Читать онлайн книгу «Her Favourite Holiday Gift» автора Lynda Sandoval
Her Favourite Holiday Gift
Lynda Sandoval
From sparring partners to forever lovers! Colleen Delaney would never forget her one night with Eric Nelson. Now, after years apart, the irresistible lawyer was back in her life as they went head to head in a high-stakes case. With the future of the Taka-Hanson hotel empire at stake, Eric couldn't afford to lose. But he was up against a gorgeous, take-no-prisoners woman just as determined to win.If only their attraction would stop getting in the way. That was when Eric decided to give Colleen a special gift for the holidays ; one that came straight from the heart.
“Good to see you after all these years. How have you been?”
“Are you out of your mind?” Colleen asked, her blue eyes molten.
Eric sighed. “Listen. Join me for lunch. We can discuss this like reasonable professionals.”
She blinked in surprise. “You…you’re asking me to lunch?”
“Why wouldn’t I? We used to be friends.” He imbued the last word with a meaning only she’d understand.
Her face pinkened. “Those days are long over.”
His brain flooded with memories of a different Colleen. A night he absolutely had to put out of his mind during the case. Sleeping with Colleen had been one hell of a beautiful mistake, one he’d never forgotten…
Would never forget.
Despite the fact that she was back in his life, he aimed to keep everything strictly professional. When it came to Colleen Delaney, that was his only choice.
Lynda Sandoval is a former police officer who exchanged the excitement of that career for blissfully isolated days creating stories she hopes readers will love. Though she’s also worked as a youth mental health and runaway crisis counsellor, a television extra, a trade-show art salesperson, a European tour guide and a bookkeeper for an exotic bird and reptile company—among other weird jobs—Lynda’s favourite career, by far, is writing books. In addition to romance, Lynda writes women’s fiction and young adult novels, and in her spare time she loves to travel, quilt, bid on eBay, hike, read and spend time with her dog. Lynda also works parttime as an emergency fire/medical dispatcher for the fire department. Readers are invited to visit Lynda on the web at www.LyndaLynda.com (http://www.LyndaLynda.com).
Her Favourite Holiday Gift
Lynda Sandoval
www.millsandboon.co.uk (http://www.millsandboon.co.uk)
To Susan Litman, for graciously inviting me
to join the project, and Charles Griemsman,
just for being awesomely you.
Chapter One
Colleen Delaney strode from the executive conference room, shoulders back and head held high…barely. She’d gone a full ten rounds in the ring of office politics and taken her fair share of cheap blows. But in the end, she’d prevailed. The Ned Jones case was all hers.
She should feel triumphant. Exhilarated. Vindicated.
Instead, anger rolled through her veins like spilled mercury, fluid and shining and toxic. The sting of unshed tears burned her eyes and the mere notion of letting them fall deepened her anger. Showing weakness within the palatial walls of McTierney, Wenzel, Scott and Framus?
Not an option.
Not for her.
Not ever.
After all these years of grinding through the grunt cases, winning the unwinnables, never uttering a complaint, she’d still had to beg the partners for a boon assignment that should’ve been hers without question. Unbelievable. She’d devoted her entire law career to this firm, had more than earned their respect—or should’ve, considering her impeccable track record in the courtroom, her professionalism, her team attitude. The partners should’ve acknowledged all that and rewarded her for it with the Jones case—minus the battle. Because she deserved it, plain and simple. But there was that one small detail….
She was female.
Her jaw tightened.
It wasn’t exactly a secret that women weren’t welcome in this boys’ club, not even when the woman in question kicked the boys’ butts all over Chicago’s legal system and proved herself more than worthy.
Repeatedly.
McTierney, Wenzel, Scott and Framus, Attorneys-at-Law, had a long history of pressing female lawyers against that glass ceiling until they couldn’t breathe anymore. Until they lost their fight. Until they simply…left. Ironically, it was the main reason Colleen had sought out this firm in the first place, which sometimes made her wonder about her sanity. But that infamous glass ceiling lured her as the penultimate challenge. She wanted to punch her fist straight through it in honor of all the excellent female attorneys who’d come and gone, who’d been treated like dirt, who’d given up.
Colleen Delaney didn’t give up.
She would be the one who busted through to a full partner position if it killed her. The boys could smell her single-minded ambition like prey scenting a hungry lioness on the hunt. It only made them scramble even harder to prevent her from succeeding. Maybe that was her problem. She was too good at her job, too unwilling to be placed into some societal box, too much of a fighter. Yeah? Well, too bad. The old boys could try to keep Lioness Delaney in her place all they wanted. It wouldn’t work.
What if you get married?
What if you decide to have babies?
What if you put the firm at a disadvantage because of your damn biological clock?
A new wave of fury crested and broke over her as she recalled the numerous times she’d heard carefully phrased versions of those inconceivable questions while being told some pimple-faced male junior attorney had leapfrogged her for a promotion that should’ve been hers, for a career-making case that should’ve landed on her desk. The partners couldn’t state outright that she wasn’t getting ahead because she was female, of course. But somehow they always managed to drive the point home without crossing any discriminatory lines.
Her conservative Prada pumps echoed like combat boots on the stark marble hallway that led to the cramped, windowless office where she planned to spend as many hours as it took to win this all-important case. Because one thing was certain:
They could give her the worst office in the entire building.
They could downplay her talents and use her reproductive system or the fact that she had the occasional pedicure as an excuse for holding her back.
They could ignore her achievements and treat her like a junior law clerk.
But if she succeeded in winning Ned Jones versus Taka-Hanson, aka Working Man versus The Corporate Monster? No way in hell could Mick McTierney, Richard Wenzel, Harrison Scott or Bill Framus justify not making her partner, and they damn well knew it. This time, she held the reins.
Safely behind the locked door of her claustrophobic cube of an office, she chucked the case files into a messy manila fan on her marred desktop, sank into her chair, rested her forehead in her uncharacteristically shaky hands.
Deep breaths. Calm. Cool.
Regardless of what it took, she’d end up on top this time. Screw the glass ceiling. This case was her golden opportunity to shatter it to hell, once and for all. She’d show them. At this point in her career, she had no choice. She didn’t want to start over when she was this close to making partner, making history in the firm.
And—sad but true—she’d rather die than end up with a life like her mother’s, molding herself into the perfect little wife when the right man—or any willing man—came along. Colleen loved her mother, but she didn’t respect her. Couldn’t. Sure, she felt guilty about that, but what could she do? The main thing Colleen had learned growing up with her mother’s example? She’d rather be hated but respected than loved and pitied.
She didn’t need love to thrive.
She needed success.
Autonomy.
So there it was. She would win this case, damn it, and nab the partner position she should’ve had years ago. And, now that her goal was in sight, nothing, absolutely nothing on earth, could throw her off course.
Eric Nelson was staring slack-jawed with disbelief at the paper he held when the door to his temporary work space—a rarely used conference room at Taka-Hanson headquarters—opened. He glanced up to see his old friend Jack Hanson shoulder halfway past the doorjamb and pause.
“Am I interrupting?” Jack gripped the edge of the door. “I knocked, but—”
Eric shuffled the papers aside and shook off his preoccupation. “Not at all. What’s up?”
“Wanted to run something by you.” Jack crossed the room and sprawled in the chair on the opposite side of the expansive table. He pulled his chin back and studied Eric for a good long stretch. “You look like you’ve just seen a ghost, pal. Everything okay?”
No. Everything was the opposite of okay. Eric glanced out the window at the gray Chicago skyline. Snow had begun to fall in fat, wet flakes.
Perfect backdrop for his mood.
He hadn’t hesitated when Jack asked him to represent Taka-Hanson for this trumped-up wrongful termination case. The two of them went back to their law-school years, and Eric never said no to a friend in need. The high-profile status of the case didn’t hurt either. He relished the challenge.
Or, he’d thought so until he’d read the name of the counsel for the plaintiff. Turning back from the window, Eric shook his head, aware he’d been lost in his own thoughts. “Yeah, I’m…Actually, let me ask you something.” He shoved his fingers through his already uncooperative hair, blew out a breath. He couldn’t bluff Jack Hanson. Did he really want to? “You remember much about law school?”
A wistfulness passed over Jack’s expression like swift-moving cloud shadow. Eric knew Jack still missed practicing law, though working for the family business had been the right move after the Hanson patriarch had passed away a few years ago. Losing Jack had been a blow to the law firm, though. One they still felt.
“Every minute of it,” Jack said. “Best years of my life, until I met my lovely wife, that is. Why?”
Eric grimaced. “The name Colleen Delaney ring a bell?”
Jack barked a short laugh and interlaced his fingers behind his head. “Your three-year headache?”
“Migraine,” Eric said, but it wasn’t the entire truth. She was also the woman who’d stolen his heart, then crushed it. But he’d ignore that aspect of the problem. “That woman was a pain in my—”
“Hot, though,” Jack pointed out, aiming a finger Eric’s way. “You have to admit that. And you did start out as friends, if memory serves.”
Eric shrugged, not about to touch on the topic of Colleen Delaney’s “hotness,” or what could’ve been a long-lasting friendship…maybe more…if things hadn’t spiraled horribly out of control. “Not for long.”
“What happened with that? You never told me.”
And he never would. I fell for her and she unceremoniously dumped me? Uh, no. That wasn’t an admission one guy made to another. “Our personalities didn’t mesh,” he said instead. “Butting heads with an obstinate woman isn’t my idea of a good time.” Making love to Colleen by the glow of the streetlight streaming into her apartment window? That had been a good time. Better, actually. It had been an emotional epiphany—or so he’d thought.
Jack nodded slowly. “You two did fight like an old married couple. You know, I always suspected there was something between the pair of you.”
Eric’s ears flamed. He tried to forget that magical night. One of their typical beer-infused legal debates had escalated into something more. So much more. Something amazing—until it all crumbled.
Talk about a colossal mistake.
After one unforgettable night spent in her bed, her personality had done a complete one-eighty. Before that, they’d debated in a friendly way, hung out, studied together and shared a mutual, sizzling attraction. Afterward, her steel walls had slammed down, leaving him strictly on the outside and without a key.
Clearly, he’d been a one-off. If only he’d known that before his heart had gotten involved. Oh, well. Once the sting of the dismissal eased, he’d realized it was for the best. Opposites may attract, but he and Colleen were more like water and electricity than yin and yang. Their kind of opposite was never good. At least, that’s what he told himself. “An old married couple who despised each other and never should’ve gotten hitched in the first place,” he said.
“Indeed.” Jack cocked his head to one side. “But why the blast from the past?”
“Seems the past is going to explode into the present.” He spun the paper he’d been reading around to face Jack. “Delaney’s representing Ned Jones.”
“You’ve got to be—” Jack leaned forward and scanned the paper, a slow grin spreading on his face. “I thought that old tight-ass Framus was at the helm?”
“So did I, but she works for the guy. Who knows what happened there.”
Jack chuckled. “What are the odds? That’s fantastic.”
“Fantastic?” Eric spread his arms wide. “The woman hates me. She made every day of law school a living hell. I was never so happy to bid someone a permanent farewell,” he said, unsure whether he was trying to convince Jack or himself. Colleen had always been headstrong. But after they’d spent the night tangled up in each other, Colleen Delaney, aka She Who Must Be Right, started to remind him way too much of his loud, competitive family. Almost as if she wanted him to think of her that way. Granted, she was physically beautiful, and he’d always felt a pull toward her. But her penchant for getting in your face and refusing to back down until she could claim victory dimmed her outward attributes and left him cold. He got his share of that sort of stress every time he had dinner at his parents’.
While he could admire her tenacious drive to succeed, he didn’t approve of her no-holds-barred tactics. Never had. It wasn’t his style and he didn’t like to be around people who played the game that way. Despite the fact they both practiced law in Chicago, he’d managed to steer clear of her for years. To face her on opposite sides of a high-profile case now? Hell on earth. “I can’t believe she popped up. Couldn’t be a worse time.”
“Like I said,” Jack repeated, “what are the odds?”
