Two Rivals, One Bed
Author
Zuri Day
Reads
17,4K
Chapters
26
One
When Maeve Eddington graduated Harvard Law School, she returned to Chicago to work for and be mentored by Eleanor Buchanan, a legend in corporate law. Buchanan’s motto: Be Tough Enough That Men Forget You’re a Woman. She fashioned herself as “one of the boys,” her closet filled with plain, shapeless suits in navy, gray, brown and black. No other colors. No exceptions. During her first two years at Buchanan and Bausch, Maeve followed that lead of conservative dress. One morning, as she joined her mother for tea before heading into the office, Mona asked a question. “When did you change professions?”
Maeve was confused. “What do you mean?”
Mona’s eyes traveled the length of her and back, taking in the black pantsuit paired with a black turtleneck and pearls, low-heeled black pumps and hair pulled tight at the nape of her neck.
“You’re an attorney, but you’re dressed like a funeral director.”
“It’s called fitting in,” Maeve said amid relieved laughter. “Eleanor says it’s important to blend in as one of the boys.”
Mona nodded slowly, thoughtfully sipping her tea. “I’m no law expert, but I know a thing or two about men, and being a woman among them.”
She placed her hand over her daughter’s and looked her straight in the eye. “Your name isn’t Eleanor. It’s Maeve. You’re a beautiful woman whose femininity should be embraced, not obscured. It is a powerful weapon, not a weakness but a strength. It is the woman’s hand that rocks cradles and rules nations. Wielded skillfully, thoughtfully, it can dominate in boardrooms and courtrooms, too.”
Mona never again brought up the subject. The following week, however, Maeve returned home to find a garment bag hanging at the front of her walk-in closet. Inside was a suit, powder blue, with a respectful yet sexy peekaboo split that stopped just below the thigh. Below the bag was a pair of her favorite red-bottomed shoes, navy, with bows covered in crystals and five-inch heels. Her mother knew her daughter’s taste. Maeve loved the outfit. The next day, she wore it. When she entered the boardroom for the firm’s morning meeting, the women sputtered. The men all paused. Maeve commanded attention without saying a word. Her peers were complimentary and even more respectful. Eleanor disapproved, believing the change a mistake. No matter. That weekend, Maeve ditched her somber wardrobe and had dressed to impress—namely, herself—ever since.
And in the process became a killer attorney.
For today’s important meeting, she’d taken special care with her appearance. In a nod to the cool September weather, she’d paired a meticulously tailored, deep rust-colored one-button blazer with a form-fitting spandex and merino wool designer dress splashed with bold, geometric designs. Her accessories were clunky gold jewelry and a pair of suede high-heeled boots that she’d recently snared at New York’s fashion week. They were one of a kind and matched her blazer color exactly. As she drove her pearl-white Aston Martin onto the hallowed grounds of Point du Sable’s exclusive country club, she fluffed her curls and glanced in the mirror to check her makeup. Flawless.
“G-g-good morning, Ms. Eddington.” The valet rushed to open her door, stumbling over his words as he eyed her appreciatively. “You look...stunning.”
“Thank you.”
“Whatever perfume you’re wearing smells great.”
“Thanks.” Maeve had already started up the walkway.
“I’ll take real good care of your car!” he yelled to her back.
She threw a finger wave over her shoulder, entered the main building and continued down a hallway of private rooms. Plastering her face with a look of bravado that she didn’t quite feel, Maeve placed her hand on the knob and took a deep breath. She was walking into a new situation, one that Eddington Enterprise had never handled. The estate-planning department of the financial services company was being sued. For Maeve, losing the case was not an option.
She opened the door, entered the room and locked eyes with the last person on earth she expected to see there—Victor Cortez.
Maeve almost passed out from the shock.
That’s how she felt on the inside. On the outside, she pulled her suddenly paralyzed lips into a smile and neared the table of three men now standing to greet her. Purposely ignoring him, she turned to one of two men she’d known would be in attendance.
“Hello, Joel,” she greeted, accepting his handshake.
“Good afternoon, Maeve.” Joel’s expression was one of unabashed admiration. “You’re looking lovely as always.”
“Thank you.” She nodded at the man next to him, before shaking his eagerly outstretched hand. “Patrick.”
“Hello, Maeve. It’s good to see you.”
“Under different circumstances, I’d say the same.” A smile revealing perfect white teeth softened the verbal jab. “Where’s Cornelius?”
Cornelius Bond was a lifelong Point du Sable (PDS) resident, a longtime friend and associate, and general attorney for the family suing their firm. The attorney she’d expected would be here. Not...him.
Joel shifted from one foot to the other. “He, um, has a full load and feels unable to give this case the attention it deserves. He also has a personal relationship with the clients and doesn’t want to present a potential conflict of interest.” He nodded at the man who looked even more gorgeous than Maeve remembered. “He’s passed the case on to this very capable young man.”
