Legally Binding (6 page)

M
aisie finished
blow-drying her hair, then padded into the ornate and unfamiliar bedroom, where yesterday’s clothes hung in the closet. It was a luxurious three-room suite, and she had the smaller of the two bedrooms.

Mrs. Davina Ballystock had the other room.

Knocking came from the main door.

“Great,” Maisie muttered. Davina had probably woken up and immediately ordered room service again. Last night, the feisty woman had kept a steady procession of champagne flowing.

At first Maisie had been happy to get buzzed; going to the Beaumont to babysit a client was not what she’d thought she was signing up for.

But Davina had kept drinking. And drinking. She had a frat boy’s tolerance. Eventually she’d fallen asleep, and Maisie had roused her long enough to drag her to bed.

The knocking came again.

“Who is it?” Maisie called out as she started across the room.

“Trent.”

She smiled at the sound of his deep voice. Regretting the big fluffy robe that protected her modesty a little too well, she practically skipped over to let him in.

“Good morning,” she said. She couldn’t stop smiling, couldn’t stop remembering him forcing her to her knees, his hands stuffing the tie into her mouth. “Are the others coming?”

He shook his head. “They’re at the office, but I thought I’d bring by a few things to make your stay more comfortable.”

He stepped aside, and a porter bearing three overflowing bags came into view. The porter briskly entered the suite and went to her bedroom, where he began arranging the clothes on hangers.

“Whatever doesn’t fit, put to the side, and we’ll see that it goes back to the store,” Trent said.

She frowned in confusion. “I don’t understand.”

“Think of it as a little extra payment for your trouble.”

Smiling, Maisie made a point of looking around the lavish suite. “This is no trouble, Trent. Really. If anything, I should be paying you.”

He shook his head. “No. And you won’t be in the office today. Whatever Davina wants, you agree to, but you’re not to let her out of your sight. Do you understand?”

“Yes,” she said, but her smile faded.

“It’s just for today. Her niece is flying into town this evening, and she’ll take over.”

Maisie nodded. They’d explained it all to her the night before. She’d been disappointed, to say the least. Ethan had sternly reminded her that taking care of clients was part of her job, and at the moment, Davina needed a little extra help.

But now Maisie was banned from the office? It didn’t seem fair.

B
efore actually meeting Davina
, Maisie had imagined her as a frail thing. The Ballystock’s former housekeeper had sounded so small, so fragile, and Maisie had assumed Davina was also easily cowed.

Nothing could have been further from the truth. Davina was several inches taller than Maisie, and about forty pounds heavier.

There was nothing about her that shouted
victim
, which Maisie supposed she might want to take as a life lesson.
Never assume
.

By noon, Davina still hadn’t gotten up, so Maisie cautiously knocked on her door.

“Come in,” Davina said.

Maisie opened the door and found her sitting up in bed, a rumple of expensive sheets and pillows around her and a sleep mask pushed high on her forehead. Her eyes were swollen, the whites almost as red as her frizzy hair.

“What’s wrong?” Maisie asked as she entered.

“I miss him.” In the light of day, Davina looked every one of her forty-four years. “I know I shouldn’t. He’s a jerk, and he cheated on me, but…”

Oh, no.
She’d known Davina was repressing her true feelings last night, but she’d assumed it was anger, not sadness.

“One second.” Maisie darted into the bathroom to snatch handfuls of tissues from the ceramic dispenser.

Davina loudly blew her nose, and Maisie took a fresh bottle of water from the minibar, unscrewed the top, and handed it to the distraught client.

With a body-wracking sob, Davina shook her head. “It’s so dumb, but I want him back. I want my old life back. At the beginning, he was so sweet, Maisie. Everyone thought he was charming.”

“I’ve heard that controlling men are like that at the beginning, but they can’t keep up the charade.”

Davina shook her head harder. “Norman was a sweetheart the first year. It wasn’t a charade. But after his partner defrauded the company and left him to deal with the fallout, he changed. He said such awful things. I never cared about the money, you know.”

She buried her face in the tissue and blew her nose again. Maisie wasn’t sure what to say or do, so she just waited.

Davina’s phone vibrated. She didn’t seem inclined to answer it.

Then Maisie’s phone rang in the other room.

It was Raphael. “Hi,” he said. He sounded a little out of breath, like he’d been running. “Bring Mrs. Ballystock to the courthouse immediately.”

“Ok,” she said. “Where, exactly?”

“It’s ten minutes from the hotel. I’ll text the address. Actually, I’ll have a taxi waiting. Make sure you wear something conservative.”

Maisie looked down at the short-sleeved floral dress she’d chosen. The skirt was joyfully puffy and barely reached her knees. “I will,” she said.

“Be there in fifteen minutes or less.”

