Her Counselor (Love Hack, #3) Page 5

  “Fantastic.” He smiled and held up a crumpled ball, and it took her a moment to realize it was black silk and lace. Her panties. “I, uh...think I owe you a replacement.” He almost sounded sheepish. Almost.

  “Don’t worry about it. It was worth it.” A giggle worked its way from her chest, and she shook her head. She hadn’t felt this good in ages. It was like her mind was clear.

  He stood and zipped up. Seconds later, he was by her side, offering a hand. She accepted, memorizing the feeling of his firm grip, and then straightened her clothing.

  As if by some unspoken agreement, they fell into step beside each other. As they made their way back to the parking lot, Vivian was conscious of how much space was between them. They walked close enough she felt his warmth through her sleeve, but there was no contact. “I can’t believe we did that. In the middle of an office park.” She felt subdued but content.

  “If it were any other time or place, I’d tell you I knew it would happen.” Damon glanced sideways at her. “But, neither can I. Not that I’m complaining.”

  A comfortable silence settled in, punctuated by the chirp of cicadas. When they reached their cars, she turned to face him. “I had a lot of fun. I meant it when I said thank you, earlier.”

  He tucked a strand of hair behind her ear. “Me too. Back to masks and indifference tomorrow?”

  Forcing a smile into place was more difficult than she expected. Might as well start now. What had happened was only a blip in time, so there was no reason to linger. “I’ll see you in the morning, Counselor.”

  Something flickered in his eyes, vanishing before she could define the expression. His face shifted, to reflect her grin. “See you in the morning.”

  No reason at all, for her to linger.

  Chapter Six

  FOURTEEN YEARS AGO

  Damon paced the floor of his apartment, struggling and failing to keep a haze of frustration and rage at bay. “Fucking bullshit. I can’t believe—” His words faltered, and he hissed in irritation.

  Vivian studied him, sympathy in her gaze. “How’d he find out?”

  “I don’t know. Ethan told him?”

  She shook her head. “He wouldn’t do that.” She took a deep breath, chest rising and falling in her low-cut tank top, and temporarily distracting him. “And I hate to be the one to say this, but your dad was going to find out.”

  He sighed, sank onto the couch cushion next to her, and tossed the printed email on the coffee table. The message was from his father, and reminded Damon minoring in education wasn’t part of their agreement. If Damon didn’t get his applications into the law schools of his choice soon, he’d be footing a pretty hefty college bill when he graduated and tried to do something ridiculous, like teach.

  Damon rubbed his face, and a low grumble worked up from his chest, leaving his throat raw.

  Vivian shifted so she sat on his lap, both legs draped down next to his, her head against his chest. “Maybe we can make it work.”

  He trailed his fingers through her hair, the repetitive movement helping bring his fury under control. He let his thoughts solidify, before speaking again. “You’re right; I knew it was going to happen. Maybe I wanted it to. He’s got a good point. I’m not going to make money teaching, and there’s no way I can pay off my student loans. I like law. I’m good at it. He’s pushing me toward my potential.”

  Her spine stiffened against him for a moment, before she relaxed again. “It sounds like a good plan.”

  He knew she was lying, but he wouldn’t call her on it. This was one thing he needed to work. “And you’re with me?”

  “Of course. Always.” At least this time, there was nothing but honesty in her words.

  NOW

  Damon kept half an ear on the conversation in the Skriddie conference room. They were reviewing the tentative schedule for the day—whom they wanted to talk to first, when breaks and lunch would be ... everything they covered yesterday, but with fewer words. More than a day in town, and they hadn’t started a single interview.

  Camille’s voice echoed in his head, nagging that this was the client’s dime, and the firm got their hourly rate either way. He didn’t have to care if they wasted a day or even a week. When it came right down to it, he and Camille both knew this case was—

  “Sorry I’m late.” Hayden sounded anything but. All conversation in the room stopped, as he dropped his laptop bag in an empty seat and headed straight for the coffee on the back counter. “Had a hell of a time waking up this morning. Anyone else get laid?” his gaze landed on Damon.

