Counselor Undone (17 page)

She was stubborn and combative. How he could be
simultaneously annoyed and turned on by that baffled him, but he was done
questioning his feelings.
Somehow, he
had to show her that surrendering to her passion was as important as advancing
her career. Tomorrow he’d start the full-out campaign to thaw the deep freeze
she’d placed around her heart. They’d settle this matter between them and then
he’d find out what happened in LA. She’d thought he’d been arrogant and
domineering before. She hadn’t seen anything yet.

* * *

Jordis got back to her office to find a sealed manila envelope
on her chair. She picked it up and opened it. The handwritten note she slid
from the pouch made her cringe.

You little slut!

We need to talk about that elevator kiss!

Meet me at Delilah’s in Zona Rosa. 9pm sharp.

Come alone.

Someone had seen her and Michael Thursday night. How was
that possible?

She plopped down into her chair. The day kept getting better
and better. First, Covington. Then, the row with Michael. Now this. She wanted
to scream.

She looked up from the note to find Alyson McGovern leaning
against her open office door watching her.

“Well, well, well,” Alyson crooned. “Word is you were
assigned second chair in the Metra Pharmaceuticals case today.
Congratulations.” She sounded anything but congratulatory.

Jordis crumpled the note in her hand, her fist tight around
the wad of paper. “Thanks, Alyson. What can I do for you?”

“Oh, nothing in particular. I just wanted to stop by and be
amongst the first to say well done.” Her grin conveyed irritation rather than
amity. “You know, I’m rarely outdone in getting something I want.” Alyson
sauntered into the room. “No worries though. I always have a back up plan.”

Placing her hand on the back of a guest chair, Alyson gave
Jordis a once over with her eyes. “I guess I just wasn’t exotic enough for Mr.
Remington.”

Jordis’s eyes narrowed. “Just what are you trying to say,
Alyson?”

Alyson gave a catty laugh. “No sense playing coy with me.
Eric may have bought that drivel about why you and Michael took so long leaving
the gym last weekend and given you the benefit of the doubt about that carriage
ride on the Plaza, but we women know exactly what was going on.”

Jordis stood. “Exactly what are you accusing me of?”

Alyson’s eyes widened in feigned innocence. “Me?” She
touched her hand to her chest. “I would never
deign
to accuse our senior
partner’s pet associate of anything untoward.” Alyson’s hand swept the room.
“At least, not here where I could be overheard and lose plausible deniability.”

She laughed before heading for the door. She grabbed the
door handle, but didn’t exit. Looking back, she advised, “You should be careful
what you say and do at the office, Jordis. There are eyes and ears everywhere.

“And don’t be foolish enough to believe pets can’t fall out
of favor. A man like Michael Remington enjoys a little variety. Who knows what
will happen when he gets bored with the flavor of the month.” With a gleam in
her eye and a wicked curve to her lips, Alyson left, pulling the door closed.

Jordis looked down at the crumple in her fist. Untwisting
the wad, she opened the note and read it again. Had Alyson sent it? Had Eric?
The two of them had obviously been talking.

She didn’t have one jackal at her back, she had two. How
could she have been so stupid as to forget about Alyson’s sexual designs on
Michael?

Possibly, Alyson’s interest lay more in getting a prime case
assignment than lust, but Alyson didn’t have the experience of Eric or herself
so the Metra Pharma appointment wouldn’t have been an option for Alyson.
Unless,
of course, she were sleeping with Michael Remington.
The thought put Jordis
back in her seat.

She glanced at her desk clock. It displayed a quarter to
nine. Her stomach churned. Out of principle, she hadn’t eaten any of the dinner
Michael had brought in. His orders had to be followed when it came to work, but
she didn’t have to eat his food.