G
etting
Davina out the door in under five minutes was almost impossible, but Maisie somehow managed, and she’d pulled a tailored black jacket on over the dress and fastened the single oversized button in the middle. Now it was office appropriate, though not exactly conservative.

If Raphael complained, she would point out that she’d figured making the deadline was the most important of his orders.

Davina had pulled her hair up into a bun and wrapped a green silk scarf around it. She’d painted her lips crimson red, and she slid dark sunglasses over her eyes while they climbed into the taxi. If Maisie had tried that combo, she’d have been laughed off the street. Some things only rich women could pull off.

Trent and Raphael were waiting on the steps of the courthouse, an austere grayish building that was nevertheless stately. Pigeons strutted around, pecking at the stained concrete. A parade of well-dressed people was entering and exiting, the women stylish, the men impeccably groomed.

“Hold my hand,” Davina said, pulling Maisie’s arm through hers as they began climbing the steps. Maisie didn’t mind. She needed something to distract her from the flutter of nervousness in her stomach.

She’d never been to court, but she was willing to bet Heather hadn’t, either. She also knew Heather couldn’t possibly have such handsome bosses. Trent and Raphael were freshly shaved, dressed for court in dark suits. Maisie had to keep stealing glances because it was too overwhelming.

“Where’s Ethan?” she asked as she reached them.

“At the office,” Trent said, distracted. “Sorry to do this, Maisie, but that particular dress won’t work. Not for this judge. She’s extremely conservative.” He headed into the building, his hand on Davina’s shoulder.

Maisie looked at Raphael for instructions. His hair was neat and combed away from his face; she never would have known it was a little on the long side. He still looked hot, though.

His brow furrowed. “There’s not much seating outside the courtrooms.”

She started to speak, but a truck honked loudly. “No, it’s—” The truck honked again. “It’s ok. I understand. I’ll just wait out here.”

Pigeons suddenly flew up from the steps in an explosion of thudding wings and loose feathers. Maisie ducked even though there was no danger of them hitting her.

“Actually,” she said, “can I go to the office?”

Raphael looked like he wanted to deny her request, but he surprised her by saying, “I don’t see why not, but keep your phone close. You can take Trent’s car and driver.” He gestured at a sleek black sedan idling at the curb.

During the ride to the office, Maisie checked and rechecked her makeup. She was dying to talk to Ethan, to find out why Davina was needed so suddenly.

But mostly, she wanted to see him, to assure herself that he was real. Trent and Raphael had acted like she was just any other employee, and Maisie was starting to feel like she’d imagined yesterday’s sexy goings-on.

Mrs. Donahue intercepted her in the hallway. “I need you to take care of the paperwork you were assigned. If you can’t handle it—”

“I can handle it,” she said, irritated.

Because Mrs. Donahue was watching, she went to her desk instead of Ethan’s office. She figured she’d drop off the purse, then go find him, but when she saw the stacks of folders, a panicky feeling gripped her. Why hadn’t the partners told Mrs. Donahue to stop piling on the work? Surely she knew what was happening, or Maisie would have been screamed at for being gone half the day.

She flipped through the folders until she found something requiring Ethan’s signature. It took a couple of minutes to fill out the form and print the final copy, and then she was heading down to his office, her feet practically flying.

His assistant must have stepped away, and his door was closed.

Maisie picked up the phone to call him, but then the door jerked open.

Jayne came barreling out, her jaw set, her eyes narrowed. Maisie wasn’t sure she’d ever seen someone so mad that they’d clenched their fists.

“Jayne—” Ethan came to the door. He looked anguished. “Goddamn it,” he growled under his breath.

He was so tall, his shoulders so broad. Her heart pounded. Today the scarred side of his face wasn’t as shocking, maybe because she’d expected it. When his expression was neutral, it was far less noticeable in general.

She remembered how his cock had felt, how thick it was, and a silken tremor ran through her pussy. She wanted more of that. Needed it.

Did he even know she was there? “Hi,” Maisie said, feeling uncomfortable.

His dismissive glance said he knew, but he didn’t care.

Maisie held out the paper. “Um, this is for you.”

He took it without looking at it. “Thanks.”

Then he disappeared into his office and closed the door.

Maisie blinked slowly several times. What the hell?

Heart heavy, she trudged back to her desk. Suddenly she didn’t feel so pretty. If anything, the dress was too froufrou, too restrictive, and it wasn’t her style at all. She was Maisie Novau. She was a panther, not a flowery powder puff.

She slumped into her chair and began to tackle the paperwork.

Yeah, now she knew the real reason why LB&B needed to pay so much. They expected you to give them control of everything in your life—and she didn’t mean the sex. They’d
made
her babysit Davina last night and all morning, but the rest of her work kept increasing. And, yeah, the clothes had been a nice touch, but would it have killed Ethan to thank her for dropping everything on short notice yesterday?

