Office Fling (Manhattan Bad Boys BWWM Interracial Romance) Page 6

  “I’m so sorry,” she says once she’s back on the line. “I have to go. I’ll send everything about the meeting to your email. Is that all right?”

  She sounds caught off-guard but I don’t press it.

  “Yes, that’s perfectly fine. See you later tonight.”

  She hangs up quickly. Within five minutes, the details of the meeting appear in my email address.

  With a few hours to kill before the meeting, I decide to go about finding the missing information from the report. I’m sure Carrie did everything she could to the best of her abilities, but I have a few more contacts than she does. Certainly, there are a few strings still left to pull.

  Coffee sounds fantastic. I know I’m on my third cup of the day (maybe fourth, but who’s counting?) but I already feel the effects of the last cup wearing off.

  I’m walking through the office, mere feet from the freedom of the coffee cart when Jeremiah pokes his head out of his office.

  “Emily, a word?” He says.

  So close.

  “Of course,” I say brightly and step into his office. His mood seems to have improved since our last conversation.

  “Have a seat.” He gestures to the open chair.

  “Don’t mind if I do.” I sink into the plush seat opposite his. “What can I do for you?”

  “First, I want to apologize for earlier,” he says.

  “No need.” I wave him off. “You were right. You didn’t cross any lines to make your point.”

  “So, you aren’t pissed?” He gives me a look.

  “Not anymore,” I tease.

  “Good. Don’t tell anyone, but you’re the least annoying person in this office. I’d be put out if we couldn’t be friends anymore,” Jeremiah says.

  “I’m honored,” I laugh. “Of course, one little spat isn’t going to topple our friendship. Is that all you wanted to talk about?”

  “No, actually.” He folds his hands and places them on the desk. “I’ve heard some rumors.”

  “What sort of rumors?” I furrow my brow.

  “Nothing sordid!” He says quickly. “Just that you’ve been considering starting your own PR firm.”

  I put a finger to my lips and look over my shoulder through his open office door.

  “I haven’t made that knowledge public yet,” I say quietly.

  “I was hoping you would’ve told me.”

  “It’s a little difficult to tell my boss that I’m thinking of becoming his competition,” I reply.

  “True, but I wouldn’t try to sabotage you,” he says in his defense.

  “That’s exactly what you would say if you were plotting something,” I point out.

  “I might sabotage you just to preserve these lovely chats,” he admits.

  “You didn’t mention how that rumor surfaced,” I say, bringing the conversation back around.

  “You know I’m good friends with Justine Kip, right?”

  I already know where this is going. Justine is my mother’s campaign manager.

  “Mom told Justine,” I start.

  “And Justine told me,” Jeremiah finishes.

  “I should’ve guessed.”

  “Don’t worry, your secret is safe with me. For now,” he adds, waggling his brows. “If it means anything, I think running a PR firm is something you’re well suited for.”

  “That means a lot.” My smile is genuine. “Thank you.”

  “You deserve a little bit of praise. I know you’ve been struggling with your partner.”

  “We don’t need to talk about it,” I say.

  “We do. I know Ashton has his limitations in some areas. This is a very personal case and he’s not a people person. There’s a reason I paired him with you for this one.”

  “So we can fill in each other’s blind spots,” I summarize from the lecture earlier today.

  “Yes,” he says. “People love you. You’re easy to talk to. You can suss out what people want to hear and delicately phrase the things they don’t want to hear. Ashton doesn’t know how to do that yet. He’s brilliant at his job, don’t get me wrong. He just doesn’t have a solid grip on the importance of social nuance.”

  “I’ve noticed,” I chuckle. “Though, his directness comes in handy. He gets results.”

  “Exactly. That’s why he’s here.”

  “It’s a smart pairing,” I admit. “But he withheld important details from me. I’m going to have a hard time getting past that.”

  “I won’t stop you if you just want to work the case and move on,” he starts, “but I’d consider it a personal favor if you were to step into a mentor-like position. Guide him through the social aspects of this job. I’ll owe you one.”