She placed a hand over her unquiet stomach and fingered the
note on her desk. She’d know soon what game Eric or Alyson had in mind. At
least the slime had chosen a meeting spot unlikely to be patronized by the
upwardly mobile clan of their firm.
Delilah’s
was a trendy hole-in-the-wall for singles and artsy types. Whatever her stalker
had in mind, she wouldn’t have to worry about all those “eyes and ears.”

* * *

Jordis arrived at Delilah’s and sat in her car surveying the
parking lot for a recognizable face or car. She didn’t notice anyone she knew.
As for the cars, she wasn’t familiar enough with her coworkers’ vehicles to
easily pick out a particular ride.

Bucking up for the confrontation ahead, Jordis disembarked
from her car. She stepped inside the eclectic scene. Low lights shadowed tables
of differing heights and shapes. An acoustic guitar accompanied a plaintive
female voice in a haunting rendition of Roberta Flack’s
Killing Me Softly
.
Bodies huddled together, a mix of casual acquaintances, friends, and obvious
lovers—of all persuasions. Jordis’s eyes glanced over two gentlemen in an
intimate embrace before she caught a glimpse of a familiar face.

She tensed. She was never going to live this down. Stepping
up to a round, bar height table, she tossed down her purse. “Vivian, I’m going
to
kill
you.”

Her redheaded colleague’s eyebrows shot up. “What did I do?”

Jordis hoisted herself into a high-backed chair and let out
a deep breath. “When I got your note, I nearly had a heart attack. I thought
the worst. I drove here expecting to find Eric or Alyson waiting for me.”

Vivian noticed the tight look on her friend’s face. “Oh.
Sorry about that.”

“You should be.”

“Didn’t you recognize my handwriting?” Vivian gestured to a
barista and motioned towards her cup and then at Jordis.

“No, I didn’t.” Jordis saw the pantomime and shook her head.
“You know I’m not a big coffee fan. They wouldn’t happen to serve alcohol here?
I need a real drink.”

“As a matter of fact, they do.” Vivian hopped down from her
seat. “Be right back.”

Jordis reached for her handbag.

Vivian waived her off. “Tonight’s tab is on me.”

Jordis threw her handbag back down. “No argument from me.
It’s the least you can do. And no froufrou drinks either. Bring me something
that’ll make my throat burn.”

Vivian hesitated. “Are you driving tonight?”

Jordis leaned back in her chair. “No. You are.”

Vivian disappeared and returned quickly with a tall glass
that, with one taste, Jordis identified as a Tom Collins. Gin. That would work.

Vivian waited for Jordis to finish half her drink before she
delved into the matter of the evening. “Well, clearly, you’re not gay, but I
see I was off base about you not doing white guys.”

“I don’t.” Jordis sighed. “Or, at least, I didn’t. That elevator
kiss was a fluke.”

After this past weekend, Jordis knew that wasn’t exactly the
case, but she didn’t want to talk about it. She downed more of her drink.

“Ah, I see.” Vivian sat back with a grin. “An interracial virgin.
Is that the problem?”

“W-what?” Jordis choked a bit on her drink at Vivian’s use
of the word
virgin
. “No, of course not.” She’d pretty much barreled past
that particular issue when she’d let Michael fondle his way through third base.

She gave Vivian an indignant look. “
Hello!
He’s my supervising attorney. You are familiar with the
Rules of Professional Conduct?”

“
Hello!
” Vivian
mocked. “The Rules are just guidelines to prevent certain unethical behavior.”

“Exactly.”

“So avoid the unethical behavior without passing on the
phenomenal bedroom skills of your hunky managing partner.”

“Phenomenal bedroom skills? How do you know the man has
phenomenal bedroom skills?”

“That man is drop-dead sexy. Any man who looks like that,
moves like that, and gets that much female attention has to be great in bed.
Otherwise, the Lord is simply not merciful.”

Jordis chuckled at her friend’s backwards Catholic reasoning.

Vivian sipped her latte. “So, how do we get you and Mr. Remington
from liplock to horizontal mambo?” She made a sensual sound of pleasure while
wiggling her eyebrows suggestively.

