Читать книгу Legal Passion - Lisa Childs, Lisa Childs, Livia Reasoner - Страница 11

CHAPTER THREE

WHAT THE HELL had he done? Kissing Hillary Bellows had been a huge mistake. But it was a mistake that Stone wanted to repeat over and over again.

Fingers snapped in front of his face. “What the hell’s wrong with you, Stone?” Ronan Hall grumbled at him. “You called this damn emergency meeting, and you haven’t said a word yet.”

He shook his head and murmured, “Sorry.”

“Allison McCann said you stood her up for your meeting yesterday afternoon, too,” Simon Kramer remarked from the head of the conference table in his office. He was the managing partner of Street Legal, just as the young con artist had been the managing partner when they’d all been living on the streets as teen runaways.

“I called her and canceled,” Stone said. At least he thought he had. He hadn’t talked to Allison directly but he’d left a message with her assistant.

He’d wanted to talk to Hillary before he issued any more press releases. If only all he had done was talk...

But being alone with her, and in such a small space, had tested his control in a way it had never been tested with her before. Hell, he didn’t think his control in general had ever been tested like that before. It was probably the first test he’d ever failed in his life.

“You look like hell,” Simon remarked.

“He’s got a tough trial,” Trevor Sinclair said in his defense. Trev handled the biggest cases in their firm—all the class-action stuff that made them millions. “He probably didn’t get any sleep.”

Stone hadn’t, and he wished that had been because of the trial. But that had all been because of the opposing counsel—his gorgeous, hot, passionate opposing counsel.

“I’ve never known Stone to lose much sleep over a trial,” Simon said, and his blue eyes narrowed as he studied Stone’s face.

He was careful to veil his expression, but Simon was good at reading people. As a con artist, he’d had to be in order to pick his marks. He hadn’t been a con artist for a long time, but he hadn’t lost any of his skills.

His skill was part of what had made Street Legal so successful. Their office encompassed the entire floor of a building in Midtown. It had hardwood floors, exposed brick and tall windows that looked out over the city.

Stone squinted at the sunshine streaming through the blinds of Simon’s windows. “It wasn’t the trial that cost me sleep,” he admitted.

But he didn’t own up to what had happened with Hillary Bellows. For one, his partners probably wouldn’t believe it. Hell, he wasn’t sure he believed it. Instead, he shared the news for which he’d called the early morning meeting. “That damn mole has struck again.”

His partners all cursed. Simon cursed the loudest; he was especially frustrated that he hadn’t caught the damn culprit yet. As managing partner, he’d assumed the responsibility for the leak and for stopping it.

“We need to put an end to this bullshit,” Simon said, his voice nearly hoarse with anger. “Now.”

Stone heartily agreed, and he regretted not getting involved in the search sooner. But he’d been preparing his case for trial. And...

Until now, he hadn’t been affected.

The mole had struck Trevor first with a leak of case files to opposing counsel. But Trevor had won the big class-action lawsuit despite it.

Stone wasn’t convinced he could handle the mole’s attack as well as Trevor had. Hell, he already hadn’t.

“What happened?” Ronan asked. He’d been the latest victim before Stone.

“Hillary Bellows received something from our office,” he explained. “Something she thought was in my case files. And it’s big.” He expelled a ragged breath. “It’s something that could destroy my entire defense if it’s true.” Because his entire defense was hinged on that alibi. Without it...

“You don’t know if it’s true?” Ronan asked. At least the stuff that had been leaked about him had been forged. And neither he nor any of his partners had had any doubts about that.

Unfortunately, Stone had begun to have a few doubts—not about Ronan, but about his case. Maybe it was because he knew Hillary was good—so good that she wouldn’t have brought up the evidence, even in her opening argument, if she hadn’t confirmed its validity first. She wouldn’t have been that careless and she certainly wouldn’t have been that trusting, especially of anything she’d thought he’d sent her.

She didn’t trust him at all. So why had she...?

Stone said, “I hope like hell that it isn’t true.”

And he wasn’t talking about just the evidence but about last night. What the hell had he been thinking to kiss the attorney prosecuting his client?