“It’s a nightmare I don’t need, Jack. I don’t think you understand the problems she’s going to cause with the case, simply because I’m on the other side.”
Jack let his hands drop to his lap as he studied Eric, a line of worry bisecting his brows. “You want out?”
“Hell, no. That’s not what I’m saying.”
“Thank God.”
Eric frowned. “I wouldn’t let you down like that. I’m deep into research and I think I’m onto something big. I’ve got an angle on this thing.”
“Care to share?”
Eric preferred to have all his facts checked and double-checked before sharing theories with a client. Even when that client happened to be a friend. “Let me follow a few more trails. I’ll give you a full report once I’m sure I’ve covered everything pertinent. We’re in good shape, though. Stand down all the worriers.”
Jack gave a quick nod. “Excellent. As for the Colleen Delaney curveball, you have my sympathy. All I can say is, everything happens for a reason.”
Right. Eric wasn’t so sure about that. There was no reason beyond karmic cruelty why fate would throw the two of them together again. “Enough of your philosophical rhetoric. I’ll handle Delaney. You wanted to run something by me?”
“Yeah. I need your opinion.” Jack rubbed the side of his hand against his jawline. “We’re bringing Robby Axelrod back from Tokyo to head up the latest hotel project here in Chicago. Any thoughts on how that decision might impact the case?”
Eric sat back, tapping his Mont Blanc pen on the stack of paper in front of him as he methodically puzzled through the myriad of possible ramifications. Ned Jones had filed a wrongful termination suit after having been fired from Taka-Hanson. He’d been about to blow the whistle on Axelrod’s—and by extension, Taka-Hanson’s—alleged shady construction practices. He claimed they cut corners to save money, skimped on safety, among a litany of other complaints, all at the direction of Robby Axelrod on behalf of the company.
Frankly, Eric thought Jones was full of it. Gut feeling. The guy reeked of disgruntled employee sniffing for a payout. Taka-Hanson needed to present a united front and hide nothing. Hence, bringing Axelrod back served their purpose. “It’s a good idea,” he said, finally. “Show the world Taka-Hanson backs Axelrod one hundred percent.”
Jack’s alert posture softened. “I hoped you’d say that. I feel the same way, but you’re the boss on this one.”
“Giving the man the reins on a massive new hotel project is a genius strategy, actually. Wish I’d thought of it.” Colleen Delaney wouldn’t agree with the decision, but he didn’t much care. “It reinforces our position that Ned Jones has a self-serving, ulterior motive unrelated to the company’s business practices.”
“Excellent.” Jack stood. “I’ll let you get back to it then. I know you’ve got other cases besides ours.” He headed for the door but turned back, one hand on the brushed-metal handle. “Not that you asked for my advice, but as far as this thing with Colleen Delaney? Deal with it just like you did in law school, pal.”
Eric snorted. “What—argue with her incessantly, then drink beer with my friends and complain?”
Jack grinned. “That’s one option. Before that route, though, try killing her with calmness. So to speak. No actual killing, of course.”
Eric cocked his head in question.
“Don’t you remember how that used to go down?”
“Guess I’ve blocked it out.” He’d blocked a lot about Colleen out because thinking of it, of her, of what could’ve been hurt too much.
“Delaney’s fueled by a fight,” Jack said. “Your Zen attitude? That’s her kryptonite. She never knew what to pull out of her arsenal when you went the chill route.”
Eric hadn’t held on to those particular memories, but come to think of it, true enough. Calmness had always doused the fire of Colleen’s argumentative nature. It was as if she didn’t know how to handle someone who wouldn’t rise to her bait, which worked out great for him. He had no desire for the constant clashing. Lucky for him, he’d had years of practicing law his way—balanced, level, calm. Years of being away from the woman who got under his skin, in more ways than one, and challenged that. Years to forget.
“I suppose it’s worth a try.”
“Definitely. In fact, go all out and blindside her.”
“Meaning?”
“Rekindle the old friendship.”
Danger zone. He’d handle her with calmness this time, just as Jack suggested, though he wasn’t so sure about befriending her. The rest, though, it could work.
Hopefully.
If not, he’d do his best to ignore her, suffer through the case, then move on with his life once he’d cleared Axelrod and Taka-Hanson, which he had no doubt he could. He hiked his chin toward Jack. “Thanks. Good stuff. I’ll take it under advisement.”
Jack smiled, smacking his palm on the door a couple times. “If it doesn’t work, you know I’m always available for that beer.”
Chapter Two
Eric cut a quick path out of the courthouse building. The hearing had gone well enough, which was to say, he hadn’t had to speak directly to Colleen. At this point, that constituted a victory.
The moment he’d seen her, his resolve collapsed, telling him without a doubt that he wasn’t over her. She’d matured from a hot law student into a fiercely sexy woman. And, despite what she might think, her conservative, man-tailored blue suit and precisioncut, swingy black hair couldn’t quite hide her assets.
The broken-glass personality, though? Still as sharp.
When she’d made a motion to bar Robby Axelrod from working on the Taka Hotel project, Eric felt the fury radiate from her like snapped electrical wires. When the judge had denied her request, those wires sparked and exploded in his direction. No chance of putting the calm, friendly approach into play today. Clearly she needed time to cool off. Delaney the Debate Diva was not at all happy about that first loss, the first of many in this case if Eric’s research panned out. He had no desire to face her wrath today.
He’d almost made a safe escape when he heard:
“Nelson! Hang on. I need to talk to you.”
The click-clack of her determined, angry footsteps approaching brought him to a reluctant stop. He swore under his breath, then remembered Jack’s words of wisdom and turned to face her. Calm, cool, confident. Cordial. At least on the outside. He wished Jack had given her the same advice.
She stormed up, chin raised for a fight.
“Colleen,” he said in a mild tone, trying not to notice her smooth, touchable skin. Trying desperately not to inhale her signature powdery scent. “Good to see you after all these years. How have you been?”
“Are you out of your mind?” she asked, her blue eyes molten.
Deep breath in, slow release. Apparently being susceptible to nostalgia wasn’t one of her faults. “Nice greeting.”
She flicked away his attempts at semipolite conversation as if his words were a mosquito swarm. So much for Jack’s plan. “Make your clients take Axelrod off the new hotel project until this case is settled. I mean it.”
Oh, she meant it. Good to know. “I’m not talking to you about this here, Colleen. Not when you’re tossing off demands without so much as a hello.”
He turned and casually walked away.
After a stunned moment, she followed.
“How can you defend those corporate monsters, Eric? That’s not your style.”
“You know nothing about my style. We haven’t spoken in almost a decade.”
“Do you have any idea how many lives are potentially at stake thanks to their shoddy construction?”
“Yep.” A beat passed. “Exactly…none.”
“None?”
Her hand closed around his forearm, a tiny viselike grip of self-righteousness. Resisting the urge to yank away, ignoring the tingles a simple touch sent through his body, he stilled. Stared down at her hand on his arm in relaxed silence until she got the hint and pulled back.
As he looked into her zealous, heart-shaped face, a pang of compassion struck him for how clueless she seemed to be. She had a pit-bull grip on a fight she would lose, and she didn’t seem to have a clue about her client or the big picture. Hard to believe she’d let her lack of research into the case show through her porcupine quills of ire, but as far as he knew, she’d only recently been assigned to it. Maybe she hadn’t had adequate time to delve in. Still. No excuse. She needed to do her research and find out what she was dealing with.
Harsh, Nelson.
Eric’s overactive conscience kicked in, his emotional pull toward this woman. He didn’t want to embarrass her; he simply wanted to exonerate his clients. Sharing what he’d dug up about a possible connection between her client and his client’s key rival before she humiliated herself in front of the entire Chicago legal community felt like the right move. He wasn’t violating privilege; Jack Hanson didn’t even know Drake Thatcher might be involved yet. Contrary to the reputation of most attorneys, he wasn’t about putting on the best show in the courtroom. He was about truth and balance and justice.
Fairness.
That meant bringing Colleen up to speed, like it or not. He sighed. “Listen. Join me for lunch. We can discuss this like reasonable professionals.”
She blinked in surprise. “You…you’re asking me to lunch? Are you crazy?”
He tapped the face of his watch. “Strangely, no. Lunch is what people do around this time of day. It’s one of the three widely recognized meals.”
“But—”
“Colleen,” he said, weary of knocking heads already, “I’ve been in court all morning. I’ve got a full slate of work this afternoon. I’m hungry. Is that so hard for you to understand?”
She crossed her arms over her torso. “No. What’s hard to understand is why you’d invite me.”
“Why wouldn’t I? Years ago, we used to be friends.” He imbued the last word with a meaning only she’d understand.
Her face pinkened. “Years ago, like you said. Those days are long over.”
So she wanted to play it that way. “Look, as much as you hate the fact, I do know you. Either I invite you, or I miss lunch altogether because you’ll keep me standing here in the hallway arguing ridiculous points of law. I’d like to avoid that if at all possible.” He held up his free hand. “Nothing more than that.”
She studied him, seeming to search for an ulterior motive. Typical Colleen. After a moment, she tossed her sleek black hair and tried for casual. She didn’t quite pull it off. “Fine. Where do you want to go?”
“Let’s just hit The Chambers. It’s close and easy.”
“I’ll meet you there.”
“We can ride togefh—”
“I said I’ll meet you there.”
Eric watched her stalk off, shoulders back, spine stiff. Astonishing how she managed to walk so straight with that monumental chip weighing down her shoulder. It had to be one hell of a heavy burden after all these years.
Not his problem.
He shook his head and started toward the parking lot, his brain reluctantly flooded with memories of a different Colleen. Sure, there’d been only one night in their history that the chip had fallen off her shoulder…a night he absolutely had to put out of his mind during this case. Sleeping with Colleen had been one hell of a beautiful mistake, one they’d never spoken about again, despite his repeated attempts shortly thereafter. Initially, he’d been bewildered by her icecold attitude, but she wouldn’t discuss it. Eventually, he just wrote the woman off as a loose cannon, and his life had been more pleasant since that decision.
That’s what he told himself at least.
But he’d never forgotten….
Would never forget.
Couldn’t.
Despite the fact she was back in his life, he aimed to keep everything strictly professional. Sadly, when it came to Colleen Delaney, that was the only choice she’d given him.
Of all the attorneys in Chicago, why Eric Nelson?
Stupid Murphy’s Law.
Colleen sat in her Audi A6 for several minutes trying to still her nerves, regain her composure. If any guy could break her resolve to stay smart, sane and selectively celibate, that guy was Eric. One look at him in that courtroom—broad-shouldered and confident in his charcoal-gray suit, dark blond hair sexily uncooperative as usual—and Colossal Mistake Night flooded back into her body with a vengeance. The sex had been as explosive and exciting as their debates. It had nearly knocked her off her goal path. Or…it could’ve, had she not freaked out and gone completely cold on the guy, purely by necessity. The whole thing had shaken her to the core, and she hadn’t known any other way to handle it.
She’d run scared then, and she’d run scared today.
Thank goodness, Eric had given up the pursuit both times. And while their estrangement hurt, it also bolstered her resolve to be as diametrically opposed as possible to her mother’s opinion of what womanhood entailed. That meant no marriage. Possibly no man, which was fine.
Fine, fine, fine.
God, he’d looked fine. She let her eyes drift closed.
He’d been a good-looking guy in law school, but he’d matured into an incredible man with incredible presence. He filled up the space around him, claimed it, sucked the air from the lungs of those nearby. And with a calmness that both drew her in and infuriated her. He still made her tummy flop and her heart flutter, still made her want to argue.
Still made her want to get naked and let everything go.
What a mess.
Colleen smacked the heel of her hand against the leather steering wheel. Unsure what else to do, she fished her cell phone out of her purse and sent a text message to her best friend, Megan, a massage therapist. Megs always talked her down from the various ledges of her life when no one else could. Not that she gave anyone else the chance, but still. Megs was centered, nonjudgmental, soothing. Real.
A lot like Eric Nelson, come to think of it.
No. No. No.
Colleen couldn’t risk viewing him that way. It only made things worse.