  Laid? Not quite. Best night in ages? Without question. It was half a shame, half a relief that Vivian was back to her professional, aloof self this morning. It made it that much easier to keep in mind last night wasn’t the start of something new.

  He stared back at Hayden, unflinching. “If you’ll have a seat, instead of toeing the line of sexually harassing an entire room”—especially in front of a fucking court reporter—”we’ve already started, and we have a full schedule today.”

  Irritation flitted onto Hayden’s face but was quickly replaced with a sneer. “Yes, sir.” He took his seat with no more delay.

  Brian Wicker, one of the Skriddie lawyers, scrolled through something on the tablet in front of him, smirk barely hidden. “If you’d like to talk to Ms. Elford, we’re requesting you get her in here soon. She has her schedule on hold until you’ve finished with your questions.”

  This was where Damon was supposed to say someone else was on the docket first. Delay things. Turn schedules around. Toss up a casual wrench in the schedule, to make sure the process dragged on. However, Camille’s not-so-subtle threats from yesterday lingered in his thoughts, and Hayden’s attitude had killed most of Damon’s lingering buzz from last night. “That’s fine. Let’s get started.”

  They called Mikki Elford, swore her in, explained the process to her, and started asking questions. Damon’s people knew what they were doing, and unless Hayden said something stupid, things should run smoothly without interference, so Damon kept half an ear on the deposition and let the rest of his thoughts wander. As much as he wanted to put the night before out of his head, it stuck with him. Not only the fantastic everything, but the way Vivian could flip a switch and go from willing submissive to a woman surrounded by walls, in a flash.

  “Did you actually turn down the original employment offer from Skriddie Bust Media?” Vanya asked.

  “Of course I did.” Indignation hung heavy in Ms. Elford’s response.

  Damon didn’t doubt it. Though he was curious where Hayden got the information about what happened in the hotel room, that night in Vegas. Camille knew and had promised documentation the moment she had time.

  The exchange faded in and out of his awareness, and he fell back into his own musings. He understood why Vivian kept her walls up, and refused to take any shit in her professional life. Her upbringing was part of it. The bit of her past he was almost certain she’d never shared with anyone else, no matter how close she’d grown to these people over the years. Who she was played a key role as well. A lesser person wouldn’t have come out of her childhood on top.

  Growing up, Vivian had watched her mother drag through a string of bad relationships, some of them physically so. Men who slapped her mother around, and frequently Vivian as well. Hell, she took up dancing when she was ten, because when one man broke her leg, the doctor told her she’d probably never walk straight again. Her defiance was to prove she’d do more than that. Just the memory of hearing the story made Damon clench his fist so hard, his knuckles ached.

  She and her mom had struggled to get by. Her mother was never the person to end a relationship, and Vivian knew there was something better out there. She graduated high school at seventeen, took the couple thousand dollars she’d saved from flipping burgers, and moved several thousand miles away to attend college and escape that life. She told Damon on more than one occasion she’d never let someone control her or erase her identit
y to the point where she became her mother.

  Which, after Vivian and Damon dated for several years in college, was the same thing that tore their relationship apart. He shoved the thoughts aside. Dangerous path to walk down ever, but especially now.

  “You’re saying you never asked to attend the Vegas trade show?” Vanya asked. “It was completely Hayden’s idea. Although on your first night there, before the official activities began, you’d already made contact with Skriddie executive staff. Remember, Ms. Elford, even though this isn’t trial yet, you’re under oath.”

  Damon felt a twinge of regret for the way they were attempting to shred the girl’s naiveté. Yet another emotion he couldn’t afford to linger on.

  “You made contact with them your first night there, you spent a large portion of your free time talking to them, and yet you insist you weren’t there to tell them what you’d learned, working at NSS,” Vanya said.