Jordis burst out laughing at the lascivious expression.
“That is
sooo
not going to happen.”

“Really? We’ll see about that.”

Jordis shook her head, her laughter tapering off. “How did
you know, by the way?”

“We’ll get to that later. First, tell me all about that elevator
kiss.” Vivian leaned forward. “And don’t leave anything out.”

Jordis looked up as Michael, dressed in a charcoal gray
Armani suit she loved on him, strolled into her office two days later. He’d
left his jacket off and rolled the sleeves of his baby blue dress shirt to
mid-forearm. The blue of his shirt gave a silver glint to his gray eyes.

Except for an exchange of emails, they’d only spoken a few
times since their evening meeting. Each time, he’d been completely
professional. He hadn’t mentioned their disagreement or made a pass at her
once. She should be happy. That’s what she’d wanted. Instead, because she was
dealing with a known master strategist, she kept waiting for the other shoe to
drop. No way he’d let her off this easy. He had to be up to something.

Michael sat down in one of the two guest chairs opposite her
desk. “I sent you the preliminary arguments for my section of our response to
the motion for summary judgment.”

She sat back. “I got them.”

“Did you have a chance to look them over?”

“Not yet. I’ll take a look later this afternoon and let you
know my thoughts.”

“That’ll work. Thanks.” He stood.

As he turned to go, she called, “Michael?”

He stopped and looked at her.

“Is that all you wanted?”

He shrugged. “Yeah. Oh—” He looked down at his hand as
if with afterthought. “And this is for you.” He placed a tall refillable
beverage mug on the desk in front of her.

She glanced at the mug with a brown screw-on lid. On its
beige front, a script
J
floated in
the center of a painted ornate medallion and the word
tea
floated around the sides multiple times along with various
words for
coffee
, like
java
,
latte
and
café
.

“What’s this?” she asked.

“Just a little something to get you through the afternoon.”
He strutted to the door.

Her eyes fell to the drape of his slacks over his tight
butt. He had a nice backside. The kind a woman would like naked and tensed beneath
her hands while he . . .

She shook her head.
Enough of that.

Regaining focus, she looked up and found Michael watching
her, his hand poised on the handle of the open office door. His suppressed grin
and look of amusement let her know he’d caught her eyeing his ass. He winked
and exited.

Arrogant jerk.

If she didn’t know better, she’d think he came by just to
make her drool. Although she had no intention of acting on her lust for him,
that didn’t mean she’d found a way to get over it. To her chagrin, after what
he’d just witnessed, he now knew it.

She flopped back in her chair and pondered the mug before
her. The script
J
on the front made
it obvious he’d bought it for her to keep.

She didn’t want to accept gifts from him, but how did a
woman turn down something as simple as a travel mug—a personalized one at
that—without seeming petty?

She lifted the mug, took a sip, and almost moaned out loud.

A milk chocolate turtle latte.

That snake.
A little something to get her through the
afternoon, indeed.

Without saying a word, he’d reminded her of their Plaza
rendezvous. She should run to the break room and pour the beverage down the
drain. But, she wouldn’t, and he’d known she wouldn’t. She liked them too much.

She berated herself for being a weak-willed ninny and took
another sip, resigned to the Proustian effect unleashed by the burst of flavors
across her tongue. By the time she finished the latte, she had to concede this
skirmish in her battle to resist Mr. Sex Appeal. She couldn’t concentrate on
work. Memories from the first night she’d tasted the drink invaded her
thoughts. A carriage ride in the snow and a makeout session against a parked
car kept intruding on her concentration.

She gave up on work and went to find Vivian for an early
lunch. She needed to regroup and find a way to win the next battle in this war
of near-fatal attraction.

