Santa's Pet (5 page)

“Never underestimate him. Remember, it’s all about intent. He’s probably building a case where his client had no intention of arousing or gratifying anyone and that Ben here was the perpetrator. Slap on a civil suit of sexual harassment, and he’s got the stronger case.”

“Wait, so what do we do?” The hairs on Ben’s scalp prickled and he tasted blood in his throat. “I’m not going to sit back and let them pin it on me.”

“We go on the offensive. Paint her as a slut all over town,” Delaine said. “Our prime witness, the woman who called the police in the first place, is vulnerable to your charm. She has a son in elementary school, and I can arrange for you to visit the school and toss a football with his P.E. class.”

Ben rubbed his chin as a growly feeling clenched his insides. He didn’t like it one bit. It was one thing to blame Brittney for this arrest, but to slut-shame her? That was a low blow.

“I’m not sure we should ruin her reputation,” Ben said. “Shouldn’t the video prove neither of us had any intentions of a sexual nature? We were helping each other out. Double wardrobe malfunctions. No sexual feelings at all.”

“You want me as your attorney or not?” Delaine lowered her voice. “Believe me, that Owen Williams is a shark inside a koala bear’s skin. What are you going to do when he slaps sexual harassment on you? Or worse? Claims you tried to rape his client?”

“Rape her?” Ben jumped from the chair, knocking it backward. “That’s a lie.”

“Didn’t you grab her and make her sit on your candy-cane boxers with the big rip down the front?”

“No. I mean, yes, I grabbed her and she sat down on her own.”

“Ah, but that’s your interpretation.” Delaine wagged her finger. “Face it, Mr. Powers, if you want me to get you off, you’re going to do things my way.”

“Better listen to her,” Dominique said. “I’ve got an inside line to the owner of the New York Warthogs. Herbert Van Roekens is a good friend of the family and lately, he’s dating Dinah Silver, owner of the Los Angeles Flash. There’s also Gunnar Carson who owns the San Diego Surfriders, and I’m making connections with the San Francisco Bridges and Oakland Brigands. You want a contract, you need to cooperate with me.”

“Don’t throw away your career on a two-bit slut.” Delaine pushed from the table and stood. “We’ll make bail tonight and have you home. From now on, you have to be on your best behavior. Stay with your grandfather. Do charity work, stay out of bars, and do not be seen with loose women. By all means, stay away from Brittney Reed, and don’t let her or anyone in her family know our defense strategy. Don’t speak to the press. Leave all the talking to me.”

“This is important,” Dominique said, patting his shoulder. “Your entire football career depends on this, not to mention your future value in endorsements and deals.”

“Sure.” Ben rubbed his sweaty palms on his pants. “I’ll stay on the sidelines and let you two do your work.”

Both sisters gave him a thumbs up and a confident grin.

Ben smiled back, but his stomach twisted and his heart flopped. Pinning the blame on Brittney and shoving her under the bus was unfair. Even if she’d dressed in a provocative manner, there was no excuse for him or any other man to think of her in a sexual manner.

If anyone was to blame, it was that club he carried between his legs.

“Oh, and before we forget,” Delaine interrupted the officer who’d come to escort him back to the holding cell. “We need your candy-cane boxers without the cannon, of course.”

The two sisters giggled at the guard’s shocked expression.

~ Brittney ~

This is my worst day ever. Not only did I get hauled off to jail for lewd misconduct, but my feet hurt from being stuffed in Lacy’s stiletto fur-lined boots. Lacy and Brandon stroll arm in arm through the front door of my parents’ house, whispering and cooing to each other. Disgusting.

“Where’s my phone?” I hold my hand out, interrupting their sweet nothings. I can’t believe I agreed to go without it in order to be an authentic elf.

“Dad? What’s the day’s tally?” Lacy wrenches a briefcase from Brandon’s shoulder to get my phone. “Did the kissing booth raise more money than the pet rescue?”

“Of course you did, sweet lips.” My father kisses her on the cheek.

“Don’t forget to thank Brandon, too,” she says, then slips a glance at me. “Don’t worry, sis. There’s always next year. Now you’re going makeup shopping with me since you lost the bet.”

“I don’t have time.” I take my phone from her and wake it up. It’s full of messages and missed calls. Dammit. The build’s broken and they can’t find Samantha, one of the new software engineers I hired. “I have to go back to work. See you all later.”

“Wait, your lawyer’s here.” Mom drags me to the living room and addresses the chubby man sitting on the couch. “Oh, hello there, Mr. Williams, thanks for dropping by. Can I get you anything to drink? Ice tea? Orange juice? Coffee?”

“Milk.” Owen grins as he spots me. “I’m a milk man—got a thing for milk, you know.”

Ugh. I don’t like him already. Not only is he sweating like a pig, his face is bright red like he’s been drinking and his blue eyes bulge under his receding hairline.

