By the time she finished up with Kevin, who had informed her to get ready for some serious documents the next day, Jackie’s office loomed on the next block. She pointed across the street and up the block to the squat concrete building sandwiched between beautifully restored brick three-story buildings. “Thar she blows, Cap’n.”
Formerly warehouses, the row of brick buildings now housed chic boutiques, cafés, and bars on the ground floor and just as chic lofts on the upper floors. Like a bag lady walking the Paris runway, her building reeked of poverty and poor taste, a prime example of Soviet architecture’s inroads into America’s blighted neighborhoods.
Built as a bank in the mid-1970s, it had heralded the promise of a new dawn for Fell’s Point. Thankfully, it failed to breed. The neighborhood remained stagnant, yet funky, for a decade. When it was truly revived, beginning in the 1980s, buildings were rehabbed instead of torn down. The gray whale somehow survived but had now become the blight of the area. An ugly building translated into cheap rent, though. Besides, she’d become somewhat fond of the atrocity.
Brandon let out a wolf whistle. “Sweet.”
Jackie’s cheeks burned. Based on what she’d read this afternoon, Brandon surely raked in well over seven figures and probably had a luxurious office. Her place smacked of white trash.
What will he think?
“I know. It’s hideous. Wait until you see the inside. I’m guessing it will make you feel like your own office is the Taj Majal. It is clean, though. Just don’t look down. There are some questionable stains on the carpet from a previous tenant.”
Brandon took the lead off the curb to cross the street toward the building. “I can’t wait to see it. Come on, shake a leg, North.”
Jackie trotted after him, amazed at how fast his long legs could transport him even at a walk. She passed him using the best power walk she could manage in high heels and made it a point to beat him to the door, although she suspected he let her.
He reached in to open the door for her and, with an obsequious bow, said in a deplorable British accent, “After you, mum.”
“Oh puh-lease.” She barely resisted the urge to tickle him. It just seemed what he deserved. No one had ever accused her of being silly in her entire life, yet Brandon brought out the playful child in her. “This way,” she called over her shoulder as she took the stairs two at a time on her way to her third-floor office. A musty smell lingered no matter how many times the carpet was shampooed.
The bronze nameplate bearing her name looked tacky on the dated oak door. Nevertheless, her heart swelled at the sight of the engraving announcing The North Law Firm. She opened the door, and they entered her professional sanctum.
“Marilyn?” Jackie dropped her briefcase inside the door and looked around for her assistant.
“In the multipurpose room,” Marilyn replied, her voice muffled.
Jackie turned the corner to the office she’d converted to a conference room/IT room/file room. Marilyn’s shoeless feet peeked out from underneath the table. “What are you doing?” Jackie crouched down.
“Fixing the network,” Marilyn stated matter-of-factly.
Jackie smiled. Of course. Marilyn could fix almost anything without a hair in her poofy bun coming undone.
“What’s wrong?” Jackie ducked her head. Dozens of red and orange lights blinked rapidly. Not a good sign. She knew enough about computers to know that solid green lights were good. Green, blinking lights were probably okay, and anything red or orange sent her into panic mode.
Marilyn scooted out from under the table cave and casually put a few stray hairs back into place. “Everything went
phhffftt
about fifteen minutes ago. I thought maybe there was some work going on and called the phone company, but they were about as helpful as a string bikini in the Arctic.”
“That’s a surprise.” She stood and extended her hand to help up Marilyn.
“I thought I’d do a hard reset, then reboot the server. Nothing helped, though.” Marilyn slipped on her high heels and turned toward Jackie. “Oh, Mr. Marshfield, I presume.” Marilyn offered her hand to Brandon.
Brandon elbowed Jackie in the side as he stepped forward next to Jackie. He whispered over his shoulder, “How is it that she knows who I am, but you didn’t?”
“Marilyn, yes, this is Brandon Marshfield. Mr. Marshfield, this is Marilyn Morris, my assistant.” Jackie moved to the makeshift conference room table to clear a space.
An array of articles about Brandon fanned across the table. Jackie slid them quickly into a folder and tucked it all under her arm. “Mr. Marshfield is going to review our clients’ records this evening. Apparently we have a large number of documents from Fenton & Stone being delivered tomorrow, so he might be back to go over that with me too.”
