Blindsided (26 page)

Chapter 13

Brandon Caldwell slammed his office door. No one in this fucking firm could do anything right. Except him, obviously. He had just had to explain for the fifth time that his lunch breaks were sacred, especially when he was lunching with Trina. Trina was a redheaded idiot who could do the most amazing things on a lunch break, either under a table cloth or in a cab. It was all the same to him, really. He didn’t care where she decided to debase herself.

The problem was that midway through a foot job under the table at La Fin, his goddamn secretary had called to tell him that one of his clients, a rich Beacon Hill biddy, had died. Like he cared. Norma, the aforementioned secretary, had informed him that it was firm policy for him to drop everything and immediately rush to the side of the aggrieved family on such an occasion. Fuck. Which he would have to do, of course, but it could have waited another ten minutes. Hell, another five would have worked, given Trina’s abilities.

So now, because Norma didn’t have the sense god gave a stick, he would be meeting with the Carter family with a huge case of blue balls. He would have to try to appear sympathetic and even slightly mournful himself, when all he would really want to do is go find Trina, turn her around and spend a minute or two getting his rocks off. If this day could get any worse, he couldn’t imagine how.

Stifling his frustration, Brandon stuck his head out his office door, demanded the Carter file from Norma, then slammed back over to his desk. He would have to refresh his memory on Carter and her will before he went to visit the family. He needed some details to make it seem like he gave a shit. Not that any of them would. These families were all the same. When one of them died, the rest would stand around in black and dab at dry eyes with linen handkerchiefs. Then he’d read the will and all hell would break loose as the favorite son was passed over for a dog.

Brandon was exceptionally good at dealing with these sorts of situations, having been through them in his own family life in the past. That was how, at 29, he was one of the most important young lawyers in the firm. He knew all the rules to the game and played it exceedingly well. Some of his more bleeding heart professors at Harvard Law had called him cold hearted and unethical, but fuck them. He knew what he wanted and how to get there. Always had.

Norma arrived with the file and had the nerve to look as cool and confident as if she hadn’t just fucked up and pissed off her boss. Damn old woman. Norma was probably closing in on sixty and not the nicest thing to look at. His previous secretary had been much easier on the eyes, a young ambitious thing of 23 with a great ass and a pair of tits that rivaled Trina’s.

But after the unfortunate harassment issue, the firm had hired Norma, who no man in their right mind would think about groping. Luckily, the senior partners were older gentlemen who weren’t short sighted enough to let the allegations of one expendable secretary endanger the career of one of their brightest stars and biggest billers. That didn’t mean he wasn’t on probation, which pissed him off every damn day.

After fifteen minutes with the Carter file, Brandon felt confident he could make a passable impression on the family. He threw his suit coat back on after inspecting it for lint, then gave his shoes a quick buff with a cloth in his drawer. Appearances were everything with these fucks and he wouldn’t have time to stop and have his shoes shined on the way. He was lucky if he was going to get there before the bucktoothed, drug addicted grandkids started fighting over the silver.

He stepped out of his office and down the hall to the lobby elevator. The receptionist motioned him over as he crossed the room and he rolled his eyes at her, but approached her desk anyway.

“What? I’m busy. I have better things to do than file my nails all day,” he snapped at her.

“Mr. Caldwell, those people over there are here to see you. They said it was important. The guy is Nate Stone, the guy from Blindside,” the girl said breathlessly.

“Ah. Well, I have better things to do with my time. They can make an appointment like everyone else,” he said as he turned from the desk.

On his way to the elevator, Brandon spared a glance for the couple sitting in the waiting area. The man grabbed his attention first. Covered in tattoos, he was a little hard to miss. Nice look, buddy, Brandon thought. The man’s long legs were stretched out in front of him and Brandon bristled. Big men pissed him off. They thought they were far superior to men of average build. He shook his head and looked away, but his gaze caught on the woman sitting next to Mr. Big Shot.

An uncomfortable knot in his stomach formed as recognition slowly washed over him. Brandon swallowed hard and let out a breath. He knew that girl, but what was she doing here? This could not be good. Quickening his step, Brandon turned his head away from them, but not before he saw the woman nudge the Neanderthal and gesture in Brandon’s direction. Shit. The beast stood up and easily closed the gap between them with his long legs.