He sticks out his beefy paw to shake. “Nice t-shirt. I know the chairwoman of the board at Shopahol.”

“Y-you do?” I’m stunned as his eyes stay on my face. I’d thought the t-shirt line was a segue into commenting on my chest.

“Yep.” He sets his briefcase on the floor and grabs his lapels, beaming proudly. “She’s one of my oldest friends. I hear she’s your boss.”

“You heard right. My company’s doing a joint venture with Shopahol, and I’m under her direct supervision.”

“You like her?”

“Oh, heck ya. She’s the best.”

We’re talking about Jen Jones Jewell, the former build engineer of Shopahol who rose to become chairwoman of the board, as well as wife to the CEO, Dave Jewell. Sigh. They’re the San Francisco Bay Area’s perfect power couple.

“Great, let’s get started with your defense. Has Jen ever told you what messes I got her out of?” Owen accepts a glass of milk from my mother.

“No, never.” I swallow hard and sit across from him. I’d heard about Jen and her unsavory past, and I suppose I could dig further, but frankly, she’s my heroine and I don’t believe everything I read online.

“Well, then, it’s covered by attorney-client privilege.” He tilts his head back and gulps the entire eight-ounce glass of milk, his throat wobbling with each swallow.

How can this bumbling bozo be my lawyer? I have no time for his antics, so I get to the point.

“I’m needed at work. Tell me how you’re going to get the charges dropped.”

Owen wipes his puffy lips with the back of his wrist and grins. “I’ve always said the best defense is a good offense.”

So do three million other people, but I’ll let it pass. I glance at my watch. “Do whatever’s necessary. Mom said you needed my version of the story. Can I send you an email?”

“No, I’d rather hear it from the horse’s lips.”

“I’m not a horse.”

“Oh, sorry, the mare’s lips then,” he says in all seriousness as he flips his notepad out.

My phone buzzes with an incoming call from Mrs. Jewell.

“Sorry, I really have to take this,” I say, swiping the screen. “It’s the boss lady.”

Owen grabs the phone from me and cups it to his ear. How the heck does this pudgy guy have such quick hands?

“Jen, it’s me, Owen. No, no, no, you don’t have the wrong number. Hey, I know you guys have a fire at the datacenter. Ha, ha, just kidding, but I need Brittney right now. You’ve heard? No worries. Damage control here. I’m throwing sexual harassment at that young man and suing the police for wrongful arrest as well as sexual harassment. Yep. They were wearing body-cams. Of course, they roughened her up and made leering remarks. I can guarantee they’re going to throw out all the charges.”

“Wait, why are you discussing my case with my boss?” I pat Owen’s arm. “Give my phone back.”

“Sure, call back in ten minutes,” he says and ends the call.

Of all the flipping arrogant things?

“Give me my phone,” I demand. “You have exactly five minutes to tell me what I need to do. Meter’s running.”

“Don’t talk about the case to anyone. Wear sexy clothes and makeup so we can establish that it’s your normal attire and you had no intention of shocking or offending anyone, and stay away from Ben Powers.”

“Wait. I get the first and third restriction, but wear sexy clothes and makeup? Are you nuts? It’ll only prove that I’m the type of woman who’d do lewd things.”

“Ah ha!” His beefy, or should I say piggy, palm rises to a halt position. “So, you too, are stereotyping women who wear sexy clothes and makeup. What we need to show the judge is that you can’t help being sexy and that it’s a normal part of your appearance, that it’s not your problem, but a problem with the men around you.”

“Uh, why can’t I wear baggy sweatshirts and long matronly skirts with clogs?”

“Because that would be admitting guilt. That mother who raised the complaint would tell the judge that you knew your attire was arousing and went out of your way to offend, so now you’re wearing Amish clothing in hopes of getting a lenient sentence.”

“I’ve never heard of this type of defense.” I flatten my palms on the table. “How qualified are you?”

“He’s the best.” Lacy saunters into the room with a large pink satchel marked Mary Kay. “You’re not going anywhere until I make up your face.”

“Oh no, you don’t.” I back away from her slowly as someone does when approached by a particularly scary pit bull. “I really have to go. This is my life you’re playing with, and I’m not wearing any more makeup.”

“Ah, but I won the bet,” Lacy says. “Don’t tell me you’re welshing out of our deal.”

“No welshing,” Owen says. His bulging eyes are splayed on my face and I swear, his tongue’s about to hang out, looking like an eager dog waiting for a walk. The only thing missing is a leash around his thick sweaty neck. “One more thing, I spoke to the chief of police and he’s interested in you participating in the Police Dog Toy Drive coming up.”

“That’s nuts. They arrested me and they want me to do a toy drive?”

