Triple Jeopardy (Lawyers Behaving Badly Book 2) (9 page)

She adjusted the heart pendant so the paper clip wasn’t in view. She’d picked it up off the floor on her first day of work, shortly after things with her bosses had started to escalate.

Remembering the dominant expression on Trent’s face as he ordered her to her knees made her shiver with excitement and fear.

Excitement because last night she’d thought she might not see any of them again, and fear because if she didn’t play her cards right, that outcome was still possible.

Blow-drying her hair was always a twenty-minute chore. She kept her cell phone on the bathroom counter, in case Ethan called.

He didn’t. Not terribly surprising considering it wasn’t even noon yet, and his note had said afternoon.

After fixing her hair into a sexy-messy bun, she wandered into the kitchen to find something to put into her growling stomach.

The counters were covered in groceries.

Thinking that Elda hadn’t wanted to try to put them away, Maisie opened a cabinet and discovered that it was packed to bursting.

One by one, she opened all the doors.

There was enough food to feed her for a couple of months.

She picked up a package of olive crackers, imported from Italy. The sticker on the bottom read $12.99.

“You’ve got to be kidding me,” she murmured.

Too bad there wasn’t a receipt. She could have taken all this stuff back to the store and used the cash to keep the lights on.

She opened the refrigerator and wasn’t shocked to discover that it, too, was packed full, cartons and packages jammed in.

Maisie pulled out a head of lettuce, the roots still attached. “Fancy,” she murmured, then made herself breakfast.

The phone rang a little bit after two.

Maisie had spent her time straightening up the apartment, just in case Ethan ever dropped by again.

Which he wouldn’t, she was sure. But still.

Her heart hammered against her rib cage as she answered. “Hello.”

“Hi, Maisie.” It was Raphael.

Unexpected tears stung her eyes at the familiar sound of his voice. “Hi.”

“We’ve got a driver en route to you. It’s a white car, and the driver’s name is Chad. He should be there any second.”

“Ok. Should I bring anything?”

“Nothing. Not even your phone.” He hung up.

Now, that was a weird request. Being separated from her phone was going to feel like having a limb chopped off.

They wouldn’t have asked if there wasn’t a good reason.

What the hell was going on?

She walked across her living room to look out the window. She didn’t have to wait long; the white car pulled up almost immediately.

Chad wasn’t very talkative, and that was fine with Maisie.

The car was some kind of hybrid between a sports car and a sedan. It had the space and luxury of the chauffeured car she’d been in before—Trent’s car—but the windows were smaller, the car’s design more aerodynamic. She sat in the back, but there was a gap between the front seats, and she could have leaned forward and touched Chad’s elbow if she’d wanted.

Maybe this was one of her bosses’ personal cars.

As she watched the city pass in a blur, she wondered if her bosses realized that she owned her own vehicle. Well, she would own it after she finished paying off the loan. It was nine years old, but reliable and clean.

Not her bosses.

Her ex-bosses.

She sighed and fidgeted with the chain around her neck, then wedged her fingers between her thighs and the soft tan seat.

Too bad she didn’t have her phone, something to distract her from the knot in her stomach.

While she was cleaning her apartment, she’d run through the possible reasons for the way Ethan was acting. Firing her, then showing up at her place, sending his personal assistant, then summoning her. She wasn’t an employee, so why bother?

Because he wanted to upgrade her from assistant to girlfriend? Unlikely, but the very thought made her pulse skyrocket.

But maybe the assistant had really been there to deliver the note, so the men would know Maisie had definitely gotten the message. Maybe she’d screwed up something crucial. Something that would cost tens of thousands of dollars to fix.

Of course it was ridiculous, but once the thought had taken hold, she couldn’t shake it, and panic made her heart do a terrifying dance in her chest. She had to take long, slow breaths.

The car slowed next to a building in the very final stages of construction. Or maybe not even construction; perhaps the ongoing work was all aesthetic. It was a skyscraper that stood beside an empty lot, the foundation halfway dug out and men in yellow hard hats ambling around.

Slowly, the driver pulled into the alley just past the skyscraper and drove down a ramp into the parking garage.

Ethan seemed to appear out of nowhere. Dressed in a black suit, his expression unreadable, he didn’t seem like the same man who’d shown up at her apartment. The garage wasn’t well-lit, and the scarred half of his face remained in shadow.

The car came to a stop in front of him. He stepped forward to open her door.

Now she could see every centimeter of his face. She didn’t care; he was gorgeous.

He reached into the car. Looking up into his inscrutable eyes, she couldn’t help but trust him. She slid her fingers into his.

Instantly, the worry knotting up her stomach and tightening the muscles of her entire body began to relax.

Even after he let her go, she felt better. Stronger.

He led her to an elevator, where he inserted a key and chose the top floor.

“About last night,” Maisie said. She hesitated. “I don’t remember much.”

“That’s for the better,” Ethan said a little stiffly, and she wondered if he was thinking about what had happened in her bathroom.

One of her rare blushes spread across her face, as hot and uncontrollable as wildfire. Thank goodness Ethan was staring straight ahead.

Not that she was watching him or anything.

The elevator doors opened, and to Maisie’s surprise, she found herself standing at the entrance of a modern apartment, fully furnished. The floor beneath her feet was white and tan marble. A crest-shaped mirror with a gilded, ornate frame showed that her face was roughly the color of a sunburned lobster.

