Читать книгу Sapphire Attraction - Zuri Day - Страница 13
ОглавлениеQuinn sat and seethed. Was she really sitting in a lawyer’s office over a car accident? Seriously?
“Where is he?” She stared at the door as if it had an answer.
“I’m sure he’ll be here shortly, Kristin Quinn. Try and stay calm.”
On cue, the door opened. A harried-looking lawyer in a wrinkled suit charged into the room, carrying a bulging briefcase in one hand and a coffee mug in the other.
“Hello, ladies. Sorry to have kept you waiting. A case ran late.” He set the briefcase and travel mug on the desk, then extended his hand to Quinn. “I’m Joey Wang, the defense attorney who’ll be handling this case.”
Quinn’s handshake was as lackluster as her desire to be here.
He shook Maggie’s hand as well. As he walked behind his desk she said, “We hope you were able to do what the other attorney couldn’t.”
“I’m afraid that’s not why I called you here. The victim is adamant. He wants this matter to be handled in court.”
“I can’t stand that man! He’s such a jerk!” A hearty stiletto-heeled foot stomp was the exclamation point to her anger.
“Quinn, please.” Maggie reached over and patted Quinn’s hand. “Take a breath.”
Quinn did as instructed even as she gave the attorney an icy stare.
Maggie looked at the attorney. His bewildered face matched her own.
“I understand you being upset, Ms. Taylor. These types of cases are often settled out of court. But I assure you that this case will be handled with the utmost care, and in a way that makes this unfortunate situation as easy as possible. Which is why I brought you here.” He looked at Quinn. “It’s to recommend that you change your plea.”
“To guilty? No way.”
“Given the preponderance of evidence, which includes witness statements, a guilty plea can possibly assist in resolving this matter quickly.”
“You’re asking me to plead guilty even though the accident wasn’t my fault,” Quinn insisted.
“What’s the difference?” Maggie asked.
“Guilty means that one admits responsibility, that they are at fault. When this happens, the sentence—or in this case whatever reprimand the judge would impose, since jail is unlikely—would be lighter than what a jury typically hands down. ‘No contest’ means that the defendant agrees to the facts presented but not to their guilt in what happened as a result.”
Quinn’s ears perked up. “Meaning I wouldn’t be liable for his car damage?”
“No, that is not what I mean. The eyewitness testimony and police investigation both point to you being at fault. His repairs will be your responsibility no matter how you plead. Then there is the matter of your driving history and the number of speeding tickets you’ve received in the past five years.”
Quinn’s shoulders slumped. There was no arguing with that truth.
“This will be classified as a misdemeanor. You’ll likely get off with a fine, some type of community service and a suspended license for no more than ninety days. If you slow down and go the next few years without additional tickets, you could approach the judge to have the charge expunged from your record.”
“Unacceptable,” Quinn said with her back ramrod straight. “Grandmother, can we talk about this privately, please?”
“What’s there to talk about, Quinn? You did hit the young man’s car.”
“Isn’t that what insurance is for?”
“I’m afraid these expenses are going to go beyond whatever policy you have,” Joey replied. “When fully restored and in pristine condition, cars like the one you hit sell for half a million bucks.”
Quinn huffed in disbelief. “That’s ridiculous.”
Maggie raised a hand to her chest. “Oh, good Lord.”
“The ’61 Ferrari is a prized classic. Few were made and most of those are in various states of disrepair. That makes the one you wrecked even more valuable, and leads to the final point.”
“There’s more?” Quinn asked.
Joey answered while opening his briefcase and pulling out a manila envelope. “The owner of the Ferrari has decided not to wait until after the trial to take additional action. He has filed suit against you, Quinn, to ensure the repairs will be handled.”
Quinn eyed her grandmother. “Sued me! Can you believe it? Should I still not be upset?”
Instead of answering the question, Maggie addressed the attorney. “Mister, um...”
“Wang, ma’am. But please, call me Joey.”
“Joey, thank you so much for all you’ve done. I’ll discuss this with my granddaughter and get back with you shortly.”
“As soon as possible, please. The victim and his attorney want this matter resolved in all due haste.”
They’d not taken two steps outside before Quinn started in. “Grandmother, please talk to Dad again. One phone call and this would go away! I don’t know why he’s being so stubborn!”
“One could say the same for you,” Maggie answered, with kind eyes.
