Legal Seduction
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Lisa Childs
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Chapter One
FOUR GLASSES, LIFTED HIGH, clinked against each other. Champagne bubbles foamed over the rims and streaked down the stems of the flutes.
“Cheers to Street Legal,” Simon Kramer said, pride for the firm overwhelming him. Sixteen years ago, as a teenage runaway, he’d never thought he would go from living on the streets to owning them.
“Cheers to us,” Ronan, one of Simon’s law partners, said with a grin as he clinked his glass against theirs again.
“Cheers to you, Trev,” Stone said to Trevor, who’d just won the biggest case their practice had ever had. And the four of them had had some damn big cases since graduating law school and starting their practice eight years ago.
After this win, they could close the doors of Street Legal and live off the settlement. But Simon knew that the others were like him: too young and too ambitious to stop achieving. And yet Simon wanted to make sure they took the time to enjoy their victories. So he’d talked his partners into leaving the office to celebrate at the new bar around the corner, The Meet Market.
This victory was especially sweet because Trev had won despite the opposing counsel getting their hands on information from the case files. Simon, as the managing partner, had put a plan in place so that would not happen again. If the mole was in their office, he would find it and crush it.
Trevor murmured, “I still want to know how the hell Anderson got his hands on that scientist’s report.”
“Don’t worry about it,” Simon said. He’d also set up this celebration because they all needed to blow off some steam. Or get blown...
Ronan glanced away from the women he’d been ogling to agree. “Don’t give it another thought. It’s not like we have a leak in our office, not with Simon doing all the hiring. Nobody can sniff out a con like a con. And our managing partner is the ultimate con.”
Instead of being offended, Simon grinned. He wouldn’t have survived had he not come up with money-making schemes for himself and for these guys. His friends had once been runaways, too. Simon had been running cons long before he’d met them.
“No, it’s more likely Trev brought home some hottie who, after he rolled over and fell asleep, copied the case files he brought home,” Ronan said.
Simon laughed. “You guys fall asleep?”
He couldn’t sleep with anyone else around. He wouldn’t have survived on the streets if he’d trusted just anyone. Only these guys passed his test. They’d survived the streets together. Hell, they’d thrived. They had more money, fancier homes, faster cars and hotter women than any of them could have imagined having.
“I wish that’s what happened,” Trev said. “But this damn case put a hell of a crimp in my love life.”
“That’s why I thought we should check out this new bar,” Simon admitted. Trying to figure out who was the mole had put a crimp in his sex life, too.
The Meet Market was exactly what it boldly claimed to be: the hookup hub of Midtown Manhattan. All the beautiful people were here: models, actors and actresses, designers...
And them. The most successful and notorious lawyers in the whole damn city.
Simon clinked his glass against Trevor’s. “You won the case, so forget about it. Have some fun.”
Trevor grinned. “I plan on it. But Ronan’s right. We need to be careful about who we bring home or at least around our files.”
Stone nodded in agreement. “Yes, because if word gets out that anything got leaked to the opposing counsel, we’ll need to hire that damn PR firm to help with our image.”
Since the age of social media, most cases were tried before they ever made it to court, which was why they routinely used a PR firm to help sway the public the way they wanted them swayed. To their side, of course.
Ronan chuckled. “Like there’s any helping our image...”
They were known for being ruthless—in the courtroom and the bedroom. They all had a reputation for winning, by whatever means necessary. But in Simon’s opinion, that was a cause for pride, not damage control.
“We’re fine, guys,” Simon assured his partners. “I got this.” He gestured at the women around them. “Now, let’s get one of them...”
“Just one?” Ronan asked with a grin as he watched a blonde walk past him, tossing her long, curly mane over her shoulder. Before heading after her, he slapped Trevor on the back. “Want me to see if she has a friend for you? Si’s right. You need to relieve some stress after winning that case.”
Trevor glanced across the room at a redhead. “I don’t need your help.” He blew out a ragged breath. “But I do need to relieve some stress.”
Stone bumped Simon’s shoulder with his. “Looks like Si here could use some help.”
Ronan snorted. “Si needs no one’s help when it comes to women. He’s the worst womanizer of the four of us.”
Simon didn’t know whether that was a compliment or insult. Coming from the notorious divorce lawyer, it was probably a compliment. But before he could ask, Ronan hurried after the blonde who’d paused in the doorway, waiting for him to follow her.
“You know, I haven’t seen you with anyone for a while,” Stone said to him.
Simon shrugged. “I’ve been busy.” Setting up trusts, drawing up contracts, setting his trap. But he was worried those were just excuses, not the real reasons.
