The Playboy's Baby: A BWWM Pregnancy Romance (8 page)

Chapter 2

Rafe watched Cheryl close the office door behind her. He let out a long, audible sigh and waltzed back to his desk. He was looking forward to tossing a few drinks back with the boys tonight before heading home to his beautiful wife. It had been a long couple of months and the happy ending to this case was definitely welcome. Bad guy would go to jail and the poor, grieving family would get their justice. He just wished that he could do more for them.

The phone on his desk beeped. He reached over and pushed the intercom button. “What’s up?” he said before letting go of the small black button on his phone.

Cheryl’s sweet voice spoke through the speakers. “Your dad wants to go over the closing summations one more time before everyone heads over to the courthouse. He says to meet him in his office.”

Rafe leisurely placed his finger on the button again. “Sure, sure. I’ll head over now.”

There was a short pause before Cheryl beeped him again. “You’re not really going over there now, are you?”

Rafe chuckled. “I am,” he said.

He stretched his arms out to his sides. It had been a very long couple of months and he was looking forward to having his nights back. But as of that second, he really didn’t feel like doing a damn thing. He was worn out. Burnt out. He had spent too many hours at the office looking at the same stern faces dressed up in suits. He needed a change.

When he finally made it up, dressed, and through his door, Cheryl was just coming back with his coffee. “Grande Americano with four shots,” she said. “It looked like you could use a boost. Or perhaps a heart attack.”

He laughed. “Yeah, I could use a pick me up. Thanks.” He took the cup from her hands, his fingers brushing against her dainty fingers in the process. “You’re really appreciated here. You know that, right?”

She nodded. He could tell that she was trying to find something to say but the words weren’t coming to her.

He rolled his neck and stretched again. “Off to see Mr. Important. I’ll be back in a bit,” he said trying to save her from the awkward silence. He walked over to the door. “You heading out with the boys tonight after the summation?”

“No, I’ve got a lot of studying to do. And I can only take so many Shirley Temples before I develop gestational diabetes.”

“Just as well,” he said. “I should probably just make it home anyway.”

“I bet your wife misses you,” Cheryl said.

Rafe could feel her eyes on the back of his head. There was a brief moment where he could feel a rush of emotion swell up inside of him but instead of exploding, he just laughed it off and turned around. “You’ve got to give me up sometime,” he said. “My wife will start to ask questions about how I spend my nights.”

A twinkle glistened in Cheryl’s eyes. “You could tell her the truth.”

“That I spend my nights in a stuffy room filled with sweaty men in suits?”

“And that when the whiskey comes out the ties come off,” she finished.

Rafe let out a guffaw. “Ha! Yeah, she’d believe that.” But his smile quickly disappeared. “No. Actually. She just wouldn’t care.” And with that, he turned to walk out of the office and down the hallway.

*   *   *

The large boardroom was filled with a half a dozen men and their egos. Needless to say, it was pretty stuffy in there; Rafe’s father, Patrick Raymond Senior, sat at the head of the table. He was still a fairly healthy man and looked younger than the sixty two year old man he was. His once dark hair was now a distinguished salt and pepper. His face was long and lean, not naturally, but it had aged so because of the years of dealing with criminals and the stress of heading up one of the best and most well-known firms in the district. His penetrating eyes darted across the room and finally landed on Rafe, who stood in the doorway. He pointed to his watch.

Rafe just smiled and shrugged at the gesture. “We’ve got time,” he said to his father, not even sure that he could hear him through all the hubbub of the suits.

“I don’t have time for all of your dilly-dallying, Rafe,” his father announced. His voice boomed through the room, instantly shutting up the rest of the men. He brought his hand up to his face and rubbed his chin. “We have twenty minutes before we have to leave. Let’s just finish this.”

Rafe handed one of the men a sheet of paper with notes scribbled all over it. The sheet got passed down from man to man until it finally ended up in front of his father.

Rafe sat at the other end of the table, opposite the rest of the men. He felt like he was being interviewed for a job. Not today; soon, but not today. Today he played the jury.

He was always astonished at the transformation his father undertook when he got up in court. It was a different father than what he grew up with. The stern look, the furrowed brows, the clenched fists held in anger but never thrown.

All of these things were absent when he was in front of a jury. Instead, his face contorted and took on an almost sympathetic air. He was charismatic and charming. His flawless good looks (one of the many things that he had handed down to his son) helped a lot. He knew how to get the jury to eat out of his hands. It was remarkable; manipulative and borderline frightening but remarkable.

Rafe watched as his father stood up and gave them the summation. He had them all eating out of his hands already.

“Perfect,” Rafe said. “We’ve got this.”

The men filed out one at a time, each murmuring about cocktails, their wives, or other celebratory festivities.

“Rafe.” Patrick’s voice stopped everyone in their tracks, but only for a moment. Rafe watched as their pace quickened out of the room, the last man shutting the door – keeping Rafe in. “We need to talk.”

He turned to face his father, who was just sitting in his chair, gathering his papers. Patrick continued his speech without missing a beat. “I know that you are aware of the open seat that we have here for partner.” He got up and motioned for Rafe to walk and talk with him to the car.

“There have been some rumors flying around.”

“We’ve been talking and we're entertaining the idea of having you become a partner.”

“I’d be honored, dad.”

“You still need to prove yourself. You do good work but you lack discipline, son.”

“So I’m not up for the partner?”

“Patrick.”

Rafe gritted his teeth. “Of course I want the partnership. How would you like me to prove myself?”

“I’ve got wind of a new case. It’s a tough one, but one that comes with a large amount of prestige. I’m sure you’ve heard about Stephen Roche being picked up as the Angel Killer.”

