Triple Jeopardy (Lawyers Behaving Badly Book 2) (7 page)

“Dorothy asked me for a second opinion.”

“If Trent were available right now, I’d preempt that meeting anyway,” Raphael said. “We’ve got a problem, Ethan.”

Ethan nodded. “As soon as I’m free, you’ll have my full attention.”

Maisie tried not to let Raphael spook her. He tended to be overly cautious. It was probably nothing.

But when Ethan handed her the bag with her muffin, he smiled at her. Well, the left half of his face did. The stiffer right half didn’t move as much.

But the asymmetry wasn’t what made her blood run cold.

It was the fact that Ethan was bothering to reassure her at all. He sometimes did that when they were having sex, but never otherwise.

Whatever the problem that had Raphael spooked, the bosses could surely handle it. LB&B was a large law firm. Emergencies cropped up.

Right?

She was opening a folder as Ethan returned from his office. He’d swapped the pastries for his elegant briefcase. His expression was guarded, and when he caught Maisie looking at him, his face briefly darkened into a frown.

A moment later, Raphael hurried past, as if he wanted to catch up with Ethan.

Yeah, that wasn’t going to help her stop worrying. At least she had plenty of work to distract her.

Half an hour later, the phone rang.

Maisie jumped.

The display indicated that the call was routing through the other office. She looked across the room at Mrs. Donahue, who was watching with an eagle eye.

“It’s the other office,” she called out loudly, reaching for it. “Am I allowed to answer?”

Mrs. Donahue pursed her lips, then put her headphones back on.

“Mr. Lattimore’s office,” Maisie said, trying to keep the frustration out of her voice. “This is Maisie Novau speaking. How may I—”

“Maisie,” Ethan said. “You’re fired, effective immediately.”

The world froze in place. “What?”

“You’re fired.”

She felt something stinging her eyes, and the room swam. Her mouth had gone dry. “I don’t understand.”

“Pro bono,” he said quietly. Then, “I think I’ve been clear. Clean out your desk and return your pass to security.”

8

M
aisie replaced the receiver with a trembling hand.

Pro bono.

They had figured out that she was the one who’d reassigned Jayne’s pro bono case to Raphael.

Everything had gone blurry. For a moment, Maisie struggled to understand why. Then she realized she was crying. She used the side of her palm to wipe her cheeks.

“Maisie?” Jayne had been walking by, and she was staring at Maisie in shock. “Are you all right?”

How many times a day did Jayne pass her desk?

Hardly ever.

What were the odds that this was a coincidence?

“I just got fired,” Maisie said, and she had to look away because if Jayne was part of this, if Jayne was the one who’d demanded Maisie’s head on a platter, Maisie didn’t want to know, didn’t want to see it on her face.

“What? Are you sure?” Jayne’s disbelief sounded genuine. “That doesn’t make sense. Raphael was saying just this morning that you’re one of the best new hires in a long time. He planned to end your probationary period and transition you to permanent. I wanted to tell you at lunch.”

“I guess it doesn’t matter now.” She grabbed her cell phone and charger and dumped them into her purse. She hadn’t brought in any personal effects, so there wasn’t much more to take—just a small bottle of gardenia-scented hand sanitizer, a brush, and a box of tissues.

She only bothered with the brush.

Then she decided the tissues would come in handy in the near future. She shoved the box into her purse.

She left the bag with the muffin on her desk. Maybe someone else would eat it, and if not, it could be tossed.

The canvas bag of books that Jayne had given her earlier was still sitting beside the desk. Maisie picked it up and held it out. “Looks like I won’t be needing this after all,” she said, her voice breaking.

“Why?”

“Obviously I’m not going to be getting any letters of recommendation from LB&B. Whatever I did to screw up must have been horrible. Take them.”

Jayne did. Confusion and dismay warred on her face. “I can’t pretend to understand what’s going on, but there’s no way it’s that simple.” Her gaze darted in the direction of Mrs. Donahue’s workstation. She lowered her voice. “I bet she’s behind this.”

“Then it’s just as well that I’m leaving now and not when I’m more settled. Good luck with everything, Jayne.”

“I’ll send you an email,” Jayne said.

Yeah, sure she would.

Maisie smiled weakly as she took in her desk one last time. Mrs. Donahue was still immersed in her project. Or pretending to be.

“I’ll walk you to the elevator,” Jayne offered, but Maisie shook her head.

She’d entered the office alone, and she’d be leaving alone.

To her relief, the woman who had taken her security photo wasn’t on duty.

Maisie had to fill out a short form explaining why she was leaving. “Because you’ve worked here less than thirty days,” the bearded man explained. He had ear stretchers. Also, a bar through one eyebrow.

They made Maisie think of tattoos, which made her think of Raphael’s hidden tattoo. Now she would never know what it was, or why he’d gotten it. She’d never find out what had turned him from a carefree counterculture hottie into a sophisticated lawyer.

The lines she was writing on became wavy as the form blurred, and she blinked furiously to keep the tears from spilling down her cheeks.

She filled out the paper as quickly as she could—
got fired
—and relinquished her ID card. In the photo, she was grinning like an idiot, remembering the stranger who had caught her on the street.

She’d been half in love with Ethan even then.

Fuck Ethan
, she thought suddenly. He should have let her fall, should have let her crack open her foolish head.

The man smiled grimly. “Sorry the job didn’t work out. They have the highest turnover here, by far. If you take another job in the building—”

“Nope.”

He shoveled the form and her ID into a large envelope. “You’ll remain in the system for six months. If you take another job in the building, even a temp job,” he said over her protests, “tell whoever’s here that you’re in the system. It’ll save some time. Besides, it’s a flattering photo.”

