Chapter 2
Maren
“You don’t understand. Please, it’s very important. It’s imperative that I make it to LA this afternoon,” I insisted, holding my phone with the itinerary open in front of the airline agent at the check-in counter.
“Well, as I said, ma’am, all morning flights to LA have been cancelled. Believe it or not, we do not control the weather, Ms. ...” The agent squinted at the name on my itinerary, then added with a sardonic smirk, “Karen.”
“It’s Maren,” I corrected, calling on my dwindling patience.
“Hm? Could’ve fooled me,” she muttered under her breath. “Next?” she called over my shoulder, signaling that she was finished with me and my desperate demands to board a plane that would take me to the West Coast in time for the hearing at three o’clock that afternoon.
“Never schedule a flight on the date of the court day,” Liam, my colleague and fiancé often said.
And I usually didn’t. But with a meeting in New York yesterday, then a hearing in Los Angeles today, I didn’t have much choice this time. I thought I could manage it, and I would’ve, had this freaking storm not wreaked havoc across the continent last night.
My desperation gave way to helplessness, which brought anger in turn. I speared my fingers through my hair, then jerked my hand away, realizing I was messing up my sleek, blonde bob.
“Fine.” I grabbed my phone, hiked up my chin, and marched away, firmly planting my stiletto pumps into the cheap airport carpet while rolling my carry-on behind me.
“Always remember, you’re Maren Cordelia Blackwell. And Blackwells never give up,” my father loved to say.
I didn’t give up. All my life, I’d been working hard, always aiming for more than I was given.
Our family status and connections might’ve helped me to get into one of the best law schools in the world, but I graduated magna cum laude through my own hard work and determination.
My father might’ve said a word to an important person for me to get the job in one of the most prestigious law firms in New York, but I fought tooth and nail for my reputation.
As the only female lawyer in the firm, I constantly had to prove myself just to be taken seriously in that cesspit of sexism and misogyny.
Liam was a year younger than me, but he had already made junior partner last year, even as I’d had far more success in the courtroom. He would routinely get clients assigned to him, while I often had to network and bargain for every case.
But I did not give up. Not now, not ever.
Today, however, I wasn’t sure how to succeed. How was I supposed to get a commercial jet up in the air when most flights had been grounded and delayed since last night?
I checked my phone for the weather update. The storm had eased, but the flight schedule will take many hours to catch up, and I couldn’t wait that long.
“Hey, babe,” the text from Liam came. “How is it looking out there? Do you think you’ll make it to the hearing on time?”
It was only three o’clock in the morning in LA, but Liam was awake, probably worrying that I wouldn’t show up. Or worrying that I would? If I made it, he’d lose the chance to take over the hearing and possibly the case too.
Just because I’d been dating Liam since college didn’t mean he would give me any leniency. And if he tried, I wouldn’t take it.
There were many reasons why I had eventually allowed Liam to put the ring with a giant diamond on my finger.
My parents approved of him. He came from the right walks of life and was heading in the appropriate direction in his future.
Our life goals aligned. But most importantly, Liam challenged me.
He kept me on my toes by urging, nudging, and stoking my ambitions.
Competition was a huge part of our relationship. No one got far in life by slacking.
“I’ll make it happen,” I typed determinedly.
“That’s my girl.” His reply came, and I could easily imagine a proud smile on his face when he sent it.
I glanced back at the ticket agent behind the counter.
The poor woman was swamped by stranded passengers trying to reschedule their flights.
She was in for a hell of a day. Compassion tugged at my heart, and my anger at her for calling me Karen dissipated.
I’d been called far worse by potentially far more dangerous people, anyway.
“Hard-nosed bitch,” “stubborn cow,” “fucking cunt,” and my all-time favorite “that nasty female lawyer.” The words usually came hissed through clenched teeth or hurled cowardly from a crowd by witnesses, victims, and prosecutors alike.
My skin should’ve grown thicker by now. But after five years of practice, the insults still stung.
What I had mastered, however, was the ability not to show any pain inflicted by them.
With my chin up and my gaze firm, I accepted all those hurtful labels as awards for my victories in the courtroom.