That was the worst part about her blushes—even after the embarrassment had passed, her face remained flushed for too long.

“I’ll give you the tour later,” Ethan said, leading her to the right, toward a short hallway. At the other end was an enormous open room. Straight ahead were two seating areas. Lavish furniture, rich fabrics, all in somber browns, grays, and blacks. The entire front wall was glass, but Maisie didn’t see any drapes. Maybe there were retractable shades, but this high up, curtains were probably unnecessary.

The building’s height afforded true privacy, and far below were the tops of the surrounding buildings.

Several small citrus trees were growing to the right. They weren’t potted, but seemed to erupt directly out of the floor.

She turned toward Ethan to ask if he actually lived here, but then she caught sight of Trent and Raphael; the room was so large, and the view so entrancing, that she hadn’t noticed them before.

Behind them was a gigantic red and yellow painting, a depraved riot of slashes and squiggles. Maisie assumed it had been obscenely expensive.

Trent walked over to a wooden table long enough to seat an entire hockey team. Six colorful floral arrangements brightened the otherwise cheerless area.

Trent pulled out a seat. “Please,” he said.

The gravity of his tone and behavior ate away at the strength Ethan had given her. Butterflies doing gymnastics in her belly, she crossed the room and took a seat at the table.

All three of the men sat across from her.

It reminded her of when they were doing negotiations. She folded her hands and dropped them in her lap. A moment later, her gaze followed. The whole thing was too overwhelming, and she was emotionally raw from yesterday’s events. The resilience she’d worked hard to build had been destroyed. By Ethan.

“I’m sorry I had to fire you so abruptly,” Ethan said. “Maisie. Could you please look at me?”

Setting her jaw, she raised her eyes to his. “I’m sorry you had to as well.”

“There wasn’t time to do it any other way,” Trent said.

Maisie refused to look away from Ethan. It sounded like all three of the partners had agreed that she needed to be fired, but he was the one who’d done it.

His expression was neutral. He could have been a statue.

Maisie’s throat felt tight and raw. “You could have at least told me in person. What I did wasn’t so heinous that I deserved to be treated like…” She had to stop, to pull herself together.

“What you did?” Trent stood. “You didn’t do anything.”

“Maisie. I said
pro bono
.” Ethan nodded decisively. “You didn’t understand what that meant?”

A rushing sound practically deafened her as blood pounded in her ears.

And then she realized.

Pro bono.

It was their safe word. Ethan wasn’t referring to what Maisie had done with the files; he’d been telling her to trust him.

“I’m not fired?”

“Oh, you’re fired,” Trent said, but he was smiling.

Her gaze swung toward Raphael, who hadn’t yet said anything at all. He nodded, and maybe it was because of what Jayne had said, about Raphael being impressed with her work, but she felt a glimmer of foolish hope that maybe they had something even better planned.

“There were unexpected developments in the Ballystock situation.” Trent paused. “The coffee should be ready.” He walked away.

“What does the Ballystock divorce have to do with me now?” she asked, more confused than ever.

“It’s not about the case,” Ethan said. “No one knows where Norm is.”

“He’s in California,” she said. “Even if he disappeared again—”

“There are complications,” Trent said, returning to the room with a stainless steel pot of coffee and four blue mugs.

Ethan filled a mug, then slid it in front of Maisie. She picked it up even though she had no interest in drinking.

“The day after Norm disappeared, there was activity on his credit card in California.”

“Yeah, I know. Trent mentioned it.” Her voice was getting tense, and she forced herself to relax.

“His son lives in San Diego,” Ethan continued. “Because the card activity was moving down the coast, it mimicked arriving at the airport, then a drive south. But Norm Jr. had just flown from New York to San Francisco. He had maxed out his normal card and started using the emergency card. Unfortunate timing, and it took Norm’s brother this long to work it out. What I’m saying is that no one has seen or heard from Norm Ballystock since the night we went to chat with him. He hasn’t drawn on any of his bank accounts or used a credit card. His phone is missing. It hasn’t been used.”

Maisie didn’t need him to spell it out further. Other than the partners, she was the only person who knew her bosses had gone to Norm the night he disappeared. They’d threatened him with something, though Maisie didn’t know what. At the moment, she was glad to be in the dark.

This was already bad enough.

This was life-altering.

Even if she left the room right now, if she convinced herself that she never wanted to set foot in LB&B again, if she talked her way into a position at the call center, the trouble that had started would follow her.

This wasn’t just her bosses’ problem. It was hers, too.

“So, I guess I can expect a visit from the police after all,” she said, her voice little more than a whisper. She tried a smile. “At least I know some lawyers who can help me out.”

“Actually, it’s not going to work like that,” Ethan said.

12

M
aisie swallowed hard, but the sudden lump in her throat didn’t budge.

Ethan stood and thrust his hands into his pockets. His muscular body was tense with coiled energy, like a tiger frustrated and caged, unable to chase its prey. “We never imagined this would happen,” he said, turning to look down into her eyes. “We’re going to fix this.”

The other two men agreed.

Spreading her hands on the table, Maisie considered what they’d just told her. The enormous room was very still, very silent. There wasn’t even the ticking of a grandfather clock.