Chapter 4
CHAPTER FOUR
The water from the faucet of my bathroom sink wakes me up. I’m still naked from last night—or this morning rather—with my arm lying over my eyes, shielding the light from the early sun.
Groaning, I turn over and peer at the alarm clock, not amused by how early it is. Six in the morning is an ungodly hour considering I don’t need to be up until seven, and I wonder if the woman I bedded last night is trying to sneak out or is simply an early riser.
“Good morning,” she says with a smile moments later as she emerges from my en suite in last night's clothes.
Before I can protest, she presses one knee into my bed and leans down to kiss me—a sweet gesture I want nothing to do with, but I return her smile as she pulls back, hovering over me.
“Leaving so soon?” I feign interest as I take in her features in the daylight. Her dirty-blonde hair is pulled back into a water-slick ponytail, her figure on full display from the way her pantsuit hugs her body.
She’s a lawyer, too. Met her yesterday at the courthouse. It’s a shame I can’t remember her first name.
I have a bad habit of that. I should consider not bringing a woman home unless I remember her name. This is twice in the same week this has happened.
“Rest is for the wicked,” she singsongs. “I have an early morning meeting, plus I figured you wouldn’t appreciate lingering. Should I give you my number, or was this a one-time thing?”
Well, color me surprised.
It’s not often a woman isn’t begging to exchange phone numbers and asking for a second date that I rarely give.
Maybe this one will be different and can handle no-strings-attached sex.
Tossing my phone in her direction, it bounces against my white duvet. “Add your name and number, gorgeous.”
I’m not sure why I call her gorgeous—she is, but I know what words can do to a woman, and I plan to make it abundantly clear that, emotionally, this will lead nowhere.
Picking up my phone, she bites her lip as she inputs her information. “See you at the courthouse later?” Her light, hopeful eyes meet mine as she drops it back down on the bed.
“Not today.” I sit up, giving her my back as my feet hit the floor.
Not offering more details, I stand and walk across my bedroom completely nude, bending slightly to grab a pair of athletic shorts from my bureau drawer. Pulling them on, I find her watching me with a glint in her eye.
When she realizes I’ve caught her looking, she pushes her feet into her pointed-toe flats and picks up her purse from where she dropped it last night.
“Well, you have my number now. Use it, yeah?”
“Yeah, I will,” I tell her out of obligation, following her through my apartment.
Pressing one palm against the wall beside the door, I use the other to unlock and open it, holding it open for her as she passes through.
Before she does, she turns and kisses me again. “Thanks for a great night.”
Then she’s gone, but not before I hear her say “hi” as she moves down the hall. Leaning forward, I look past the door and find Sullivan Rochester leaning against the wall with coffee in hand and a smug look on his face.
“What are you doing here?” I bark, although my tone has no bite.
“Forget about our gym date, Luce?”
“Dammit.” Walking away, I leave my apartment door open for Sully to come inside.
“Fun night?” he asks, closing it behind him with the sole of his sneaker.
“Relieved some stress.”
“You sure have a type.”
Stopping, I turn back toward him and think about my most recent hook-ups.
Blondes.
All of them.
Blondes with great bodies.
“I guess I do.” I shrug and turn on my heel, going back into my bedroom. “Give me five.”
Sully doesn’t follow me. “Funny how they all have similarities to a certain friend of your sister’s!” he yells over the sound of chair legs dragging against my flooring.
Bullshit. Just because I have a thing for blondes doesn’t mean they’re similar to her.
She’s aggravating and young and my sister's best friend.
And sexy as fuck.
No.
“Over my dead body,” I shout back to Sully, pulling a T-shirt from another drawer and tugging it overhead. I put my socks and shoes on next, then head into the bathroom to brush my teeth.
Sully’s voice is barely audible through the sound of my electric toothbrush and the stream of hot water in the sink, but mixed in with his laughter, I hear, “Or under it!”.
For the next two minutes, I contemplate Sully’s words, trying not to let them get under my skin.
When the toothbrush powers itself off, I spit into the sink, then take a scoopful of water and splash it onto my face.
Grabbing the hand towel, I dry off, dragging my gaze to my reflection in the mirror.
Fuck.
He’s right. They all look similar to her.
I’m not even going to try to unpack that right now.
