Triple Jeopardy (Lawyers Behaving Badly Book 2) (2 page)

“What?” Maisie’s jaw dropped. “I respect him.”

“The way you were staring just now was the epitome of rudeness.”

Crossing her arms tightly over her chest, Maisie said, “You’re imagining things.”

Mrs. Donahue’s face took on an unhealthy hue, and her lips pressed so tightly together that they turned white.

Shit.
She’d gone too far, and now she was going to get fired.

“Follow me.” Mrs. Donahue pivoted on one of her square heels and marched away.

Stomach quavering and fingers cold, Maisie rose unsteadily and followed her down the hall and into Raphael Lattimore’s office.

Mrs. Donahue closed the door, sealing them inside the sunny but imposing room. The grandfather clock ticked. “I’m trying to help you succeed. Whenever Mr. Brennbach is around, you gawk. Do you think he hasn’t noticed?”

Something tightened painfully inside her, and Maisie’s stomach seemed to fill with acid. “Oh…” she said, mortified. No wonder he was being standoffish. “Thanks for telling me.”

“You’re welcome.” Mrs. Donahue’s expression thawed a touch. “I know you must be curious about what happened to him. It’s only natural.”

“Not really,” Maisie said quickly. Mrs. Donahue had already made it clear that gossiping about Ethan’s scars would get her fired.

“In the hope that it will help you focus on your job, I’m going to do something I swore I never would. I’m going to tell you what happened.”

2

M
aisie’s heart was pounding so fast, she thought she might pass out. Surely she must have misunderstood?

Mrs. Donahue cleared her throat. “It’s a long story. I’ll pour us some water.”

Now that she was about to find out what had happened, she wasn’t sure she was ready. She wanted to know, was
dying
to know, but she couldn’t stand the thought of Ethan suffering.

She realized she’d stopped breathing, and she exhaled shakily.

Expression grim, Mrs. Donahue walked to the credenza and slowly poured two glasses of water from the crystal pitcher.

After handing one glass to Maisie, she took a long drink herself. “It happened two years ago,” she said. “Damn if it doesn’t feel like yesterday.”

And then she didn’t say anything else.

Maisie made an encouraging sound, hoping to gently prod Mrs. Donahue into continuing, but it didn’t work.

What if this was all a test, and Maisie had failed? Nervously, she sipped her own water and watched Mrs. Donahue over the rim of the glass.

The woman’s gray-streaked hair was pulled up into a loose bun. She’d been pretty once. It wasn’t age that had destroyed her looks, but rather the way her lips curled down, and the scowling crease between her eyebrows, as if every inhalation brought fresh reasons to express her disappointment.

Her eyes were large and might have been innocently vulnerable. Maisie was used to them seething with annoyance and disappointment, but now they were also colored with sadness.

“You don’t know this,” Mrs. Donahue said, “but LB&B used to have unfettered access to the roof. This is Mr. Brennbach’s building, after all.”

A soft gasp of surprise burst from Maisie’s lips. She quickly gulped water to cover her reaction. If Ethan owned Fortune Tower, he was far wealthier than she’d ever guessed. She remembered her first impression of the skyscraper: a gleaming phallic testament to man’s hubris.

Well, Ethan had
nothing
to compensate for.

Why was the story of his accident beginning with the roof? Maisie felt her face tightening into a frown.

Mrs. Donahue refilled her glass. Her gaze drifted toward the window and the expanse of blue sky.

“Every few months we have a celebratory dinner. The next one is in three weeks, so if you don’t get yourself fired, you’ll get to experience one. They’re for fun, to build morale, to allow employees to mingle as equals, not superiors and subordinates. I suggested hosting it on the roof, which is no windier than street level. It’s quite an engineering feat. The view is unparalleled, and the partners often hosted their own small parties up there.”

Her voice was steady, but her hand trembled slightly. Was that from alcohol or from nervousness? Maisie couldn’t guess.

