22. Handing Him An Advantage
HANDING HIM AN ADVANTAGE
“What sharp, pointy rock did you sit on?” Paris asked as London stormed back into her office. “Not that I’d even know if you were bleeding in those pants.”
“Bitch,” London muttered, but she forced a smile. “You love these pants.”
“I do. I call them the bitch pants. Very fitting today.”
“I am being one.” She dropped into her chair, rubbing her temples. “I didn’t want to be. I just couldn’t stop myself.”
“Want to explain?” Paris crossed her arms. “Because the last thing we need is Molly thinking you’re a tyrant and quitting. I like her. She watered my plants for me.”
She groaned. “You and those damn plants.”
“I’ve had them for years! I just forget to water them.” Paris shrugged. “But Molly did it when she brought in the files. She said they looked dry and gave me a whole care routine. I told her she could have them if she wanted.”
“Oh, she just loves you,” she said, her tone coated in annoyance she didn’t bother hiding.
“I’m glad somebody does, if you’re going to keep acting like this.” Paris eyed her. “I thought seeing Spencer again would put you in a better mood. Or…not? You came home Saturday all floaty and weird. Happy. Tired but happy.”
She stiffened. She hadn’t told Paris what had actually happened in Spencer’s condo, and she still couldn’t bring herself to.
It had been intimate in a way that eclipsed stripping down and having sex. Too intimate.
It had taken her forever to come down from it and get her head back on straight.
There was no way in hell she was telling her sister that.
But one thing she was sure of. She wasn’t about to let Spencer have the upper hand. She would have never left him without finishing what she started.
That would’ve been like handing him an advantage.
And London Westerly didn’t hand those to anyone.
“Spencer’s eager staff attorney tore my summary to shreds, acted like they were final policies, and not only put her own spin on them, but insulted how they were written to begin with.”
“Bitch,” Paris said again, mirroring her crossed arms. “How dare she?”
Her sister wasn’t mocking, but joining the ranks. They’d both had this done to them before.
“That’s right. She sent me everything right before the meeting. I opened the file to glance at it and saw more red than my pants. It was as if a stubborn English teacher lined up her pens to grab another when the ink ran out.”
Paris was shaking her head. “Why would she do that on a summary draft?”
“Because she’s kissing ass. I saw the way her eyes were on Spencer, but the minute he corrected her, she got defensive.”
“Who wouldn’t?”
“I gave her a piece of my mind on top of it. Put her right in her place. She didn’t like that.”
“London. They are paying clients.”
“We are their vendors.”
“No,” her sister said. “They can use another firm.”
“And we could turn down their work if I don’t want to work with them.”
“What is wrong with you?” Paris asked. “It’s like you're arguing just for the sake of it. You know you’re making no sense at all, right? They could use another firm and it closes us down. We can’t tell them no. It’s part of the contract. We have a partnership with West, or did you forget that?”
Not to mention it was family.
She scrunched her nose. “I didn’t forget it. I’m just practicing for when the time comes that we can do that to someone.”
Paris rolled her eyes. “You’re joking, right?”
“No. It made me feel better at least.”
“Are you blaming Spencer for what this person did?”
“Noelle. Her name is Noelle, and you’ll have to deal with her too. But after Spencer tried to defuse the situation professionally, Braylon came in and she interrupted to make it sound like she was doing exactly what I told her to do instead of tearing my work apart!”
“What? You just spit when you spoke. Slow down.”
“I told her the better thing to have done is what I did. Read the existing standards and policies and see where they differed from what Spencer and I discovered during our audit.”
“You’d think,” Paris said.
“So when Braylon came in, she said she did that. She made it sound as if she had thought of it all on her own. He praised her.”
“Ugh. I want to hate her for that.”
“I told Spencer I won’t work with her going forward.”
“It’s not really your call,” Paris said.
“Yep. It is. I don’t want to go over his head to Braylon.”
“Are you really going to do that? Really let this woman get to you?”
“I don’t want to,” she said, her shoulders dropping. “I’m just so out of sorts. Not the best impression to make to start.”
“What, you biting her head off? Or the pants that would call Spencer’s eyes to your ass. You’re wearing a thong on top of it. You hate them.”
She laughed. “It’s the only thing you can wear with these pants. Unless I was naked underneath. Not much difference. Probably more comfortable than string in my ass.”
Paris laughed with her. “Better you than me. I love those pants, but don’t wear them for that reason.”
The two of them shared a lot of their clothes. Not daily, but they both would snag something of the other’s if they wanted to match something different.
“Yeah, well, he was looking at my ass, but because my mouth got ahead of me and I was in full-on handful mode, I’m sure he’s pissed off too.”
“I thought you said nothing ticks him off.”
“Not that I can see,” she said. “Or not that anything makes him yell or show his annoyance.”
“Then what is really going on? Did you two want to hang out yesterday but you were helping me? I told you to go.”
“I didn’t even talk to him yesterday,” she said, pretending indifference. Her sister saw right through it. Of course she did.
“Why didn’t you reach out to him?”
“I had nothing to say. And we were working.”