* * *

The following week, Michael sat at his desk twirling his
stylus with a grin on his face. He’d decided his best offense with Jordis
hinged on a covert operation. Her strong-willed personality wired her for
battle. A strong offensive would have set her on a defensive path to fight off
his every advance. By downshifting his play, he’d thrown her off balance. She
hadn’t been sure whether to trust his disinterest or steel herself for a sneak
attack.

He’d never had to pursue a woman before. Who knew it would
be so much fun?

He’d made sure to be a gentleman at every turn, but every
once in a while, he’d stand too close to her or touch her absently and
seemingly in innocence.

At first, he’d thought he wasn’t getting anywhere. He’d
feared despite his apology, her anger had doused any remaining embers of the
passion she may have felt for him. Last night, he’d learned otherwise. He’d
escorted her to her car after their evening of polishing the response to the
motion for summary judgment. When he’d touched the small of her back to lead
her out of the elevator, she’d jumped nearly a foot in the air.

He had her tightly wound, which meant he was getting to her.
More than mere embers rested in her hearth for him. If he stoked just right, he
had every confidence he could stir up a blaze.

They’d filed their response with the court this morning. The
opponents would have fourteen days to file a reply, but he and Jordis were
banking on an ultimate decision in their favor. Tomorrow, they’d move on to the
next phase of their case strategy, but right now he needed to figure out the
next phase in his strategy to win her.

His phone rang. He saw the number for his investigator on
the caller ID. He answered. “Remington.”

“Battle Rodriquez here. I’ve got your preliminary report.
You want to tell me why you had me investigate a member of your own firm?”

“No.”

Battle laughed. “Diplomatic as ever I see, Remington.”

Battle Newton Rodriquez was Michael’s investigator of
choice. A former marine with a law degree, Battle had served as a Judge
Advocate before a brief stint with the FBI’s Behavioral Analysis Unit. He
ultimately decided working hard to capture evildoers served no purpose if their
crimes often went unpunished due to shortcomings in the case for prosecution.
He now freelanced, putting together airtight evidence portfolios on varied matters
for lawyers and law enforcement agents across the country. Not only was he
thorough, he was unfailingly discreet.

Michael trusted no one else to get him the information he
needed about Jordis and her prior life in LA. He’d been curious about Keith
Wilson’s relationship with Jordis since that night on the Plaza. He’d garnered
from what she and Wilson had said to each other that their split had occurred
over something involving her work. He hadn’t gotten around to questioning
Jordis about the relationship. The timing had never seemed right. When he’d
thought about Wilson’s meddling voicemail message and what Jordis hadn’t said
whenever he’d tried to make conversation about her time in LA, Michael figured
the story might hold the key to breaking through her current emotional
blockade.

Battle filled Michael in on what he’d found out about Wilson
and Jordis’s relationship and the facts surrounding her departure from her
prior firm. “The party line I got from her prior firm’s administration was she’d
had ‘some case management issues’ and ‘irreconcilable personal conflicts’ with
a senior partner. I did some asking around and learned the story has a more
scandalous version. Apparently, rumors of sexual impropriety between Jordis and
a senior partner made the rounds.”

Michael’s ire rose when Battle detailed rumors of alleged
sexual favors for which Jordis was supposedly rewarded with premium case assignments.
A raw burn festered in his gut. He felt momentarily betrayed. The lady was
being awfully self-righteous about a liaison with him for someone with a
history of shenanigans with her superiors. Then, a twinge of guilt hit him. He
knew better than to jump to assumptions without hearing both sides of the
story. The allegations of poor case management didn’t gel with what he knew
about the woman. Not to mention that, according to Battle, the prior firm had
paid her a severance package equal to three years salary plus corresponding
bonuses.

The size of her severance package alone gave him pause.
Given what he estimated Jordis’s salary level and bonus range would have been
in LA, she’d walked away with upwards of seven figures. That was a hefty chunk
of change to dole out to someone who’d been guilty of sexual impropriety.
People paid that kind of money to keep someone from filing a suit they didn’t
want filed.