  “You know I’d do anything for you,” I say as I grin. “But keep in mind, I’m not an easy person to owe a favor.”

  11

  Ashton

  The marble floors of the Superior Court of the State of New York in lower Manhattan have been polished to a gleam, reflecting me in all of my three-piece Armani suit glory. The man in the reflection has a big smile on his face, and with good reason.

  I was able to pull some strings and get this meeting with Judge Reinhold within a day of the injunction being filed. This, of course, used up the limited social capital I had garnered during my career. I don’t like owing people favors, but on occasion I’ve been able to get some folks in my debt for such.

  But if I can get the injunction removed then this whole fiasco is solved and we can move on to something else.

  I was going to have to make it worth all the effort and social expense. Sure, I wanted to win for my Broadstreet clients but even more important than that was that I wanted to prove that I didn’t need anyone to do my job—not even the legendary Emily Dyer.

  I don’t need her people skills. I just need to dismiss this motion.

  The windows I pass are darkened by nightfall. It’s well after hours, and I’m certain that Judge Reinhold is going to be a little bit pissed about having to meet so late. That adds another level of difficulty, but I feel up to the challenge. Compared to losing my bayou accent, this is going to be a cakewalk, really.

  Cakewalk. I don’t even know exactly what that is. I think it’s something they do in grade schools, and from the connotation I figure it must be simple and easy, like nerf herding in Star Wars.

  The heels of my new Italian leather shoes squeak just a bit as I round the corner to Judge Reinhold’s chambers. The opposition’s lawyer, a nebbish, chubby little man named Johnny, is standing by with a sneer on his already ugly face.

  “You’ve got some nerve, Deveaux.” His shrill voice puts my nerves on edge even more than his face. “I got called away from a date with a lovely, but stupid, young intern and was all but guaranteed a slice of poon-tang pie for dessert just so you can pull your shenanigans.”

  “Shenanigans?” My face and voice are the portrait of innocence.

  His expression scrunches up into something between rage and incredulity. This makes a crease at the top of his bald head which I find amusing.

  “Just what are you up to, Deveaux? Why get this audience with the judge so quickly? You know you have to disclose anything, juicy or otherwise, before this case can proceed.”

  “Oh, I’m not up to much. Just going to get this case dismissed summarily.”

  Johnny’s eyes go wide, and sweat breaks out on his brow. I think I’ve really rattled him.

  “Dismissed?” He laughs mockingly. “I always knew you were an arrogant little shit, Deveaux, but this takes the cake. I’m going to enjoy seeing Reinhold cut you to pieces and sweep you right out the door.”

  He grins and leans toward me, his voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper.

  “From what I heard, I’m not the only one who is suffering from coitus interruptus. It’ll be a cold day in hell before Reinhold drops the case.”

  I hadn’t known that Reinhold’s ancient ass was still playing the game, but I shouldn’t be surprised. It’s hard to walk in
to a bar with a hundred dollar bill stuck to your forehead and not walk out with something, male or female.

  “Have you knocked to see if he’s in there yet, Johnny, or are you just waiting for the suspense to kill me?”

  “Not at all. I thought I’d let you have that particular honor.”

  “My pleasure.” I rap on the door heavily. A second later the irritated voice of Judge Reinhold comes through the polished timbers.

  “Enter.”

  I push the door open and stride in, trying not to smile too much. I have my business face on. If I’ve really interrupted the man’s date night, I don’t want to appear like it’s anything but a deathly serious matter.

  Inwardly, I curse, because it looks like Johnny was right. Reinhold is wearing a tuxedo, though the tie is undone sloppily around his neck. There looks to be a lipstick smudge on his collar, which would seem to confirm my suspicions. The wicked glare the reed thin old man gives me would curdle milk, but I’ve made a career out of not being flustered just because I’ve ruffled a few feathers.