“We had a relatively new hire,” Mrs. Donahue said. “Petra. She was one of Mr. Lattimore’s acquaintances, and I had misgivings about her ability to fit in with the culture here. This was before we instituted the probationary period. I confess I didn’t like her, and I didn’t go out of my way to make her feel welcome. The evening of the dinner, she and I were on the roof, setting up.” Mrs. Donahue abruptly drained the glass of water. “She had too much to drink, and thought it would be fun to climb up on the…”

She set the glass down. Her fingers twisted around and around each other, and Maisie couldn’t help thinking of Lady Macbeth trying to rub the blood from her hands.

“… On the wall. There’s nothing on the other side, you see. Just a sheer drop to the street. The roof wasn’t designed for public use, so there aren’t safety features to protect people from dark impulses. I screamed for her to get down, but Petra… She never listened to me. Mr. Lattimore wasn’t there. Very few people were, but I found Mr. Brennbach—I knew he would handle the situation. But Petra didn’t listen to him, wouldn’t come down. She… started slipping.” Mrs. Donahue’s voice became tight, choked. “Mr. Brennbach threw himself toward her, to save her.”

“Oh my god,” Maisie said on a quiet exhale.

Mrs. Donahue’s head swung toward her. Her eyes were wide, and she was breathing hard. Perspiration shimmered on her temples and neck.

“Are you ok?” Maisie asked, feeling sick herself.

Eyes glazed, Mrs. Donahue continued. “He lunged for her, grabbed her, but she struggled. Petra was dangling over the side. Mr. Brennbach only had her by the arm. As he was pulling her up, she slipped again.”

Maisie grimaced and turned partially away; she didn’t want to hear the rest, but she couldn’t walk away, either.

“Mr. Brennbach caught her, somehow. His face slammed into the concrete wall. Shattering his cheekbone and fracturing his jaw. But he saved Petra’s life.”

“And… then?”

A muscle twitched in her cheek. “And nothing. Everyone lived happily ever after. Except Mr. Brennbach; he’ll have that scar forever. Now you know, so you can stop wondering.”

Maisie nodded, but she was confused. It was a tragedy, sure, but why keep it such a big secret?

And why the hell was fire-breathing, hard-as-nails Mrs. Donahue so shaken up by it, two years later?

Something didn’t add up.

“Thank you for telling me,” she finally said. “I swear to you that I barely notice his scar. I didn’t realize I was staring.”

“Most people don’t.” Mrs. Donahue abruptly snapped her wrist up to look at her watch. “Mr. Lattimore’s clock seems to be losing time again. Three minutes slow.” Mrs. Donahue exited the room, her movements quick and efficient.

Mouth agape, Maisie stared at the empty doorway, then turned to look at the stately grandfather clock, the long gold pendulum swinging rhythmically.

It was 9:15 in the morning, but she felt like she’d worked an entire day.

Maisie returned to her desk. Mrs. Donahue was nowhere in sight.

In other words, it was the perfect time to quickly check her email. Pulling out her phone, she saw a missed call from Trent Banno.

Trent was the hottest of her bosses, and he was exactly Maisie’s type. Sexy, smart, and mysterious—but not a total cipher. And kinky as hell.

They’d worked out a little system. If he was calling the office line, it was business. If he called Maisie’s cell, it was personal.

A five-minute quickie sounded appealing. Normally she made up an excuse to walk to his office… but Mrs. Donahue had noticed Maisie staring at Ethan.

So maybe Gladys, who was Trent’s assistant, had likewise noticed that Maisie dropped by too often.

A phone call was better.

She picked up the office phone and dialed his extension.

“Hello.” Trent’s voice was smooth, deep.

Maisie could clearly picture him at his desk, leaning back in his executive chair, his dark hair slightly mussed, his brown eyes gleaming with wicked amusement.

She was already wet, which was crazy. Just from Trent’s voice. Well, from Trent’s voice and from seeing Ethan.

“Hi,” she said, hating how shy she felt. “How are you?”

“Great. And you’re great, too. Now we’ve gotten that out of the way, how about telling me why you called my cell phone. Are you in need of a Japanese lawyer with a big cock?”

Smiling, Maisie glanced around to verify that she was still alone. “I was wondering… thinking that maybe…” She couldn’t bring herself to say anything dirty, not out in the open like this; anyone could be just around the corner.

