights glinted off the white-gold band on Andi’s left ring finger, and Emma willed herself not to focus on it. Thinking of Andi’s husband always made her sad.

Emma grabbed the pastry bag and dug in. Mmm. Cheese danish. “Thank you! I soooo needed this.”

“It’s a far cry from what you’d probably be enjoying in Cancún right now, but when I heard what happened with David and your axed vacay, I figured this was the best I could do until after hours. If you want, though, you could come camp at my place tonight, and we can drink our weight in margaritas and mojitos.”

“You assume I’ll get to go home tonight.” Emma popped a bit of Danish into her mouth and washed it down with a sip of her honey-vanilla latte.“I may not be able to do much more than run home at some point to shower and change.”

“Sweet! Slumber party at the office. I’ll just dig around in supply until I find the margarita machine they always break out at company parties.”

“That doesn’t sound like it would get us fired at all.”

“Hey, at least your vacation would be back on.”

“And then, after I get back and they foreclose on my house because I can no longer pay my mortgage, I could move in with you and PJ.” Not that Emma would mind living with Andi and her son. PJ was one of the most adorable four-year-olds Emma had ever met.

“There are certainly worse things,” Andi said. “Besides, PJ would love to spend more time with his Auntie Ems.”

“And I’d love to spend more time with him,” Emma said. “I miss my munchkin like crazy.”

Andi’s expression turned sly. “So I heard you went to floor fifty this morning for a meeting with Noah, and I was just curious—wait, why did you flinch when I said Noah’s name? Right there! You did it again.”

“I did not.”

“Liar.” Andi jumped from her chair and pushed the door closed. “Okay, Ems, spill. Did something happen with you and He-Whose-Name-Makes-You-Flinch?”

“No. Of course not.” Which was the truth. Just because she’d mistakenly thought he’d been about to kiss her didn’t mean anything had actually happened.

“Ems?” Andi drew the letters out so that they lasted seven seconds.

“I just had a meeting with Mr. Whitlow where nothing happened. Nothing at all. We just spoke about a case. That was it. Nothing happened at all.”

“Oh, okay. Just give me one more variation of ‘nothing happened,’ and I’ll totally believe you.”

“Shut up.”

“I could shut up, but then I wouldn’t be able to tell you the juicy intel spreading around the tower and Internet right now, intel your flinching and earlier meeting with Noah paint in an entirely new light.”

Usually, gossip didn’t interest Emma—or so she liked to tell herself—but gossip about Mr. Whitlow and her. How was a girl supposed to resist?

Emma leaned forward and interlaced her fingers on her desk, a signal Andi would no doubt understand. She now had Emma’s complete attention.

Andi mirrored Emma’s move. “Word is Noah broke things off with Bridget Montague.”