CHAPTER NINETEEN
ZANDER
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I wrap the large bath towel around my body, brush my teeth with Courtney’s spare toothbrush, and then lean on the bathroom counter as I stare at myself in the mirror.
What the hell am I doing here?
The thought had flickered around in my mind all day, but I pushed it away. Even while watching her cooking an omelet...naked. While she sat on my knee feeding it to me while I finger fucked her.
And once or twice as she loaded the dishwasher, bending over so I could see her glistening pussy.
There was no fucking way I was leaving.
But this couldn’t go on past today... Fine, tomorrow.
That’s what you said the first night.
Shut up, brain!
I’ll need to leave in the dark, so while I’m here, I’m making the most of it. I dry off and dress in my freshly washed clothes—how Courtney did that without me knowing, I don’t know—and head out to the living room. She’s on the sofa with her feet tucked under her, flicking through some papers.
I walk over, kiss her forehead, then walk into the kitchen to get a glass of water.
What the hell?
I watch the water as it flows over the edge of the glass because I’m too shocked by what I just did to turn the tap off.
I don’t kiss women’s foreheads.
What is wrong with me? I’m playing house with my client, fucking her without condoms and kissing her like she’s the woman I’m going to spend my life with.
If I wanted to play with fire, perhaps I could have taken up bungee-fucking-jumping instead. Or cave diving?
Whatever.
Perhaps I’m having an early mid-life crisis. I should reach out to one of the boys and talk to them, but I don’t want to snap out of this.
I like how this weekend is going. I mean, Courtney is a beautiful woman with an incredible body, very responsive to my touch, and the idea of joining her on the sofa is very appealing.
Why leave?
Her penthouse is nice—incomparable to mine, but nice—she’s half naked, and apparently she’s an excellent cook. Her wine rack has some impressive labels, and I saw a bottle of Macallan should I ever want to drink that stuff again.
Not today, though, I’m still hydrating.
I have everything I need. So, why leave?
Turning off the water, I drink half the glass, then wander over to the sofa and sit next to her.
“What are you reading?” I ask, glancing at the familiar-looking papers.
She lowers them.
“Adam’s Statement of Worth. I never focused on them in much detail before,” she replies. “It’s very wordy and complicated, and I figured I don’t have anything to audit against.”
“That makes sense.” I lay my arm along the sofa behind her. “So why the frown?”
I can see something has unsettled her.
“I don’t really know. Something doesn’t feel right.
I can’t put my finger on it. I was married to him for six years, so I overheard many things.
I know we own a property in the Hamptons and one in Hawaii.
” Court flicks through the pages. “I can’t see the Maui property, but I suppose Adam could’ve sold it.
Here it says he owns land in Sydney. I didn’t know about that. ”
He. Not we.
I glance away, angry on her behalf.
Although I’m becoming more familiar with the creases around her eyes that betray the hurt she is feeling. The one she’s trying to hide. She loved him, and while I don’t understand it, that doesn’t change her feelings. Nor can I do or say anything to make her feel better.
Well, another orgasm might distract her, but I can read a room.
Her husband vowed to be honest and protect her. I’m not seeing many signs of that in all the facts and figures, and if that’s the case, I can only wonder what went on behind closed doors.
Or in their bed.
I glance away as I feel my grimace begin.
Fucking marriage vows. All they do is lower people’s walls and create a sense of trust that is more often than not betrayed. Or at least that’s my perception. A pretty solid one, given my career.
I nudge her hair off her shoulder. “Correct. You own property in Sydney, Australia.”
“Not me. Adam.” Courtney glances at me.
“No. You both do. By law.”
She sighs and keeps reading. “Well, I don’t see the Maui house. I liked it there. It was peaceful. Why would he sell it and not tell me?”
Does she want me to answer that, because I doubt she’ll like the answer.
“...and I don’t understand these numbers, but I remember Adam saying he had a three-billion-dollar deal with a Japanese company three years ago. Wouldn’t that show in these numbers?”
You bet your ass they would!
“What if he’s got other accounts? Can he keep the business from me?”
“Nope.” I smile, hoping she’ll keep talking.
“What?”
I reach out and run my finger over the soft skin of her shoulder. “I like this side of you. You’re like a little firecracker, not the sad woman who walked into my office.”
“I wasn’t sad.”
“True, you were a bit mad.”
“I was mad at you demanding that I call you Mr. Sterling,” Courtney points out.
“We should try that with you underneath me, begging.” I wiggle my brows.
She blushes, and I hold myself back from doing just that. I want to hear what else she might remember or share. It’s obvious she’s trusting me more.
“Stop it.” She shudders under my touch and flutters her lashes, but I bet she doesn’t realize she’s done it. “Tell me your team is investigating all of this.”
I feign offense, my hand flying to my chest. “Mrs. Blackmore. I’m the best divorce lawyer in New York. If he’s broken the law by lying on this document, we’ll find it.”
Unless he’s really fucking good at tax avoidance or has actually broken some bigger laws. This could be a nightmare.
I don’t say that.
“I’m sorry. I hate what people are saying about me. Especially when it's untrue.”
