Chapter 16
Loch
“You ready?”
I look up to see the door to my office open, and Leisa tipping her head inside. I shrug. “Sure.” Did I just fucking shrug? I never shrug. Attorneys don’t shrug. I don’t waffle like I don’t know the answer. I always know, then do my research to fill in the gaps.
“Sure?” she asks, raising an eyebrow. “Rough night.” Not really. It might have had a rocky beginning, but it had a rewarding ending. “Are you going to tell me what has you smiling like you know a secret?”
Standing up, I tuck my phone into my pocket. “Was I smiling?” I ask, still grinning like I have a secret. I tuck my arms into my jacket and yank on the front to align it properly on my shoulders.
Nothing like a well-fitted suit to make you feel unstoppable. Kissing Tuesday this morning also helped. When she woke up, I was already out of bed, which she took as a challenge.
Her sultry eyes lured me back in and rolling in the covers with her had me feeling carefree. She had me so turned on that I was ready to call in sick for the first time in my career.
But it was her lips, those sweet lips tasted of pure contentment. It’s a heady aphrodisiac at seven thirty in the morning, and something I’ve never felt before with anyone.
I’ve won the lottery, and it’s all because I was the one lucky enough to have her not only in my bed but now in my life.
I wonder for how long . . .
Sitting here now, I’m filled with regret for not canceling my morning, staying in bed with her, and making up for the hours we lost sleep.
No fucking shame.
How many times do I need to be reminded she has a concussion and amnesia, for fuck’s sake?
Even when I remember, I still can’t keep my deviant hands off her.
Did I take advantage of her and her situation?
Am I still doing that? It feels reciprocal, but maybe it’s not fair to put her in this kind of situation at all while she’s recovering.
I make a mental reminder to research how long someone with a concussion should wait before having sex.
“You’re smiling like a man who had a good night. I don’t want details—”
“Good, because you’re not getting any. And,” I say and give a nod. “I did have a good night.”
“Huh,” she hums with her laptop held close and following me.
When she catches up to me at the corner, she starts doing roll call of the attorneys waiting for me in the conference room.
By the time we reach the door, she cuts me off by spreading her free arm out and planting her hand on the frame to block me. As if she could.
I chuckle. “Something you need?”
“You look good happy. Whatever caused it, keep doing that.”
“Isn’t that against company policy? HR might have something—” I chuckle, unable to hold on to a straight face. It’s freeing to feel this light. This must be how other people feel about Fridays. I feel it about Tuesday.
This time, she’s the one shrugging once she lowers her arm. “If seeing you happy is against policy, I’m guilty. Can I still get a recommendation?”
“Absolutely.” I step off to the side and spy on the enemy. They’re fine for the time being. Shifting back, I say, “In all seriousness, I appreciate you.”
Her expression melts as does her shoulders. “That means so much to me. Not my work performance, just—”
“I appreciate you.”
Hugging her laptop to her, she replies, “Thank you. I appreciate you, Loch.”
This is a lot of . . . feelings for one day. I’m starting not to recognize myself. Good or bad is to be determined. “Enough of the chitchat. We need to get in there.”
“Yes, sir.”
Leaving the sappier side of myself in the hallway, I open the door and walk in. “Counselors.”
. . . concussion wait to have sex?
I finish typing, hit go, and wait for the result to populate on my phone. Choosing reputable medical sites, I read a few of the search returns before determining results vary and it’s up to how the person feels.
Based on last night and then this morning, a safe bet is that Tuesday feels pretty damn good.
Pushing the remains of my lunch off to the side, I kick my feet up on my desk and lean back in my chair to text her: How’s your day?
I look out the window at the city, finding a new appreciation today for the view I have. When I’m at the office, I don’t typically have time to enjoy such simple pleasures. Makes it almost pointless to pay this much a month when one of the highlights goes unnoticed.
My phone buzzes. I heard from the detective. There’s nothing to report.
I type: No news is good news?
Tuesday: We’ll go with that.
She’s trying her best to stay positive, but it doesn’t surprise me that his update, or lack of one, feels more like a punch to the gut. I can’t imagine my family, or even Leisa, not searching until they found me.
I plant my feet back on the ground, remembering when I was told to get to the hospital back in Beacon because my brother was near death.
I chose to bury my head in my studies at university and ignore what was really happening while he was running around with a cousin that only wanted to bring him down.
We didn’t know if he’d survive. I didn’t know what I would have done without him in my life.
We grew up close, and I would do anything for my siblings and parents.
I rub my hands over my face. Every family has its battles. I’m just glad his death isn’t one of ours.
Nothing she’s shown me would cause a rift in her family. I feel the same as I did the other day. Not getting off on the right foot can be chalked up to a bad day. If she were mine, I would be searching heaven and earth for her.
I don’t know why I didn’t think of this sooner. With my unlimited financial resources, I can do what the police can’t on their limited budget.
Sending another text, I type: I should be home around 7. Do you have plans?
Tuesday: I do. At 7. See you then.
Knowing she’ll be in my apartment waiting for me inspires me to shift gears and get out of here.
My energy drops, and I hit a wall just after four. I need to stretch my legs and get some caffeine to wake up if I’m going to be ready for my next meeting. I tap Leisa’s desk as I pass her. “Going for fresh air.”
“Who are you?” she asks with a laugh as she spins in her chair.