She just needed to speak with Megan, who knew everything about her and, shockingly, loved her anyway. Go figure. Megan was her safety zone, the one person she could tell absolutely anything. On the other hand, she didn’t plan to tell Eric Nelson anything about herself or her life. Ever. She’d gotten too close to that flame once before, and the burn still licked up inside her in moments of weakness.
She quickly typed:
Opposing counsel? Eric Nelson. From law school. THE GUY. Kill me now.
She hit Send and waited. Moments later, her phone rang.
“Hi, sweetie,” Megan said, in her just-finished-yoga-and-meditation voice. “You okay?”
Colleen bit her lip and blinked into the cold, wintery brightness. Dirty snow from the last storm clung to the curbs, but the sky gleamed a bright whitish gray. “I don’t know. I just…Why him? Of all people? This case is so important, Megs. I can’t let our past get in the way of winning.”
Megan laughed softly. “Do you ever let anything get in the way of winning?”
Colleen cracked a reluctant smile. “Good point. But it’s Eric.”
“Yes, it is,” Megan said softly.
“And we’re meeting for lunch. Now. Ostensibly to discuss the case.”
“Let it go. It’s just lunch with another professional.”
Colleen huffed. “Yeah, a professional I let my guard down with. And had wild jungle sex with.” Life-altering, crushingly intimate, dangerous jungle sex. “Oh, God,” she groaned, squeezing her forehead with her free hand. Heat and something more visceral swirled through her body. An ache. A primal yearning. “I thought I could handle this, but then I saw him and—”
“You can handle it, sweetie. It was a one-night stand back in school. It happens.”
“Not to me.”
“Well, it did,” Megan said, as if it were no biggie. “And nothing ever came of it, so release it.”
“You make it sound so simple.”
“It can be. You’re an amazing attorney, Colleen, and you’re going to win this case. Take some deep breaths—you remember the breathing techniques I taught you?”
Oops, busted. “Yes. Definitely.” Too enthusiastic.
“Are you practicing them daily?”
She considered fibbing. Why bother; Megan would know. “Not exactly…daily.”
“Ever?”
“Well, I do breathe every day, if that counts.”
Megan laughed. “Not the same. How far do you have to drive to the lunch spot?”
“About a mile.”
“Okay, the whole way there, breathe deeply and slowly, drawing air clear to the bottom of your lungs. Center yourself. Then go have lunch, focus on the case that’s going to make your career, and forget about one meaningless night of sex.”
That was the problem. As much as Colleen tried to claim differently, it hadn’t been meaningless. It had been beautiful and innocent and right. She still remembered the tears trickling from her eyes down the sides of her face to her ears after her first climax. Not because it had been bad, but because Eric made her feel safe in a way no one ever had before. Colleen’s belly tightened at the memory. “One night of mind-blowing sex,” she said, trying to focus on the physical rather than the emotional.
“Not so easy to forget then, huh?”
She bit her lip, feeling unsure. Unsure and hating herself for it. That was so her mother’s style. He was just a man. A man who hated her—she’d made sure of that after the fact. “I have to.”
“Then you will.”
Colleen’s throat closed. She wished she could be more like Megan, but they were cut from different bolts of cloth. She’d accepted that long ago. “Why do you believe in me more than I believe in myself?”
“That’s what best friends do. Now, breathe. And call me tonight and tell me all about it.”
“Okay.”
“And come in for a massage soon.”
“I will.”
“So…how does he look?”
“Megan! I can’t believe you’d ask me that in my time of stress,” Colleen said, but she couldn’t help laughing.
“Hey, you can’t blame me. He’s sort of legendary in the life and times of Colleen Delaney.”
“It was one night.” Keep telling yourself that.
“Yeah. I know. Of mind-blowing jungle sex. You don’t hear that phrase every day. So? How does the man look?”
A pause ensued.
“Amazing,” Colleen said ruefully, wishing he was paunchy and balding, with a big gin blossom nose, like the partners at her firm. That would make it so much easier not to feel. She couldn’t risk feeling. “He looks better than he did during school. Which totally sucks, I might add.”
“Well, don’t think about it. Try not to look at him.”
“Right. Helpful. Should I blur my eyes?”
Megan laughed softly again. “It’s all going to be fine in the end.”
“How do you know?”
“I just do. Now, go to lunch and do your thing.” A smooch sound carried over the line.
“What’s my thing, though? Help!”
Megan cleared her throat. “You do realize this is what you’ve always done, right?”
“Huh?”
“Freak out about Eric Nelson, then call me?”
“I’m not freaking out, Megs. Freaking out is what teenagers do. I’m just—”
“Go to lunch,” Megan said, laughing.
For the life of her, Colleen couldn’t find a single thing funny with this nightmare….
Chapter Three
“You do realize this is what you’ve always done, right?”
“Huh?”
Jack laughed as though he hadn’t a care. “Freak out about Colleen Delaney, then call me.”
Eric shook his head as he navigated a turn on the icy Chicago streets. “I’m not freaking out, Jack. Freaking out is what fifteen-year-old boys do at the first glimpse of bikini-clad cleavage on the Navy Pier every spring.”
“Case? Rested.”
“The woman gets under my skin, that’s all.”
“Interesting,” Jack mused.
“Not that kind of under my skin,” Eric lied, pulling into an empty curbside spot near The Chambers, a popular eatery with legal types and others who worked at the courthouse. He cut his engine. “I spoke to her for all of five minutes and I’m sure my blood pressure skyrocketed.” He wouldn’t tell his old friend exactly why. “She’s argumentative. Prickly. Annoying.”
“Which you hate.” Jack’s statement didn’t sound convincing.
“As a matter of fact, I do.”
“Is she still totally hot?” Jack asked, a smile threaded through his words.
Eric closed his eyes for a moment. Strength. He needed strength and lots of it. Yes, Colleen Delaney had never been hotter, but that didn’t help the situation. “Never mind. I need to go. The tables get snatched up this time of day.”
“You and Colleen have a nice lunch,” Jack drawled. “Give her a kiss from me.”
“I’m sure she’d appreciate hearing that from the man her client’s suing,” Eric said in a droll tone, before hanging up, more exasperated than when he’d called his old pal. Jack seemed determined to paint his relationship with Colleen in rosy tones, and Eric couldn’t put himself into that position again. Official verdict: love and marriage had warped Hanson’s brain. That’s the only explanation Eric could come up with.
A welcoming warmth enveloped him as he entered The Chambers. He inhaled the familiar aromas of coffee and grilled burgers and hot apple pie, and his mouth watered. Midday service was in full, bustling swing. He brushed snowflakes from the shoulders of his wool overcoat, stamped his feet on the mat.
“Just one?” asked the hostess, who’d swirled up in mid-busy, her movements compact and efficient. “Wanna sit at the counter?”
He smiled. “Actually, I’m meeting someone. Do you have a table? Preferably someplace quiet.”
“We don’t get much quiet at lunchtime as you know, but…” The petite blonde tapped her bottom lip with her index finger and scanned the dining room, which was filled with the tink-tink of fork against plate and a healthy serving of boisterous legal debate punctuated by laughter and movement. Stark contrast to the snow-quieted city outside the large windows. Eric was convinced that snow was God’s way of telling the human race to shut up and simply be.
A group of lawyers Eric vaguely recognized but couldn’t name stood up from a table in the back corner and began donning overcoats, gloves and wool scarves. The hostess turned back, her thumb aimed over her shoulder at the group of men. “I can have that table bussed for you if you don’t mind waiting a couple of minutes.”
“That’s fine. She hasn’t arrived yet anyway.”
“Great.” The hostess gave him a pert grin. “It’ll be clean and ready when your girlfriend gets here.”
Eric opened his mouth to correct the young woman’s misconception—why, he didn’t know—but she’d left as quickly and competently as she’d arrived.
Had the whole world gone soft on him?
Could a man and a woman not share a business meal without people thinking it was something more?
Then again, did it matter?
The ding of the entry bell announced another lunchtime arrival. Eric glanced over his shoulder just as the swoosh of the door brought in a gust of cold along with Colleen, her alabaster cheeks cottoncandy pink from the weather, raven hair flecked with fat, white snowflakes.
Their eyes met.
His heart stuttered.
She dropped her gaze.
He took a slow breath and resisted the urge to wick away the snowflake that had landed, shimmering and perfect, on her left cheekbone. He could make out the unique design of it, and against the backdrop of Colleen’s face, the effect staggered him. Swallowing past this unexpected, unwanted, unnerving visceral pull toward her, he said, “They’re cleaning a table.”
“Fine,” she said, unknotting a cornflower-blue cashmere scarf that matched her eyes and shrugging out of her tailored gray tweed coat. As she stuffed the scarf inside one coat sleeve, she added, “Parking’s a real joy around here,” in a wry tone.
“Just like always,” Eric said, utterly distracted by the snowflake melting on her perfect cheek. “Did you have to walk far?”
Her gaze, wary as ever, met his for one quick moment before darting away. She draped her coat over one arm and shrugged her handbag higher on her shoulder. “It wasn’t a problem.” Fully melted, the former snowflake trickled down her cheek like a teardrop. She brushed the moisture away, unaware of his fixation on it. “How about you?”
“What?” He pulled himself back into the conversation, if you could label their lame, superficial exchange as such. “Oh. No. I’m right out front.”
“Still have that legendary Nelson parking karma then.”
“Something like that,” he said, surprised that she’d remembered. For some reason, whenever he envisioned the perfect parking spot, it always appeared for him. It’d been that way since he’d gotten his license at sixteen, and a source of great envy and many conversations among his law-school classmates years ago.
But whatever. This small talk was the worst.
He’d never been a pro at it, and never with a woman like Colleen, who threw him so totally offkilter. He wanted to ask what happened between them. Wanted to know if their single night together had been as life-affirming for her.
He wanted to touch her.
None of that was going to happen, though, and they had to converse. He cleared his throat. “Do you eat here often?” Had he seriously just asked that? He resisted the urge to cringe. That ranked high on the dumbest questions ever asked list. Maybe he was just like those cleavage-obsessed teenage boys at the Navy Pier.
“Not really,” she said, seemingly unaware of his discomfort. “I live nearby.”
He nodded, unsure what to say about that. He lived nearby, too, but he ate here at least four times a week. Was it a male versus female thing, or was that sexist? He wondered if cooking was a hobby and she preferred to eat at home, or if she packed a lunch. He wondered how she lived her life. He wondered, simply wondered, about Colleen Delaney.
Clearly, she didn’t have much to add, and he didn’t know where to go in the conversation, now that they’d skipped from point uncomfortable to point awkward. Did he really want to take another leap to point excruciating? They waited, shoulder to shoulder, in pregnant silence until the elfin blonde bopped up and led them to their corner booth.
Safely behind menus on opposite sides of the table, Eric breathed more easily. He glanced up at Colleen. “How’s your mother?”
Colleen blinked, as if startled by the intimacy of the question or the fact that he’d give a rip in the first place. Something. “My mother?”
“Yeah. You know, she’s that woman who gave birth to you back in the day?”
Colleen ignored his quip. “She’s fine. Well, getting better finally.”
“Was she ill?” He set his menu aside, knowing he’d order the French Dip, like always. Perusing the menu at The Chambers was purely habit.
Colleen shook her head. “Not sick, really. She had a knee replacement. Injured it trying to surf with her last boyfriend,” she added, her tone acidic.
“That’s awesome.”
“If you say so. I moved her into my place to recover, and now we’re apparently permanent roommates.”
“Wow.” He thought about any member of his family moving into his serene, lovingly restored greystone Victorian, and one word came to mind—hives. “How’s that working out for you?”
Eyebrows raised, Colleen set her menu on the edge of the table as well. “I’m not sure. She drives me crazy half the time, rearranging my kitchen utensils, putting my clean laundry away in spots where I can’t find it, nagging me about working too hard.” She hiked one shoulder, and the tenor of her voice changed. “The other half, it’s nice to have her there, I suppose.”
“Welcome to the definition of family.”