She wondered what the corporate speaker had suggested to improve Ethan’s management skills. A personality transplant, maybe.

She sorted the work by type, then eyed the towering piles. It would take at least ten hours to get it all done.

And if that wasn’t bad enough, she sliced her thumb.

A bright drop of blood welled up, then trickled down the side of her hand. Another drop quickly replaced it.

“Shit,” she mumbled. She didn’t have any tissues in her purse, and her desk was mostly empty—except for the files on the top, of course.

Holding her hand up, she speed-walked to the closest bathroom. Someone was in one of the stalls.

Maisie turned on the water and held her hand under the faucet, then washed with soap. The bleeding had stopped, but she still wrapped her thumb in a paper towel and applied pressure to the wound.

The stall door opened, and Jayne came out, looking radiant, her hair twisted in a high bun that accentuated her eyes and cheekbones. She’d certainly pulled herself together.

They exchanged perfunctory hellos. Maisie checked her thumb and the towel. No blood. But she needed a moment to herself, to process everything that had happened, and soon Jayne would be gone.

Except… Jayne wasn’t leaving.

Maisie tossed her head back, trying to get her hair out of her face without using her hands. “Can I ask you a question?”

“Sure,” Jayne said.

“About law school. I’m just thinking about my future, and maybe I want to be a lawyer. Do you like it?”

Jayne huffed out a laugh. “That is
not
what I thought you were going to ask,” she said. “Most new employees want the story on Ethan’s face. But if you’d rather have career advice…”

She trailed off. It was clearly an invitation.

Oh, Maisie was tempted, but she thought about sour Mrs. Donahue tattling to Ethan—maybe he was again Mr. Brennbach to her.

“It’s not really any of my business,” she said.

That made Jayne laugh. “Either you’ve found out already, or you don’t appreciate a good piece of gossip. I’m guessing someone told you. I didn’t see it happen, but Ethan’s my hero. Very sexy. Um, in a platonic way, of course,” she added quickly.

Now it was killing Maisie. She had to literally bite her tongue to keep from blurting out,
Please tell me, for fuck’s sake, tell me right now!

Jayne crossed her arms and leaned against the marble water basin. “Being a lawyer is great, but it’s a boys’ club. Look at this place. Three founding partners, all male.”

“Oh,” Maisie said. “They passed you over?”

“Well, not me. I’m only a third-year associate. But, I mean, come on. It’s not like when my father started his firm, and there weren’t many women. These guys surely know plenty of female lawyers, yet when they decided to start their firm, they made a good old boys’ club.”

Maisie guessed Jayne didn’t know about the whole dominating and gang-banging women aspect of their relationship. The partners clearly shared more than most men did.

“Are you thinking of quitting?” she asked.

“No,” Jayne said, almost sullenly. “I was this close today, though. It’s cutthroat getting cases here. I could spend my entire career doing prep work for hearings. You know, I don’t even blame the guys. They’ve been friends since high school, so I guess they get a pass. Mrs. Donahue is the problem. Ever since the incident, she’s untouchable. They let her run things however she pleases.”

“What incident?”

Jayne gave her a funny look. “She was next to Ethan when it happened. I would love to get her fired. She tries to get me taken off of everything. I’ve got five cases, Marnie. Five.”

“Maisie.” She wondered what would happen if Jayne figured out that Mrs. Donahue showed up to work drunk.

“Maisie. Sorry. Maisie.” She shook her head angrily. “There was a case that came in recently. Stupid—some guy ran a red light, somehow noticed the traffic cam as he was zooming past it, then went back and beat it into a million pieces with a hockey stick. The only reason he’s our client is because I saw it on the local news, and I suggested we represent him, pro bono, for exposure. Which Ethan backed me on. He complimented my ambition. The decent thing would have been to give me the client, right?”

Maisie struggled but failed to keep her expression neutral. Jayne didn’t seem to notice.

“But did he do that? No. Raphael took it. Raphael is Mr. Lattimore,” she explained. “It doesn’t make sense. Why the hell does he even want it? But they’re such control freaks. The year I started, there were twenty other people with me, but only a handful of us are still here. So, right now? I wish I’d become a veterinarian. At least when you’ve got your arm buried to the shoulder in a cow’s ass, you don’t have to wonder why everything smells like shit.”

Maisie nodded and made sympathetic noises. “Frustrating.”

“Really, I’m sorry about getting your name wrong.” Her smile was genuine. “Thanks for letting me vent. It’s just that I expected this from Mrs. Donahue, but if the partners are freezing me out…” She shook her head. “Let me shut up. So, Maisie”—she emphasized the second syllable to prove that she’d gotten the name correct—“how about I take you to lunch sometime soon, and I can give you some useful advice?”

Maisie nodded.

Then Jayne was gone, leaving Maisie to stew in her own guilt.