Throwing my arms out wide, I shrug because I guess I’m now a shrugger. I start walking backward. “Guess it’s true. It’s never too late to change.”
That sends her into laughter. “I approve of said changes.”
Determined to steal some of the energy of the city, I turn around and push through the door. As soon as I reach to punch the button to call the elevator, one of them lands on the floor and the doors slide open. I step forward but stop. “Dad?”
My dad steps off and grabs my shoulder, squeezing it. “Loch. Just the man I came to see.” He turns back. “You heading out?”
I watch the doors close again, noting my good mood descending with it. “No.”
“Good. Let’s set up in your office.”
Leisa hears us before we reach my office and stands. “Good to see you, Mr. Westcott.”
“You too, Leisa. All good in your life?”
Her warm smile welcomes him. “Peachy.”
“Excellent.”
When my dad enters my office, she whispers, “Did you know he was coming?”
“I was about to ask you the same.” I keep my voice just as low as hers.
She nods, shrinking her shoulders. “Sorry.”
“All good things must come to an end.” I follow him inside and close the door behind me. My dad is a good guy. I shouldn’t feel this way about seeing him. But wind and sails come to mind regarding his timing.
“Why didn’t you tell me you were coming to the city?”
He sits on the couch with his briefcase beside him, grinning as proud as a peacock. “Thought I’d surprise you. I have plenty of work to do and figured I could do it in Manhattan as easily as in Beacon. Harbor’s back from his trip. We can have a boys weekend.”
I know Port Westcott better than he thinks.
Work is just an excuse to visit. As I sit at my desk, it’s hard to be bothered by a father who just wants to spend time with his kids.
Normally, I’d be all for it. We always have a good time, but his unexpected arrival puts a wrench in my plans with Tuesday.
Not that I thought getting laid was guaranteed, but it’s on the table based on how eager she was to proceed last night.
Fuck.
Just thinking about her last night and the feel of her coming undone has me scheming to get out of this predicament and into her instead.
“Noah’s not here,” I point out like a desperate idiot. I know he’s at school and probably has a game this weekend. I don’t get home to Beacon enough. I need to make more of an effort.
“He’s covered.” He stands and faces the windows.
Crossing his arms over his chest. “He has the best cheering section around. Mom and Marina traveled to Pennsylvania to watch his baseball game.” He looks back over his shoulder.
“It’s an off-season fundraiser, but we heard he’s being scouted for the minors. ”
“What about grad school?”
“It will always be there. Opportunities might not.” He sits on the couch and opens his briefcase.
This is not the strict hard-ass I grew up with.
He used to be all business, rarely home, sometimes even missing vacations because of a trial.
He had made his fortune, enough for him to retire and for his kids to never work again, but he continued, longer hours than ever.
But when Harbor almost died, something clicked for him.
He's been present and available, a good dad. Noah and Marina have it easy. If I’d had the same version of him, I wonder if I would have become a lawyer.
“That’s great,” I reply. Everything my youngest brother touches or tries turns to gold.
He’s the luckiest little shit I’ve ever known.
He’s also lucky to have awesome big brothers to keep him out of trouble, and there’s been some over the years that my parents don’t know about.
He asks, “When’s the last time you saw Harbor?”
“A few weeks ago. I didn’t know he was back from Italy.” I click open the file on my computer for a last review of the case before my meeting.
“I’m sure Lark’s keeping him busy.”
Glancing at him, I laugh. “She’s a doctor, Dad. I’m pretty sure she’s busy herself.”
“True.” He asks, “What does the rest of your day look like?”
“I have a five o’clock.”
He rubs his hands together and says, “Excellent. Let’s get to it.”
Oh great. I get my dad watching me perform like I’m a kid in grade school. Okay . . . “Let’s get to it.”
The meeting drags past when I told Tuesday I’d be home. She doesn’t text, and I haven’t had a chance to. As soon as I walk the clients to the elevator, I hurry back to my office, hoping to give Tuesday a heads-up about my father and the meeting.
Unfortunately, he’s on my heels, clapping me on the back. “Impressive, son.”
I set my phone on the desk and start on my post-meeting notes. “Thanks. Is there anything you know that might benefit future cases?”
“No. I think you’ve covered the bases and outcomes. Besides their comfort level with you being evident, winning the case seals this relationship. I think you’re really making a name for yourself.” He takes his briefcase from the couch, and then says, “Should we celebrate over dinner?”
This is it.
I don’t know what he’s going to think about my involvement not only with Tuesday’s attack but also this new relationship with her happening so quickly. I need to rip off the bandage and tell him before this blows up in my face, and he finds out some other way.
“I need to talk to you about something.”
“Let’s talk on the way. I’m starving.”
Other than Brady silently laughing at me the entire way home, I feel like I do a solid job of explaining Tuesday’s circumstance.
I’m about to put the key in the front door when my dad’s troubled expression reaches me.
“Just terrible. It’s really a tremendous thing you’re doing for her.
Her recovery won’t be easy, so I’m sure she’s grateful to have your help.
” He pats my shoulder again just as I insert the key. “She’s lucky to have you, Loch.”
Though I wouldn’t change a thing, I might have failed to mention how beautiful she is. Not that it’s relevant to why I helped in the first place, but it hasn’t hurt since. “I wouldn’t go that far.”
“Such a traumatic event. This poor woman.”
I open the door only to hear a scream in front of us.
Tuesday. And she’s wearing nothing but a Westcott Law T-shirt.
Fuck.