“Look, all I’m saying is maybe you can’t find anyone who strikes your fancy because you’re looking far, when you should be looking near.” Sully’s voice calls to me again. “And the way she looks at you when she thinks no one is watching…she’s totally DTF.”
Huffing out a lungful of annoyance, I yell back, “You’re nearly a thirty-year-old man, Sully. Stop using acronyms as a part of your daily speech.”
His laughter fills the silence in my apartment again, and I choose to ignore him for the rest of the time it takes me to finish my morning routine.
When I’m ready to hit the gym, I pick up my duffle bag and sling it over my shoulder, not bothering to engage in further conversation with the man sitting at my kitchen table who’s smiling from ear to ear.
Sending a quick glare at him, I head to the door, knowing he’s already out of his seat and following me before I even reach for the knob.
“Mr. Paladino, I have those new case files you asked for,” my legal secretary, Lydia, pages through the dinosaur of a landline phone sitting on my desk, breaking my concentration on the email I’m reading over.
Jabbing the intercom button, I tell her, “Bring them in,” and return to the last line of the negotiation proposal on my screen.
I’ve only been at work for forty-five minutes, struggling to get into the right frame of mind for a long day of work.
The gym didn’t clear my head like it normally does, Sully’s mention of the type of woman I’ve been gravitating toward fresh in my thoughts, doing something terribly uncomfortable to my heart. And my mind.
It’s making me think.
It’s making me think about her, and suddenly I’m weighing the pros and cons about my sister’s best friend.
As my office door opens, I close out of the browser and watch my secretary cross the room with about ten to twelve files in her hands. She’s in her mid-fifties and loves to mother me whenever I allow her the opportunity, and she’s damn good at her job.
“Anything worthwhile?” I ask as she sets the files down on my desk in the exact place she does every day.
Part of Lydia’s job is to review the documents sent in by prospective clients and create preliminary folders for me to review prior to booking consultations should I decide a case is worth moving forward with.
Over the last two years, I’ve built a healthy reputation for myself, and unfortunately, I just don’t have the bandwidth to take on every client.
There’s not enough hours in the day, or in the courtroom.
I can’t remember the last time I had a simple cut and dry divorce to help facilitate, but perhaps that is a punishment of my own choosing.
“More of the same. There is one in there, though”—she taps her unpolished fingernail against a file that’s sticking out slightly higher than the rest—“that might pique your interest. Evidently, the prospective client got married a year ago in Paris but wasn’t aware until her husband showed up on her doorstep a few days ago. ”
This captures my attention, and I look up, locking eyes with my secretary. “How the hell does someone not know they’re married?”
Lydia shrugs. “Beats me. Happy reading—I’m going to take an early lunch and have coffee with my daughter.”
“No problem. Enjoy.” My eyes are cast downward, already flipping through files. She leaves me to it, shutting my office door quietly.
I’m curious about the prospective client she mentioned, but as always, I begin with the top file, working my way down.
Skimming over the first one, I deduce it won’t be worthwhile.
A standard divorce initiated by the wife stating irreconcilable differences.
They have two children and are splitting the assets fifty-fifty.
Seems incredibly straightforward and, frankly, quite boring, so I set it on my left, the side I designate for a ‘passing on’ pile.
As I flip the cover on the manila folder of the next file—the one Lydia told me about—my blood runs cold as a name I recognize sits at the top of the page in my secretary's curly handwriting.
Raina J. Lancaster
My fingers curl tighter around the fountain pen in my hand.
Come a-fucking-gain?
Skimming over the rest of the case intake form, I register that I’m reading words, but my brain isn’t comprehending them over the sound of my beating heart.
Anger I have no right to feel flows through me with the fury of a rushing river filled with lava.
My jaw clenches so tight I wouldn’t be surprised if I needed to call my dentist later.
Without realizing it, my phone is in my hand and ringing before I even process who I’m calling, but as I listen to the incessant tone, I hear another phone ringing from behind the closed door of my office that matches the timing of the one in my hand.
My leather chair flies out from behind me when I spring from my seat, clattering to the floor with an unwelcome thud. Ignoring it, I stomp to the door, pulling it open so roughly the hinges groan.
Then Raina’s perfectly round doe eyes lock with mine instantly, her phone still ringing as she holds it in her palm.