“We need to talk,” the guy said as his large hand wrapped around Brandon’s upper arm. It looked like his day had just gotten worse.

###

The calm Chelsea had felt all day had nearly evaporated when Brandon had entered the lobby. He hadn’t changed much in eight years. A little older, his expression more grim. His eyes and mouth were lined, and they weren’t laugh lines. His posture was still ramrod straight, his movements stiff and precise. As she watched him walk towards the elevator, her heart had nearly stopped as coldness climbed through her body. The face that woke her in the middle of the night was still ugly.

Caught up in her physical reaction, Brandon had almost gotten to the elevator by the time she was able to nudge Nate. Nate had quickly intercepted the smaller man and stopped him from leaving. For the first time, she noticed a shimmer of fear on Brandon’s face when he glanced in her direction.

Could it be that he recognized her, might even know what she was doing here? Did Brandon even know what he had done was wrong, or if he was so bereft of morals that he thought it was okay. The look of fear told her that he at least knew that what he had done was punishable by law, even if he didn’t feel any real remorse.

Nate so towered over Brandon that Chelsea would have laughed at the sight if anxiety hadn’t invaded every fiber of her being. Brandon was short, had short man syndrome if she remembered correctly. He had to look up to look into Nate’s face, and he did so with a sneer.

Right, Chelsea thought, time to get this over with. She’d wasted enough of her time on this bastard. Chelsea rose and walked to the two men.

“Get your hands off me,” Brandon said as she approached.

Nate disregarded the request and Brandon paled. He did manage to turn his look of fear into a look of disgust, but not quickly enough. Ha. Brandon was absolutely terrified. It was about time.

###

Nate felt like a bouncer. Except bouncers weren’t usually thrumming with barely restrained anger and they didn’t keep people from leaving. Brandon had been quick to lead Nate and Chelsea back to his private office and Nate was damn well going to make sure the guy didn’t leave until Chelsea was ready to let him go. If she wanted to beat the crap out of the guy, he’d let her. Hell, he’d hold Brandon down for her. He was just that kind of romantic guy.

The office looked like a movie set of a lawyer’s office, full of dark wood and overstuffed leather. It was pretentious and stuffy as hell. Nate hated it and he hated the man it belonged to. Brandon was the sort of mean spirited little twerp that had always wound him up. He was all entitlement and no morals. Just watching the guy twitch was fun. As soon as he had seen Chelsea, he had gotten squirmy, eyes darting every which way. Caged rat.

Whenever Brandon glanced towards the door and a possible exit, Nate clenched his fists or scowled at him and the other man quickly looked away. Melodramatic, but so effective. It never ceased to amuse Nate how people like Brandon became squeamish when faced with people like him. The longer Chelsea waited, the more Brandon squirmed.

Nate was willing to wait as long as it took. He needed to let this play out the way Chelsea needed it to. Ever since he’d woken up this morning, a seed of fear had been growing in his gut. If this didn’t work, he was out of ideas, and apparently, so was she. This had to rid her of her compulsive need to be always on the move. End of story.

Chelsea was walking slowly around the spacious office, casually trailing her fingers over books and photos of Brandon engaged in various wealthy pursuits; yachting, tennis, polo. Nate didn’t know if she was waiting intentionally to make Brandon as uncomfortable as possible, or if she was trying to organize her thoughts. Either way, the result was spectacular. Beads of sweat were appearing on Caldwell’s forehead and he kept fiddling with his tie in a nervous gesture. His fear was barely concealing his rage at having been confronted with something he obviously thought was far in the past.

Which, Nate knew with sick certainty, was the only reason this guy had a problem with what had happened. Chances were, Chelsea wasn’t the only girl he’d hit or tried to rape. Nate hoped to hell he’d never been successful in that. The fucker felt no compunction about his actions, he was just worried about getting caught. Nate had lived on the streets long enough to meet all kinds of scum, but Brandon was an especially terrifying breed. He had the money to cover up any number of misdeeds and no conscience.