“Me? Okay, maybe you’re right. Even though there was a very good reason for me to swerve, I did in fact hit the other car. So I’ll pay the fine and fix his stupid car. But community service? There’s no way. And with Trent coming to town next week, a suspended license is totally out of the question.”
Trent Corrigan was Quinn’s plus one when she needed one, a mood lifter with a great gift of gab. She called him Trench Coat. He called her Q-Tip. They’d been best friends since high school.
“I was talking about the strained relationship between you and your father, the animosity that’s been present since he remarried. That happened twelve years ago, honey, when you were thirteen. How long are you going to hold on to the anger of your youth?”
“I don’t see him making a move to repair things, either.”
They reached the car and got inside. Maggie turned toward Quinn, grasped her hands and squeezed softly. “Quinn, my dear. I love you so very much. The attitude you’re exhibiting is partly my fault. I shouldn’t have spoiled you, but those beautiful hazel-brown eyes would get me every time.
“Your father isn’t perfect. But there’s one thing I know for sure, and it’s that he loves you. Are there other ways he can show it besides the ones he’s tried? Certainly. But like you, honey, he’s doing the best he can.”
“Grandmother—”
“No, no need for a counterargument. You have to handle life on your own terms. As for spoiling you, I don’t regret a single one of the all too few days we shared when you were younger.” Maggie ran a hand along Quinn’s cheek. “You missed so much. Your mother gone and your dad always so busy with work.”
“Work and Viviana. Don’t leave her out.”
“And his wife, yes. I tried to fill the void in ways that may not have served you. There were too few rules and almost no consequences. All things considered, what the young man is asking is not beyond the pale.”
Quinn started the car and headed home, careful to observe the speed limit along the way.
“Is that why Dad is refusing to help me? To teach me another lesson?”
“I can’t answer that, dear. But regarding the pretrial conference, I agree with Joey. This matter will be settled through the court. There’s no getting out of that. Changing your plea seems the best thing to do.”
Quinn didn’t voice the reaction she felt. We’ll see.
They arrived home, but Quinn’s plans weren’t to stay long. She went upstairs and returned with her jacket.
“Going out again?”
“For a bit. While I still have a license.”
“Do be careful, darling.”
Quinn jumped into the rental Corvette she’d been given while her own was being repaired. She would have liked nothing more than to rev the V-6 engine and use major horsepower to take the car from zero to sixty in a little under four seconds flat. She resisted the temptation. Took her time to gain a cool head. Talking Ike Drake into standing down on his notion of justice would take all the charm and calm persuasion she possessed.
Halfway to Drake Realty, her cell phone rang. She tapped the phone icon on the steering wheel to answer the call from her lone PC friend, whom she’d met the first time on a visit at the age of twelve. “Hey, Peyton.”
“What are you doing?”
“Channeling the negotiator.”
“Huh?”
“Will explain later.”
“You’d better. Those words sound mysterious.”
“I’m handling part two of the mystery now, so when we meet I can share the whole story. Busy later?”
“Not really. Just text me where and I’ll head over.”
“Perfect.”
Quinn walked into Drake Realty with authority and confidence, having reminded herself that when it came to arguments, she won most of them.
“Good afternoon,” she said pleasantly to the receptionist seated in the lobby area. “I’m here to see Ike Drake.”
“Senior or Junior?”
“Junior,” Quinn answered, sure the virile man she encountered couldn’t have a grown son.
“Do you have an appointment?”
“No.” The receptionist reached for the phone. “But I’d rather you not announce me. My visit won’t take long.”
“I’m sorry, but all visitors must be announced and cleared before they’re allowed past this lobby. One moment.”
“Then consider me a friend, or family member, I really don’t care. Just point me in the direction of Ike Drake’s office, now.”
“Ma’am, I’m so sorry, but...”
Quinn’s anger, which had begun to cool on the drive over, started simmering once again. If announced, she doubted Ike would agree to see her. Anyone who had the nerve to follow up a gift of flowers with a lawsuit was definitely not the kind of man who’d want to face her head-on. “Never mind. It’s obvious your job is to protect scoundrels. Some people will do anything for a paycheck. I’ll catch him later.”
Just as Quinn turned to go, one of two doors on either side of the receptionist’s desk opened. Ike.
Their eyes met. The room temperature seemed to rise by several degrees. Quinn was surprised to feel her heartbeat increase. Anger had never felt quite like this.