“You want to defend Roche?”

“There are gaping holes in the case. We could walk right through it,” his father said. They stopped at the elevator. “Here,” he handed Rafe a file folder. “We’ve got this case in the bag,” he motioned toward the elevator. “You start on this one. Prove to me that you can get this done and we’ll take you on as partner.” The elevator dinged and the doors slid open. Patrick stepped on the elevator. “I’ll see you back here tomorrow.”

Rafe stopped the doors from closing. “I don’t know, dad. I’ve got a bad feeling about this guy. The cops may have done a shitty job with this one but that doesn’t mean he's innocent.”

“Your gut tells you that?”

“My gut, my heart, my head…”

“You can’t follow both your heart and your head,” Patrick said. The doors shut.

*   *   *

“You didn’t go with them?” Cheryl asked when Rafe walked back into her waiting room.

“No, actually. Dad handed me another case.” He waved the folder around. “The Angel Killer.”

“We’re going to represent Stephen Roche?” Cheryl sputtered. He could tell by the look on her face and the tone in her voice that Cheryl wasn’t happy about it. “You sure that you guys want to risk your credibility by taking on this case?”

Rafe gritted his teeth. “No matter if we like him for it or not, there are holes in the police’s case. We just have to follow up on it and see what loopholes we can find.”

“I didn’t think that you played like that, Rafe,” she said. He could sense the disappointment in her voice but he shrugged it off.

“This case will make our firm. It’ll also make or break my career,” he replied.

They stared each other down for a moment. The office was quiet. Everyone had either gone home or to the courthouse. The people that got left behind sneaked around like mice. Milling through the files and filing cabinets. The waiting room was so quiet that they could almost hear the actual mice in the basement.

“I didn’t think you were like them,” she finally said, breaking the silence. Her voice was soft and forced – as if she didn’t really want to say the words.

“He’s my father. I can’t let him down, no matter how much I dislike him or this case. Besides, innocent until proven guilty, right?” Rafe almost sounded chipper again. “It’s like a puzzle. Instead of finding the things that my father wants, I’ll just hunt for the truth. I’m still an associate, after all. I do all the grunt work. Time to get grunting.”

“So you’re not going to go out with the boys tonight?”

“Naw, I’ll spend a couple hours here, going through the case notes. Maybe order some sammies for lunch. Make a couple phone calls to the detectives so that we can go over their documentation. Then I’ll head home and see my wife.”

The mention of his significant other brought forth the elephant in the room.

“Why do you always call her ‘your wife’? Why not just call her by her name?” Cheryl asked. She turned around and walked back to her desk. Rafe took note of the high heeled boots she wore to the office today. Black. Leather.

“Um,” he muttered. “I don’t know. It just comes out that way.”

“What do you call me behind my back?” Cheryl asked.

Rafe’s eyes went from her boots, up to her eyes. “Annoying,” he said with a smirk.

She rolled her eyes. “Get back to work.”

“A slave driver,” he added.

Cheryl looked as if she was having a hard time hiding her smile. “Seriously, get your face outta my office.”

“Angry.”

“I’ll show you angry.”

Rafe opened the door to his office and stepped inside. “Beautiful,” he said finally and shut the door. He didn’t know what to expect to hear on the other side of the door. He just leaned up against the frame.
She makes it tolerable
, he thought. His grip on the folder accidentally loosened and the papers inside rained down on his office floor like a surprise thunderstorm. He sighed and bent down. A photograph had fallen on top of the pile.

The Angel Killer. They had called him that for a reason and this was it. A shudder crawled up Rafe’s spine.

*   *   *

Rafe lived on the far side of the city, just beyond the border of the county. It was quite a drive for him every morning and night but he made it because he loved the ability to live away from the hustle and bustle of the city life. He hated having to drive into the city to go to work, but the view at night would often make it worth it.

He pulled his car into the first spot in the three-car garage.  It was already getting dark earlier in the evening. This time last week, it would have still been light out, but it was seven and he was having trouble seeing the details of the topiaries in the front yard. He looked in the rear view mirror that gazed upon the driveway and the grass on either side. Everything was a hazy shade of blue.

In front of him was the massive building that he called home. The driveway was a circular driveway, which surrounded a small white fountain immersed in greenery.  Nothing out of order outside, if there was one thing that his father taught him, it was that appearances were everything.

The topiaries in the front of the house were perfectly manicured. The only part that looked haphazard was the small shed on the side of the house where the gardener kept all of his tools. The weather-beaten slat shed sat at the far end of the manicured lawn. The wood was silvered by the constant bombardment of the sun’s rays. The roof shingles were warped beyond repair. It was going to have to be torn down but Rafe didn’t have the patience – nor did he care – to have it taken care of.

The property was vast, with twenty acres of land between the pasture and paddock, a pond, a stream that ran across the back lot, and what felt like thousands of trees: avocado, orange, and lemon – each loaded with fruit.

The front entrance of the home had columns and friezes with arched windows that were easily twenty feet high.

The house itself had a grey brick exterior with ivory columns and windows. It was well-maintained by the butler and maids and cleaning staff.

The double doors and the front entrance were the deciding factor in buying the home, at least it was for Rafe. They were made of solid oak with wrought iron bars that allowed the guests to see through the entrance to the actual front door. The intricately carved wood was a sight to see. He loved describing it to his guests.

“If you look close enough, you can see the story of the home,” he would say. “It starts at the top right hand corner and works its way around this door and around the next. The first owner was a farmer who built this home as a tribute to the love of his life. He built it by hand. After he passed away, the house was sold to a rich oil baron. He was a strict man who kept everyone in line with a strike of his belt…”