A moment of silence descended. Colleen tugged at her cuffs, uncrossed and recrossed her legs, cleared her throat. Finally, she asked, “And your family?”
“Pretty much the same as the last time we talked.” Which had been…wow…a long time ago. “Mom and Dad still live out in Schaumburg and expect us all there promptly at six for Friday-night dinner, no excuses.”
She spared him a half-smirk. “Your least favorite night of the week still?”
He tilted his head to the side. “You remembered.”
Ignoring that, she asked, “And your brothers?”
“My youngest brother, Brian, settled down not too far from them. The other three are here in Chicago. Working, one-upping each other at every turn, the annoying norm.” He often wondered how he’d grown up to be so different from his ultracompetitive family. They could—and did—debate about everything from gold values to golf to global warming, with the single-minded goal of winning, no matter what. And when he didn’t want to debate, which was often? They goaded him. Like rabid dogs.
“Married?”
Eric assumed Colleen wasn’t asking about him. “Only Brian. He works with my dad at the store.”
“A sporting-goods store, right?”
“Yep.” He formed two L shapes with his hands and thumbs, as if framing the sign that had hung on the main drag in Schaumburg since he could remember. “Nelson Sports and Hunting. Still running strong.”
“Good for your dad.”
He watched Colleen tilt her head to the left, which always meant she was thinking, calculating.
“Now, wait. Isn’t Brian pretty young?”
“The ‘oops’ brother?” Eric nodded. “Yes, twentyone. And Melody—that’s Brian’s wife—is only twenty. She works as a receptionist at a small law firm in the city and she runs some idiotic gossip Web site on the side. Typical twenty-year-old.” He reconsidered his judgmental comment at the slight shocked widening of Colleen’s blue eyes. “I could’ve phrased that better. The idiotic site will be a good source of income, I guess, when the baby comes. Oh, they’re expecting, Brian and Melody. My mother’s losing her mind with happiness. A baby. Extended family. New Nelson generation and all that.”
“That’s…nice.”
“Yeah, all I can think of is Brian becoming a father the same year he’s legal to drink. Crazy.”
“That is…wow.” She sat back. “They’re young. Are they ready for parenthood?”
“Do they have a choice at this point?”
“True.”
The conversation felt so casual, it lulled Eric into a sense of normalcy. “It’s good to see you. You look great, Colleen. Really.”
Her eyes hardened and the thin line of connection between them snapped like a dried-out rubber band. “We need to talk about the case.”
Duly noted. No compliments. She never had been the kind of woman who liked to be admired for her considerable beauty, but come on. It wasn’t like a guy didn’t notice. He’d known about her pet peeve, of course, but what else did you say when you saw someone for the first time in years? So she looked great. Shoot him for pointing it out.
Just then, the harried waiter approached, plunked two glasses of water on the table. “Sorry for the wait,” he said, slightly out of breath. “What can I get for you?”
They placed their orders. Once the waiter had bustled off, Colleen seemed to have regained some of her flash and fire. “Honestly, how can you stand by and let Robby Axelrod work on another TakaHanson project?”
Eric took his time. He leaned back, stretching his arm along the back of the brown leather banquette. “How much do you know about Ned Jones?”
“What kind of question is that?” she rasped, color rising to angry spots on her cheeks. “He’s my client.”
“Right. Aware of that. And how much do you know about him?” The calm thing was getting easier by the moment.
Her lips flattened into a grim line. “I know he was unfairly, unethically terminated because he had dirt on your client.”
“If that’s all you know, you need to dig deeper.”
Her knuckles, wound together on the tabletop, whitened, and she went deadly still. “Are you honestly sitting here telling me how to do my job?”
He counted to ten silently. Why did everything with Colleen devolve into a fight? He started to remember why they were better apart, but strangely, he didn’t want to fall back into that pattern. “I’m trying to do you a favor, from one old friend to another.”
“My client—”
“Is not the bad guy,” Eric said gently. That snagged her attention. He waited until she’d closed her mouth, an indication she was listening. “At least, I don’t think he’s the brains behind anything. Gut feeling.”
“The man doesn’t have the brains to concoct a plot.”
Ah, so she did know a bit more about her client than she’d initially claimed. “That’s what I’m trying to tell you. I think he’s the pawn in a much bigger, uglier game.”
Confusion crinkled Colleen’s brow. She leaned in. “What exactly are you talking about, Eric?”
Eric wrapped his hands around the warm coffee mug the waiter had unobtrusively set before him as they spoke. “I don’t know. I’m not sure yet, but this whole thing stinks. You may simply want to win, which I can understand. But I want to do the right thing.”
“Of course.”
Eric gut-checked sharing this information, and felt fine with it. He blew out a breath.
“Are you familiar with a real-estate tycoon by the name of Drake Thatcher?”
She spread her arms. “Should I be?”
He huffed. “Yes. You should. He’s Taka-Hanson’s biggest competitor, dirty as Tony Soprano. He’ll do anything to take down my clients.” He paused, scrutinizing her. “Up to and including paying your client to toss out false accusations.”
Her throat moved in a tight swallow, but she maintained her cool. “You have proof of that?”
“No.” He ran his fingers through his hair.
“Then why are you wasting my time with unsubstantiated theories?”
“Because an innocent man shouldn’t have his livelihood destroyed for no good reason. TakaHanson shouldn’t take a major financial blow on the basis of a lie. As ambitious as you are, even you have to agree with that.”
He could see her annoyance building in the way the muscles worked in her delicate jawline. Tense silence stretched taut between them, but he held his ground.
She aimed a finger at him. “Listen, Nelson, I’ve been practicing law as long as you have. This kind of ploy—”
“Here we go,” said the waiter, in an oblivious singsong tone. “Be careful now. The plates are hot.”
Colleen pinched the bridge of her nose between her fingers while the waiter presented each, but her hard gaze never left Eric’s face.
“Can I get you anything else?”
“No. Thank you,” Eric replied.
After the waiter had left without so much as an acknowledgment from Colleen, she started to sputter again, but Eric held up his palm. “Look, there’s no ploy. I don’t operate that way. But don’t take my word for it. Research me. Dig up everything you can about the way I practice.”
“I will. And I’ll prove you wrong about Jones.”
“Think about this logically. You’re the opposing counsel, Colleen, and aside from that, we don’t exactly have an uncheckered past, you and I.”
“You always did have a knack for putting things mildly.”
“I’m speaking truthfully. If I didn’t have respect for you as an old friend, a colleague, and from everything I’ve read, a damned sharp attorney, I’d keep my theories to myself until I had enough to annihilate you and Ned Jones in the courtroom. Which I would.” He paused, letting that sink in. “Lucky for you, that’s not how I practice law.”
“So you’re doing me a favor?”
“No. I’m—” He lowered his chin, measured his words. “I’m not about the show, I’m about the truth, and I think we’re missing parts of the truth in this case. You can ignore what I’m telling you and let the cards fall, or you can look into it. I don’t care.” He took a languid bite of his sandwich and shrugged while he chewed. After swallowing, he added, “But I know you’re one step from partner at that firm of yours, though God only knows why you’d want to work with that pack of old-school drones.”
Colleen’s mouth dropped open, but she quickly closed it. Her reaction told him she thought they were old-school drones, too, which made him wonder why she wanted to build a career there. An imponderable for another day.
“That’s not going to happen if you miss something major like, say, an extortion plot in which your client is a player,” he said. “I promise you that.”
“God, Eric, you sound like you’re writing a cheesy legal thriller.”
“Maybe so, but I think I’m onto something.” He shrugged. “Frankly, I’d love to see you make partner at your firm. Framus would bust a vein.”
Whoa, had she almost smiled there?
She still hadn’t touched her burger. Instead, she stared at him with incredulity overlayed by a film of worry she couldn’t quite hide, then huffed out a nonlaugh. “So you’re telling me I have no case in order to save my career? How chivalrous of you. Don’t take me for an idiot.”
Eric didn’t react. He didn’t engage. He didn’t want their every interaction to end this way. “I take you for a lot of things, but idiot isn’t one of them,” he said, even-toned. Suspicion crossed her expression, but he’d just let her wonder about the subtext of his statement. “This one’s on you. I’ve shared what I suspect.”
“And what am I supposed to do with it? Take your word? Drop the case on the basis of an unproven theory? I don’t think so.”
“Colleen,” he said smoothly, measuring his words. “Your burger’s getting cold. Eat your lunch. Then research me. Research Drake Thatcher and any possible connection he may have to your client. Research Robby Axelrod’s clean work record. That’s what I’ll be doing, and that’s what you should do, too. For your own sake.”
Chapter Four
Colleen glanced up from her laptop screen when her mom padded into the dark kitchen, yawning.
Moira Delaney stopped short, clapping her hand over her heart. “Lord, you scared me.”
“Sorry,” Colleen croaked, before clearing her throat.
“Sweet pea, what on earth are you doing up at this hour?”
“I’m working, Mom,” Colleen said, her voice hoarse from exhaustion. Tension. “What else?”
“But it’s nearly four!” her mom exclaimed, glancing at the wall clock. She pulled a tumbler out of the cabinet and filled it with filtered water from the fridge door. “You need your sleep.”
Colleen wanted to disagree, but her eyes felt scrubbed with steel wool, and her limbs ached deep into the bone. She simply hadn’t been able to tear herself away from the mother lode of information she’d dug up on Drake Thatcher. Eric had been correct about one thing—Thatcher was dirty, and he had a history of trying to take the Hansons down. The question remained, was her client mixed up in any of it?
If so, she’d be screwed. Utterly screwed.
She needed to talk to Ned, get to the bottom of this fiasco before it blew up in her face, and she was intent on gathering as much background data before she dragged his sorry ass into her office tomorrow morning.
Robby Axelrod came off as squeaky clean.
As did Eric, naturally.
She sat back and rubbed her palms over her face, then slapped her cheeks, hoping for a jolt of alertness so she could draw out a game plan. It didn’t come.
Her mom poured a second tumbler of water and set it on the table next to Colleen’s computer, then brushed her daughter’s hair back with a gentle hand. It had to be exhaustion, because the sweet, motherly touch nearly brought Colleen to tears, and she wasn’t usually susceptible to sentiment. Especially not from her mother. Thanks to seeing Eric again, thanks to his typical altruistic gesture of bringing Thatcher to her attention, her deeply buried emotions had risen to the top of her skin like raw sores. Usually, her mother’s innuendos that she worked too hard—even something as innocuous as bringing her water or brushing her hair back—would irritate her, perhaps provoke an argument. Right now, she felt too vulnerable to react in her usual mode.
She smiled weakly. “Thanks.”
“I know you’re working an important case, okay? But go to bed. Whatever it is you think you have to finish will wait a few hours. And you’ll be better able to handle it if you’re rested.”
Colleen nodded, bit her bottom lip. As she powered down her laptop, she asked, “Why are you up?”
“Oh, the knee.” Mom tightened her robe around her waifish middle. “Just a little ache.”
“Is there anything I can do?”
“Yes.” Moira smiled. “You can go to bed. I’ll be fine in about half an hour. I’m just going to watch television until the painkiller kicks in.”
The mood felt so intimate, so neutral, so unlike their norm, Colleen ventured further into the emotional minefield she usually avoided. “You need to get out more now that your knee’s almost healed, Mom. Enjoy the city. Visit a museum.”
“Oh, well…”
Colleen closed the top of her computer. “What are your plans for tomorrow?”
“I thought I’d tidy up. Read some.” She avoided her daughter’s gaze.
“Are you depressed?” Colleen asked, in a soft tone. “The doctors said that can happen after a surgery like the one you had.”
Moira Delaney sighed, raked her fingers through her hair, crossed her arms. “Do you want me to move out? Is that it?”
Colleen stood and held her hands up, palms forward. “No. No, Mom. You’re welcome to stay here as long as you want. I just want you to…I don’t know, enjoy life.”
Those cornflower-blue eyes so much like her own pierced Colleen. “Do you enjoy life?”