Marilyn crossed her arms and scowled. “Why are we getting another huge production this late in the game? This is highly unconventional. What’s Gary up to?”
Jackie shrugged. “I stopped trying to predict Gary Stone over a year ago.” She needed Marilyn to go. The last thing Jackie wanted was Marilyn hovering around her and Brandon. Not that anything would happen, but Marilyn knew Jackie too well and might catch on that Brandon was more than just an expert witness. Was he?
Jackie checked her watch. “It’s getting late; why don’t you go home for tonight?”
Marilyn moved her arms from her chest to her hips. “Go home? I need to finish cross-indexing the exhibits and was hoping to begin summarizing Mr. Marshfield’s deposition for you.”
Jackie narrowed her eyes at Marilyn. “The network’s down, so you won’t be able to get the court reporter’s e-mail with the draft of the transcript.” She couldn’t bear to have Brandon witness her getting backed down by a gray-haired pixie.
Marilyn pressed her lips tight, and then she opened her mouth, but before any sound escaped, she shot a quick glance at Brandon and then back to Jackie. A twinkle sparkled in her eyes. “Yes, it is getting late,” she said slowly. “I’ll see you early tomorrow. Listen for the telephone people in case they change their minds and decide to come. I’ll order you some dinner from Sal’s.”
Brandon looked up from his phone, which he’d been fiddling with. “Sal’s? I love that place. I didn’t know they did takeout, though.”
Marilyn stood with a catlike grin in the doorway. “They don’t. Would osso bucco be good?”
Jackie rolled her eyes and murmured, “Show-off.” She shooed Marilyn out of the conference room and out the door.
When Jackie returned to the conference room, she found that Brandon had made himself at home. His jacket hung over the back of the folding chair he sat in. His tie lay in a wad on the table. With his long legs stretched out in front of him, Brandon leaned back in the chair as he studied his phone, typing rapidly with his thumbs. Several buttons of his shirt were undone, but she was disappointed to see a white T-shirt covering his chest.
A wicked fantasy of restraining him right there with his tie and then ripping off his clothes popped into her head. She’d straddle him, torturing his swollen cock until he begged her to fuck him. Suddenly, the room spun and her body felt the heat of a sizzling fire.
Brandon looked up and gave her a sweet smile.
Leaning against the door frame to steady herself, Jackie pulled herself back to reality.
Who is this enigma?
His relaxed body and impish grin were as casual and carefree as she remembered from that night on the boat. Yet, earlier in the day, he radiated everything one would imagine of a successful financial wiz. He was so cocky that his swagger preceded him.
Part of her despised his self-assured attitude, yet another part found it incredibly sexy. Used to being the smartest one in a room, Jackie viewed Brandon’s brilliance as admirable, intimidating, and irresistible. It made the challenge of taking him down on the witness stand particularly stimulating. Any win tasted sweet, but beating the best in his field would prove she was legitimate. Yet, what price would she pay for destroying his credibility?
Brandon crossed his ankles, tossed his phone across the table, and clasped his fingers behind his head. He’d done that on the boat as he had lain on the sails. Jackie squeezed her thighs tight, willing her body to resist. As their time together passed, Brandon became more and more of a mystery. How much of that would be revealed in the notes and articles she still clutched in her hand?
Focus,
she reminded herself.
“Tell me you are not undressing me with your eyes, Counselor,” Brandon said as he leaned back farther in the chair.
Undressing, tying up, and fucking your brains out, to be precise.
She shifted her weight and willed casualness into her voice. “I am not undressing you with my eyes.”
“Liar,” he countered with an easy smile.
“What makes you think you have any idea what’s going on in my head?” An edge of irritation made its way into Jackie’s voice. Maintaining the final boundary in her wall of privacy was more than just a point of personal pride for her. Once that door opened, he might see something he didn’t like. It was as good as furnishing the enemy with ammo to take you out and leave you alone.
Had she already left that door open to let Brandon slip in? Or did he have some inexplicable power to get into her head?