“I’m sorry, sir. I was just telling Ms. Lancaster that she’d need a consultation appointment and?—”
“That’s alright,” I tell Lydia through gritted teeth, never taking my eyes off the bane of my existence. “Enjoy your break, Lydia. Ms. Lancaster, my office.”
Turning on my heel, I stalk back inside, knowing she’ll be right behind me. My chest heaves as my lungs struggle to catch up, the anger muddling my entire fucking body. The moment I hear the telltale click of the door, I spin toward her and advance until we’re chest to chest.
The reaction in my body is unexpected, even to me. It’s raw and possessive, yet mixed with confusion, and I’m about to start demanding answers when she pushes her manicured hand into me, her palm flat against my chest, and forces me to step back.
“Explain,” I seethe before she can get a word out. “You’re married?”
There’s a slight roll to her eyes as she removes her hand from my body. “First off, ‘Hey Raina, how’s it going? I’m good, Luciano. Thanks for asking.’ Second off, relax. You look like a tomato.”
This fucking woman.
Reading the goddamn room, she sighs and lifts her hands in the air, walking past me to go look out of the floor-to-ceiling windows.
“I don’t need your judgment,” she snaps, looking out at the skyline. Her arms are crossed, and the tone in her voice depicts the arrangement of emotions I know she must be feeling.
Temporarily, it lessens my anger, and I watch her closely as she continues.
“No one is more surprised or confused than I am. And trust me, you’re the last person I wanted to bring my problems to, but you’re the best divorce attorney in the city, and I need you—as much as it kills me to admit that.
Actually, I need you and your discretion. ”
“You would get that with anyone. Attorney-client privilege.” I’m not sure why I say that, but the words tumble from my mouth.
Her blazing blue eyes turn in my direction. “I know, but I need the best attorney possible.”
Walking to my office chair, I right it before taking a seat. “It would be a conflict of interest for me to take you on as a client.”
“Because of Vinnie?”
No, because I want to fuck you six ways to Sunday.
“Yes. You’re my sister’s friend, and it would complicate things.”
She shakes her head. “Please, Luciano. I’m not above begging, and I need your help. The man I’ve apparently married is powerful, and this marriage—this divorce—will be complicated. I need the best of the best, and we both know that’s you.”
Crossing her arms tighter across her chest, she unknowingly presses her breasts closer together, amplifying her cleavage.
My eyes dip to it before I sweep them back up to meet hers.
The look on her face is killing me. She knows how to push my buttons, just like my sister does.
But unlike my sister, this woman has the ability to ruin me with her smile, which is why I’ve been avoiding her like the plague for the last several years.
She will never know the attraction I harbor for her.
Ever.
Breaking our gaze, I turn in my office chair and swivel the mouse on my computer, bringing the screen to life.
Briefly, I close my eyes, knowing she’s behind me and can’t see my moment of indecision.
My mind is at war with itself—logic and reason screaming no, while the more humane side of me says to help her.
Instead, I decide I need a moment to think.
Never wavering from the computer screen, I aimlessly click the mouse and end up opening an internet browser.
“You know I can pay you,” she argues, likely sensing I’m about to kick her out of my office.
“It’s not about the money.”
“Then what’s the hesitancy about?”
You.
Working late nights with you.
Thinking about the fact that you’re married.
“It’s a conflict of interest,” I repeat my earlier sentiments.
Raina blows out a frustrated puff of air. “Fine,” she scoffs. The sound of her heels reverberates off the floor as she edges closer to pass my desk, and part of my resolve crumbles.
“I’ll think about it, Raina,” I mumble as she breezes past me.
With her hand on the handle, she snorts. “Take all the damn time you need to think about it, Luciano.” My heart rate accelerates as I watch her pull the door open, unsure of why I care so much. My attraction to her is only physical, but still, she’s pulling on my heartstrings.
The same heartstrings that are supposed to be dead and buried to anyone other than my family.
She hesitates before she walks through the door, looking at me from over her shoulder.
“You know, I thought maybe just once you could look past the silly crush I had on you when I was younger and actually see me as a woman who is coming to you for help and wanted the best, but clearly, I was wrong.” She shakes her head like she can’t believe she’s even standing in my office right now.
“Thank you for your time, Mr. Paladino.”
The second the door closes behind her, I feel like a piece of shit.
And maybe I am for making her think I won’t take the case, but I already know I’m going to.
I have to.
How could I not?
God dammit.