Wow. Hadn’t seen that blow coming. It landed right in the sweet spot and made her see stars. “Yes. Of…of course. My work is—”
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Lynda Sandoval
From sparring partners to forever lovers! Colleen Delaney would never forget her one night with Eric Nelson. Now, after years apart, the irresistible lawyer was back in her life as they went head to head in a high-stakes case. With the future of the Taka-Hanson hotel empire at stake, Eric couldn't afford to lose. But he was up against a gorgeous, take-no-prisoners woman just as determined to win.If only their attraction would stop getting in the way. That was when Eric decided to give Colleen a special gift for the holidays ; one that came straight from the heart.
“Good to see you after all these years. How have you been?”
“Are you out of your mind?” Colleen asked, her blue eyes molten.
Eric sighed. “Listen. Join me for lunch. We can discuss this like reasonable professionals.”
She blinked in surprise. “You…you’re asking me to lunch?”
“Why wouldn’t I? We used to be friends.” He imbued the last word with a meaning only she’d understand.
Her face pinkened. “Those days are long over.”
His brain flooded with memories of a different Colleen. A night he absolutely had to put out of his mind during the case. Sleeping with Colleen had been one hell of a beautiful mistake, one he’d never forgotten…
Would never forget.
Despite the fact that she was back in his life, he aimed to keep everything strictly professional. When it came to Colleen Delaney, that was his only choice.
Lynda Sandoval is a former police officer who exchanged the excitement of that career for blissfully isolated days creating stories she hopes readers will love. Though she’s also worked as a youth mental health and runaway crisis counsellor, a television extra, a trade-show art salesperson, a European tour guide and a bookkeeper for an exotic bird and reptile company—among other weird jobs—Lynda’s favourite career, by far, is writing books. In addition to romance, Lynda writes women’s fiction and young adult novels, and in her spare time she loves to travel, quilt, bid on eBay, hike, read and spend time with her dog. Lynda also works parttime as an emergency fire/medical dispatcher for the fire department. Readers are invited to visit Lynda on the web at www.LyndaLynda.com (http://www.LyndaLynda.com).
Her Favourite Holiday Gift
Lynda Sandoval
www.millsandboon.co.uk (http://www.millsandboon.co.uk)
To Susan Litman, for graciously inviting me
to join the project, and Charles Griemsman,
just for being awesomely you.
Chapter One
Colleen Delaney strode from the executive conference room, shoulders back and head held high…barely. She’d gone a full ten rounds in the ring of office politics and taken her fair share of cheap blows. But in the end, she’d prevailed. The Ned Jones case was all hers.
She should feel triumphant. Exhilarated. Vindicated.
Instead, anger rolled through her veins like spilled mercury, fluid and shining and toxic. The sting of unshed tears burned her eyes and the mere notion of letting them fall deepened her anger. Showing weakness within the palatial walls of McTierney, Wenzel, Scott and Framus?
Not an option.
Not for her.
Not ever.
After all these years of grinding through the grunt cases, winning the unwinnables, never uttering a complaint, she’d still had to beg the partners for a boon assignment that should’ve been hers without question. Unbelievable. She’d devoted her entire law career to this firm, had more than earned their respect—or should’ve, considering her impeccable track record in the courtroom, her professionalism, her team attitude. The partners should’ve acknowledged all that and rewarded her for it with the Jones case—minus the battle. Because she deserved it, plain and simple. But there was that one small detail….
She was female.
Her jaw tightened.
It wasn’t exactly a secret that women weren’t welcome in this boys’ club, not even when the woman in question kicked the boys’ butts all over Chicago’s legal system and proved herself more than worthy.
Repeatedly.
McTierney, Wenzel, Scott and Framus, Attorneys-at-Law, had a long history of pressing female lawyers against that glass ceiling until they couldn’t breathe anymore. Until they lost their fight. Until they simply…left. Ironically, it was the main reason Colleen had sought out this firm in the first place, which sometimes made her wonder about her sanity. But that infamous glass ceiling lured her as the penultimate challenge. She wanted to punch her fist straight through it in honor of all the excellent female attorneys who’d come and gone, who’d been treated like dirt, who’d given up.
Colleen Delaney didn’t give up.
She would be the one who busted through to a full partner position if it killed her. The boys could smell her single-minded ambition like prey scenting a hungry lioness on the hunt. It only made them scramble even harder to prevent her from succeeding. Maybe that was her problem. She was too good at her job, too unwilling to be placed into some societal box, too much of a fighter. Yeah? Well, too bad. The old boys could try to keep Lioness Delaney in her place all they wanted. It wouldn’t work.
What if you get married?
What if you decide to have babies?
What if you put the firm at a disadvantage because of your damn biological clock?
A new wave of fury crested and broke over her as she recalled the numerous times she’d heard carefully phrased versions of those inconceivable questions while being told some pimple-faced male junior attorney had leapfrogged her for a promotion that should’ve been hers, for a career-making case that should’ve landed on her desk. The partners couldn’t state outright that she wasn’t getting ahead because she was female, of course. But somehow they always managed to drive the point home without crossing any discriminatory lines.
Her conservative Prada pumps echoed like combat boots on the stark marble hallway that led to the cramped, windowless office where she planned to spend as many hours as it took to win this all-important case. Because one thing was certain:
They could give her the worst office in the entire building.
They could downplay her talents and use her reproductive system or the fact that she had the occasional pedicure as an excuse for holding her back.
They could ignore her achievements and treat her like a junior law clerk.
But if she succeeded in winning Ned Jones versus Taka-Hanson, aka Working Man versus The Corporate Monster? No way in hell could Mick McTierney, Richard Wenzel, Harrison Scott or Bill Framus justify not making her partner, and they damn well knew it. This time, she held the reins.
Safely behind the locked door of her claustrophobic cube of an office, she chucked the case files into a messy manila fan on her marred desktop, sank into her chair, rested her forehead in her uncharacteristically shaky hands.
Deep breaths. Calm. Cool.
Regardless of what it took, she’d end up on top this time. Screw the glass ceiling. This case was her golden opportunity to shatter it to hell, once and for all. She’d show them. At this point in her career, she had no choice. She didn’t want to start over when she was this close to making partner, making history in the firm.
And—sad but true—she’d rather die than end up with a life like her mother’s, molding herself into the perfect little wife when the right man—or any willing man—came along. Colleen loved her mother, but she didn’t respect her. Couldn’t. Sure, she felt guilty about that, but what could she do? The main thing Colleen had learned growing up with her mother’s example? She’d rather be hated but respected than loved and pitied.
She didn’t need love to thrive.
She needed success.
Autonomy.
So there it was. She would win this case, damn it, and nab the partner position she should’ve had years ago. And, now that her goal was in sight, nothing, absolutely nothing on earth, could throw her off course.
Eric Nelson was staring slack-jawed with disbelief at the paper he held when the door to his temporary work space—a rarely used conference room at Taka-Hanson headquarters—opened. He glanced up to see his old friend Jack Hanson shoulder halfway past the doorjamb and pause.
“Am I interrupting?” Jack gripped the edge of the door. “I knocked, but—”
Eric shuffled the papers aside and shook off his preoccupation. “Not at all. What’s up?”
“Wanted to run something by you.” Jack crossed the room and sprawled in the chair on the opposite side of the expansive table. He pulled his chin back and studied Eric for a good long stretch. “You look like you’ve just seen a ghost, pal. Everything okay?”
No. Everything was the opposite of okay. Eric glanced out the window at the gray Chicago skyline. Snow had begun to fall in fat, wet flakes.
Perfect backdrop for his mood.
He hadn’t hesitated when Jack asked him to represent Taka-Hanson for this trumped-up wrongful termination case. The two of them went back to their law-school years, and Eric never said no to a friend in need. The high-profile status of the case didn’t hurt either. He relished the challenge.
Or, he’d thought so until he’d read the name of the counsel for the plaintiff. Turning back from the window, Eric shook his head, aware he’d been lost in his own thoughts. “Yeah, I’m…Actually, let me ask you something.” He shoved his fingers through his already uncooperative hair, blew out a breath. He couldn’t bluff Jack Hanson. Did he really want to? “You remember much about law school?”
A wistfulness passed over Jack’s expression like swift-moving cloud shadow. Eric knew Jack still missed practicing law, though working for the family business had been the right move after the Hanson patriarch had passed away a few years ago. Losing Jack had been a blow to the law firm, though. One they still felt.
“Every minute of it,” Jack said. “Best years of my life, until I met my lovely wife, that is. Why?”
Eric grimaced. “The name Colleen Delaney ring a bell?”
Jack barked a short laugh and interlaced his fingers behind his head. “Your three-year headache?”
“Migraine,” Eric said, but it wasn’t the entire truth. She was also the woman who’d stolen his heart, then crushed it. But he’d ignore that aspect of the problem. “That woman was a pain in my—”
“Hot, though,” Jack pointed out, aiming a finger Eric’s way. “You have to admit that. And you did start out as friends, if memory serves.”
Eric shrugged, not about to touch on the topic of Colleen Delaney’s “hotness,” or what could’ve been a long-lasting friendship…maybe more…if things hadn’t spiraled horribly out of control. “Not for long.”
“What happened with that? You never told me.”
And he never would. I fell for her and she unceremoniously dumped me? Uh, no. That wasn’t an admission one guy made to another. “Our personalities didn’t mesh,” he said instead. “Butting heads with an obstinate woman isn’t my idea of a good time.” Making love to Colleen by the glow of the streetlight streaming into her apartment window? That had been a good time. Better, actually. It had been an emotional epiphany—or so he’d thought.
Jack nodded slowly. “You two did fight like an old married couple. You know, I always suspected there was something between the pair of you.”
Eric’s ears flamed. He tried to forget that magical night. One of their typical beer-infused legal debates had escalated into something more. So much more. Something amazing—until it all crumbled.
Talk about a colossal mistake.
After one unforgettable night spent in her bed, her personality had done a complete one-eighty. Before that, they’d debated in a friendly way, hung out, studied together and shared a mutual, sizzling attraction. Afterward, her steel walls had slammed down, leaving him strictly on the outside and without a key.
Clearly, he’d been a one-off. If only he’d known that before his heart had gotten involved. Oh, well. Once the sting of the dismissal eased, he’d realized it was for the best. Opposites may attract, but he and Colleen were more like water and electricity than yin and yang. Their kind of opposite was never good. At least, that’s what he told himself. “An old married couple who despised each other and never should’ve gotten hitched in the first place,” he said.
“Indeed.” Jack cocked his head to one side. “But why the blast from the past?”
“Seems the past is going to explode into the present.” He spun the paper he’d been reading around to face Jack. “Delaney’s representing Ned Jones.”
“You’ve got to be—” Jack leaned forward and scanned the paper, a slow grin spreading on his face. “I thought that old tight-ass Framus was at the helm?”
“So did I, but she works for the guy. Who knows what happened there.”
Jack chuckled. “What are the odds? That’s fantastic.”
“Fantastic?” Eric spread his arms wide. “The woman hates me. She made every day of law school a living hell. I was never so happy to bid someone a permanent farewell,” he said, unsure whether he was trying to convince Jack or himself. Colleen had always been headstrong. But after they’d spent the night tangled up in each other, Colleen Delaney, aka She Who Must Be Right, started to remind him way too much of his loud, competitive family. Almost as if she wanted him to think of her that way. Granted, she was physically beautiful, and he’d always felt a pull toward her. But her penchant for getting in your face and refusing to back down until she could claim victory dimmed her outward attributes and left him cold. He got his share of that sort of stress every time he had dinner at his parents’.
While he could admire her tenacious drive to succeed, he didn’t approve of her no-holds-barred tactics. Never had. It wasn’t his style and he didn’t like to be around people who played the game that way. Despite the fact they both practiced law in Chicago, he’d managed to steer clear of her for years. To face her on opposite sides of a high-profile case now? Hell on earth. “I can’t believe she popped up. Couldn’t be a worse time.”
“Like I said,” Jack repeated, “what are the odds?”
“It’s a nightmare I don’t need, Jack. I don’t think you understand the problems she’s going to cause with the case, simply because I’m on the other side.”