Staying at the airport made little sense now. The soonest available flight would bring me to LA late in the evening, way past the hearing time.
It was just after six o’clock in the morning here. The time difference between New York and LA gave me three more hours, which meant I still had some time to find a solution that didn’t involve a regular commercial flight.
I scrolled to my assistant’s name in the contacts. The office was still closed, but Aisha was well used to putting out fires at any time of day or night.
“Brooks and Sons—” Aisha started in a sleepy voice, but I cut her off.
“It’s me, Maren. I’m stuck in New York due to the weather.”
“Is it that bad?” Aisha asked sympathetically.
“Bad enough to keep me grounded.” Grabbing the handle of my carry-on, I wheeled it through the waiting area toward the exit from the terminal. “There’s no commercial flight that would get me there on time. Can you see if a charter has anything for me?”
“Will do.”
Aisha’s bed creaked, the light switch clicked, and a moment later I could hear her fingers energetically hitting her laptop’s keyboard, as if she hadn’t just been dragged out of her creaky twin bed.
Aisha was worth her weight in gold for all the stuff she did for Brooks and Sons.
Yet she was paid barely enough to afford an apartment about the size of a shoebox.
Of course, in central New York, a shoebox was considered decent-sized real estate.
The only reason I lived in my swanky place next to Central Park was because my dad bought it the year I was born and kept it as a rental property until I was old enough to move out of our family penthouse.
“All our usual charters are fully booked,” Aisha informed me somberly.
I knew that they likely would be, but companies often chartered a plane to transport fewer people than the aircraft’s full capacity.
“See if any of them could squeeze in one more person?”
“I’ll try.”
“Oh, and Aisha,” I said before she had a chance to hang up. “Try other charter companies too, please.”
“The ones not on the list of approved partners?” she asked uncertainly.
“Yes.”
“The firm may not cover the expense, Maren,” she warned.
“I know. I’ll pay for it myself if I have to.”
Charters weren’t cheap, even if I just hitched a ride on the plane chartered by someone else already.
But I did have the means to pay for a seat.
My salary at the firm was pretty good, especially after the raise I’d negotiated last year.
It cost me months of stress and endless persistence, but I finally earned the same money as Liam, even though I’d started working at the firm a year before him and didn’t get any of the perks he got as the junior partner.
Since I turned thirty-three last year, I also got access to the trust fund my parents set up for me.
It didn’t exactly give me a fortune, but I could afford to splurge on this potentially career-defining flight.
Our client in this particular case was a well-known business mogul with personal drama that had been getting a lot of public attention.
It was my chance to strengthen my reputation as someone capable of winning even the most complicated cases.
I had never related as much to Richard the Third as I did now. I, too, would pay a kingdom for a horse, or in my case, a seat on a plane to LA today. Too bad I didn’t have a kingdom, and no one had offered me a seat at any price so far.
“Hey, Miss,” a deep male voice sounded behind me.
I ignored it. There were many “Misses” in the crowded terminal, and I wasn’t supposed to be meeting anyone here. Clasping my phone in my hand, I made my way through the bottleneck by the exit from the building.
The early spring air outside the glass doors greeted me with a mix of gasoline fumes and a hint of rotting garbage from the trash bins nearby.
I glanced at my phone screen, willing Aisha to call back with any good news because I needed some good news this morning.
“Ma’am,” the same deep voice insisted right behind me now, forcing me to finally turn around.
A wide male chest clad in a tight black t-shirt immediately blocked my view. The fabric of the t-shirt struggled to remain in one piece, with its seams pushed to the limit by the man’s bulging pectorals and equally massive biceps.
“Listen, whatever it is, I’m not interested,” I informed the chest, not bothering to glance up at its owner.
“You mean you’re not interested in a flight to LA?” he asked with a smirk in his voice.
That finally snapped my gaze up to his face.
I wasn’t a short woman; my stilettos had easily pushed my height to six feet. Yet I had to toss my head far back until my neck hurt, just to see his dark-brown eyes way above me.