“I haven’t decided whether or not I’m going to press charges,” Chelsea said abruptly as she turned towards Brandon.

She was standing at the window, the light behind her creating a rapturous halo effect with the small hairs that had escaped her ponytail. Nate was amazed and relieved that she seemed so calm. This couldn’t be easy for her, but she was handling it with grace. He loved her, he respected her, he’d kill for her. That about summed it up.

“Press charges for what?” Brandon asked with a show of equal parts ignorance and bravado. Prick.

“You know damn well what,” Chelsea said, both her tone and her features sharpening. “You damaged me. What you did was horribly wrong. Horribly. I’m sorry I didn’t just drag you to the police station the first time you laid your hands on me. Don’t you dare pretend not to know what you did, you lying asshole.”

Chelsea took a few steps towards him and Nate could feel her anger radiating off her. Apparently, Brandon could too. He stumbled back a few paces, shrinking into himself until he was even smaller.

“Maybe I will press charges. You’re still a slimy little man. There’s no way I was the last person you beat up on, and I’m guessing there’s some other poor girl out there who didn’t get a chance to kick you in your tiny little nuts.”

Chelsea was so close to Brandon now that he was leaning back to try to avoid being eye to eye with her. Chelsea wasn’t yelling, but her anger was evident in every word.

Brandon dug deep into his inner sliminess and pulled himself back up and started inching towards Chelsea. Nate watched the prick closely. He didn’t think the guy was stupid enough to physically attack Chelsea with him in the room, but you could never be too sure about guys like that.

“Oh please. You can’t go to court on something like that. I’m a lawyer, Chelsea, these things don’t go to trial. They get dismissed. There’s no way a judge is going to let an eight year old alleged crime go to a trial. It’s a waste of time.”

“No, you’re probably right,” Chelsea said, “Maybe I won’t bring it to the police. Smith, Chandler and what’s the other guy’s name? Oh, right Bernard, should be interested, though. How long do you think you’ll keep your job if you’re being accused of assault and attempted rape, Brandon? You’d be a huge liability. They’ll jettison you faster than you can say hearsay.”

At that Brandon turned so pale that Nate worried he was going to have to catch the guy when he fell on him. Or maybe he’d just let him crash to the ground. He would certainly deserve it.

“What do you want from me?” Brandon asked finally.

All the fight gone left him. His shoulders slumped, his back rounding. His voice was timid and tired. Chelsea, on the other hand, seemed to grow taller, bigger, as if she were feeding off of Brandon’s energy.

“I want a written apology. I want to know you know what it is you did. I want you to donate money to a victim’s assistance program. And I want you to sign up to take a rape and violence prevention course. I want you to learn to respect women, Brandon. Because you’re right, no court would sentence you after all these years and no physical evidence. But I know that you haven’t changed since then, and I don’t want other women to be hurt by you. I want you to include that you will do these things in your apology letter. That’s what I want from you, or I tell the partners about you.”

“That’s fucking blackmail,” Brandon said angrily.

Apparently, he still had some fight left in him. Nate immediately tensed up again. He had relaxed a little when the guy had backed down, but now he put himself back on full alert.

“I can’t believe you’re getting so worked up about some little thing that happened eight fucking years ago. An apology letter? You know what? You can forget it.”

No, it wasn’t ending this way, Nate thought. Chelsea had to get what she needed from this guy. The alternative sucked. Whatever else happened, Chelsea needed closure from this so she could stop killing herself.

Brandon turned to go, forgetting that Nate stood in his path. Just looking at the little puke was making his fingers itch to hit him, but Nate refrained from taking his own action against the guy. The most he was going to do was enforce what Chelsea wanted. It wasn’t his fight to fight, but it sure as hell was his to support.

“Get out of my way, man. Give me a break. You know you’re just here so you could get a little pussy. You understand. I’d been buying her dinner and sucking up to that mother of hers for a fucking month and she wouldn’t put out. Sometimes you just have to be a little forceful, you know? It’s not like you haven’t done the same thing. A guy like you,” Brandon said.