Revenge: A Bad Boy Romance (46 page)

I introduced myself to the receptionist, who then led us down the hall to Mrs. Andrews room for our meeting. Foster had insisted that I take the lead with the client, and this time he wasn’t joking.  

After Jacob, I didn’t think Mrs. Andrews would prove all that intimidating. The important thing was not to give away how little I knew about issues surrounding elder law and wills and trusts.  

“Remember,” Foster said before we entered the room, “you need to get the client’s confidence. Don’t worry about giving them the answers right now. We can always do the research back at the office, or call in the expertise of another lawyer. God only knows we have enough of them at the firm.”  

“In other words, we just need to not sound stupid?”  

“Exactly.”  

“In that case, let me do the talking.” I smiled and walked inside before Foster could respond, leaving him standing there looking speechless. That didn’t happen often. Would it have been completely inappropriate to take out my phone and snap a picture?  

“Good morning, Mrs. Andrews,” I said loudly. “My name is April. And this is Foster. We’re your lawyers.”  

“Bloody hell, love,” Mrs. Andrews responded in an English accent. “I’m old, not deaf.”  

Foster snickered behind me, while my face became a faint shade of pink.

“Sorry,” I responded more quietly.
Way to go, April. What do they say about first impressions?
I’d even introduced myself as a lawyer before having graduated law school and passed the bar exam, so I’d offended the client and breached ethics rules in the space of ten seconds.

“That’s alright. Take a seat, you two.” Mrs. Andrews motioned to two old chairs against the wall, while she perched on the side of the bed. “I actually am a bit deaf, truth be told, but I have my hearing aid in so I can hear you loud and clear.”

Foster had mentioned starting the meeting off with small talk, but I had no idea what to say to someone like Mrs. Andrews. What could I ask her?

“Do you have any exciting plans for today, Mrs. Andrews?” I asked, trying to effect a casual tone of voice, but instead coming off stuffy and formal.

“No, dear, not really. Just trying to not die.”

Foster laughed, but I didn’t turn to look at him. No doubt he was loving watching me mess this up.

Screw the small talk.
“How can we help you today, Mrs. Andrews?”  

“For starters, love, you can call me Doris. I can’t be doing with any of that ‘Mrs. Andrews’ crap.”

“Okay, Doris.”  

“I’d like your help preparing a will. As you might have noticed, I’m on my last legs and I want to make sure my money gets to my son. I might not look rich, but I have a few quid tucked away, and some shares that might be worth something now.”

A will. That should be easy enough. You could buy do-it-yourself wills online, so a big law firm like Arrington & Hedges was bound to have some templates on their servers.

“No problem at all, Doris,” I said confidently, opening up my pad of paper to a clean sheet. “We’ll just need to get some basic information from you.”  

Doris gave me her full name, date of birth, and address, which I made sure to write down slowly to give myself time to think. What else did I need to know? Details about the son, obviously, and other living relatives. That should be about it.

“What about your son, Doris? Can you give me his information?”  

“I can give you his date of birth, but not his name or current address.”

“You can’t give me his name?”  

“No. This is the tricky bit, I’m afraid. You see, I had him adopted immediately after he was born. I’ve never met him. I never had any children after him, so he’s my only offspring. Assuming he’s still alive anyway.”

“A will has to be very specific,” I said, reciting about the only thing I did know about the law around wills. “If you’re too vague then a court will hold the declaration invalid and the money will pass to your nearest relative through the intestacy laws.”

“Someone read a book last night as well,” Foster whispered in my ear.  

“My closest relative is my sister,” Doris said. “But I do not want her getting her hands on my money. That bitch has been nothing but a thorn in my side for the last seventy years.”  

I wrote “sister = bitch” on my pad, and then turned to look at Foster to see if he wanted to offer any assistance. He just smiled at, as he sat there with one ankle resting on his knee as if he didn’t have a care in the world.  

“What about the father?” I asked. “Is he still… with us? Perhaps that could help track down your son.”  

“The father?” Doris repeated softly. She looked around the room, but wouldn’t look me in the eyes. “Yes, the father. Well, uh...”  

Foster laughed, completely insensitive to the situation as usual, but he leaned forward and finally looked ready to help me out.

“Doris, you dirty girl,” he joked. “You don’t have a clue who the father is do you?”

“Foster,” I yelled, turning to glare at him and slapping him hard on the arm. “You can’t talk like that to a client.”  

“And you aren’t supposed to slap your boss,” he replied.  

“It’s okay, dear,” Doris said, grinning like a schoolgirl with a crush. “He’s right. I don’t have a clue. Couldn’t even narrow it down to single figures to be honest.”

I stared at her wide-eyed in shock. She looked like such a sweet old lady. I couldn’t think of her as a crazy young woman, partying the night away with loads of different men.  

“It was the sixties, dear,” Doris continued. “Crazy times. Drink, drugs, and dick, that was how I spent my evenings. Don’t tell me you don’t like to have the odd wild night every now and again?”  

“I couldn’t agree more, Doris,” Foster said. “Unfortunately, young April here can be a little uptight sometimes. She does enjoy the odd wild night though, I can vouch for that.”

“Oh my God,” I mumbled, biting my pen and looking down at my pad of paper hoping it would offer some resolution to this conversation.

“I bet you can,” Doris replied. “I’d have been all over you in my day. I was quite the looker, you know.”

