Blind Trust Page 5

  Damn it. He swung his seat around to focus on Charles.

  “I’ve got it,” he said, cutting Brie—Brighton—off without looking at her. “I believe you’re in the right,” he told Charles before he expanded his conclusion. He firmly locked her out of his awareness and kept his attention on the other partners.

  Cummings, Lang and Burns was a long-established San Francisco law firm that Ryan had dedicated his adult life to. Literally. He’d set his sights on being exactly in this position when he’d first stepped into Berkeley Law school, and nothing had deterred his focus.

  He’d done everything required of him to be offered this coveted seat next to Cummings and Lang before he’d hit forty. That included the sixteen-hour days and marrying a suitable woman, one who’d been the perfect society wife until she’d realized his social aspirations differed greatly from hers. As in he had none.

  He refused to screw it up now—or to tarnish his own reputation by daydreaming about a woman. A random woman he’d fucked in the Boardroom.

  One of many since he’d joined the exclusive group.

  His attention didn’t waver through each of the reports provided by the team of lawyers seated around the table. The weekly briefing kept everyone abreast of issues and workload and allowed them to assign new cases as they came in.

  And he’d been caught daydreaming in the middle of this one.

  The ridicule crawled up his nape to dig into his skull. Respect was earned, not given, and he’d worked too damn hard to get his. Thankfully in-office sightings of Brie—Brighton—Ms. Wakeford—were few.

  Not that it’d matter.

  Keeping his dick in his pants had never been his problem. Sex had one purpose and it wasn’t to ensnare him in thorny scandals or messy entanglements. Hence, the beauty of the Boardroom.

  “The Marlow contracts are finalized, correct?” Charles posed the question to Ryan knowing they were.

  “Yes,” he confirmed. He didn’t expand when there was no need to.

  “Good.” Charles nodded, his balding head catching the glare of the fluorescent lights. Vanity obviously wasn’t high on his list of worries, yet he carried his power with a dignity that negated his physical flaws. He returned his focus to the table at large. “Are there any other items that need to be addressed?”

  The array of swiveling heads and mumbled negatives meant the meeting was adjourned. Ryan stayed seated as the others gathered their stuff and filed from the boardroom. Charles hadn’t asked that last question of him without having a purpose. Nothing the man did was without purpose.

  He’d assessed that within weeks of starting his first internship with the firm.

  Ryan scanned the parade of dark tailored suits and stylish business dress that leaned heavily to the conservative side. Exactly the image the firm wanted to present and one he endorsed.

  Brighton Wakeford was a perfect representation of that image. Her blouse and skirt were both sleek and sedate while still being feminine. Her makeup was minimal yet accentuated her eyes. Big, beautiful eyes that revealed little in the office.

  But how would they be in the Boardroom? Expressive? Knowing? Lust-filled?

  She tucked a lock of hair behind her ear, placed her computer on top of a stack of folders after grabbing one. Her strides were confident, shoulders back as she approached their end of the table.

  “Here’s the information you requested.” Brie handed a legal-sized manila folder to Charles. “Do you need anything else?”

  Did she have any clue who Ryan was? That he’d been in that room with her just two weeks back? That he’d kissed that mole at the edge of her collarbone? That he’d held her hips and driven into her as she’d begged to come?

  Now he was being the damn pervert who lusted after subordinates. Disgust swirled in his stomach to stir up the sick muck of loathing from earlier. He’d never sink that low. Be that low.

  “That’ll be all,” Charles told her. “Thank you.”

  Ryan forced his gaze to remain on Charles, but the rest of his senses homed in on Brie as she collected her belongings and left the room. A long inhalation found only stale coffee and the underlying scent of ammonia, not her light yet sultry fragrance.

  The one he couldn’t place yet couldn’t forget.

  “Are you sure about this one?” Victor Lang asked, motioning to the documents in Charles’s hand. The other partner was portly in the aged way that somehow kept him from being classified as overweight. Or more likely, the respect he’d earned and still worked to hold kept tongues from wagging negatively.

  Charles lifted his shoulder in dismissal. “That’s why I’m having Burns look at it.” He shoved the folder across the table to him. “The request comes from a friend of my wife,” he went on, brows drawing low. “Barbara asked me to consider it, and I have.” He motioned to the folder. “But it’s in your court if we take it on.”

  Meaning, it’d be his if he agreed.

  Ryan flipped the folder open and scanned the summary document neatly placed on top. Succinct, organized and laid out with pros, cons and open items, he scanned the information in a matter of minutes, admiration for Brie’s skills increasing with every paragraph.

  “Mutual relationships prevent me from touching it as well,” Victor added, sitting back. His shirt was too well tailored for the buttons to give even a hint of being stretched. He tapped his pen on the table, the habit one he used to both intimidate and distract.

  Ryan ignored it but noted it all the same.

  His name might be on the door and scripted in gold across the company letterhead, but he was still the junior partner.

  The one who had to prove himself every damn day—without appearing to do so.

  He flipped the file closed and folded his hands over it, leaning in. “I’ll take a deeper look at it later.” His stomach settled as he found his comfort zone. “What aren’t you telling me?”

