In Safe Keeping
Authors: Lee Christine
In Safe Keeping
Lee Christine
Lee Christine
From Lee Christine, the critically acclaimed author of
In Safe Hands
, comes a tense, taut, urban romantic suspense about two lawyers, a high-profile divorce case and an attraction that even opposing counsels can’t shut down.
It was only supposed to be a casual affair, a stress-relieving, night-time romp, a secret just between the two of them. But when divorce lawyer Laila Richards ends up on the opposite side of the bench to high powered lawyer Evan Barclay in a very public, very high-profile divorce, she knows their fling will jeopardise the case of her career, and breaks off the relationship.
Stunned by Laila’s decision, Evan vows to make the beautiful lawyer deal with him, both in and out of the courtroom. But when suspicious activity begins to emerge, and Laila’s safety is threatened, Evan fears his client — his best friend, the son of the only family Evan has ever known — may be involved.
Bound by client confidentiality and battling a massive conflict of interest, Laila and Evan fight to win, fight for justice, and fight for a chance at a relationship that’s anything but casual.
As a teenager, Lee had dreams of becoming a singer/songwriter, so her first stories were in songs. When she realized she was never going to write a number-one hit, she turned her attention to writing novels. But working and raising a family took up a great deal of her time. In 2009, she decided to treat her writing as a day job and in 2012
In Safe Hands
won the Romance Writers of America Silicon Valley Gotcha Contest, the Romance Writers of America Smoky Mountains Laurie Award and the Romance Writers of America East Texas Southern Heat Contest for Romantic Suspense. It also picked up a commended in the Romance Writers of New Zealand Clendon Award as well as five top-five placings in other contests in Australia and America. In 2012
In Safe Hands
was chosen as a launch title by Escape Publishing.
Lee’s second novel,
In Safe Arms
, was released on January 1, 2014, also with Escape Publishing. A companion novel to
In Safe Hands
, it can also be read as a standalone. Lee’s novels are sexy, sophisticated, fast-paced and very contemporary. ‘I do my best to make sure my story lines are relevant to the modern day, something that could happen to any one of us.’
Lee lives on Australia's eastern seaboard, loves music with a passion, and plays the alto saxophone for fun.
Many thanks to Kate Cuthbert and the supportive and efficient team at Escape Publishing.
Huge thanks to my critique partner, Linda Hills, for keeping me on the straight and narrow. Her belief that I can do this again is unwavering.
And finally, thanks to my amazing family. Danielle and Adam, you inspire me! And to my wonderful husband, Damian, who never complains about picking up take-away or having soup for dinner when things get a bit full on.
To my brother, Ray, with love.
For always being there.
Bestselling Titles by Escape Publishing…
5 p.m. Friday
Laila Richards had always known success came at a price, but she could never have imagined it would cost her Evan Barclay, the man she’d been sleeping with for the past six weeks, the man she’d shared the most unbelievable sex with, and not much else.
So it was with a heavy heart she waited in the steel-and-glass foyer of Poole Greenwood Lawyers. This was her only chance to speak with him before the weekend, and the man needed to hear what she had to say — tonight.
‘Ms Richards doesn’t have an appointment.’ The receptionist spoke into a microphone attached to her wireless headset and continued to sort mail. ‘She’s left emails and messages, but Mr Barclay hasn’t responded.’
There was a halt in the conversation, then the woman’s white-tipped nails clicked against the plastic as she flicked away the microphone and looked at Laila.
‘Mr Barclay’s been in lockdown negotiations with a client for the past three days. A junior solicitor on his team can see you.’
Laila scraped back a few blonde hairs that had worked free of the thick braid she always wore to work. ‘I’m afraid that’s unsatisfactory.’
The receptionist’s lips compressed, her patient expression changing to one of forbearance as she watched Laila take a business card and pen from her handbag.
Scribbling the word
Urgent
on the back of the card, Laila handed it to the receptionist.
‘I act for Scarlett Peyton. Mr Barclay acts for her husband.’
It was typical, the way a name opened doors. The mere mention of one of Australia’s wealthiest families had the receptionist repositioning the microphone and pressing a button on the telephone console.
‘Please take a seat.’
Laila breathed a little easier and sat down in one of the ergonomically designed waiting-room chairs. Representing Scarlett Peyton in divorce proceedings was a coup by anyone’s definition, and it meant big things for her small family law practice. Scarlett’s patronage turned those she favoured into overnight success stories. Fashion designers and hair stylists became instant celebrities. Women wanted to frequent the same beauty parlour, the same gym. Even the school Scarlett’s children attended had a waiting list of more than four hundred.