“Do you own an airline?” I aimed for a sarcastic tone, but there was so much hope in my voice, it came out almost pleading.
I didn’t believe in miracles, but I would absolutely accept a bodybuilder angel with hidden wings that could fly me to LA today.
“No. I don’t have an airline. But I work for a charter.
” He showed me a cardboard sign with “Marianne Liu PhD” written on it in an elegant script just above the logo of a charter company.
“One of our clients is delayed due to the weather. We can’t wait for her with the seven people already on board. Her seat is available if you want it.”
I forced my lungs to breathe evenly through the excitement bubbling up to my throat.
Did I really get so lucky?
Had the stars suddenly aligned somehow, sending a solution to my problem?
A solution in the form of...
I ran an assessing gaze down the stranger’s tall frame.
He wore all black—the t-shirt, casual pants, and shoes; no jacket despite there still being some chill in the air this time of year.
With a bald head and a tattoo that circled his neck and covered his entire right arm, he looked more like a biker on steroids than an employee of a charter company.
“What’s your name?” I asked cautiously, adjusting my gray pantsuit jacket over my white silk blouse.
“Leslo.”
“Is that your first or last name?”
“First,” he said.
“What’s your last name then?”
“Ghata.” He lowered his voice for some reason.
Leslo Ghata? That was a rather unusual name.
“Do you have an ID?” I demanded.
“Sure.” He pulled out a worn leather wallet from the back pocket of his pants, then flipped it open to show his driver’s license to me.
My phone vibrated with a call.
“Give me a minute,” I said to Leslo then lifted my finger in warning. “Don’t you go anywhere. You understand?”
“Yes, ma’am.” He gave me a crooked grin, leaning a brawny shoulder against the wall of the terminal building.
I kept my eye on him, making sure he stayed put while I accepted Aisha’s call.
“Maren, I’m so sorry,” she said apologetically. “I couldn’t find a single seat anywhere. The earliest I can get you on an airplane is at three o’clock this afternoon. Maybe if they postponed the hearing...”
They wouldn’t postpone anything for me, especially when the rest of our team was already there and ready to take over in my absence.
Liam would be happy to handle it, using my notes on this case.
Then, he would speak to the press that waited outside the courthouse.
His picture would appear in all the reports, right next to the client’s, and his name would be forever attached to the case.
He’d be credited for winning it too, no matter how much work I’d put into it either before or after this hearing.
His name would be listed as the client’s defense attorney in the press, and I would remain nameless, hidden in the non-descriptive afterthought expressed as “and his team.” The firm wouldn't bother to demand corrections because “we all represent Brooks and Sons anyway.”
How did I know this would happen? Because it’d happened before, on more than one occasion, and not just with Liam.
I was so sick and tired of being sidestepped by the men in my firm, by them being praised and celebrated simply because they “looked competent in their suits,” as a reporter had put it when I’d called to demand a correction to a caption under a photo posted on their website.
“Should I forward your notes to Liam Beckett for you? So he can go ahead without you?” Aisha inquired.
Oh, Liam most certainly would go ahead without me. Our intimate relationship didn’t minimize our professional competitiveness.
Unless...
I glanced back at Leslo, who waited for me with a vacant expression while twirling the welcome sign in his big hand.
Well, solutions came in all forms and sizes. Why not in the bulky shape of this dude?
“No,” I said to Aisha. “Don’t send those files yet. I have it all on my laptop, and I may make it to LA on time after all.”
I disconnected the call and marched over to my oversized “solution” by the wall. I rolled my carry-on between us before stopping it with the nose of my pump.
“Will your charter get me there by two o’clock this afternoon?” I inquired, business-like.
Leslo peeled his back away from the wall, straightening up.
“Earlier than that,” he said, shoving his cardboard sign into a trash bin.
That meant I might even have enough time to take a shower and freshen up in the hotel before the hearing.
“Do we have a deal?” He stared at me, visibly calm, waiting for me to make a decision.
No one had ever called me indecisive before, though I didn’t recall ever acting spontaneously before either.
“Blackwells don’t give up,” my family mantra rang through my ears.
“Fine.” I nodded. “We have a deal.”