  The men shared a look, the silence tempered with indecision before Charles cracked a smile. His deep, rolling chuckle held the hearty note of an amused grandfather. Yet another thing Ryan ignored.

  Playing into their hands wasn’t how he’d earned his position. There were plenty of yes-men in the firm who took care of stroking their egos—and his own.

  He kept his expression neutral and waited them out. He’d get the information he wanted, or he’d leave the folder on the table, his decision made. And they both knew that.

  Charles sat forward, his laugh dying away. He cleared his throat, checked the open doorway. “Barbara’s family is intertwined with this company.” He let that rest for a moment, the implications sinking deeper.

  “How intertwined?” And how much was Charles himself involved?

  Charles brushed it off. “Just longtime friends. You know how connections work in the Valley.” He glanced at Victor who nodded in confirmation. “I wouldn’t have looked at the case if it was more than that.”

  Ryan studied him, doubts alive. There was no success in this business without them. “I hope Bri—Ms. Wakeford has documented every connection and association within the firm, so I understand the political dynamics.”

  “I told her to,” he said, an edge to his voice. “I have nothing to hide. Lang and I simply have connections on both sides of this property issue, and from a firm standpoint, it’d be better if you took the case, or we’ll pass.”

  “Good.” Ryan scooped up the folder along with his notepad and other items as he stood. “I have a meeting in thirty.” He nodded at the men. “I’ll let you know if I have questions.” He lifted the folder to indicate the case.

  They tracked his departure, their steady stares hitting him in the back as he exited. He didn’t need eyes on the back of his head to know that. He might be the only other current partner, but he wasn’t the first to have his name listed next to theirs.

  Cummings and Lang had started the firm when Ry
an was still learning to read. They’d fought and worked for the reputation they now maintained. He’d understood exactly what that meant before he’d signed the paperwork and taken out the massive loan required to buy into the firm.

  That was also why he wasn’t too concerned about the mystery case handed off to him. Both men would rather die than see their lifeblood tarnished.

  That alone had driven his desire to be a part of the company.

  “I’ll have my usual for lunch,” he told Carla, his executive assistant, as he passed by her desk. “At one, please.”

  “Yes, sir.” Her polite smile matched her voice. “Will you need anything from me for your meeting?”

  “No. Thank you.”

  “Should I send—” She glanced at her computer screen, clicking her mouse as her brows dipped and then lifted. “Mr. Crawford in when he arrives?”

  “That’d be great.”

  He left his smiling assistant, a faint grin ghosting over his own lips. Carla was competent in an old-fashioned way. What she lacked in technical skills, she made up for with her cunning insight and honest kindness that held no ulterior motives. He didn’t require much, and experience had taught him that having anyone more ambitious only resulted in a bored assistant and ruffled feathers—neither of which he had time for.

  Self-reliance was the cornerstone of his success. Some leaned on family connections, others on business networks and still others on charm and personality. He had his work ethic and determination, that was it.

  Charm could fade, and networks could crumble. And training someone to meet his standards took more time and oversight than if he just did it himself. Even as a partner.

  He dropped the files on his desk, rolled his shoulders back. The day stretched ahead on yet another series of meetings and briefings, followed by hours of reading, research and reports. He glanced at his calendar and wrote up a list of items for the associate attorneys to handle, made another for the intern assigned to him. And still another for the paralegals he shared with Lang.

  He could delegate just fine. He also had standards that left many cursing his name.

  And that was their issue to resolve.

  He had his own to deal with, including the new one handed to him this morning. Brie Wakeford, however, was not on that list.

  She’d never know it was his fingers that’d left the imprints on her hips. Or his dick that’d filled her until she’d crumbled in ecstasy.

  Or his lips that’d ghosted over her temple when they’d both been too wrung out to speak.

  Chapter Eight

  Brie sank into her chair, exhaustion dripping from every limb—not that she’d let it show. Not at work. A glance at the clock indicated it was closing in on six. The desks around hers had started to empty, but over half of them were still filled with diligent employees, much like herself.

  There was no rest for those determined to climb the ladder. Every dedicated hour was put in with the hopes that their work would be recognized and rewarded. A word of praise, a bonus, a raise, a shot at partner for those who could earn it—all and any of those things were markers of success.

  Ones defined by society and ingrained in each of them before they’d taken their first job.

  Understanding and seeing the artificial designations didn’t stop her from striving to achieve every one of them—except partner. She wasn’t an attorney, much to her mother’s disappointment.

  She snatched up her office phone after one ring, voice set on competent before she spoke. “Brighton Wakeford speaking.”

  “Brighton. This is Carla.” Her mind did a quick shuffle to place the woman. “Mr. Burns would like to meet with you regarding the case briefing you compiled about the...” The pause was brief, but dragged on Brie’s tired nerves. “... Palmaro case.”

  Brie swallowed hard before she responded brightly. “Of course. When would he like to meet?”

  “Now?”

  Was that a question? She almost laughed aloud at that. “No problem. I’ll be right there.” Mr. Cummings would’ve strangled his assistant if she’d posed the request as a question.

