4. Declan
DECLAN
The next morning, I was feeling fucking victorious when I left court. Victoria and I had won against her asshole of a husband.
"Declan, thank you so much. You have no idea what this means to me. I'm so glad it's over."
"Of course you are."
We walked down the steps of the courthouse.
I only spared the opposing council one glance.
Dominic Finch was glaring at me with an icy stare.
I called it “the loser stare.” Served him right for taking on that asshole as his client.
I had a bone-deep sense of justice. I'd had it since I was a kid, and I had a golden rule: I never took assholes for clients.
I didn't care who they were, or if they were willing to pay.
Being one of the top lawyers in Chicago, I had more than one asshole beat down my door thinking they could buy me. They couldn't.
"If you need anything else, give me a call, okay? Or email me," I told Victoria as I opened the door to the Uber she’d ordered.
"I hope I won't have to."
"So do I. Enjoy your freedom, Victoria." Her scumbag ex-husband had cheated on her and hadn’t even wanted to pay alimony. He even bought a house without telling her. I got her a generous settlement that would allow her to start over. I saw the change in her posture the moment we won. Her shoulders straightened, and her body seemed to relax for the first time since I’d met her.
I took great pride in what I did. I’d promised her a fair deal, and I’d gotten her one. I had a reputation for being tough, but it was a necessary trait in my line of work.
"Oh, I will."
After she left, I went to my own car. I lived for days like this, when court started in the morning and I had the whole day ahead of me.
Typically, I was too full of adrenaline to go back to the office.
I wanted to celebrate this for an hour or so before I dove into the rest of my workload, so I decided to go home and work from there for the rest of the day.
I headed straight to the house, wondering if Liz was going to be there.
I wasn't too proud to admit I’d made a mistake when it came to her. I’d clearly misjudged her. I hadn't cared to ask for an explanation about her odd hours. I thought maybe she was a grad student, partying until late every night.
Instead, her story had taken me by complete surprise. The woman was determined, hardworking, and too damn sexy for my peace of mind. The combination made we want to lock her in my house and have my way with her.
I still couldn’t get over how stubborn she was.
Then again, I wasn’t in the best position to question that.
I was stubborn as hell myself. Just like last night, I barely held back from going to the guest house and checking on her.
I’d stayed up until one o’clock before deciding I was being completely ridiculous and went to bed.
Once I got in the car, I checked my phone.
I had a missed call from Gran. I immediately called her back as I started the engine of my Range Rover.
I never ignored a call from Gran. She might need something urgently.
Most of her calls were for small talk, but you never knew when a real emergency could pop up. Thankfully, she answered right away.
"Morning, grandson," she said.
"Hey, Gran, what's up? What can I do for you?"
"Oh, don't go so fast, young man. How was your day?"
"I had court. I won."
"That would explain why you sound so energetic while this bag of bones is barely on her second coffee. I hope I didn't disturb you while court was in session."
"No. You know I always mute my phone when I'm in the courtroom. I checked it now and saw you called."
"I was thinking about organizing a get-together now that Reese and Kimberly are back as well. I spoke with Reese on the phone. She sounds like she had a good trip."
"Sure, why not? Let me know when it is, and I'll try to make it work. If it's on the weekend, I can make it for sure."
That was another golden rule: I didn't work weekends. I'd worked my ass off to get to where I was, and now I could make my own schedule, so I refused to put in any hours over the weekend.
"You don't know why Reese is a bit different since she came back from Paris, do you?"
I frowned, weighing my words.
"Different how?" I asked.
"You tell me. She's being coy on the phone. Yes, she said she loved France, but I got the feeling there was something she wasn’t telling me."
Shit. Reese hadn't told her about my uncle getting married, but obviously Gran's radar was on point as usual. The woman could sense anything.
"I don't know, Gran. Just ask Reese."
"Young man. You hesitated. What do you know?"
I cleared my throat. Gran only used “young man” when she meant business.
"I didn't," I said with all the confidence I always employed in the courtroom.
"I'm your grandmother. Don't you try to lawyer me."