Jack let his hands drop to his lap as he studied Eric, a line of worry bisecting his brows. “You want out?”
“Hell, no. That’s not what I’m saying.”
“Thank God.”
Eric frowned. “I wouldn’t let you down like that. I’m deep into research and I think I’m onto something big. I’ve got an angle on this thing.”
“Care to share?”
Eric preferred to have all his facts checked and double-checked before sharing theories with a client. Even when that client happened to be a friend. “Let me follow a few more trails. I’ll give you a full report once I’m sure I’ve covered everything pertinent. We’re in good shape, though. Stand down all the worriers.”
Jack gave a quick nod. “Excellent. As for the Colleen Delaney curveball, you have my sympathy. All I can say is, everything happens for a reason.”
Right. Eric wasn’t so sure about that. There was no reason beyond karmic cruelty why fate would throw the two of them together again. “Enough of your philosophical rhetoric. I’ll handle Delaney. You wanted to run something by me?”
“Yeah. I need your opinion.” Jack rubbed the side of his hand against his jawline. “We’re bringing Robby Axelrod back from Tokyo to head up the latest hotel project here in Chicago. Any thoughts on how that decision might impact the case?”
Eric sat back, tapping his Mont Blanc pen on the stack of paper in front of him as he methodically puzzled through the myriad of possible ramifications. Ned Jones had filed a wrongful termination suit after having been fired from Taka-Hanson. He’d been about to blow the whistle on Axelrod’s—and by extension, Taka-Hanson’s—alleged shady construction practices. He claimed they cut corners to save money, skimped on safety, among a litany of other complaints, all at the direction of Robby Axelrod on behalf of the company.
Frankly, Eric thought Jones was full of it. Gut feeling. The guy reeked of disgruntled employee sniffing for a payout. Taka-Hanson needed to present a united front and hide nothing. Hence, bringing Axelrod back served their purpose. “It’s a good idea,” he said, finally. “Show the world Taka-Hanson backs Axelrod one hundred percent.”
Jack’s alert posture softened. “I hoped you’d say that. I feel the same way, but you’re the boss on this one.”
“Giving the man the reins on a massive new hotel project is a genius strategy, actually. Wish I’d thought of it.” Colleen Delaney wouldn’t agree with the decision, but he didn’t much care. “It reinforces our position that Ned Jones has a self-serving, ulterior motive unrelated to the company’s business practices.”
“Excellent.” Jack stood. “I’ll let you get back to it then. I know you’ve got other cases besides ours.” He headed for the door but turned back, one hand on the brushed-metal handle. “Not that you asked for my advice, but as far as this thing with Colleen Delaney? Deal with it just like you did in law school, pal.”
Eric snorted. “What—argue with her incessantly, then drink beer with my friends and complain?”
Jack grinned. “That’s one option. Before that route, though, try killing her with calmness. So to speak. No actual killing, of course.”
Eric cocked his head in question.
“Don’t you remember how that used to go down?”
“Guess I’ve blocked it out.” He’d blocked a lot about Colleen out because thinking of it, of her, of what could’ve been hurt too much.
“Delaney’s fueled by a fight,” Jack said. “Your Zen attitude? That’s her kryptonite. She never knew what to pull out of her arsenal when you went the chill route.”
Eric hadn’t held on to those particular memories, but come to think of it, true enough. Calmness had always doused the fire of Colleen’s argumentative nature. It was as if she didn’t know how to handle someone who wouldn’t rise to her bait, which worked out great for him. He had no desire for the constant clashing. Lucky for him, he’d had years of practicing law his way—balanced, level, calm. Years of being away from the woman who got under his skin, in more ways than one, and challenged that. Years to forget.
“I suppose it’s worth a try.”
“Definitely. In fact, go all out and blindside her.”
“Meaning?”
“Rekindle the old friendship.”
Danger zone. He’d handle her with calmness this time, just as Jack suggested, though he wasn’t so sure about befriending her. The rest, though, it could work.
Hopefully.
If not, he’d do his best to ignore her, suffer through the case, then move on with his life once he’d cleared Axelrod and Taka-Hanson, which he had no doubt he could. He hiked his chin toward Jack. “Thanks. Good stuff. I’ll take it under advisement.”
Jack smiled, smacking his palm on the door a couple times. “If it doesn’t work, you know I’m always available for that beer.”
Chapter Two
Eric cut a quick path out of the courthouse building. The hearing had gone well enough, which was to say, he hadn’t had to speak directly to Colleen. At this point, that constituted a victory.
The moment he’d seen her, his resolve collapsed, telling him without a doubt that he wasn’t over her. She’d matured from a hot law student into a fiercely sexy woman. And, despite what she might think, her conservative, man-tailored blue suit and precisioncut, swingy black hair couldn’t quite hide her assets.
The broken-glass personality, though? Still as sharp.
When she’d made a motion to bar Robby Axelrod from working on the Taka Hotel project, Eric felt the fury radiate from her like snapped electrical wires. When the judge had denied her request, those wires sparked and exploded in his direction. No chance of putting the calm, friendly approach into play today. Clearly she needed time to cool off. Delaney the Debate Diva was not at all happy about that first loss, the first of many in this case if Eric’s research panned out. He had no desire to face her wrath today.
He’d almost made a safe escape when he heard:
“Nelson! Hang on. I need to talk to you.”
The click-clack of her determined, angry footsteps approaching brought him to a reluctant stop. He swore under his breath, then remembered Jack’s words of wisdom and turned to face her. Calm, cool, confident. Cordial. At least on the outside. He wished Jack had given her the same advice.
She stormed up, chin raised for a fight.
“Colleen,” he said in a mild tone, trying not to notice her smooth, touchable skin. Trying desperately not to inhale her signature powdery scent. “Good to see you after all these years. How have you been?”
“Are you out of your mind?” she asked, her blue eyes molten.
Deep breath in, slow release. Apparently being susceptible to nostalgia wasn’t one of her faults. “Nice greeting.”
She flicked away his attempts at semipolite conversation as if his words were a mosquito swarm. So much for Jack’s plan. “Make your clients take Axelrod off the new hotel project until this case is settled. I mean it.”
Oh, she meant it. Good to know. “I’m not talking to you about this here, Colleen. Not when you’re tossing off demands without so much as a hello.”
He turned and casually walked away.
After a stunned moment, she followed.
“How can you defend those corporate monsters, Eric? That’s not your style.”
“You know nothing about my style. We haven’t spoken in almost a decade.”
“Do you have any idea how many lives are potentially at stake thanks to their shoddy construction?”
“Yep.” A beat passed. “Exactly…none.”
“None?”
Her hand closed around his forearm, a tiny viselike grip of self-righteousness. Resisting the urge to yank away, ignoring the tingles a simple touch sent through his body, he stilled. Stared down at her hand on his arm in relaxed silence until she got the hint and pulled back.
As he looked into her zealous, heart-shaped face, a pang of compassion struck him for how clueless she seemed to be. She had a pit-bull grip on a fight she would lose, and she didn’t seem to have a clue about her client or the big picture. Hard to believe she’d let her lack of research into the case show through her porcupine quills of ire, but as far as he knew, she’d only recently been assigned to it. Maybe she hadn’t had adequate time to delve in. Still. No excuse. She needed to do her research and find out what she was dealing with.
Harsh, Nelson.
Eric’s overactive conscience kicked in, his emotional pull toward this woman. He didn’t want to embarrass her; he simply wanted to exonerate his clients. Sharing what he’d dug up about a possible connection between her client and his client’s key rival before she humiliated herself in front of the entire Chicago legal community felt like the right move. He wasn’t violating privilege; Jack Hanson didn’t even know Drake Thatcher might be involved yet. Contrary to the reputation of most attorneys, he wasn’t about putting on the best show in the courtroom. He was about truth and balance and justice.
Fairness.
That meant bringing Colleen up to speed, like it or not. He sighed. “Listen. Join me for lunch. We can discuss this like reasonable professionals.”
She blinked in surprise. “You…you’re asking me to lunch? Are you crazy?”
He tapped the face of his watch. “Strangely, no. Lunch is what people do around this time of day. It’s one of the three widely recognized meals.”
“But—”
“Colleen,” he said, weary of knocking heads already, “I’ve been in court all morning. I’ve got a full slate of work this afternoon. I’m hungry. Is that so hard for you to understand?”
She crossed her arms over her torso. “No. What’s hard to understand is why you’d invite me.”
“Why wouldn’t I? Years ago, we used to be friends.” He imbued the last word with a meaning only she’d understand.
Her face pinkened. “Years ago, like you said. Those days are long over.”
So she wanted to play it that way. “Look, as much as you hate the fact, I do know you. Either I invite you, or I miss lunch altogether because you’ll keep me standing here in the hallway arguing ridiculous points of law. I’d like to avoid that if at all possible.” He held up his free hand. “Nothing more than that.”
She studied him, seeming to search for an ulterior motive. Typical Colleen. After a moment, she tossed her sleek black hair and tried for casual. She didn’t quite pull it off. “Fine. Where do you want to go?”
“Let’s just hit The Chambers. It’s close and easy.”
“I’ll meet you there.”
“We can ride togefh—”
“I said I’ll meet you there.”
Eric watched her stalk off, shoulders back, spine stiff. Astonishing how she managed to walk so straight with that monumental chip weighing down her shoulder. It had to be one hell of a heavy burden after all these years.
Not his problem.
He shook his head and started toward the parking lot, his brain reluctantly flooded with memories of a different Colleen. Sure, there’d been only one night in their history that the chip had fallen off her shoulder…a night he absolutely had to put out of his mind during this case. Sleeping with Colleen had been one hell of a beautiful mistake, one they’d never spoken about again, despite his repeated attempts shortly thereafter. Initially, he’d been bewildered by her icecold attitude, but she wouldn’t discuss it. Eventually, he just wrote the woman off as a loose cannon, and his life had been more pleasant since that decision.
That’s what he told himself at least.
But he’d never forgotten….
Would never forget.
Couldn’t.
Despite the fact she was back in his life, he aimed to keep everything strictly professional. Sadly, when it came to Colleen Delaney, that was the only choice she’d given him.
Of all the attorneys in Chicago, why Eric Nelson?
Stupid Murphy’s Law.
Colleen sat in her Audi A6 for several minutes trying to still her nerves, regain her composure. If any guy could break her resolve to stay smart, sane and selectively celibate, that guy was Eric. One look at him in that courtroom—broad-shouldered and confident in his charcoal-gray suit, dark blond hair sexily uncooperative as usual—and Colossal Mistake Night flooded back into her body with a vengeance. The sex had been as explosive and exciting as their debates. It had nearly knocked her off her goal path. Or…it could’ve, had she not freaked out and gone completely cold on the guy, purely by necessity. The whole thing had shaken her to the core, and she hadn’t known any other way to handle it.
She’d run scared then, and she’d run scared today.
Thank goodness, Eric had given up the pursuit both times. And while their estrangement hurt, it also bolstered her resolve to be as diametrically opposed as possible to her mother’s opinion of what womanhood entailed. That meant no marriage. Possibly no man, which was fine.
Fine, fine, fine.
God, he’d looked fine. She let her eyes drift closed.
He’d been a good-looking guy in law school, but he’d matured into an incredible man with incredible presence. He filled up the space around him, claimed it, sucked the air from the lungs of those nearby. And with a calmness that both drew her in and infuriated her. He still made her tummy flop and her heart flutter, still made her want to argue.
Still made her want to get naked and let everything go.
What a mess.
Colleen smacked the heel of her hand against the leather steering wheel. Unsure what else to do, she fished her cell phone out of her purse and sent a text message to her best friend, Megan, a massage therapist. Megs always talked her down from the various ledges of her life when no one else could. Not that she gave anyone else the chance, but still. Megs was centered, nonjudgmental, soothing. Real.
A lot like Eric Nelson, come to think of it.
No. No. No.
Colleen couldn’t risk viewing him that way. It only made things worse.