Earlier in the week I went on a raft of podcasts in the media stating that Blackmore was lying. His claims that Courtney stole money from their estate were not true.
After we pushed back and didn’t fold, he went public. Of course he did.
I reiterated to listeners that Courtney was within her rights to move money into her own personal account, knowing she was leaving the marital home. That the money was half hers. That the number Blackmore insinuated she took was utterly ridiculous.
“Mr. Blackmore is worth ten billion dollars. Actually, five, because my client will be walking away with half in a few days,” I added, ending the interview.
Unfortunately, one journalist from KPC News, Karen Maggoty, decided she wanted to be a little lawyer.
“But she took a large amount.”
“There is no limit to what either spouse can withdraw while married. Draining the account would be viewed as a waste of the marital assets, sure, or dissipation, but that’s not what happened here.”
“How much did she take?” she asked.
“She didn’t take anything. It is her money,” I reiterated.
“Mr. Sterling, I’m sure our viewers would disagree. Can you give us a number?”
Wow.
“Less than one percent of the total balance of the account,” I replied, almost laughing when the journalist looked disappointed.
“But she’s seeing another man already. Don’t you think that speaks to motive?”
Motive?
“Legal TV shows need to be banned,” I muttered, rubbing my jaw. “No. She is not on trial and, once separated, people can begin a new relationship.”
They can’t fuck their attorneys, but we weren’t discussing that.
“But she was not separated then.”
“Courtney Blackmore did not cheat on her husband. She left him for reasons she’s not obligated to share with the public. If they were middle-income earners, no one would care.”
“But they aren’t. Adam Blackmore is one of the wealthiest men in America. As are you, Mr. Sterling. If your wife left you and you learned she had a lover a week later, wouldn’t you think the same thing?”
“I’m a divorce lawyer, Karen. I’m never getting married.” I laughed.
That earned me a text from Sebastian saying, never say never.
To which I replied, fuck off.
Refocusing on Courtney, I brush my knuckles across her cheekbone. “Divorce is stressful. Yours, sadly, is taking place in the public.”
“He’s accused me of cheating and stealing his money.” Courtney glances into the far corners of the room. “I hate him.”
I watch her as memories flicker across her face. I’d pay good money to have her tell me everything, and not because I’m her attorney.
What did he do?
Knowing what suffering went on is now important in a way I can’t explain. I need to know. There is more to their marriage—there always is—and if I knew, I’d probably lose my shit. But it could also help next week.
“Did he hurt you?” I place my hand on her shoulder.
“Adam wasn’t violent, if that’s what you mean?”
Nice try.
I shift to the edge of the sofa and peer into her face. “Try again, sweetheart. I asked, did he hurt you?”
Pained eyes meet mine, and I wait.
And wait.
Then, finally...
“Once.”
Fuck.
Anger blasts through me, and it’s not based on me being her attorney, but the man who spent hours pleasuring her today. The one who should be in his own home, not familiar with the inside of her sweet pussy.
“When?”
“Just before I left. It was...a disagreement.”
Fucking bullshit.
“A man can’t hit you because he disagrees with you, Court.” I grit my teeth.
She snaps. “I know! Don’t you think I know that?! It’s why I left.”
Christ. What the fuck did he do?
“Then you should’ve told me. I can use this,” I demand, clenching my fists.
What I mean is you should have told me so I could get Adam’s address off the file and drive over to his residence and slam my fist into his face.
Several times.
A foot in the groin to finish off.
“I don’t want people to know about it.” Courtney scrambles off the sofa and wraps her arms around herself. “I didn’t want you to know.”
Goddamn it, I want to comfort her, but right now I’m her lawyer. Despite only wearing an open shirt and a pair of briefs.
I stand, and big eyes lift to mine.
“What you tell me is confidential. It wouldn’t be leaked by my team.”
“No, but as soon as he learned it was a discussion point, he would go out to his millions of followers and spin it.”
Yeah, he might, but violence is a sensitive topic for me. Still, he’s a goddamn fox, so it’s a risk.
But that’s not why I’m approaching her.
“Did you report it?” She shakes her head and my lips part. “Jesus, Court. How bad was it?”
More shaking of her head.
I take her arm. “How bad? Did you go to the hospital?”
A tear slides down her cheek.
Fuck.
I want to scream and go get my fucking gun.
“Please tell me,” I rasp, taking her shaking head in both my hands. “Court, tell me. As the man who just spent the night with you. Or, as your lawyer, who cannot say a word. Please. Tell someone. Trust me.”
An aching feeling around my heart won’t go away. It’s pounding as I feel her shaking and watch her cry.
She steps back, taking her phone, and a teardrop splashes down on the screen. I watch her swipe and then find a photo.
She holds it out to me.
“Fuck,” I yell, and almost throw it across the room as I slam my hand through my hair.
Black and red bruises cover her jaw, cheek and eye. She looks like a battered woman. The corner of her lip is cut, her hair matted.
I can’t help myself; I toss the phone on the sofa and pull her into my arms, letting out a growl as I hold her tightly.
“I promise you, I’m going to destroy that asshole, utterly and completely,” I vow.
The one and only vow I’ll make in this life.
One I plan to keep forever.
Whatever it takes.
For her.