“Go on,” Trent said, clearly interested, and she imagined him leaning forward. “Tell me more. Now.”

He knew she was calling from the office phone; the number would have shown up on his screen. Cruel of him to put her on the spot—though she should have expected it.

On some level, she supposed she had.

“I was trying to come up with a reason not to skip my mid-morning break,” she said.

“And?”

She swallowed. “It occurred to me that you might have a suggestion?”

“Listen carefully,” Trent said, his voice serious. A tremor made Maisie’s pussy tighten wetly. “You should spend your break in my office. I’ll give you an irrebuttable reason. I’ll give you sixty-nine of them.”

Oh, god.

Maisie was glad she was sitting down because the thought of Trent’s mouth on her pussy while she sucked his enormous cock made her knees go weak.

“You’re right,” Maisie purred. “That’s way more interesting than sitting here and staring at the wall.”

“All parties are in agreement,” Trent said, his voice still serious. Dominant. Commanding. “My legal recommendation is that you make an appearance in my office right—”

His voice cut off, mid-sentence.

“Hello?”

“Well, then.” Mrs. Donahue loomed over Maisie. How long had she been standing there?

Long enough to know it was a personal call, and to hang up Maisie’s phone. The button Mrs. Donahue had pushed made a hollow click as she removed her hand.

Did she know who Maisie had been on the phone with? No, definitely not… She
never
would have hung up on Trent Banno.

“Don’t try to tell me that was the other office.” Mrs. Donahue’s eyes were filled with anger. “Since you have time for personal calls, then you have time to run a few errands for your boss. Or do you not remember Mr. Lattimore?”

Oh, Maisie remembered Raphael just fine.

He had panty-melting blue eyes and a charming smile, and when they fucked, he tended to be loud.

Raphael Lattimore never wanted to have sex in his office, though, which amused Maisie. A photo on his bookcase revealed he’d once been in a grunge band, and a couple of times during sex she’d glimpsed the dark edges of a tattoo.

Raphael was a compelling yet baffling mix of uptight and wild. Personally, Maisie wanted to see more of the wild, which only seemed to surface when he was horny.

Trent Banno, on the other hand, flirted whenever it suited him. And Ethan Brennbach… never flirted, not as far as Maisie could tell. He was more of the “get on your knees and suck me” sort. No teasing. No dancing around the inevitable outcome of their sessions. God. Ethan. It was criminal how he manipulated her. She wanted him. Needed him.

Mrs. Donahue was staring at Maisie. “Are you paying attention?”

Maisie nodded. “Yes. About the phone call… I was just checking—”

“You were flirting with your boyfriend,” Mrs. Donahue said. “You’re young, and you should enjoy life. But never on company time. You’ll take the broken piece of Mr. Lattimore’s clock for repair. Come.”

Maisie slowly got to her feet. She rolled her eyes as she followed Mrs. Donahue to her desk, where she picked up a shallow but long fabric-covered box, then down the hall and back into Mr. Lattimore’s office.

“Those need to be taken care of,” Mrs. Donahue said, glancing at the two water glasses from earlier. “You should know better by now.” She opened the bottom of the grandfather clock.

The weights and pendulum evoked droopy-balled old men, and Maisie’s entire body shook with repressed laughter. Despite her best efforts, a little snort escaped.

“I didn’t catch that,” Mrs. Donahue said, distracted.

Maisie forced herself to calm down. “How do you know which piece is broken?” She gathered the glasses and put them inside the credenza, where the night crew would remove them.

“We had this problem a few months ago and only received a temporary fix. I’ve been keeping an eye on it.” Mrs. Donahue removed the hood from the top, exposing the metallic innards, then reached inside the case and unhooked one of the weights. “That goes into the box,” she said, handing it to Maisie.

Maisie opened the box. It was lined with blue satin and had molded depressions; it was pretty clear where the weights needed to go.

Mrs. Donahue handed her the pendulum and finally the second weight. “Wait here.”

She returned a moment later with another fabric-covered box, this one twenty-four inches deep. Maisie watched as she removed a few screws on the side of the clock, then pulled away the clock’s face and movement. She carefully positioned it upright inside the box, then closed everything up tightly.