He glanced around the bar and recognized some of the models from the billboards in Times Square and some of the actresses from plays. But nobody had his pulse quickening. He knew he could bring any one of them home with him or, as Ronan suggested, two. And maybe that was it. There was no challenge. No thrill of the hunt...
Just easy prey.
Like the redhead waving at Trevor from across the bar.
“Go,” Simon urged him.
“Yeah,” Stone agreed. “She’s a hell of a lot prettier to celebrate your victory with than we are.”
“Speak for yourself,” Simon said, feigning offense.
With his thick blond hair and bright blue eyes, he’d been told he was better-looking than the hottest male movie stars—which was why he knew he could get anybody in the place to go home with him, even if he were still the broke runaway he’d once been.
Stone laughed, then said, “I may need to have you sit at the table with me for some of my upcoming trial—to sway the jurors like you did for Trev.”
“Hey, guys, you’re going to have to start working out, so you can be your own jury eye candy,” Simon said, his lips tugging up into a teasing grin. “I’ve got work of my own to do. So damn much money to manage.”
Now it wasn’t just his clients’ but theirs, too. That probably mattered more to Simon than it did the others. But they hadn’t grown up like he had—when the only money he’d known had always really belonged to other people.
“Hey, we sway most of the women jurors ourselves,” Trevor stated with pride and a trace of defensiveness. “We just need you to sway the ones who like pretty boys.”
Simon suppressed a laugh of amusement. He didn’t want Trevor to know how funny he was, so he acted offended and replied, “Fuck you.”
Trevor shook his head. “Sorry, man, you’re not my type. Now, that redhead...” He sauntered off toward the woman.
Stone peered around the bar. “I better find someone, too, or I might wind up going home with you.”
“You wouldn’t get so lucky,” Simon said as Stone headed off. Simon glanced around the bar now, too. It wasn’t that he didn’t want to be the only one going home alone. Or it wasn’t just that. He needed a diversion, something to get his mind off the mole in their office.
He couldn’t have been conned into hiring someone who would betray them. No. Like Ronan said, there was no conning a con. His trap wasn’t going to catch anyone because the leak couldn’t be in their office.
So he wouldn’t let it get to him. Not anymore. He’d find someone else to focus all his attention on for a little while. He wasn’t into blondes like Ronan was. And he’d learned the hard way that redheads were nothing but drama. He needed to find a classy brunette, someone who would actually pose a worthwhile challenge to his charm.
Before he could even look, his cell began to vibrate in his suit pocket. It wasn’t a call but the telltale buzz of a 911 text. Did any of the guys need his help? He visually located them all in the crowded bar, but they were totally engaged on the women they’d found. Not one seemed in need of a wingman.
Simon pulled out the cell and cursed when he read the screen. Damn it. His trap had been sprung. Someone was entering the office after hours, and there was probably only one reason for that. Shoving the cell back into his pocket, he hurried toward the exit.
But before he could leave, Trevor blocked his escape. “What is it? Everything okay?”
It sure the hell wasn’t, but he forced a grin. “Just got a sext.” From the security system. “I have to go.”
Trevor chuckled. “Of course you wouldn’t even have to work for it.” With an envious sigh, he stepped aside to let Simon past.
He hurried out, aware that Trev wasn’t the only one watching him. Let the guys think he was anxious to get naked. He would explain later. Right now he hoped to catch their mole in the act of copying active case files. The office was just around the corner.
The person had the security code, so no alarm had gone off, and no warning was sent to building security or the police station. Within moments he stepped off the elevator onto their floor, which was eerily silent and dark. The only light spilled from under the door of an office—his office.
He silently crossed the lobby, which had glass interior walls with hardwood floors. The exterior walls were the exposed brick of the old building. The ceilings were open to the ductwork and the rafters, the wood painted black while the copper pipes and steel ductwork gleamed in the dark.
Why the hell was the mole in his office? Had they graduated from selling secrets to stealing money? The door was ajar, the crack wide enough that he was able to peer through it.
Someone leaned over his desk, lush curves pressed against the black fabric of a tight skirt. His pulse quickened as he recognized that remarkable ass. He’d been discreetly admiring it for the past two years. He couldn’t have afforded to be obvious about it, not with what a sexual harassment case could have cost the firm. And she had certainly never returned his interest. Now he knew why. She hadn’t wanted sex. She wanted money.
Anger coursed through him, making his pulse race even faster. In addition to being incredibly sexy, Bette Monroe was cunning. She’d conned the ultimate con.
* * *
“What the hell are you doing?”