  “Judge Reinhold, thank you so much for agreeing to this meeting, and I’m sorry for the late hour.”

  “Hmph.” Reinhold sneers down his long hawkish nose at me. “I was told by the Chief Justice of the State of New York that I had better cancel my plans and have this meeting. Do you have pictures of him with his nanny, or what?”

  I have to grin at that.

  “No, I just convinced him of the urgency of this case and the pressing need to have it resolved as soon as possible.”

  “Bullshit. My money’s on the nanny. But nevertheless, here we are.”

  Reinhold looks up as Johnny hustles in.

  “And Mr. Trent is here as well. As if my night could get much worse.”

  Johnny sneers at the judge.

  “It’s always a pleasure to see you too, sir.”

  “Whatever. Let’s get this over with so I can try to salvage what’s left of my night off. Ashton, since you called all of us here in the dead of the damned night you go first. And it had better be good.”

  “I’ll be brief, your Honor.” I hand him a slip of paper. “I would like this case dismissed on grounds of lack of evidence.”

  “Lack of evidence?” Johnny peers over my shoulder, trying to read the paper I just handed to Reinhold. “Are you out of your mind? The injunction has just been filed. There’s no time for even any discovery.”

  I keep my cool and address the Judge himself.

  “Your Honor, the fact that Broadstreet Investments’s corporate leaders are former Navy SEALs is a matter of public record. In fact, the employment of all military personnel is public record. Since there’s obviously been no fraud, there’s been no breach of contract. Open and shut, simple as that.”

  Judge Reinhold reads the paper and sighs. He looks over his glasses at Johnny.

  “Counsel, I assume you have a rebuttal for this position?”

  “You bet I do, your Honor.” Johnny straightens his tie and sneers. “The Navy SEALs are notoriously close-mouthed about who their operatives are. How were my clients to be privy to such information without high level clearance?”

  Reinhold cocks an eyebrow, and returns his gaze to me.

  “He has a point, Deveaux. But something tells me I’m not going to get off this easy, am I?”

  “I’m afraid not, your Honor. This whole situation arose because Mr. Trent’s clients didn’t do their due diligence in researching the people they were filing an injunction against. How is it my client’s fault that documents were leaked? That’s legalese 101 when you’re engaged in contract negotiations.”

  Judge Reinhold takes off his glasses and rubs his nose. Suddenly he seems more like a tired old man than a judge who holds both our fates in his hands.

  “Deveaux is a pain in the butt, Johnny, but I’m afraid he’s not wrong. The burden of research does fall upon your clients and not Broadstreet, so long as they didn’t deliberately try to hide information.”

  “Oh please, your Honor.” Johnny rolls his eyes to the ceiling. “No amount of due diligence on the part of a civilian entity is going to uncover the type of black ops shenanigans that the Navy SEALs get up to. The machinations of sketchy, murderous black operatives and whatever veiled interests they may possess has a direct impact on how trustworthy they are with my client’s wealth. Period end of story.”

  Johnny glares at me as if he’s just spoken with the voice of God. I just smile at him, because Johnny has backed himself into a corner and doesn’t even realize it.

  “Your Honor, Mr. Johnny’s clients seem to have not thought this through.”

  “Explain, Deveaux, and make it fast.”

  “Of course, your Honor. Brevity is the soul of wit, after all. It’s simple. Either my clients and their military service are a matter of public record, in which case this suit should be dismissed, or, their service is classified information which they cannot reveal without being arrested for sedition, or for that matter self-incrimination. The Fifth Amendment would protect them in either case.”

  Reinhold listens and nods. He turns to Johnny with a shrug.

  “Please tell me you have a rebuttal, Mr. Johnny, or I’ll have to rule in Mr. Deveau’s favor, which I hate doing.”

  “Your Honor, I—“ Johnny sputters, his face growing red. “That is, my clients had no way of—oh come on, this is bullshit.”

  Judge Reinhold laughs and starts working on his tie while glancing at the clock on the wall.