He turned toward the man Joel assumed was a stranger. “Victor Cortez. He, too, went to Harvard. Cornelius believed the two of you have met.”
“I may have seen him on campus, once or twice.”
Maeve steeled herself, and only now allowed her eyes to drift over to the strapping version of alpha-manliness standing close by. Much too close.
“Victor.”
Unlike the other two men, Victor didn’t quickly rush toward her with his hand out. His eyes slowly roamed her body—seconds, really, when to Maeve it felt like slow motion—before reaching for her hand as though he had every right and bringing it to his full, cushy lips.
“Hello, Maeve.”
Yum.
His voice rumbled calm and deep, like the ocean, lightly tinged with the melody of his Caribbean roots. His skin was soft, his grip firm. At five-nine, even without the extra four inches her boots afforded, she looked up into an exquisite face to meet his deep brown eyes. He smelled like power and danger and every woman’s fantasy. To not succumb to the sheer magnetism that came with his presence, Maeve would need to stay at the top of her game.
Then the hurt and humiliation still lingering three years after being dumped by her ex–high school sweetheart rose to the surface, a sore—pun intended—reminder that she wasn’t on that field anymore.
“It’s been a long time.”
“Yes, it has.”
“Around five years?”
“About that.”
“Those years have been good to you. You’ve done the impossible and gotten even more beautiful than you were at Harvard. Even then you were easily the finest woman around.”
Joel chuckled. “Watch out, Maeve. That guy is smoother than an Olympian skating across the ice.”
“In that case, some things never change.” Said with forced lightness from a woman trying to quell the butterflies circling her stomach and staunch the flow of heat gathering at the apex of her thighs. “Flattery might get you a returned compliment, but it won’t help you win this case.”
Maeve sat down on unsteady legs. “Gentlemen.”
The men sat as well. Now, thankfully, there was a table between her and Victor. Still, his unwavering gaze was like an embrace that she felt to her womanly core. With a focused resolve, she pulled a tablet from her Hermès tote and set it on the table.
“We all know why we’re here. To hear the demand on behalf of your clients for this baseless lawsuit.”
Victor shifted, his expression appearing to be one of amused confidence as he sat back in his seat. “As you know, by receipt of said demand letter that brought us here,” he began without computer or notes, “I am representing the estate of Lillian Agnes Martin Duberry on behalf of beneficiaries Hubert the Third, Agnes and Adele, who are of the belief that not only was their grandmother’s sizable investment portfolio mismanaged, but that funds have disappeared from several accounts.
“As the letter states, the children are seeking full and immediate restitution. Because of your family’s shared history, and the friendship with the Eddingtons that the Duberrys enjoyed, they are willing to drop any further legal proceedings if those funds are replaced within the next thirty days.”
“Funds totaling...” Maeve tapped the tablet’s glass and scrolled down. “Approximately ten million dollars, correct?”
“Nine million, six-hundred thirty-two thousand, to be exact.”
“How do you do that?” Joel asked, amazed. “Keep all of those facts in your head.”
“He’s got a big head,” Maeve retorted without thinking. “One that size can hold a lot.”
“Big head for a big man doing big things,” Victor glibly replied, clearly unfazed. “And everyone knows that bigger is better.”
The comment was said innocently enough, but Maeve felt all present got the double entendre. She was used to men using subtlety to try to get under her skin.
Victor had done that, big-time, but he’d never know it. To cover the hot naughty thoughts his comment elicited, she lifted a pitcher of lemon-and-mint water from a tray on the table and poured herself a glass.
“Sometimes the greatest gifts come in small packages.”
Victor shrugged. “I wouldn’t know anything about that.”
“Just as our company knows nothing about lost, stolen or otherwise unaccounted for funds due the Duberry heirs. Our staff is highly educated and experienced, their integrity above reproach. The team handling Ms. Duberry’s portfolio has assured me of its accuracy. They are pulling together financial records that will be delivered to you along with my response later this week. Once you have those records and speak to your clients, I’m sure they will realize their error and we can quickly put this unfortunate accusation behind us.”
“Hopefully they’re not the same documents the accountants gave me, listing her holdings at just over three million.”
“I’m confident that whatever you have is an accurate reporting, therefore on behalf of Eddington Enterprise, and for the record, I am responding with an unequivocal no to your demand.”
“I’m equally sure that once our records have been viewed by your team that a check in the full amount demanded, and not a pile of paperwork listing random numbers, will be the written response that you provide.”
The other men commented but it barely mattered. For Maeve, it seemed Victor was the only one in the room.
There it was then, the conditions of battle. Victor, self-assured. Maeve, confident and unmoving.
For both, regarding the lawsuit, it was clearly game on.