But that wasn’t the worst part of the night before. The worst part had been when she’d kissed him back.

Because then he’d lost all control.

* * *

How the hell had Hillary lost control like that? Her face was hot just thinking about the night before. She lifted one hand to her cheek and slapped it lightly. Snap out of it.

She had already spent too much time thinking about it. Too much time thinking about Stone Michaelsen, even before last night.

“Is that your pre-court ritual?” a male voice asked.

She whirled around to find her boss standing behind her in the hallway outside her office. He startled her so much that she nearly dropped the key she held near the lock.

She must have looked stunned because he added an explanation. “Slapping yourself in the face? Is that the way you get fired up?”

“Uh...” She couldn’t think at all right now.

He chuckled. “Or maybe you use it to wake up.”

She didn’t need to wake up since she hadn’t even slept. “I’m awake,” she assured her boss.

The guy was short, nearly as short as she was, and he had the little man–Napoleon complex thing going on where he had to be in control at all times. More a dictator than a leader.

“Good,” he said. “You need to be wide awake to take on Stone Michaelsen.” He cursed. “To take on any of those slick bastards from Street Legal.”

He’d taken on Stone before and had lost just as she had. But his biggest loss was when Ronan Hall had represented his ex-wife in his recent divorce. Hillary kind of thought he’d deserved to lose that one, though. He was a bit of a lech.

Even the way he was looking at her now made her want to button up her jacket to her neck. But the button across her breasts was already straining. She needed to lay off the candy bars for dinner. Salads from now on.

From the way he was watching her, Wilson Tremont didn’t seem to mind that she was carrying a few extra pounds, though. He had to be nearly twenty years older than her thirty years. Maybe he had even more years than that on her.

It was hard to tell with how he dyed his hair black and sprayed on a tan. He could have even been forty years older than she was.

“We need to win this case,” he reiterated.

We? He wasn’t sitting in on it with her—probably because he didn’t want another loss on his record, especially with an election coming up. But she wasn’t going to lose.

“And that damn alibi,” he continued, “is going to make it tough for you. It was hard to even get the grand jury to indict with that.” He had been surprised, and maybe also disappointed, that they had. He’d probably lost a potential supporter for his upcoming campaign.

But Hillary had had the murder weapon, which belonged to the defendant, and CSI had found only his prints on it. Hell, he’d had it locked up in a case to which he was the only one with a key. And the house staff and friends of Bethany’s who’d testified that she had a lover had provided Byron’s motive for killing his young bride. So Hillary had had enough for the indictment. And now she had more than enough to win.

But she didn’t want to say that to her boss, or Wilson Tremont would take the case from her and try it himself. A win against Stone Michaelsen would look good for him.

But Hillary wanted that win for herself.

Despite last night...

No. She couldn’t think about last night right now. Or at all.

“What are you doing here?” Wilson asked as he glanced down at his watch. “Aren’t you due in court soon?”

She nodded, and her mouth went dry at the thought of facing Stone so soon again. But she was a professional. She could do it—if only they had kept everything professional between them the night before.

But that was all his fault. He’d kissed her first.

...and she’d kissed him back.

But she hadn’t been able to help herself. He’d tasted so damn good, better than any candy bar she’d ever eaten.

“I—I needed to get something that I left here last night,” she said.

Wilson nodded. “Notes.”

“Yes.” But she hesitated before unlocking the door. She didn’t want to open it with him standing there. She wasn’t sure exactly how she’d left it. Or where she’d left it.

“You better hurry up and get them, then,” Wilson said with another glance at his watch. “You don’t want to be late and piss off Judge Harrison.”

No. She didn’t. But she didn’t want to risk anyone finding what she’d left in her office, either. Thankfully, the cleaning crew had left before she had last night. So she didn’t think anyone had been inside since...

“I’ll hurry,” she promised as she slid the key into the lock. Just as she began to slowly turn the knob, someone called out for Wilson.

“Mr. Tremont, you have a call,” his secretary told him. “The mayor...”

Wilson drew in a deep breath. “I hope he isn’t calling about Mueller’s case.”

“Why would he?” Hillary asked, her brow furrowing with confusion.