  Mikki flared her nostrils and clenched her jaw. She wasn’t looking at Vanya; her gaze was focused on Hayden. “Yes. I’m saying all of that. Because, silly me, I tend to trust people. And I’m sure you think that’s pathetic, but every time, right up until the end of my employment, I wanted to take Hayden at face value when he told me something. Because that’s sure as hell easier than spending my entire life wondering who’s trying to fuck me over.”

  Hayden leaned in, arms on the table and upper lip pulled into a sneer. “Which is why you’ll never be more than a lackey, doing the brain work but not the smart work. And why your fiancé will continue getting screwed, and—”

  “Let’s take an early break and take this off the record.” This was what Damon had been listening for, but he’d hoped it wouldn’t rear its head for at least half a day.

  “Don’t stop on her account,” Tate muttered.

  Damon resisted the urge to roll his eyes. They weren’t stopping for Mikki’s sake, and he suspected Tate knew that. It was so Hayden wouldn’t say something—on the record, even—that would blow up this entire case. Damon gave a general smile to the room. “We need ten minutes.” He looked at Hayden. “A word?”

  Moments later, Hayden joined him in one of the offices they’d been assured were private and available for such discussions.

  “Do you want this case to be over now?” Damon kept his tone cool and free of emotion. “Because I promise, if it stops right now, the outcome isn’t going to be in your favor.”

  Hayden leaned against the wall, arms crossed. “Or theirs. Thrown out, at the worst.”

  Which Damon was avoiding at all costs. “Really? When did you get your law degree? This is simple. Unless someone asks you questions, keep your mouth shut in there, especially while we’re on record, or you won’t be allowed in the room.”

  “I noticed both of you left early last night.” Hayden didn’t look fazed by the threat. He didn’t blink, as he completely changed the subject. “I don’t suppose you’ve already won our bet. Or lost. She shot you down, and that’s why you’re in such a foul mood?”

  Fuck. Damon had already forgotten about that stupid thing. “There’s no bet. It’s bullshit, and it’s not happening.”

  “You’re giving up already? You really hate your job that much?”

  This was stupid. Damon lost his temper yesterday, but the ice was back in his veins now. “What are you going to do, Hayden? Walk out there and tell everyone? That only reflects poorly on you.”

  Hayden hesitated, and when his smugness returned, it was strained. “Nope. I only have to tell Vivian and Camille you bet you could tie Vivian up in bed. Fucking the plaintiff? Not very professional. Hell, I don’t know if I have to do more than tell Camille what I overheard. Doubt’s enough.”

  “Keep thinking that”—Damon stepped around him—“and keep your mouth shut during the depositions.”

  What if he does tell Vivian? A horrible, tiny voice squeaked from the back of his mind. It didn’t matter. She’d know Hayden was talking shit. Still, no reason to let her find out from another source. Damon sent her a quick, intentionally generic text, before he walked back into the conference room. We need to talk.

  JARED KNOCKED ON VIVIAN’S office door. She dragged her gaze to where he stood. She’d like to think he startled her from the deep focus her work demanded, but Damon’s message did that almost an hour ago. Every time she tried to get back to work, the words bounced in her head, in Damon’s voice. She wasn’t going to respond. Anything he had to say to her could be done in front of anyone. Unless it was about last night, which it wouldn’t be, because they both knew what that was. Amazing and over.

  She tucked the rambling thoughts aside. “What’s up?”

  “Lunch?”

  So she could listen to him get into some ridiculous not-argument with Mikki, over Pentagon technology, guaranteed to bore anyone else within ear range, while the two laughed at their own jokes? The bitter thought made her cringe internally. She honestly loved their company, so why was she even thinking like that? Tate was right; Damon had gotten under her skin. Time to nix that, spend some time appreciating that she could go where she wanted, with whom she wanted, and when she wanted, by taking tonight for herself.

  She gave Jared a smile. “I have to keep an eye on the catering they’re bringing in for lunch—make sure clean up happens. You know, the exciting details.”

  He took another step into the office, searching her face. “You okay?”