“I believe you,” Foster agreed. “And that English accent? I bet you were beating them off with a stick.”

“If I’d stuck to just beating them off, then I wouldn’t be in this predicament,” Doris replied.

I nearly choked on my pen. “Maybe we should get back to the topic at hand.”  

“Alright, love, but take a bit of advice from me. Don’t be afraid to live a little. For example, if you have a sexy boss who could show you a good time perhaps you could let him.”

“Did you pay her to say that?” I asked Foster.

He held his hands up and shook his head. “The lady speaks the truth, that’s all.”

I tried to remain serious, but when Doris winked at me, I couldn’t help but break into a smile.  

We did our best to get all the information we needed from Doris, including details on the adoption center used, but there was a long road ahead of us if we were going to track down Doris’ son. I didn’t even know if it was possible.  

“You enjoyed that, didn’t you?” I asked Foster as we got back in the car.  

“I can’t help it if I’m a likable guy,” he responded. “Women of all ages love me. You should be able to understand that.”  

“Not really,” I lied. “How did you have the balls to speak to her like that in the first place?”

“You just need to learn how to judge the client, that’s all. Why do you think I sat back and let her speak at first? I don’t joke around with every client like that, but Doris looked game for a laugh. Plus I saw she had a small calendar by the bed with shirtless men on it. Figured she wasn’t really the shy type.”

“Alright, Sherlock, I’m glad you had a good time.”

“You had a good time as well. Don’t try to deny it.”

“Fine, it was fun,” I admitted.  

Too much fun.

What did it mean if someone like Doris could spot the chemistry between Foster and I so quickly? Who else had noticed? People in the office? Kathleen? Dad?  

“I’m still not happy about losing all these billable hours,” Foster said. “You completely set me up there.”  

“As per usual, you came out on top.”

“That’s not the point. Don’t expect to get away with it. I’m going to make you pay for that one.”

“How?”  

“That would be telling, wouldn’t it?”  

Foster liked to tease. I knew that all too well from our night together. I crossed my legs in the passenger seat to try and quell the desire that always arose inside me when I thought back to that night.  

Foster was the expert manipulator. I couldn’t stop him even when I knew he was doing it. I wasn’t sure I wanted to.

“Does this coffee smell normal to you?” I asked Paul as we gathered in the kitchen area before starting work for the day.

“Yes, I think so,” he replied, after smelling the cup of coffee I had just poured myself from the machine. “Why?”

“Nothing, I’m just a little paranoid at the moment.” It’d been over a week now since Foster had threatened to get revenge against me for dragging him into
pro bono
work, but so far he hadn’t done anything. Nothing I knew about.

“Paranoid about the coffee? Is someone trying to kill you, April? Because if so, I’ll… keep my distance.”

“Oh, thanks,” I replied, playfully slapping him on the arm, and nearly making him spill his own cup of coffee in the process.  

“It’s nothing personal, but I have kids to look after. Anyway, how are things at work? You’re a few weeks into it now. Learning anything?”  

“Yes, a lot. Foster has been really helpful, actually.”  

“I must admit, I’m surprised you’re spending so much time with him. Most junior associates are scared of him, and he hates working with subordinates. I guess he has a soft spot for you.”

Nothing
soft
about it, knowing Foster. “We get on well enough I suppose.”

By the time I’d turned on my computer, I already had a mountain of emails to wade through. Foster insisted on keeping me copied in on all correspondence relating to the cases I worked on. It made me feel like part of the team, but it also meant I had to keep up-to-date on everything and was expected to know what was going on.

There was also an email from Foster summoning me to his office. I grabbed my cardigan, but noticed that I was still hot from my shower. Usually I had cooled down by now. The answer to that conundrum came through in another email explaining that there had been a problem with the AC overnight and that the system had to be restarted. We’d all be sweating for most of the morning.  

“Morning Foster,” I said, strolling into his office. He had a new assignment for me, so that meant I wouldn’t spend an hour in here listening to him telling me all the mistakes I made in my last memo. Thank heaven for small mercies.

I sat down and stared at the view across the desk. Instead of being insufferably cold, Foster’s office was stuffy and warm, so he’d rolled up his sleeves and opened a few buttons on his shirt.  

The tattoos on his forearms captivated me as I tried to remember the pattern they formed on the rest of his body. I could see little flicks of flame at the top of his chest, as if it were escaping from his shirt, but I quickly got distracted by the outline of his taut pecs, teasing me with their subtle appearance.

I picked up a file from his desk and used it to fan myself. All that did was waft hot air into my face.  

“Why don’t you get undressed?” Foster asked.  

I raised my eyebrows. “Subtle, Foster. Real subtle.”

“Alright, well you’re going to at least have to open a few buttons.”

He had a point. I looked him in the eyes, challenging him to look down at my chest, as I opened two buttons on my blouse. “Screw it,” I added, before opening a third button. My bra would be on show now, but it had to be better than fainting.

Foster didn’t look down at my chest, not while I was staring at him at least, but he was clearly loving every minute of this.

“What’s this new assignment you have for me?” I asked.

“There’s no new assignment. I just wanted you to come in here while the AC was broken. God, I love that view.”

Foster leaned back in his chair and stared at my chest, making no effort to hide his admiration for what he saw. I couldn’t deny feeling somewhat flattered. There were at least five women in the office who, in my opinion, had far better tits than me. Mine were pert, but of average size at best.