If Laila handled the case well, a recommendation by Scarlett Peyton would have wealthy women lining up for her to represent them. And that meant success for the firm — and, more importantly, much-needed funds for her foundation.
It was so unfortunate, so damn disappointing, that the case brought with it a massive conflict of interest — and with Evan Barclay of all people.
Laila tried shaking off the regret threatening to swamp her. At thirty-two, Evan Barclay was one of Sydney’s young dynamo lawyers, working hard, playing even harder, and very much the helmsman in their relationship.
Until now.
When it all had to end.
Laila looked up as the receptionist came towards her, handbag hooked over one arm, a large bundle of mail in her hands.
‘I’ve sent your card upstairs, Ms Richards. But I should warn you, Mr Barclay works obscene hours.’
That she knew. How many times had he knocked on her door at three in the morning after working late? They’d screw each other’s brains out for the next few hours and then, just as the sun appeared on the horizon, he’d unwrap himself from around her body, tell her to go back to sleep, and leave.
Laila flushed, the memory of those nights threatening her resolve. ‘I don’t mind waiting.’
‘Well.’ The woman pointed at a security guard stationed by the entrance. ‘The US consulate’s a tenant of this building. The guard’s here all night.’ She raised a doubtful eyebrow at Laila. ‘I hope you’re not.’
The other woman left, and Laila settled back in the chair, eyes shifting to the sophisticated logo displayed on the wall behind the desk. Formerly Grace and Poole, the firm had become Poole Greenwood Lawyers following Henry Grace’s very public downfall and arrest eighteen months earlier. Since then the firm’s partners, Simon Poole and Allegra Greenwood, had been rebuilding its reputation. Evan Barclay formed an integral part of that plan.
Laila drummed her fingers on the arm of the chair and thought back to when his appointment had featured in the
Law Review
. Headhunted from another firm, his brief was to clean up the mess left by Henry Grace, rebuild the commercial division, and recoup the two million dollar fine imposed by the Law Society.
Of course it was vital he bring with him one of Australia’s wealthiest men, his school friend Duncan Peyton, as a client. That had been the deal-breaker.
At the time of reading the article, Laila would never have dreamed her path would cross with Evan Barclay’s. But that had all changed at a Law Society dinner six weeks ago.
He was already seated by the time she arrived, but he stood, raising his red wine glass in a toast to her as someone or other introduced them. She couldn’t remember who. She was only aware of the blazing interest in his eyes as he put down the glass and reached across the table. A warm hand engulfed hers, his firm grip sparking every nerve ending in her body.
Over the next hour their eyes met again and again, until finally, in the midst of the after-dinner speech, his foot nudged hers beneath the table.
He mouthed the words
balls-achingly boring
.
A naughty boy.
She smothered a smile and reprimanded him with a nudge of her own.
His eyes burned brighter.
Time ticked by. Tension grew. People around her became an annoying distraction.
She was deaf to the speeches, blind to anyone else in the room bar them. She grew hotter and hotter under Evan Barclay’s continued scrutiny. Her panties grew damp. She couldn’t remember being so physically attracted to a man, so turned on, just in his presence.
And then, when she thought she couldn’t stand it, that she’d have to leave, he mouthed the words. ‘Want to get out of here?’
She’d gone, without the slightest hesitation.
He’d walked straight out to the reservations desk and booked a room on the spot. They didn’t even make it out of the hotel.
It was a night to remember, and the first tine she’d slept with a man since the death of her husband four years earlier.
Laila came back to the present as the elevator doors sighed open, and then the man himself stepped out. Well over six foot three with stone-cut, handsome features, Evan Barclay wore a tailored grey suit that was a perfect match for the serious eyes sweeping the foyer.
Laila stood, willpower threatening to crumble at the sight of him. Okay, so he was screwing her, but that didn’t mean they knew each other well. Hands clammy, she watched him come towards her. They were indulging in a convenient affair that was going nowhere, and now they had a professional conflict of interest. There was no possible way she could continue this.
What about the sex?
‘Laila.’ He stopped in front of her and placed a warm hand on her elbow, a concerned frown marring his beautiful, if slightly tired, face. ‘I came right away when I heard you were here. Is everything alright?’
She nodded, and his forehead smoothed. The strange thing was, he seemed pleased to see her, not in the least annoyed that she’d interrupted him.
‘Sorry to bust in.’ Even in the public foyer of a high-rise building she felt the searing imprint of his hand, the jab of attraction that remained as strong as the night they met. ‘I did email.’
‘Don’t apologise. We’ve been working around the clock here, that’s why I haven’t been over.’
It was Laila’s turn to frown. Is that what he thought? Seriously? That she was here because he hadn’t shown up for a few nights?