The receptionist glanced between the two, not sure of what was happening or, given the look that was being exchanged, what might occur. “Mr. Drake, would you like me to—”
“No,” he replied, with a hand out to silence the receptionist. He walked over and stood in front of Quinn. “I’m fine. Ms. Taylor, I assume you’re here to see me.”
Quinn walked forward until their faces were mere inches apart, her voice a whisper beneath her smile. “You know damned well why I’m here.” She fixed him with a look that melted most men.
Ike was ice. He gave a curt nod. “Let’s talk in my office.” Then to the receptionist, “Hold my calls.”
He reached the door and held it open for Quinn to enter. She did so, and even though highly frustrated admired the revered mahogany walls and marble-trimmed halls of the prestigious firm. Aware of the curious stares from the employees who passed them, she kept her eyes firmly on Ike’s back. Had they been daggers, he would have been punctured from back to front.
He’d barely looked at her. Acted like she was invisible. Quinn wasn’t used to being dismissed.
With a discipline honed through years of ballet training and mastering the violin, she kept her ire in check until he’d closed his office door. Then she threw charm school right out the window and exploded like a clobbered piñata at a child’s birthday party.
“How dare you sue me over a traffic accident.”
“If what took place was a mere traffic incident, you wouldn’t be here.”
“Look, we don’t have to do this. I’ll fix your car, no problem. If you’re worried that I won’t, draw up a contract or something for me to sign. We can’t take this to trial. They’ll suspend my license. I have too much to do. Let’s just drop it. Okay?”
Ike walked behind his desk, sat and began placing items into a briefcase. “It’s not up to me. If it was, I’d probably give you a higher fine and harsher sentence than the judge will apply.”
“You know what? You’re disgusting.”
Ike sat back. “I’m disgusting?”
“Absolutely. That you would have the nerve to take me to court for an accident, then sue me on top of it, makes you not only disgusting but a first-class jerk.”
* * *
Ike was too incredulous to be angry and too stunned to take offense, not only at Ms. Taylor’s ability to stand in his office as though she was a victim but that she could do so and look absolutely magnificent.
Time to get out of here. Being alone with this woman behind closed doors was a bad idea. He stood and walked over to take his suit coat off the rack.
“For the record,” he began, putting it on, “I couldn’t care less what you think of me, but you will respect this business. You had no right coming here to discuss a personal matter, and the boorish manner in which you spoke with the receptionist was out of line. You may have experienced success with it other places, but that bratty behavior doesn’t work here.” He picked up his briefcase, keys and sunglasses. After a quick look around the office, he headed toward the door. “I suggest any rebuttal you have be shared with your attorney to present at pretrial. Because this conversation is over. I’ll walk you out.”
Quinn straightened to her full five feet seven inches, plus four-inch heels, and looked Ike directly in the eye. “Bratty, huh? Maybe I am. But you’re the one who spent half a million bucks on a relic and threw a weeklong tantrum over a car that’s insured, over repairs that will cost you nothing. There are not many people driving cars with a price tag that equals the GNP of third-world nations. I might be spoiled.” She placed a finger on his chest. “But one could say the same about you.”
Ike took a step back. Not because he was in any way intimidated. Her crystal-covered bravado reminded him of London, his kid sister, who was also headstrong even when wrong. But her temper didn’t move him, either.
The reason he’d retreated from the news item in front of him, one he was sure had caused more than one controversial headline, was because of a breaking story he hadn’t expected—a magnetic attraction combined with a visceral connection he did not understand. It was a feeling that puzzled him, and if he were honest, frightened him, too. Ike Drake Jr. moved through life with deliberate, thoughtful and strategic precision. He was a grown man, not a teenage boy given to uncontrollable urges. So why did he want nothing more than to wrap his arms around this bundle of fiery femininity and shut her mouth by covering it with his own? Annihilate her anger with his tongue? He felt an inexplicable desire in every inch of his six-foot-plus frame. Several inches in a certain area more than others.
He took a deep breath and released it slowly. His gaze unwavering. His expression unreadable. His eyes slid to her succulent lips. The bottom one trembled. He wasn’t the only one affected. She wasn’t the only one who mattered. This was a fact she needed to know.
He took a step toward her, so close that their noses almost touched. This time it was Quinn who retreated. He took another step.
“What are you doing?” she asked, the merest hint of uncertainty in her eyes.