Wilson smiled, but it was a patronizing one. “I forget how naive you can be, Hillary. You don’t understand how politics work.”

And he was probably damn happy about that, because he didn’t think he had to worry about Hillary going after his job, like half the rest of the assistant district attorneys appeared to be doing. Hillary knew a lot more about politics than she was willing to admit. It was safer for her, though, if her boss didn’t know that.

“I’m sure Mueller contributed to the mayor’s campaign,” Wilson explained. “Hell, I’ll be lucky if the president doesn’t call to give me heat over daring to prosecute the great Byron Mueller.”

Hillary reached out and squeezed his arm, but she regretted her impulsive gesture when he glanced down at her hand on his coat sleeve. But even as she pulled back, she assured him, “Don’t worry. Michaelsen is not going to get him off.”

He stared at her, his dark eyes narrowed. “You’re awfully confident, Hillary. I’d like to know why.”

She gestured at his secretary. “You surely don’t want to keep the mayor waiting, though.” She didn’t have to know how politics worked to know that that wouldn’t be prudent. “And I don’t want to be late for court.”

Despite last night, she could face Stone again, because she knew she could and would beat him this time. Just as she could taste him yet on her lips, she could taste the sweetness of the victory that was sure to come.

“I can’t piss off Judge Harrison,” she reminded her boss.

He nodded. “Get moving, then.”

He moved off down the hall toward his office and his on-hold call from the mayor, so Hillary pushed open her office door. And she was glad she’d waited until her boss had left before she’d opened it.

Stone’s scent hung yet in the air—mixed with her own. Just smelling that brought memories and sensations rushing back, and she experienced the heat and excitement of that passion all over again.

The kiss...

The...

And she lifted her hand to her cheek again. This time the slap wasn’t quite as gentle. She needed to snap out of it. She had to face him—just minutes away—in the courtroom. And she had to pretend like nothing had happened.

But first she had to make sure that she’d left nothing behind to prove that it had. The space was small, so it was easy and quick to search.

But she couldn’t find it.

What the hell had happened to it?

An alarm pealed out from the phone in her purse; it was her last-minute warning to get to the courtroom. She had no more time to search. Maybe the cleaning crew hadn’t already been gone last night like she’d thought. Maybe they had cleaned her office after she’d left.

She closed and locked the door again before rushing off down the hall. She was still rushing when she walked into the courtroom, so she didn’t even spare Stone a glance as she took her seat behind the prosecutor’s table. She wouldn’t have looked across the space between their tables at all if she hadn’t felt him staring at her.

She didn’t want to look at him. She dreaded to see his amusement or his smugness over what had happened between them. Over what never should have happened between them.

When he’d kissed her, she should have slapped him—instead of kissing him back. But she’d been so shocked that she’d been beyond thought. At least beyond rational thought.

All she’d had in her head were those sick fantasies she had about him, about him kissing her just like he was.

So she’d kissed him back.

If only she had stopped at that.

Her face flushed from the heat of his gaze and from her embarrassment. Sure, she’d made a mistake. But she wasn’t going to let that—or him—affect her. Just as she used to fantasize that something would happen between them, she was going to fantasize now that it hadn’t.

She could only hope that he would do the same damn thing. But from the way she felt him looking at her, like he was touching her just as he had the night before, she knew that he wouldn’t.

Despite her efforts to resist, his gaze drew hers. But when she glanced at him, he glanced down into his open briefcase. As she followed his gaze with hers, a gasp of shock slipped through her lips. Now she knew why she hadn’t been able to find what she’d been looking for in her office.

She hadn’t lost it there.

Stone had taken it.

A nude lace bra peeked out from beneath a manila folder in his briefcase.

“Son of a bitch,” she whispered.

That was what he was. He’d used her—just as she’d worried he was using her. He’d gotten her off last night in the hopes of getting off his client.

Did he think she would forget all about the evidence that destroyed Byron Mueller’s alibi?

He thought wrong. His little seduction had not changed her mind about him at all. In fact, it had proved what she’d already thought about him: Stone Michaelsen was a bad man.

But he didn’t scare her.

Hillary was going to take him down and take him down hard—just like he’d taken her the night before.