Chapter 2
TWO
SOPHIE
Jesus Christ. Is this really happening? To me? Right now? Out of all places?
Words and thoughts I couldn’t say out loud.
So, what I said instead, while sitting next to my clients in the conference room of the Daltons’ law firm, was, “Let’s get down to business.”
Despite my personal feelings for the man across from me, professionalism was the only mode I drove in this environment. If I could speak candidly, I would tell Colson Weston that I’d had no idea I had fucked the enemy during our time together at Lush.
Thoughts I was positive were also on his mind as he stared at me.
I had seen the shock register across his face when I walked in. I’d just hidden mine well, and I continued to do so while his eyes wouldn’t leave me.
But damn that handsome face. The last time I’d seen it was when it was between my legs.
That happened after six, seven, maybe even eight orgasms—I’d lost count as the night went on.
He decided that hours of fucking me senseless weren’t enough.
He wanted to taste me too. And while his tongue got me off, my body shuddering, our gazes locked, a satisfaction as rich as mine passed over his expression.
Not more than a few minutes later, he put his clothes back on, kissed Juliette and me goodbye, and left the room.
I hadn’t expected to see him again—that wasn’t how Lush worked. But I would be lying if I said I hadn’t thought about the man in the black suit with the most beautiful body and riveting light-green eyes.
Oh, I thought about him plenty.
When I climbed in my bed for the evening, I would replay the fun the three of us had had while I touched myself.
And when I came, whether it was from my fingers or a toy, I would pretend it was a part of his body doing the work.
The expertise of his hands. Tongue. That throbbingly hard dick with a Prince Albert that pierced the crown, a barbell going from side to tip, metal balls on each end.
That was the first one I’d ever seen and experienced.
And now, all I craved.
Colson’s appearance felt far different in this setting.
His eyes challenged me; they didn’t devour me.
His posture was upright, his body still—quite the opposite from all the bending and thrusting he’d done that night.
But somehow, he looked even sexier. His beard trimmed and edged, his gaze with the perfect amount of superiority, lips that he had already bitten several times.
There was no question—the man was hot.
But his looks and sexual abilities couldn’t change who he was.
I played for Team Gordon. I was going to financially milk the Westons with both hands and my mouth to get my clients everything they deserved.
I didn’t need to clear my throat. My voice was ready.
“I’ve discussed with your attorneys our desire to file suit.
” I spoke directly to Colson as though Troy and Jenner didn’t exist. “I’ve presented the similarities between the brands, and I’ve provided more than enough evidence to prove that my clients had established the core formulas of Horned long before your family did.
We’re willing to give you a short grace period to take corrective action.
If my clients aren’t satisfied with the result, we will be going to court. ”
Colson crossed his hands on the table. I tried not to look at them despite how enticing they were. I did everything to force my gaze upward, but the longer he looked at me, the more challenging that became.
“I’ve studied what’s in question.” His fingers stroked the side of his beard, and I lost the battle, internally moaning after each swipe. “It’s the entire menu at Horned and several of the dishes at Charred.”
My brows lifted. “And?”
“Why would we change the Horned menu? We purchased that restaurant, and with it came the menu. And why would we alter anything on Charred’s menu? Charred was established long before—”
“The items in question on Charred’s menu aren’t your long-standing staples. They’re the new dishes you’ve recently added to the menu,” Larry, my client, said. “Basically, they’re dishes sold at Horned that you decided to bring over to Charred.”
“This isn’t making any sense …” Colson’s hand dropped with a thud once it hit the table. “Why does it matter what we sell at either restaurant? We own them.”
Even though I had the desire to cross my legs, my body didn’t move.
Negotiation was foreplay, and in most cases, my hands—and sometimes my legs—were often bound.
Law and sex had many similarities—like this.
“Because my clients helped curate the Horned menu with the intention of purchasing the business. Since the sale didn’t go through, they don’t want you using a menu you didn’t develop, nor do they want you duplicating that menu across each new Horned you open. ”
Colson held the back of his neck and chuckled. “Are you serious? You don’t own ingredients. You can’t stake a claim over steak and fish and—this is ludicrous.”
“Mr. Weston”—I smiled with my eyes—“they’re not claiming they own the ingredients.
They’re claiming they partially own what’s made with those ingredients.
When you purchased Horned, you bought one-half of the menu from the existing owner.
But she had a codeveloper, and those are my clients.
Let me remind you that you bought nothing from them. ”
“Because there’s no reason we would.”
I let out an audible breath. “My clients and I believe otherwise.”
Colson looked at his attorneys and said, “We don’t think you have any ground to stand on.
We’re not discussing copyrighted material here.
There’s no trademark. Hypothetically speaking, if the recipes were yours—and I’m not admitting to that—we could change one ingredient in each, and they would no longer resemble your creations. ”
He was flailing. It was cute.
