CHAPTER SEVEN
ZANDER
––––––––
I stretch out my legs and nudge the empty pizza box aside, then glance at my Rolex.
It’s late.
For a business meeting.
But not my first, and it won’t be my last.
Watching Courtney pad across my office, returning from my private bathroom in her bare feet—her shoes long ago kicked off—I take in her painted toes.
Since when do I have a toe fetish?
Tonight, apparently.
Her coral-painted nails draw me like a moth to a flame. Add in the way she’s pulled up her hair in a messy bun and exposed her long, slim neck, and I almost messaged Terrance a minute ago telling him he’d need to drive me to the Obsidian Club once we were done here.
A top-class blow job will sort out my current issue.
My dick.
My hard dick.
After all, Colt is selling the club, and we won’t have it for long.
It’s not something you advertise, so his legal team will be making confidential enquiries.
I offered to take a look at my client list. I’d hand it over to an associate if we had someone interested because, while there’s technically no conflict of interest, Colt is one of my best friends and I want him to get top dollar.
My clients would want to pay the lowest.
Speaking of money, Courtney flops into one of the armchairs, lets out a sigh, and meets my gaze. “Are we finished?”
I glance at the whiteboard and my notes.
“Have you left anything out?” I ask because I don’t like surprises or liars.
Her brows drop. “I’m sorry, Mr. Sterling, but I’m tired and almost out of patience with your insinuations and tone.”
I feel my lips twitch.
There she is. I knew she was hiding herself behind all those bright nails and big hair.
“Mrs. Blackmore, my sense is—”
Courtney stands, stopping my words.
“Mr. Sterling, I appreciate you’re good at what you do—”
“Would we say good, or excellent?”
Yes, I am purposely antagonizing her further because the blush on her cheeks and decolletage is making my semi into a full-blown erection and, my God, I like it.
“—and that you want all the information from me in accurate detail so that we can win this case—”
“It’s not a murder trial.” I roll my eyes.
“—but you are being very rude, and I’ve told you everything.”
That’s yet to be seen.
I climb to my feet, holding a file in front of my pants.
“You aren’t paying me to be your friend or therapist, Mrs. Blackmore. I am asking the questions required to get all facts so that when we sit across from your husband and opposing counsel, I am armed with all the facts. This is all a game to a man like your husband, and I am very good at the game.”
Better than everyone.
Courtney reaches for her jacket, and I feel regret as she begins to cover her bare shoulders. Her soft pink silk blouse is sleeveless and just sheer enough to tease what’s underneath. It’s been fucking with my mind all night.
Between that and her toes, I really need to go to the club.
And toes.
She starts doing the buttons up, and I follow the movements of her fingers. When my gaze lifts, Courtney tilts her head in question.
Fuck.
She’s picked up that I’m attracted to her. Worse, the flicker in her eyes tells me it's reciprocated.
Warning, warning, warning.
She appears to receive the message because she responds.
“I don’t want you as my friend, Zander. I want you to speak to me with respect. If you can’t do that, perhaps another partner at your firm should take over.”
No fucking way. News that I stepped aside and wasn’t able to complete this case would be all over the New York Times an hour after it was made official.
“That won’t be necessary.” I reply roughly, my teeth grinding against one another. “This is my company. If you’re uncomfortable with the process, then perhaps it would be better to settle with your husband and accept what he’s offering.”
Courtney blinks. “He’s not offering anything.”
Exactly.
So, suck it up, buttercup, because you’re at the big boys' table now.
I prop my hands on my hips and nod knowingly at her. I see the moment figures it out.
Her hand flings out. “He can’t just make wild claims that aren’t true.”
“He can.”
“Then...then...” She presses her lips together.
There it is. The lie she is keeping from me. All evening I’ve been waiting for her to break. I’ve been doing this long enough to know it’s only a matter of time.
They all confess sooner or later.
“Then... this is why I hired you. I won’t lie. I won’t do what Adam is doing. He didn’t ask me to sign a prenuptial contract, so legally I am entitled to fifty percent.”
Not quite.
Technically yes, but people are surprised by what blackmail can achieve. The court of public opinion and all that. Her reputation is on the line already with his recent post, and she’s been talked about on podcasts.
“I don’t care what they are saying.”
“You do.”
“Fine, it hurts, but only because it’s not true.”
“New York divorce is governed by what we call equitable distribution laws.”
“I know that.”
“Then you know each spouse is due a fair and equitable share of the marital property.”
Her eyes dart around the room, indicating she’s uncomfortable discussing this. Is it guilt because it’s his money he earned?
I’ll be honest, her discomfort surprises me.
“What does fair mean?”
“A fifty-fifty split, but it can vary depending on each partnership if both parties agree. In your case, you never worked nor had children—”
“No, I didn’t.” Courtney snaps and reaches for her bag. “Clearly I made no contribution to the marriage, which is something my husband has pointed out a number of times in the past year, but not all is as it seems...”
She swallows and visibly decides to not say anything further. Then reaches out her hand and, while my brows are still midway up my forehead, I shake it.
Then stand, a little bewildered, sliding my hands into my pockets, and watch her stride across the room.
“Good night,” she says at the doorway.
Christ.
I rub my temple.
“Wait.”
Courtney turns. “Sorry?”
“I’m going to drive you home.”
“Why would you do that?” Her brows shoot up. “You’ve pointed out that you’re not my friend.”
I grab my jacket and cell phone, then walk to the door. I stop a few feet from where she stands, towering over her and think what a shame it is that we didn’t meet in a bar. I could thread my fingers through her delicious red hair and bring those plush lips to mine.
I bet she moans beautifully.
“Because despite what you think,” I rasp. “I’m a gentleman and can see you’re upset.”
“I’m not—”
I shake my head. I’ve had enough of her little white lies. And perhaps a big one. I have no doubt that her husband will reveal it and play dirty in time.
What a shame she didn’t decide to speak up.
It could be her undoing.
She’s right about one thing, though. I shouldn’t be offering her a ride home.
I keep a strong boundary between myself and my clients.
Especially those I’d like to fuck. Yet, I place my hand in the small of her back and lead her down the hall, to the elevator, across the lobby and out into the cool Manhattan night air.
We don’t say a word to each other the entire time, and I like that very much. A lot of women fill the airwaves with stupid chatter because they’re lacking confidence.
Courtney holds her own with me, and that’s sexy as fuck.
By the time we reach the town car where Terrance stands waiting, the urge to take her hand, tug her to me and kiss her is growing stronger.
I never will.
The threat of being disbarred is a strong extinguisher of lust when it arises between me and any client. I’ve never felt anything like this, so thank God that barrier exists.
“Evening, sir,”
“How did the Yankees go tonight?” I ask Terrance.
He shakes his head and opens the door. “Not good, not good at all. Lost 2-4.”
Courtney glances between us and then climbs into the vehicle.
“Damn,” I slap his arm and slide in after her.
The interior is spacious, but I find myself highly aware of how close our bodies are and how tiny she looks against the white leather.
“Where to, sir?”
“Courtney,” I prompt. She seems to have drifted away, her face turned toward the window. I place my hand on her thigh and her head snaps around. Glistening green eyes meet mine in a fiery rage.
Not of anger...of something familiar.
Desire.
“Sorry,”
“No need,” I rasp, realizing we are way, way, way too close and that my hand is still on her thigh.
We both glance down.
Fuck, she’s little.
I remove it. “Address. Where do you live?”
“Oh,” she nods, swallowing simultaneously and then shares it with Terrance.
Fuck me. I should’ve put her in the car and waited for him to circle back.
This was definitely not my smartest move.