  Great. Now everyone could see her brain was tweaking on her. “Fine. Tired. Wishing this weren’t happening. You know.”

  “If you want to talk, my door’s open. Can I bring you back something, besides stale sandwiches?”

  “Nah. I can eat what our guests eat. It’s only fair.” She tried to make her smile more genuine. “I’m fine. Really.”

  “All right...” He gave her one last glance before turning away.

  She dropped her face into her palm. Tonight definitely needed to be a clear-her-head night, so tomorrow she could go back to being herself. She sucked in a few slow, deep breaths, to calm her mind, and dove back into work. She helped Heidi, the receptionist at the front desk, set up a second room with the buffet-style food, so their guests could get in and out, and work through lunch. She managed to ignore almost all of her trepidation about running into Damon, as well as her ambivalence when she didn’t even catch a glimpse of him.

  The clock ticked up on two, and she’d managed to make it through a large portion of her task list, the cryptic text message barely a buzz in the back of her mind. It was time to have Heidi clean up and consolidate the leftover food, and let the staff know they could help themselves to whatever was left in the room. An email would suffice, but Vivian needed to walk away from her computer for a few minutes.

  As she drew closer to the front desk, she heard a voice she struggled to decipher. A few more steps, and she realized it was a child speaking. Reception came into view. Heidi sat with a boy next to her. He looked maybe five or six, and was holding up a car and a doll, and telling Heidi a story.

  “Who’s this?” Vivian asked.

  Heidi looked up, eyes wide. “I’m so sorry, Vivian. My husband is working today, and it’s spring break, and the babysitter had an emergency, and I couldn’t find anyone else to look after him. I was going to call and ask if it was okay, but I hadn’t had a chance yet.”

  “It’s okay.” Vivian approached the desk and rested her arms on the top. “I know Alan’s a little lost with Tate in the depositions. I can get him to watch things here, if you need the rest of the day off.” Heidi opened her mouth, but Vivian wasn’t done. “I’ll make sure you get paid. I promise.”

  “Thanks.” Heidi gave her a grateful smile. “Come on, Tony. Let’s go home, and you can tell me all about your car and his girlfriend.”

  “Ms. Graff, may I have a word?” Damon’s smooth voice cut through Vivian’s shell and sent her pulse racing.

  She tried to be subtle about taking a deep breath, and turned to face him. Something short brushed past her legs,
and Tony strode up to Damon.

  “Who are you?” the boy demanded.

  Damon knelt, bringing himself to eye level with child. “I’m Damon. And you would be?”

  “I’m Tony, and that’s my mom, and that’s the lady who pays her.” He pointed behind him. “And you talk funny.”

  Damon shrugged, expression kind. “It’s a habit. I have to talk that way for work.”

  “My mom talks funny for work too. She answers the phone, and her voice gets all high and squeaky, like she’s sick.”

  “Oh, God,” Heidi muttered so softly, Vivian was sure no one else heard.

  Vivian struggled to hide a smile.

  Damon kept his attention on Tony. “That’s one downside of having a grownup job. What do you have there?”

  “This is Sam”—he held up the cast iron, black Impala—“and this is Dean.” He presented the doll.” They’re married and have lots of kids, but they have to work all the time.”

  The longer the child talked, the more intently Damon appeared to listen, nodding and asking questions whenever was appropriate.

  “Don’t tell my husband I said this.” Heidi spoke in a whisper. “He’s really gorgeous though, isn’t he?”

  “He’s not bad.” Vivian agreed before she realized what she was doing. “I mean, objectively, of course.”

  “Of course.” Heidi laughed. “Come on, honey. Let’s go home.”

  “Okay. But I want chicken and fries.” Tony waved to Damon. “See you later.”

  A lump formed in Vivian’s gut, and she ignored it, as she watched child and mother leave. She tried not to linger on how well Damon interacted with the boy. It didn’t matter that her past was determined to haunt her this week; she wouldn’t dwell on the fact she’d never have children of her own.