Brandon’s smile disappeared, and he sat up straight in the chair, rubbing his hands over his face. “Why would I think I know what’s going on in your head? That’s a question I wish I had a rational answer for, Jackie. It sounds crazy, but it’s like we are two bodies and one mind. It’s stupid, I know.”
Jackie paused. He had nailed what niggled at her gut. She connected with Brandon. Or did his smooth style simply satisfy her desperation? Regardless, going any farther down this path with him spelled danger. Too much at stake, the case came first.
And her heart?
She changed tracks. “Why are you testifying for Ashe?”
He sighed and looked away. “Haven’t we covered this ground already?”
Jackie pulled out a chair from the table and sat down to face him. “The real reason. He’s horrible, and I know that you know it.”
“Whose turn is it now to presumptuously read the other’s mind?”
Jackie reached across the table toward Brandon but stopped short of touching him. She pulled her hand back and slid both hands under her thighs to keep herself from making a physical connection with him. “I deserved that.”
She looked into his amber eyes and saw the sweetness, attentiveness, and passion that had touched her heart just over a week ago. “Look at those faces up there.” Jackie gave a jerk of her head toward one of the room’s walls, where photos of the Kovels and other plaintiffs were taped in a collage for inspiration. “Those are good, honest people. They worked for decades to build very modest fortunes. It’s all gone. Ashe took it. I know he did. I cannot rest until I prove that and get their money back.”
Brandon got up and stood before the photos. The muscles in his back tensed. He spoke to the wall. “All of that means you won’t rest until you take me down on the witness stand, right?”
Jackie closed her eyes to hold back the conflicting emotions ripping through her heart and head. She went to him and laid her hand lightly on his shoulder. The hard muscles knotted under her touch. So strong and powerful, yet troubled and stressed. She wanted to knead away his worries and take him in her arms. Yet her job demanded that she do just the opposite. “I’m not happy about this. If you could just help me understand why you are doing this.”
Brandon turned around and leaned back against the wall. His shoulders sagged. The sides of his mouth had lost their playful upturn. “I need you to trust me, Jackie.”
“You are the expert witness for the opposing side in the biggest case of my life. Can you give me a little more to hang onto than ‘trust me’?”
He shook his head. His jaw clenched. “No.”
Jackie’s heart pounded. “Oh, Brandon—”
Before she could press him further, he took her by her arms and pulled her close to him. Immediately, his mouth was on hers. It was a fiery kiss. Hard. Strong. Desperate. Passionate. Deep. Intimate.
Her body responded intuitively. She put her hands on his shoulders and let her body melt into his. He held her securely in his arms, exploring her mouth with his tongue. The pounding in her heart intensified, and coursing blood surged throughout her body. Moving her hands around his waist, she glued his body to hers. He hardened against her, and she rocked her hips, wanting to feel more of him.
She couldn’t resist, but her nature was not to surrender. They were about to go to war.
Chapter Eight
A sharp knock on the door startled Brandon out of his embrace. Jackie pulled away from him to straighten her jacket and smooth her hair. Avoiding eye contact, she said, “I better see who that is.”
He watched her stride out of the room. Her long legs were so sleek in those high heels. He’d promised himself to keep his hands off her. He walked around the room and adjusted his engorged dick. His lack of discipline surprised and disappointed him. He knew he should stay away, but the more he tried, the closer he was drawn to her. She bewitched him with everything from her cinnamon scent, to her silky hair, to her perfectly rounded ass.
He’d had his share of relationships and flings but always prided himself in keeping his brain in his head and not between his legs.
Legs.
The vision of her lying naked with her legs spread wide invaded his thoughts. He forced that thought from his mind, not wanting to get caught in public sporting a major woody.
Jackie returned with a man in a white hard hat with the phone company logo on it. He wasn’t wearing a uniform, but with the outsourcing nowadays, that wasn’t unusual. Jackie looked toward Brandon but avoided his gaze. “The guy from the phone company is here. Maybe we should move into my office while he looks at the router thingy.”
The phone guy carried a large black computer bag in one hand and rested his other hand on his leather tool belt, chock-f of pliers and screwdrivers. “Thank you, ma’am, that would be most helpful. We’re doing some work on the cabling, and I’ve had some reports of outages in the area. Have you experienced any problems in the last two hours?”