Michael thought about Chase’s comment a few weekends ago
that Jordis didn’t need Michael’s money. Had Chase known about the sex scandal
and the severance package? If he had and hadn’t said anything, Chase had some
serious explaining to do. Pushing aside his growing desire to manhandle his
best friend, Michael let this new information settle in.

Unless Jordis tended to pitter away her
paychecks—something he doubted—with the payoff she’d received and
her current income, she was sitting pretty. It didn’t come close to his assets,
factoring in his investments and real estate holdings, which included the
office tower housing the firm. Nevertheless, for an independent woman like
Jordis, her cashflow situation meant she’d never need, or want, to look to a
man for financial support or gain.

Battle’s voice lured him back into the conversation. “Now
that I’ve given you an objective rundown of the basic facts, let me say, you
know that’s all bullshit, right?”

“Yeah. I’m thinking the same thing.” At least, he hoped so.

“I did some checking with her first employer and asked
around about the situation with her ex. The lady’s had a pretty stellar career
up to her prior position. Seems mighty suspicious that a woman who graduated in
the upper percentile of her law school class and has a near perfect court
record had to resort to sexual bribery to get ahead. From where I’m sitting, I
suspect the partner involved . . .” Battle’s voice faded as if he were looking
up something. “. . . a Lowell Bruner, has been caught up in this kind of thing
before and probably failed to mind his manners. Only this time, he picked the
wrong woman, and they had to either pay her off or risk a PR circus with the
potential to negatively impact the firm’s reputation.”

Michael hummed in response. The picture Battle painted gave
him new insight as to why Jordis had tried to avoid working late with him.
Given the prior sexual advances he’d made, it was understandable she’d thought
he might be after more than her legal expertise. His ego wanted to believe she
should have known he wasn’t that kind of guy, but if the situation had been
reversed . . .
What would I have thought?

“I’ll get the written report to you in the next day or so,”
Battle said. “Oh, and before I forget. I’m faxing over right now the
information you wanted on that taxi drop New Year’s Eve. I also started working
on that other matter you sent me concerning the prior expert witnesses of the
opponent in your patent case. I’m beginning to think there may be something
there. I’ll let you know where things end up.”

“Okay, Battle. Thanks for getting this done so quickly.”

“You didn’t exactly give me a choice.” Battle chuckled. “I’m
getting curious about this Ms. Morgan. Maybe I’ll deliver the report personally
so I can check out the lady myself.”

“You stay away from my firm. I have a business to run. The
women here haven’t finished swooning from your last visit.” Half black, half
Latino, Battle’s model-worthy looks sent the females at RHM into a tizzy every
time he stopped by. Until Michael got a lock on Ms. Morgan’s affections, he wanted
Battle Rodriguez as far away from her as possible.

“I can’t help it if the ladies love this
chocolate suave
,”
Battle cooed, overemphasizing the Spanish vowels. He laughed. “Talk to you
later, man.”

The connection clicked off.

Michael shook his head. Battle was an arrogant SOB. Good
thing he was so damn effective.

Michael pulled Battle’s fax off the machine. He’d specifically
asked Battle not to email him an electronic report because he didn’t want
anyone else privy to this information.

In black and white, the address to which Juliet had been
taken on New Year’s Eve glared up at him. His gut twisted into a knot. Since
their basketball game, he’d been acting on the assumption Jordis and Juliet
were the same person. Now, he faced the possibility he’d been wrong.

He considered shredding the fax and letting the matter rest.
At this point, it shouldn’t matter who the woman he’d kissed on New Year’s Eve
had been. The woman he wanted was Jordis. Yet, a part of him needed to know if
he’d truly imprinted on a woman after no more than a brief forty-five minute
anonymous encounter.

He pushed the intercom. His secretary, Lana Davenport,
answered. “Yes, Michael?”

“Lana, I need Jordis Morgan’s personnel file, please. Right
away.”