  “Come on, Johnny, we all sling bullshit for a living in one way or another. I find that the defendant has provided sufficient cause to have this injunction dropped.”

  He signs off on the order, and Johnny bustles his pear-shaped body toward the door.

  “This isn’t over, Devaeux.”

  “You’re leaving. I won. Kind of feels like it’s over, but what do I know?”

  I leave the judge’s chambers with a spring in my step. Let’s see Emily top this.

  12

  Emily

  I don’t like being caught off guard; I pride myself on being able to constantly be one step ahead of the opposition, to have a plan B as well as a plan C to go along with my process, and I don’t like being made to look like I don’t know what I’m doing.

  So when I arrive at Broadstreet to a swarm of media and reporters demanding a statement, to say that I’m a little annoyed is more than an understatement.

  As soon as I exit the car I’m met with a blast of questions from reporters from at least a dozen different news stations as well as a mob of angry protestors, and I can barely even shut the door behind me without slamming it into someone. It looks like they were trying to get into the Broadstreet building but then they saw me arrive, and turned their attention to me. Which leaves me where I am: Surrounded by reporters and I don’t even know why.

  This much media attention only two days after the leak doesn’t make any sense, but I really don’t have time to think about that right now; I need to figure out how to get into the building without being trampled.

  Security is trying to clear a path but it’s proving to be difficult, and I manage to lock eyes with one of the staff who waves me towards him. He’s managed to disrupt one of the groups enough that there is enough of a gap between them and one of the barricades that I could get by, and he’s frantically gesturing me towards it.

  I scramble forward and ignore all of the cameras and questions shot my way, doing my best to look calm and collected, despite the fact that I have literally no idea what the hell is going on. Luckily I’ve got the right training and skill set for that so it isn’t too hard, but I’m anxious to get inside so I can take a breath. It’s gotten to the point where some of the protestors look like they may get violent, and I can’t help but wonder if we should be calling in extra security. No, that’ll probably just make things look worse and the media will have just one more thing to run with, on top of whatever they have now.

  As I’m trudging my way through the thro
ng of reporters and protestors, I keep my eyes and ears open to try and absorb as much as I can. I keep getting bits and pieces here and though, but it’s so damn loud that I can’t really get anything concrete. I’m about to give up on listening and focus on throwing discreet elbows and offering not-so-sincere smiles as I shove my way past people when I do hear something that catches my attention, and my blood boils.

  One of the reporters from a major outlet is pestering another staff member, and I almost can’t believe what I’m hearing.

  “-but if the case was dismissed, then doesn’t that just prove that they did it? That they have something to hide and war crimes are being covered up? We need answers and-“

  Before I can hear any more one of the security guards whisks me out of the crowd and inside of the building, which I’m both frustrated by and grateful for. Obviously I was trying to get inside and he was just doing his job—very well, I might add—but I wish that I could have heard more of what the reporter was asking.

  Still though, what I did hear was enough to tell me that Ashton has obviously gone behind my back and done something, and apparently that something was enough to get the case dismissed.

  Why would he do this? Weren’t we just talked to about working together and making sure we came up with the best possible outcome for this? Apparently Jeremiah’s little chat with us did nothing at all for his behavior, considering the fact that he’s started a shit storm that I don’t even know how to begin to solve.

  The second the door shuts behind me and the crowd goes from a rolling roar to a dull murmur I pull out my phone, dialing Ashton’s number and shaking my head, glaring. If this comes crashing down on us and we lose everything, there’s absolutely no way that I’m going to take any blame for it; this is all him.

  He picks up almost immediately, and being calm and collected go out the window as I snap, hissing into my phone.

  “What the fuck, Ashton? Why was I almost just stampeded over by a herd of reporters and angry protesters outside of the Broadstreet building?” I ask, seething. “And why am I hearing from a reporter something about a new date, and a dismissal? What on Earth were you thinking? And why didn’t you consult me? We’re supposed to be-“