She just needed to speak with Megan, who knew everything about her and, shockingly, loved her anyway. Go figure. Megan was her safety zone, the one person she could tell absolutely anything. On the other hand, she didn’t plan to tell Eric Nelson anything about herself or her life. Ever. She’d gotten too close to that flame once before, and the burn still licked up inside her in moments of weakness.
She quickly typed:
Opposing counsel? Eric Nelson. From law school. THE GUY. Kill me now.
She hit Send and waited. Moments later, her phone rang.
“Hi, sweetie,” Megan said, in her just-finished-yoga-and-meditation voice. “You okay?”
Colleen bit her lip and blinked into the cold, wintery brightness. Dirty snow from the last storm clung to the curbs, but the sky gleamed a bright whitish gray. “I don’t know. I just…Why him? Of all people? This case is so important, Megs. I can’t let our past get in the way of winning.”
Megan laughed softly. “Do you ever let anything get in the way of winning?”
Colleen cracked a reluctant smile. “Good point. But it’s Eric.”
“Yes, it is,” Megan said softly.
“And we’re meeting for lunch. Now. Ostensibly to discuss the case.”
“Let it go. It’s just lunch with another professional.”
Colleen huffed. “Yeah, a professional I let my guard down with. And had wild jungle sex with.” Life-altering, crushingly intimate, dangerous jungle sex. “Oh, God,” she groaned, squeezing her forehead with her free hand. Heat and something more visceral swirled through her body. An ache. A primal yearning. “I thought I could handle this, but then I saw him and—”
“You can handle it, sweetie. It was a one-night stand back in school. It happens.”
“Not to me.”
“Well, it did,” Megan said, as if it were no biggie. “And nothing ever came of it, so release it.”
“You make it sound so simple.”
“It can be. You’re an amazing attorney, Colleen, and you’re going to win this case. Take some deep breaths—you remember the breathing techniques I taught you?”
Oops, busted. “Yes. Definitely.” Too enthusiastic.
“Are you practicing them daily?”
She considered fibbing. Why bother; Megan would know. “Not exactly…daily.”
“Ever?”
“Well, I do breathe every day, if that counts.”
Megan laughed. “Not the same. How far do you have to drive to the lunch spot?”
“About a mile.”
“Okay, the whole way there, breathe deeply and slowly, drawing air clear to the bottom of your lungs. Center yourself. Then go have lunch, focus on the case that’s going to make your career, and forget about one meaningless night of sex.”
That was the problem. As much as Colleen tried to claim differently, it hadn’t been meaningless. It had been beautiful and innocent and right. She still remembered the tears trickling from her eyes down the sides of her face to her ears after her first climax. Not because it had been bad, but because Eric made her feel safe in a way no one ever had before. Colleen’s belly tightened at the memory. “One night of mind-blowing sex,” she said, trying to focus on the physical rather than the emotional.
“Not so easy to forget then, huh?”
She bit her lip, feeling unsure. Unsure and hating herself for it. That was so her mother’s style. He was just a man. A man who hated her—she’d made sure of that after the fact. “I have to.”
“Then you will.”
Colleen’s throat closed. She wished she could be more like Megan, but they were cut from different bolts of cloth. She’d accepted that long ago. “Why do you believe in me more than I believe in myself?”
“That’s what best friends do. Now, breathe. And call me tonight and tell me all about it.”
“Okay.”
“And come in for a massage soon.”
“I will.”
“So…how does he look?”
“Megan! I can’t believe you’d ask me that in my time of stress,” Colleen said, but she couldn’t help laughing.
“Hey, you can’t blame me. He’s sort of legendary in the life and times of Colleen Delaney.”
“It was one night.” Keep telling yourself that.
“Yeah. I know. Of mind-blowing jungle sex. You don’t hear that phrase every day. So? How does the man look?”
A pause ensued.
“Amazing,” Colleen said ruefully, wishing he was paunchy and balding, with a big gin blossom nose, like the partners at her firm. That would make it so much easier not to feel. She couldn’t risk feeling. “He looks better than he did during school. Which totally sucks, I might add.”
“Well, don’t think about it. Try not to look at him.”
“Right. Helpful. Should I blur my eyes?”
Megan laughed softly again. “It’s all going to be fine in the end.”
“How do you know?”
“I just do. Now, go to lunch and do your thing.” A smooch sound carried over the line.
“What’s my thing, though? Help!”
Megan cleared her throat. “You do realize this is what you’ve always done, right?”
“Huh?”
“Freak out about Eric Nelson, then call me?”
“I’m not freaking out, Megs. Freaking out is what teenagers do. I’m just—”
“Go to lunch,” Megan said, laughing.
For the life of her, Colleen couldn’t find a single thing funny with this nightmare….
Chapter Three
“You do realize this is what you’ve always done, right?”
“Huh?”
Jack laughed as though he hadn’t a care. “Freak out about Colleen Delaney, then call me.”
Eric shook his head as he navigated a turn on the icy Chicago streets. “I’m not freaking out, Jack. Freaking out is what fifteen-year-old boys do at the first glimpse of bikini-clad cleavage on the Navy Pier every spring.”
“Case? Rested.”
“The woman gets under my skin, that’s all.”
“Interesting,” Jack mused.
“Not that kind of under my skin,” Eric lied, pulling into an empty curbside spot near The Chambers, a popular eatery with legal types and others who worked at the courthouse. He cut his engine. “I spoke to her for all of five minutes and I’m sure my blood pressure skyrocketed.” He wouldn’t tell his old friend exactly why. “She’s argumentative. Prickly. Annoying.”
“Which you hate.” Jack’s statement didn’t sound convincing.
“As a matter of fact, I do.”
“Is she still totally hot?” Jack asked, a smile threaded through his words.
Eric closed his eyes for a moment. Strength. He needed strength and lots of it. Yes, Colleen Delaney had never been hotter, but that didn’t help the situation. “Never mind. I need to go. The tables get snatched up this time of day.”
“You and Colleen have a nice lunch,” Jack drawled. “Give her a kiss from me.”
“I’m sure she’d appreciate hearing that from the man her client’s suing,” Eric said in a droll tone, before hanging up, more exasperated than when he’d called his old pal. Jack seemed determined to paint his relationship with Colleen in rosy tones, and Eric couldn’t put himself into that position again. Official verdict: love and marriage had warped Hanson’s brain. That’s the only explanation Eric could come up with.
A welcoming warmth enveloped him as he entered The Chambers. He inhaled the familiar aromas of coffee and grilled burgers and hot apple pie, and his mouth watered. Midday service was in full, bustling swing. He brushed snowflakes from the shoulders of his wool overcoat, stamped his feet on the mat.
“Just one?” asked the hostess, who’d swirled up in mid-busy, her movements compact and efficient. “Wanna sit at the counter?”
He smiled. “Actually, I’m meeting someone. Do you have a table? Preferably someplace quiet.”
“We don’t get much quiet at lunchtime as you know, but…” The petite blonde tapped her bottom lip with her index finger and scanned the dining room, which was filled with the tink-tink of fork against plate and a healthy serving of boisterous legal debate punctuated by laughter and movement. Stark contrast to the snow-quieted city outside the large windows. Eric was convinced that snow was God’s way of telling the human race to shut up and simply be.
A group of lawyers Eric vaguely recognized but couldn’t name stood up from a table in the back corner and began donning overcoats, gloves and wool scarves. The hostess turned back, her thumb aimed over her shoulder at the group of men. “I can have that table bussed for you if you don’t mind waiting a couple of minutes.”
“That’s fine. She hasn’t arrived yet anyway.”
“Great.” The hostess gave him a pert grin. “It’ll be clean and ready when your girlfriend gets here.”
Eric opened his mouth to correct the young woman’s misconception—why, he didn’t know—but she’d left as quickly and competently as she’d arrived.
Had the whole world gone soft on him?
Could a man and a woman not share a business meal without people thinking it was something more?
Then again, did it matter?
The ding of the entry bell announced another lunchtime arrival. Eric glanced over his shoulder just as the swoosh of the door brought in a gust of cold along with Colleen, her alabaster cheeks cottoncandy pink from the weather, raven hair flecked with fat, white snowflakes.
Their eyes met.
His heart stuttered.
She dropped her gaze.
He took a slow breath and resisted the urge to wick away the snowflake that had landed, shimmering and perfect, on her left cheekbone. He could make out the unique design of it, and against the backdrop of Colleen’s face, the effect staggered him. Swallowing past this unexpected, unwanted, unnerving visceral pull toward her, he said, “They’re cleaning a table.”
“Fine,” she said, unknotting a cornflower-blue cashmere scarf that matched her eyes and shrugging out of her tailored gray tweed coat. As she stuffed the scarf inside one coat sleeve, she added, “Parking’s a real joy around here,” in a wry tone.
“Just like always,” Eric said, utterly distracted by the snowflake melting on her perfect cheek. “Did you have to walk far?”
Her gaze, wary as ever, met his for one quick moment before darting away. She draped her coat over one arm and shrugged her handbag higher on her shoulder. “It wasn’t a problem.” Fully melted, the former snowflake trickled down her cheek like a teardrop. She brushed the moisture away, unaware of his fixation on it. “How about you?”
“What?” He pulled himself back into the conversation, if you could label their lame, superficial exchange as such. “Oh. No. I’m right out front.”
“Still have that legendary Nelson parking karma then.”
“Something like that,” he said, surprised that she’d remembered. For some reason, whenever he envisioned the perfect parking spot, it always appeared for him. It’d been that way since he’d gotten his license at sixteen, and a source of great envy and many conversations among his law-school classmates years ago.
But whatever. This small talk was the worst.
He’d never been a pro at it, and never with a woman like Colleen, who threw him so totally offkilter. He wanted to ask what happened between them. Wanted to know if their single night together had been as life-affirming for her.
He wanted to touch her.
None of that was going to happen, though, and they had to converse. He cleared his throat. “Do you eat here often?” Had he seriously just asked that? He resisted the urge to cringe. That ranked high on the dumbest questions ever asked list. Maybe he was just like those cleavage-obsessed teenage boys at the Navy Pier.
“Not really,” she said, seemingly unaware of his discomfort. “I live nearby.”
He nodded, unsure what to say about that. He lived nearby, too, but he ate here at least four times a week. Was it a male versus female thing, or was that sexist? He wondered if cooking was a hobby and she preferred to eat at home, or if she packed a lunch. He wondered how she lived her life. He wondered, simply wondered, about Colleen Delaney.
Clearly, she didn’t have much to add, and he didn’t know where to go in the conversation, now that they’d skipped from point uncomfortable to point awkward. Did he really want to take another leap to point excruciating? They waited, shoulder to shoulder, in pregnant silence until the elfin blonde bopped up and led them to their corner booth.
Safely behind menus on opposite sides of the table, Eric breathed more easily. He glanced up at Colleen. “How’s your mother?”
Colleen blinked, as if startled by the intimacy of the question or the fact that he’d give a rip in the first place. Something. “My mother?”
“Yeah. You know, she’s that woman who gave birth to you back in the day?”
Colleen ignored his quip. “She’s fine. Well, getting better finally.”
“Was she ill?” He set his menu aside, knowing he’d order the French Dip, like always. Perusing the menu at The Chambers was purely habit.
Colleen shook her head. “Not sick, really. She had a knee replacement. Injured it trying to surf with her last boyfriend,” she added, her tone acidic.
“That’s awesome.”
“If you say so. I moved her into my place to recover, and now we’re apparently permanent roommates.”
“Wow.” He thought about any member of his family moving into his serene, lovingly restored greystone Victorian, and one word came to mind—hives. “How’s that working out for you?”
Eyebrows raised, Colleen set her menu on the edge of the table as well. “I’m not sure. She drives me crazy half the time, rearranging my kitchen utensils, putting my clean laundry away in spots where I can’t find it, nagging me about working too hard.” She hiked one shoulder, and the tenor of her voice changed. “The other half, it’s nice to have her there, I suppose.”
“Welcome to the definition of family.”