“It’s for the kids and it’ll be good for your image. It might be better to wear a different outfit, though. Still sexy, because we don’t want to admit guilt, but something that fits.”

“Fine, I’ll follow your directions, but I’m not appearing in court come January. If you’re any good, all this should be wiped off my record. I’ve never been more humiliated in my entire life.”

My phone buzzes and thank God, it’s Jen.

“On my way.” I push past Lacy and her makeup kit, and hurry to my bedroom to change.

“Welsh!” Lacy yells.

“It’s only Jen, who am I trying to impress anyway?” I flip her the bird and keep walking.

Except I’m one of the tech CEO’s everyone’s watching, and if I want my company to go public next year at full valuation, I’d better portray a wholesome girl-next-door image. Which means this lewd misconduct charge has to be squelched.

~ Ben ~

“Sorry about your beard and wig,” Ben said as he walked with his grandfather after being arraigned. “I’ll pay for it.”

He’d pled not guilty, of course.

Dominique and Delaine were speaking to the press, after arranging for the police to escort Ben and his grandfather to their car.

“I’m not worried about the beard and wig.” His grandfather put an arm around him. “The rescue organization gave me the cockatoo as compensation for the damage.”

“W-what? Gave you the cockatoo? Did you want him?”

“Aye, I was preapproved, but was paying on layaway. You know how expensive it is to adopt? I would have had to pay for all of his vet visits, as well as any other expenses he incurred.”

A sharp-eared reporter yelled, “Are you saying you’re adopting the bird who was behind all your grandson’s trouble?”

“No press,” the same burly policeman who’d arrested Ben said. “Stay back.”

The other policeman, the one who’d leered at Brittney, held onto Treat, who sat panting like they were best friends.

Traitor.

Grandpa unlocked his truck, and Ben helped him step up to the passenger seat. “I’ve wanted Big Blizzard for a while. He’s an ornery, cranky bird, but he’s also loads of fun.”

“Sure, I bet he is. Your decision, of course.” Ben took Treat from the douchebag cop and shoved him onto Grandpa’s lap, then shut the passenger door and walked to the driver’s side.

It was no use ducking or hiding from the cameras pointed his direction. Before his mug shot, the police had removed every bit of snowy white mustache and eyebrow hair, and cleaned his face. By now, every scout in the country knew about his arrest for indecent exposure and lewd misconduct—all because he had the bad luck to get tangled up with one hellacious bomb named Brittney Reed.

He started the engine and eased the truck from the parking lot. Cameras and video devices recorded his drive of shame. At least Grandpa was at his side for emotional support.

“So I’ve an idea,” Grandpa said once they were on the road. “We’re not giving up on this Santa gig.”

“I don’t think your doctor’s cleared you, has he?”

“Not me, you.”

“Me? No way. I don’t have time for this. I haven’t lifted weights today and I need to go for a run to clear my mind.”

“Sure, that’s fine, but you can’t run and hide. A pro football player’s always going to be in the public eye. I agree with your lawyer. You need to redeem your image and that means you tackle the bull by the horns and show the world you’re not a quitter.”

“Quitter? I got arrested. I didn’t quit.” Clods of irritation pumped through his veins. “I’m sorry, Grandpa. I know you mean well, but I’m not ever dressing in a Santa outfit again. I’ll pay for your ruined costume.”

“But, I promised the police you’d be there.”

“Police? Be where?” Ben gaped at his Grandpa. Had the heart attack thrown him off his rocker?

“The Police Dog Toy Drive. Didn’t they tell you Treat’s going to be the poster dog?”

“Wait, wait. They arrest me and you volunteer me?”

“Of course,” Grandpa says, as if it was the most normal and logical thing in the world. “It’ll get you on their good side and everyone will see what a perfect Santa you are. I’ve called a tailor to make you a suit that fits.”

“Sorry, can’t do it.” Ben pulled the truck into his grandfather’s driveway where two reporters stood with their cameras ready. “I’m not going anywhere until the charges are dropped. And if you don’t understand, I have no choice but to go home and hide there. The ranch is big enough that no reporters will get through.”

“Who’ll take care of me? Cook for me and watch over me?” Grandpa asked.

“You come with me. It’s time to make amends with Dad, don’t you think?”

“No. I doubt I’ll ever see eye to eye with him.” Grandpa huffed as he rubbed Treat’s ears. “Your mother was like a daughter to me. She loved me more than my own son did.”

“I know. You’ve told me a million times.” Ben hit the garage door opener and pulled the truck into the tight space. Cutting off the engine, he shut the door before the reporters could make a move.

The worst thing about this entire disaster? He’d never get to know more about Brittney Reed. The little girl he’d known for one brief summer had grown up, and from the looks of it, she was much more than a pretty face. He’d bet she had a lot more substance behind her than the sexy outfit and makeup would suggest.

Too bad he’d never know.