  She disconnected the call and paused for one brief moment to rub at the ache growing in her temple.

  Two weeks later and she was still cycling through the emotional remains of her night of passion. Sleepless nights, coupled with long days put in with the hopes of inducing dreamless slumber only added to her annoying sense of disconnect.

  It was beyond time she got over herself and moved on. The night hadn’t been that amazing or life-changing. Not really.

  If only she could stop thinking about it...

  She brushed the wrinkles from her blouse, straightened her skirt when she stood. She didn’t have time to lament about her own faults and unsettled thoughts. Not when Mr. Burns was waiting for her.

  She grabbed her copy of the briefing, tucked her notepad beneath, popped a mint into her mouth and headed to his office.

  Ryan Burns was the dark shark of the firm. Precise, dedicated and over two decades younger than the other partners. He had a trail of admirers that spanned both sexes. Brie had no problem admitting she was one of them.

  He was drop-dead gorgeous in that well-mannered, collected way her mother would flutter over. That alone should’ve repelled her, but it didn’t. The icy chill that surrounded him added an air of...not bad boy, but assassin or spy—007 style—that placed him miles from the country club airs.

  And this was the first time he’d ever called her to his office.

  She primarily worked for Mr. Cummings. The other paralegals shifted between the attorneys based on need, but she’d been tucked under Mr. Cummings’s authority within weeks of her employment. He was good to work for and treated her with respect even as he passed more and more of his duties to her. She took each new task as a compliment to her skills and then added ten hours to her work week.

  Her stomach did a small flip when she reached Mr. Burns’s outer office. Her chest tightened with a flash of nerves she didn’t want.

  He was just a man. One of her bosses. There’d been zero reports of him actually biting anyone’s head off, although his quiet reprimands were said to be far more painful.

  “He’s waiting for you,” Carla said when she looked up. “I have to leave, but he usually works pretty late.”

  Brie smiled at the inane statement. The entire office knew that Mr. Burns was the first to arrive and the last to leave every single day. There’d been young blowhards determined to outdo him, only to fail in less than a month.

  “Thank you,” she said. “Have a good night.”

  “You too.” The sincerity in Carla’s voice stole a bit of Brie’s annoyance, which was mostly focused on herself anyway.

  Carla draped her coat over her arm and picked up her purse as she stepped around her desk. Lodged somewhere in her sixties, if her gray hair and wrinkles were any indication, Carla had the intentions of a saint and the absentmindedness of a scattered artist. The juxtaposition baffled Brie, who made it her job to never forget a detail.

  One mistake on a briefing could cost the company thousands in legal fees.

  Brie hesitated, unsure if she should speak up, but company policy raged in her head when the other woman started to walk away.

  “Ah, Carla,” she called, mystified and amused at once. “Shouldn’t you shut down your computer before you leave?”

  “Oh. Yes.” Carla spun around, her expression focused as she returned to her desk. “Thank you. I must’ve forgotten when you walked up.”

  Brie frowned. Had the dig been intentional or another distracted mistake? Whichever it was, she didn’t have time to stress over it.

  Mr. Burns was waiting.

  She stepped up to the doorway, heart fluttering with nervous energy. Her soft knock rippled through the room to drag his attention from his computer. The dark-framed glas
ses he wore shifted his appearance from sleuth to professor. A very handsome professor.

  “Mr. Burns?” She stepped through the doorway, chin lifted. “You asked to see me?”

  “Yes.” He removed his glasses as he shifted his chair around. “Please. Come in.”

  Her feet stalled for some foreign reason as her brain hitched over the subtle drop in his tone. A sexy baritone note that pinged at a night she couldn’t seem to forget.

  No. Way.

  A hard mental shake had her moving forward despite the churning in her stomach. “You have questions regarding the Palmaro briefing?” Her courteous tone was ingrained in her to the point that she didn’t have to think about using it, thankfully, because her insides had suddenly turned to goo.

  “Yes.” He motioned to the visitor’s chair. “Please. Have a seat.”

  Thank God. She didn’t know how much longer her legs would’ve kept her upright. This was sheer lunacy. She’d heard his voice hundreds of times before and not once had it ever done this to her.

  Flashes of that night blazed into her mind without warning or desire. She could almost feel the hard surface of the table beneath her knees as she lifted herself over him, her head tossed back, his hands digging into her hips as he met each descent with a hard thrust of his own.

  “Ms. Wakeford.”

  The reprimand in his voice had her head shooting up, spine stiff against the accusation. “I’m sorry,” she quickly said. “You were saying?” That was the second time that day she’d been caught daydreaming about sex.

  And that didn’t account for the times she hadn’t been caught.

  The edge of his mouth quirked up in what could almost be classified as a smirk. Did he smirk? She’d never witnessed it before. It was devastating, whatever it was.

  The hair on her arms lifted in a dance of awareness she didn’t fully comprehend. Her stomach performed a dip and dive that flooded her pussy with desire. Hot, naughty want sizzled to life where it had no business sparking.

  No. Just no.

  He cleared his throat, the rumble completely innocuous. Yet her nipples tightened to sharp buds that said it was anything but. How?