A moment of silence descended. Colleen tugged at her cuffs, uncrossed and recrossed her legs, cleared her throat. Finally, she asked, “And your family?”
“Pretty much the same as the last time we talked.” Which had been…wow…a long time ago. “Mom and Dad still live out in Schaumburg and expect us all there promptly at six for Friday-night dinner, no excuses.”
She spared him a half-smirk. “Your least favorite night of the week still?”
He tilted his head to the side. “You remembered.”
Ignoring that, she asked, “And your brothers?”
“My youngest brother, Brian, settled down not too far from them. The other three are here in Chicago. Working, one-upping each other at every turn, the annoying norm.” He often wondered how he’d grown up to be so different from his ultracompetitive family. They could—and did—debate about everything from gold values to golf to global warming, with the single-minded goal of winning, no matter what. And when he didn’t want to debate, which was often? They goaded him. Like rabid dogs.
“Married?”
Eric assumed Colleen wasn’t asking about him. “Only Brian. He works with my dad at the store.”
“A sporting-goods store, right?”
“Yep.” He formed two L shapes with his hands and thumbs, as if framing the sign that had hung on the main drag in Schaumburg since he could remember. “Nelson Sports and Hunting. Still running strong.”
“Good for your dad.”
He watched Colleen tilt her head to the left, which always meant she was thinking, calculating.
“Now, wait. Isn’t Brian pretty young?”
“The ‘oops’ brother?” Eric nodded. “Yes, twentyone. And Melody—that’s Brian’s wife—is only twenty. She works as a receptionist at a small law firm in the city and she runs some idiotic gossip Web site on the side. Typical twenty-year-old.” He reconsidered his judgmental comment at the slight shocked widening of Colleen’s blue eyes. “I could’ve phrased that better. The idiotic site will be a good source of income, I guess, when the baby comes. Oh, they’re expecting, Brian and Melody. My mother’s losing her mind with happiness. A baby. Extended family. New Nelson generation and all that.”
“That’s…nice.”
“Yeah, all I can think of is Brian becoming a father the same year he’s legal to drink. Crazy.”
“That is…wow.” She sat back. “They’re young. Are they ready for parenthood?”
“Do they have a choice at this point?”
“True.”
The conversation felt so casual, it lulled Eric into a sense of normalcy. “It’s good to see you. You look great, Colleen. Really.”
Her eyes hardened and the thin line of connection between them snapped like a dried-out rubber band. “We need to talk about the case.”
Duly noted. No compliments. She never had been the kind of woman who liked to be admired for her considerable beauty, but come on. It wasn’t like a guy didn’t notice. He’d known about her pet peeve, of course, but what else did you say when you saw someone for the first time in years? So she looked great. Shoot him for pointing it out.
Just then, the harried waiter approached, plunked two glasses of water on the table. “Sorry for the wait,” he said, slightly out of breath. “What can I get for you?”
They placed their orders. Once the waiter had bustled off, Colleen seemed to have regained some of her flash and fire. “Honestly, how can you stand by and let Robby Axelrod work on another TakaHanson project?”
Eric took his time. He leaned back, stretching his arm along the back of the brown leather banquette. “How much do you know about Ned Jones?”
“What kind of question is that?” she rasped, color rising to angry spots on her cheeks. “He’s my client.”
“Right. Aware of that. And how much do you know about him?” The calm thing was getting easier by the moment.
Her lips flattened into a grim line. “I know he was unfairly, unethically terminated because he had dirt on your client.”
“If that’s all you know, you need to dig deeper.”
Her knuckles, wound together on the tabletop, whitened, and she went deadly still. “Are you honestly sitting here telling me how to do my job?”
He counted to ten silently. Why did everything with Colleen devolve into a fight? He started to remember why they were better apart, but strangely, he didn’t want to fall back into that pattern. “I’m trying to do you a favor, from one old friend to another.”
“My client—”
“Is not the bad guy,” Eric said gently. That snagged her attention. He waited until she’d closed her mouth, an indication she was listening. “At least, I don’t think he’s the brains behind anything. Gut feeling.”
“The man doesn’t have the brains to concoct a plot.”
Ah, so she did know a bit more about her client than she’d initially claimed. “That’s what I’m trying to tell you. I think he’s the pawn in a much bigger, uglier game.”
Confusion crinkled Colleen’s brow. She leaned in. “What exactly are you talking about, Eric?”
Eric wrapped his hands around the warm coffee mug the waiter had unobtrusively set before him as they spoke. “I don’t know. I’m not sure yet, but this whole thing stinks. You may simply want to win, which I can understand. But I want to do the right thing.”
“Of course.”
Eric gut-checked sharing this information, and felt fine with it. He blew out a breath.
“Are you familiar with a real-estate tycoon by the name of Drake Thatcher?”
She spread her arms. “Should I be?”
He huffed. “Yes. You should. He’s Taka-Hanson’s biggest competitor, dirty as Tony Soprano. He’ll do anything to take down my clients.” He paused, scrutinizing her. “Up to and including paying your client to toss out false accusations.”
Her throat moved in a tight swallow, but she maintained her cool. “You have proof of that?”
“No.” He ran his fingers through his hair.
“Then why are you wasting my time with unsubstantiated theories?”
“Because an innocent man shouldn’t have his livelihood destroyed for no good reason. TakaHanson shouldn’t take a major financial blow on the basis of a lie. As ambitious as you are, even you have to agree with that.”
He could see her annoyance building in the way the muscles worked in her delicate jawline. Tense silence stretched taut between them, but he held his ground.
She aimed a finger at him. “Listen, Nelson, I’ve been practicing law as long as you have. This kind of ploy—”
“Here we go,” said the waiter, in an oblivious singsong tone. “Be careful now. The plates are hot.”
Colleen pinched the bridge of her nose between her fingers while the waiter presented each, but her hard gaze never left Eric’s face.
“Can I get you anything else?”
“No. Thank you,” Eric replied.
After the waiter had left without so much as an acknowledgment from Colleen, she started to sputter again, but Eric held up his palm. “Look, there’s no ploy. I don’t operate that way. But don’t take my word for it. Research me. Dig up everything you can about the way I practice.”
“I will. And I’ll prove you wrong about Jones.”
“Think about this logically. You’re the opposing counsel, Colleen, and aside from that, we don’t exactly have an uncheckered past, you and I.”
“You always did have a knack for putting things mildly.”
“I’m speaking truthfully. If I didn’t have respect for you as an old friend, a colleague, and from everything I’ve read, a damned sharp attorney, I’d keep my theories to myself until I had enough to annihilate you and Ned Jones in the courtroom. Which I would.” He paused, letting that sink in. “Lucky for you, that’s not how I practice law.”
“So you’re doing me a favor?”
“No. I’m—” He lowered his chin, measured his words. “I’m not about the show, I’m about the truth, and I think we’re missing parts of the truth in this case. You can ignore what I’m telling you and let the cards fall, or you can look into it. I don’t care.” He took a languid bite of his sandwich and shrugged while he chewed. After swallowing, he added, “But I know you’re one step from partner at that firm of yours, though God only knows why you’d want to work with that pack of old-school drones.”
Colleen’s mouth dropped open, but she quickly closed it. Her reaction told him she thought they were old-school drones, too, which made him wonder why she wanted to build a career there. An imponderable for another day.
“That’s not going to happen if you miss something major like, say, an extortion plot in which your client is a player,” he said. “I promise you that.”
“God, Eric, you sound like you’re writing a cheesy legal thriller.”
“Maybe so, but I think I’m onto something.” He shrugged. “Frankly, I’d love to see you make partner at your firm. Framus would bust a vein.”
Whoa, had she almost smiled there?
She still hadn’t touched her burger. Instead, she stared at him with incredulity overlayed by a film of worry she couldn’t quite hide, then huffed out a nonlaugh. “So you’re telling me I have no case in order to save my career? How chivalrous of you. Don’t take me for an idiot.”
Eric didn’t react. He didn’t engage. He didn’t want their every interaction to end this way. “I take you for a lot of things, but idiot isn’t one of them,” he said, even-toned. Suspicion crossed her expression, but he’d just let her wonder about the subtext of his statement. “This one’s on you. I’ve shared what I suspect.”
“And what am I supposed to do with it? Take your word? Drop the case on the basis of an unproven theory? I don’t think so.”
“Colleen,” he said smoothly, measuring his words. “Your burger’s getting cold. Eat your lunch. Then research me. Research Drake Thatcher and any possible connection he may have to your client. Research Robby Axelrod’s clean work record. That’s what I’ll be doing, and that’s what you should do, too. For your own sake.”
Chapter Four
Colleen glanced up from her laptop screen when her mom padded into the dark kitchen, yawning.
Moira Delaney stopped short, clapping her hand over her heart. “Lord, you scared me.”
“Sorry,” Colleen croaked, before clearing her throat.
“Sweet pea, what on earth are you doing up at this hour?”
“I’m working, Mom,” Colleen said, her voice hoarse from exhaustion. Tension. “What else?”
“But it’s nearly four!” her mom exclaimed, glancing at the wall clock. She pulled a tumbler out of the cabinet and filled it with filtered water from the fridge door. “You need your sleep.”
Colleen wanted to disagree, but her eyes felt scrubbed with steel wool, and her limbs ached deep into the bone. She simply hadn’t been able to tear herself away from the mother lode of information she’d dug up on Drake Thatcher. Eric had been correct about one thing—Thatcher was dirty, and he had a history of trying to take the Hansons down. The question remained, was her client mixed up in any of it?
If so, she’d be screwed. Utterly screwed.
She needed to talk to Ned, get to the bottom of this fiasco before it blew up in her face, and she was intent on gathering as much background data before she dragged his sorry ass into her office tomorrow morning.
Robby Axelrod came off as squeaky clean.
As did Eric, naturally.
She sat back and rubbed her palms over her face, then slapped her cheeks, hoping for a jolt of alertness so she could draw out a game plan. It didn’t come.
Her mom poured a second tumbler of water and set it on the table next to Colleen’s computer, then brushed her daughter’s hair back with a gentle hand. It had to be exhaustion, because the sweet, motherly touch nearly brought Colleen to tears, and she wasn’t usually susceptible to sentiment. Especially not from her mother. Thanks to seeing Eric again, thanks to his typical altruistic gesture of bringing Thatcher to her attention, her deeply buried emotions had risen to the top of her skin like raw sores. Usually, her mother’s innuendos that she worked too hard—even something as innocuous as bringing her water or brushing her hair back—would irritate her, perhaps provoke an argument. Right now, she felt too vulnerable to react in her usual mode.
She smiled weakly. “Thanks.”
“I know you’re working an important case, okay? But go to bed. Whatever it is you think you have to finish will wait a few hours. And you’ll be better able to handle it if you’re rested.”
Colleen nodded, bit her bottom lip. As she powered down her laptop, she asked, “Why are you up?”
“Oh, the knee.” Mom tightened her robe around her waifish middle. “Just a little ache.”
“Is there anything I can do?”
“Yes.” Moira smiled. “You can go to bed. I’ll be fine in about half an hour. I’m just going to watch television until the painkiller kicks in.”
The mood felt so intimate, so neutral, so unlike their norm, Colleen ventured further into the emotional minefield she usually avoided. “You need to get out more now that your knee’s almost healed, Mom. Enjoy the city. Visit a museum.”
“Oh, well…”
Colleen closed the top of her computer. “What are your plans for tomorrow?”
“I thought I’d tidy up. Read some.” She avoided her daughter’s gaze.
“Are you depressed?” Colleen asked, in a soft tone. “The doctors said that can happen after a surgery like the one you had.”
Moira Delaney sighed, raked her fingers through her hair, crossed her arms. “Do you want me to move out? Is that it?”
Colleen stood and held her hands up, palms forward. “No. No, Mom. You’re welcome to stay here as long as you want. I just want you to…I don’t know, enjoy life.”
Those cornflower-blue eyes so much like her own pierced Colleen. “Do you enjoy life?”
Wow. Hadn’t seen that blow coming. It landed right in the sweet spot and made her see stars. “Yes. Of…of course. My work is—”
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