Ike said nothing. His expression remained somber, his body taut, exuding power and raw masculinity. He watched as in mere seconds a myriad of emotions flared in her eyes. Suddenly she whirled around, heading for the door. A firm grasp on her arm stayed her progress. It wasn’t a move Ike had intended. It just happened. As if his arm didn’t want her out of its reach. Later, this would cause Ike concern. Every decision he made was measured and calculated, every move controlled. Yet five minutes alone with this woman had tested his restraint. Had made him react in the heat of the moment. Ike was hot not only under the collar, but in places farther down.
“Let go of my arm!”
“Not until I make myself clear. You are never again to come into this company unannounced and demand anything. If you have something to discuss, schedule an appointment. Unless it is regarding the accident. In that case, don’t bother. That matter will be settled in court. Do you understand?”
He felt her body shaking. Judging from the hardened nipples now pressed against her shirt, this wasn’t a reaction to what he’d said. It was because of a synergy—stimulating, powerful, undeniable—existing between them. He felt it, too. She leaned forward, her lips so close he felt her breath. His groin stirred. Her mouth opened.
“Let. Me. Go.”
Their eyes locked. The room faded away. Time stopped, too. She blinked. He followed the movement of her long lashes. The urge to know if her lips tasted as sweet as they looked was overwhelming. Time to make a move.
Two quick taps on the door and it swung open. “Hey, Ike...whoa!” The tableau before him stopped Terrell in his tracks. “Sorry, brother. I didn’t know—”
“Your timing is perfect,” Ike interrupted, wanting to hug his brother and throttle him, too. The sound of the door opening had snapped Ike out of the Quinn-induced haze that had him about to act totally out of character. Regaining his composure, he walked behind his desk and began shuffling papers. “Ms. Taylor was just on her way out.”
Terrell turned to her with hand outstretched. “Hello, Ms. Taylor. I’m Terrell Drake.”
“I’m out of here.” She brushed past him and out of Ike’s office.
Terrell’s expression was one of amusement as he watched her leave. Still smiling, he turned back to his brother.
“Don’t.” Ike reached for his charging cell phone that he’d almost forgotten.
“What, bro?” Terrell innocently replied. “I didn’t even say anything.”
Ike pocketed the phone, placed the charger in his briefcase and snapped it shut. “Let’s keep it that way. Unless it’s about the deal.”
No doubt the upcoming meeting was important. The Drakes had handled their share of large purchases, but the office building strategically situated in San Francisco’s business district would be one of their biggest ones yet.
“That’s why I came by, to make sure there were no loose ends regarding the presentation.”
Ike gave him a look. “You know better than that.”
“I thought so. Until I walked in as you were about to get your groove on in the middle of the day.” Ike walked by him and toward the door. Terrell fell into step behind him. “Wait. Ms. Taylor as in Quinn Taylor, the girl who hit you?”
“Focus, Terrell. Your mind should be on numbers and tenant projections. Not her.”
“Oh, like yours was a minute ago?”
Ike ignored Terrell as they reached their father’s corner office. Ike Drake Sr. was just coming out of his private restroom, looking the part of a dynasty head in a navy blue suit, tailored to obscure his expanding stomach, stark white shirt and a red-white-and-blue tie. His salt-and-pepper hair was cut and lined, his face clean-shaven save for a thin mustache. At not quite six feet, it wasn’t his stature that made his presence so commanding, but the steely confidence that oozed from his pores. It’s what made him such a stellar negotiator and businessman, and why they were on their way to sealing one of their most lucrative deals yet.
“About time you two got here,” he barked gruffly.
“Sorry about that, Dad,” Ike Jr. offered. “Had to handle some unexpected business.”
“He was handling it, all right,” Terrell murmured, halted from commenting further by his brother’s warning stare.
“I understand, son,” Ike Sr. drawled as he reached for his personal items on the desk and walked toward them. “The meeting we’re heading to involves a negotiation for only a hundred million or so. No big deal.”
Ike Sr.’s offhand comment lightened the mood. The men chatted casually as a town car transported them to the private airstrip where they boarded a company plane for San Francisco. Once aboard, Ike Sr. and Terrell pulled out their computers. Ike stared out the window, his mind on Quinn and what happened at the office. She was a study in contrasts. Exasperating yet intriguing. Bothersome but beguiling. With a slight shake of his head, he forced himself back into the present. Earlier he’d told Terrell to focus. Right now he needed to follow that same advice.