“When two authors cowrite a book, one author doesn’t receive all the royalties. It’s split down the middle,” I explained, my fingers linked in my lap. “When you purchased Horned, there was zero compensation offered to my clients.”
“As I said before, there’s no reason we would give them anything.” He ran his hand over the top of his head. The strands were gelled and didn’t budge. “We bought Horned as is. There wasn’t a lien on the business. Once the paperwork was signed, every bit of it became ours.”
“Except the Gordons had financial and creative investment in the restaurant,” I told him.
Colson leaned into the table. “Which was dissolved the moment we took ownership.”
I let him think he’d won, allowing the seconds of silence to stir within him before I replied, “What you purchased was the name. The real estate. The interior furnishings and equipment. But everyone in this room knows the reason patrons go to a restaurant and return to one is for the food. You bought Horned for their menu and the reputation they had been earning on the food scene.”
“That’s speculation,” Troy countered. His voice could have been much firmer, but it was me he was speaking to—someone he had known for almost all of his life. “You can’t prove why the business was purchased.”
I finally lifted my hands, placing them in front of me, my head tilting down as my thumbs circled before I eventually glanced up. “But I can.”
“How?” Jenner pressed.
“How do you think?” I let a half smile lift from my lips.
When the Westons had taken over the original Horned, the owner they had bought it from was the head chef. After four months of working for them, she quit on bad terms, and the Westons hired a new chef for the restaurant. The previous owner would be the first person I’d subpoena as a witness.
The reason the Westons had wanted Horned wasn’t based on speculation; what I had voiced was fact, straight from the previous owner’s mouth.
As Colson shook his head, his eyes told me he knew exactly what play I had up my sleeve.
“Let’s shift gears for a second.” Jenner opened a folder and read the top sheet inside. “You’ve outlined the changes you want made to each menu, and if our client doesn’t comply, you’re suing. Is there another option?”
I didn’t have to look at the Gordons; what Jenner was asking had already been previously discussed. “My clients will agree to a buyout of the recipes. If that option is pursued, my clients are willing to part with the recipes, and Horned and Charred can continue serving the dishes.”
“How much are we talking?” Troy asked.
I glanced at each of the faces across from me, but settled on Colson’s, taking in that achingly beautiful light-green gaze. “Twenty million.”
Colson slapped the table. “Twenty million dollars?” He laughed. “Are you fucking kidding me?”
I loved the spiciness of mediation as much as the calm.
“You’ve already opened locations in Portsmouth, Charleston, and San Antonio,” I told him.
“I assume you’ll be scaling the business to be as large as Charred.
If so, my clients deserve their share. Twenty million is nothing when you consider the revenue you’re going to earn from those restaurants as well as any others in the future.
” I stood from the table, and my clients did the same.
“I’ve presented two fair options. Remove the dishes from your menus or a buyout of the recipes.
You have forty-eight hours. I expect an answer in my inbox no later than Wednesday morning at”—I glanced at my watch—“nine thirty-six a.m. Goodbye, gentlemen.”
I went to the door, turned the knob, and walked out, facing my clients as they entered the hallway. “Do you have any questions for me before I head to the office?”
Larry gripped the strap of his briefcase. An accessory no client needed to bring when they did business with me. “I wasn’t sure how today was going to go, but … you were incredible back there.”
Scott looked at his older brother, then at me. “Do you think they’ll comply? Or will we be going to court?”
I addressed Scott. “Whatever option they choose, it’s a win. I expect a counter if they go the financial route, but I can’t predict what avenue they’re going to take. I do believe I’ll hear from them within the time frame I stated.”
Because I knew Troy wouldn’t be petty enough to be late. He would fight much larger points, not time.
Scott nodded. “Okay.”
I glanced at Larry. “We’re good?”
“Yes.”
I slid my hands into my pockets. “You’ll hear from me as soon as I know anything.” I nodded toward the elevator. “Please don’t wait for me. I need to make a stop before I go downstairs.”
The brothers thanked me, and as they went to the elevator, I turned in the hallway and entered the ladies’ room. I didn’t go into one of the stalls. I walked over to a sink instead, gripping the porcelain on both sides while I gazed at myself in the mirror.
I hadn’t lost my breath, but I took several deep inhales to calm myself down. There was nothing more enthralling than going up against a team of men. I’d been in this business long enough to know that what they expected and what they got from me were far different beasts.
I commanded attention. I dominated conversations. I earned respect.
But when it came to my personal life, I wanted the control to be taken away, to relish in submission, to unravel what I normally had to keep so tightly wound.
Colson knew just what I wanted and needed. He was an expert at giving it to me.
And it was a real shame that he was a Weston because I’d love nothing more than to meet him at Lush tonight.