For fuck’s sake. Why did Reese even tell me? I wasn’t good at playing clueless. When did she plan to tell Gran? At lunch, we hadn’t reached any conclusion.
"Look, Gran. I need to read an important email, but I'll get back to you."
"Declan, I know an evasive maneuver when I hear one."
"Gran, you have a question for Reese."
"No. I'm going to ask you some more. Call me when you have time."
"Sure, Gran. Have a great day."
We usually didn't keep things from each other. Except when they got really bad, like they did with Reese and her ex, Malcolm. Their breakup had been unbelievably shitty. She found out shortly before they were about to get married that he’d cheated on her.
Reese had been devastated. To make matters worse, the two of them had wanted to go into business together, opening a spa on the upper floors of a building owned by Gran.
Obviously, once their relationship was over, Reese didn’t want anything to do with him.
But the moron insisted on going through with the business.
He’d even sued Gran for refusing to rent him those upper floors, citing that he and the company he worked with had already invested money in the project by doing market research and preparing to lease the building next door too.
We’d kept it from Gran for a long time, and she hadn’t been happy with us.
My phone rang again, and I thought it might be Gran, but to my astonishment, it was my assistant, Greta.
"Hey, boss," she said.
"Hey, how are things? Anything requiring me to come to the office?"
"Oh no, nothing like that. I know on days like this, you like to work from home."
Her voice was wavering. She only did that when she had some bad news.
"Spit it out."
"Remember how you told me to keep an eye on Malcolm in case he makes weird moves?"
My gut clenched. "Yes."
"Rumor has it he's hired Gregory Ashburn."
Fuck.
“Are you sure?”
“Yes. A friend of a friend of a friend is working in his office.”
“Keep me posted.”
“Will do, boss.”
Every time I thought about that worm, a vein pulsed in my temple.
If he was lawyering up with Ashburn, that was bad news.
We might not have confirmation that it was to go against us, but it didn't take a genius to put two and two together.
Ashburn was a slimeball. He was a dirty lawyer, borderline corrupt.
But there was a reason why I was a damned good lawyer.
Taking down questionable morons was my expertise.
On the drive home, I mentally checked what Malcolm could sue us for this time. He wouldn’t be stupid enough to pursue the spa space again. He knew he’d never get it. He was an idiot to go after us for that in the first place.
If it had been about a random building the family owned, maybe we would even have let him do it, to spare Reese any further angst. But that was the first building Gran and our grandfather ever bought, and where they opened the first bookstore.
Even after the sale of the chain, Gran kept the store there, naming it The Happy Place.
No way would I allow that moron to do business in a building where Gran went almost daily.
No, I was convinced he wouldn’t try that again—especially because he didn’t even work at his old firm anymore, so he couldn’t use the excuse that they’d already invested money.
I’d gotten him fired. The Halsey Group seemed happy to be rid of him—they claimed he’d been a slacker but kept promising to bring in a lot of business through the Maxwell connections.
Once I got home, I changed out of my suit and into jeans and a T-shirt.
I knew exactly what would help me get rid of the adrenaline: manual labor.
The attic still wasn’t finished, but I didn’t want workers inside the house after I moved in, so I worked on it whenever I had time.
Today’s task was simple: I had to sand the floors.
I already had all the tools up there, so I started working right away. Manual labor demanded all my attention. I couldn’t let my mind wander, though thoughts of Malcolm did pop in from time to time.
I liked restoring this place. Growing up, I always liked helping Dad with tasks around the house. Even though he could have easily afforded to hire someone, my family had a strict rule: “ Don’t pay anyone to do stuff you can do yourself .”
Dad taught me a lot, and when I bought this house, I realized just how much I enjoyed restoring it. Obviously, I didn’t have time to do everything myself. My brother Luke found me an excellent crew that worked on it for months, but there was plenty for me to do, and I was in no hurry.
An hour later, I stopped working, looking around in satisfaction. I wasn’t done because the attic was huge, but I’d made decent progress. And I felt much calmer.
I descended the staircase, then went outside, going directly to the yard, intending to take some of the tools to the shed in the back. I wanted to work there next.
To my surprise, Liz was in front of the guest house. And just like that, my day got a whole lot better.