“Maybe he had little to say to you too. Did you think of that?” Paris asked.
“I’m a delight to talk to and hang out with,” she said, lifting her chin several notches so she might crane her neck soon.
“Now you’re just being silly.”
“Trying,” she said. “Thanks for talking me off the ledge. You always manage it.”
“I seem to be the only one who can. Are things okay with you two? Or are you both reconsidering now?”
“I’m not. Not sure about him.”
“You won’t know unless you talk to him,” Paris said and stood. “I’ve got work to do.”
She scrubbed her hands over her face.
She should apologize to Spencer at the very least. It’s not like it was anything he did and yet she took it out on him.
When her computer dinged, she looked in her email to see one from Noelle.
Her tongue came out of her mouth pretending to gag.
God only knows what it was going to say. Maybe it’d correct her on how to format an email.
She hit the mouse to click it open. A short, sweet, and maybe genuine apology. That she was excited and got ahead of herself and wouldn’t do it again.
Rather than reply, she picked her phone up and texted Spencer.
Can you talk?
She stared at the message for a full minute, long enough to regret sending it, until the read receipt popped up and her phone rang instantly.
“I took care of it,” Spencer said, his voice low and clipped.
She blinked. “Took care of what?”
“Noelle.”
Her brows shot up. “Did you tell her to apologize to me? Because I just got an email. And it shockingly didn’t make me want to set my computer on fire.”
“It should. She cried.”
Her jaw dropped. “You made her cry?”
“Now I’m the villain,” he muttered. “I didn’t yell at her, London. I just explained how things are going to work. Calmly. Directly. With no wiggle room.”
“In that dry, unarguable, I-am-the-lawyer-and-this-is-the-law tone you use?”
“That one,” he said. “The one that somehow bounces right off you.”
She snorted. “Sorry I was a bitch. She hit an irritated itch.”
“Irritated, huh?” he drawled. “Funny. I thought you liked itches scratched.”
Her mouth fell open. “Did you just make a sex joke? While you’re at work?”
“Seems that way,” he said, sounding far too pleased with himself. “Are you alone?”
“I am,” she said cautiously. “Are you? Or are you about to ask what I’m wearing under my pants?”
“No need to ask what I already know.”
Her pulse flipped. “Which means you were staring.”
A quiet second went by. “Isn’t that what you wanted when you walked into the conference room?”
Heat shot straight up her neck. Damn him.
This was exactly the medicine she needed. Sexy, sharp-edged, and entirely off-limits. Proof that Spencer Jensen’s rigid exterior came with cracks she could pry her fingers into.
“Could be,” she said, letting the smile he couldn’t see slide slowly across her lips.
He exhaled softly, almost amused, and far too knowing. “Thought so.” Before she could formulate a comeback, he added, “You sounded off earlier. Was it just Noelle or something else?”
She froze. Spencer didn’t do feelings unless dragged out of him. Him offering one up voluntarily? That was… new.
“I was irritated,” she admitted, leaning back in her chair and kicking her heels against the floor. “Noelle got under my skin. Paris poked at me. And I’m tired.”
“Tired,” he repeated. “Or avoiding something?”
Her spine tightened. There was no way he could know she was out of sorts because they hadn’t talked in over twenty-four hours after she’d come on his hand. “I don’t avoid.”
“You absolutely avoid,” he said. “You just do it with confidence so people think it’s a strategy.”
Her mouth opened, then closed. Damn him again. “Fine. Maybe a tiny bit of avoidance. Happy?”
“No,” he said. “Not till you tell me why you texted me.”
“Because I didn’t want to be professional,” she blurted before she could think better of it. “I wanted… you. Or this. Or what I hoped this would be, but wasn’t sure you had it in you.”
Silence.
Heavy. Electric. And too dangerous.
Her heart thudded against her ribs. Too honest, London. Too much. She shouldn’t have confessed that.
“Good,” he mumbled, his voice dropping to a tone that slid right down her spine. “Because I wanted to talk, but didn’t know if you would listen to me.”
She swallowed, her hand tightening around the phone. “Spencer…”
“Relax. I’m not asking for anything else,” he said. “I just don’t like when you’re upset. Especially if I can fix it. I can handle anger, but sadness is hard to move around. And I just gave you something there.”
Her pulse tripped, because that was more intimate than anything they’d done in his condo.
She didn’t need a man to fix anything for her.
And maybe that was her problem in life. She always wanted to handle it all on her own.
But talking to him right now. She had to admit, “I’m not upset anymore. Not even irritated.”
“Good,” he murmured. “Because I’ve been thinking about Saturday. More than I should.”
Her breath caught. “You have?”
“You know I have.”
The deep honesty in his voice made her stomach flip. She suddenly felt warm everywhere.
“Spencer,” she whispered, then looked around her empty office as if she thought someone was there watching and listening. Someone to see that she was dropping her guard and maybe giving him something too. “What are we doing?”
“Something we probably shouldn’t,” he said. “But I’m not ready to stop.”
Her head fell back against the chair. “Neither am I.”