She smiled at his stupid attempt to make her feel better, then shouldered her purse and went outside.

It was three in the afternoon. Plenty of pedestrians around, but most people were at work.

Work.

She needed a new job, and fast.

Head lowered, she began heading toward the subway.

But when she reached the entrance, she couldn’t bring herself to descend into its shadowy depths. If she went down there, she’d probably lose it completely and end up sobbing in a urine-stained corner while someone filmed her breakdown to upload later.

Instead, she wandered aimlessly through the city. She hadn’t thought she was heading anywhere in particular until she found herself at the edge of the park.

A woman with a stroller had just moved away from a bench. Maisie sluggishly walked toward it.

When she sat down, it was as if whatever had been holding her together fell away. She buried her face in her hands and sobbed silently. Tears trickled between her stiff fingers and dribbled down her wrists.

“Miss? Are you all right?” a man’s voice asked.

She held her breath and nodded silently, unwilling to reveal her face to the stranger.

“Is there someone I can call for you?”

“It’s just allergies,” she choked out. “Please leave me alone.”

“No offense, but you might want to go home if you want to be left alone.”

She nodded and shifted her body away from the sound of his voice. There was too much background noise to tell if the man was walking away or not, but he didn’t say anything else.

After thirty seconds, she was certain he’d moved on, and she lowered her wet hands. Blinking, she waited for her eyes to adjust to the bright light.

A man wearing baggy jeans and construction boots swam into focus. He was standing about five feet away—too close for comfort.

The strap of Maisie’s purse was still over her shoulder, and she clenched her elbow to her waist, in case.

The man, who looked to be in his mid-thirties, was holding a pair of aviator sunglasses. His crew cut suggested he was ex-military. Sharp blue eyes scrutinized her.

He took a step back. “I just wanted to make sure you were fine,” he said apologetically.

“I am. Thank you.”

As soon as he had walked away, she made herself get off the bench.

There was nothing to do but head home and hope she’d find comfort at the bottom of a cheap bottle of wine.

9

T
he smell of paint greeted Maisie as she opened her front door.

She kicked off her heels and slid her feet into a pair of worn bunny slippers. One of the rabbits was missing both its eyes. She had them somewhere, maybe in a box under the bed, but reattaching them was low on her list of priorities.

After opening a bottle of wine and pouring herself a very full glass, she stripped out of her work clothes and changed into an old, formerly white tank top.

In the living room, she donned the paint-speckled coveralls that were lying atop the stepladder.

All the furniture had been moved into the center of the room and was covered with protective cloth, as was the floor. Despite her best efforts at keeping everything clean, ugly purple-gray paint chips speckled the cloth.

The landlord would be replacing the carpet next. Maisie couldn’t help him with that, but in exchange for doing the painting, she was getting a healthy reduction on her rent.

She swapped the slippers for old sneakers, turned on the radio, and popped the top off the can of white paint.

Some people felt better after long workouts or soaks in the tub, but crossing tasks off her to-do list did the trick for Maisie. She’d been planning to finish up over the weekend.

Well, now she had time. Maybe there were a few other improvements she could talk the landlord into letting her handle.

It sucked to be sprucing the place up for some future owner. The condo had gone on the market just a few days after Maisie gave notice at the call center.

If she’d had the money, she would have bought it in a heartbeat. It was on the top of a five-floor walkup and had bay windows on two corners. The location was quiet. There wasn’t much of a view, but the few trees outside were tall enough that if she moved eight feet back from the windows, she could pretend she was next to a forest.

Even if she could have afforded the asking price, the condo fees were almost three-quarters of what she paid in rent.

If she hadn’t been fired from LB&B, she could have afforded it, though her budget would have been stretched thin. Now, that was out of the question.

She dipped the paintbrush into the bucket and climbed the short ladder.

The sun was dipping behind the neighboring buildings by the time she was willing to take a break. Her arms, neck, and shoulders ached—the ladder wasn’t tall enough; it was only marginally better than standing on a chair.

That glass of wine was still waiting in the kitchen: her reward for not doing anything crazy, like going to a bar and picking up some strangers.

The thought of having sex with anyone ever again made her feel sick. Ethan hadn’t just taken away her job and her financial stability. He’d also fucked up her dating life.

In less than two weeks, those three men had changed her. Through their dominance, she’d learned how fulfilling it was to submit. And more, she’d learned how it felt to want someone so bad that it ached.

She stripped off her paint-splattered coveralls and draped them over the ladder. There wasn’t any point to getting dressed again—she wasn’t going out tonight.

No, tonight it was just her, the small television in her bedroom, and that bottle of wine.

The glass was superfluous. She chugged its contents like she was still in college, set it in the sink, and grabbed the bottle by its damp neck. As she was walking toward her bedroom, she heard her phone chirping, letting her know she’d missed a call.

She was going to ignore it, but then went back to check.

Just in case… In case Ethan had changed his mind and was calling her well after work hours? Stupid to hope so, but yet…

The call had come from an unknown number, but there was a message.
Hi, Maisie! It’s Heather. It was so nice running into you today. What are you doing this weekend—
Maisie deleted it. “Bitch,” she mumbled.

She carried the phone into the bedroom, tossed it on the bed, and turned on the TV. An advertisement for a cruise line was playing. The sight of the actors’ beaming faces filled her with the sudden desire to smash things.

She turned away from the TV and caught her reflection in the freestanding mirror on the other side of the room. Her long hair was falling out of its messy bun—she’d hastily pulled it up before painting. Her breasts seemed swollen beneath the white tank top, and one of her bra straps had slipped down.