Bette jumped and the pen she’d been holding slipped from her grasp, rolled across the oak desktop and dropped onto the hardwood floor. She pressed her hand over her madly pounding heart before turning toward the door. When she saw her boss standing there, her heart beat even faster and not just because he’d startled her.
Seeing Simon Kramer was always a shock to a woman’s system. With his golden-blond hair and piercing blue eyes, chiseled features and a muscular body, he was so beyond handsome that it wasn’t even fair—to women or to other men. The other lawyers in the Street Legal law practice were good-looking but nowhere near as attractive as Simon. And not one of them wore a suit as well as he did even though they all had them tailor-made. Simon’s was a silvery gray with a faint sheen of blue that brought out that startling blue of his eyes.
His voice a deep rumble, Simon asked, “What are you doing here?”
Realizing it was the second time he’d asked, albeit nicer this time, heat rushed to her face. She must have been staring at him like a fool. That was why she always made a point of never looking directly at him. His good looks were like a solar eclipse, staring too closely could cause blindness.
Maybe that was why her eyesight had gotten poorer in the two years she’d worked for Street Legal as Simon Kramer’s executive assistant. She’d been standing too close to the sun. Her hand trembling, she shoved her thick frames farther up her nose. Since she only needed the glasses for reading, her distance vision blurred, and she couldn’t see him as clearly now.
Until he stepped away from the door and strode across his expansive office to her. He leaned down so his face was close to hers. His eyes usually sparkled with amusement because he was always teasing his partners, his clients or other office employees. Never her, though. He only talked to her to give her orders. But when he did that, his eyes had never appeared like they did now—cold and hard like shards of blue ice.
She shivered.
“This is the last time I’m going to ask you,” he said, “what the hell you’re doing in my office.”
More heat rushed to her face, and she stammered, “I—I was—”
“Looking for me?” he asked with one golden brow arching with skepticism.
“No,” she admitted. She hadn’t wanted to see him—not again—not since catching a glimpse of him in that new bar around the corner. Seeing him there—in that meat market—had confirmed she was doing the right thing. Just like her friends had been encouraging her, she needed to leave Street Legal.
It was too hard to work here, and especially too hard to work for him. Fortunately, she no longer needed this job.
“I was actually hoping not to see you,” she said. When she’d noticed him and his partners walk into the bar, she’d been quick to leave, so he wouldn’t see her there with her friends. She’d always been very careful to keep her private life private from everyone else at the firm. Most especially from him.
He sucked in a breath as if she’d struck him. “I’m surprised you’d admit that.”
“I’m sorry,” she said. “I didn’t mean that the way it sounded.” Which had been rude. Too bad she was such a lightweight that one glass of wine had lowered some of her inhibitions. Like now, when she looked at him again and heat rushed through her body. His eyes were so blue. Why did he have to be so good-looking?
“What do you mean, Bette?” he asked. “Why are you here? You need to give me an answer.”
She drew in a shaky breath. “This is why I came when I knew you wouldn’t be here,” she said. “I didn’t want to be caught.”
“Damn it,” he cursed. “I didn’t expect this from you—of all of Street Legal’s employees.”
She could understand that. Some people, ambitious people, would kill to work at Street Legal. Other people—like her—didn’t want to be associated with such an unscrupulous firm. Two years ago she’d had no choice; she’d needed money to be able to live in the city and to pay back her student loans. Now she had a choice. She reached for the note she’d left—unsigned—on his desk. Her name was just a line across the bottom.
“I’m sorry,” she said again, and with her hand trembling, she passed the letter to him.
He glanced down at the paper. As he began to read it, his brow furrowed. He must have been confused because he murmured, “What the hell is this?”
Her heart continued to beat fast and hard. “It’s—it’s my letter of resignation.” Which she had hoped to leave on his desk without running into him. Of course he would show up. Over the past two years there had been no escaping Simon Kramer. He even showed up in her dreams—dreams that left her with tight nipples and a pulsing clit. Not that she had a crush on him or anything.
In fact, there was very little she liked about Simon Kramer, except how he looked. But that was more a curse than a blessing—for her and all the weak-willed females he’d seduced. Not that he would seduce her or even try. She’d seen the women he dated: models and actresses—beautiful women. He had no interest in her. Just as she never looked at him, he never looked at her, either.
He shook his head. “I don’t understand.” And his brow was still furrowed with confusion. “Why are you quitting?”
She’d kept the resignation letter short and sweet. This is official notice of my resignation. My last day of employment will be...
Two weeks from now. Or hopefully sooner if he got mad and just fired her, and that was what she was hoping for. She doubted anyone had ever dumped Simon Kramer before—personally or professionally.
Thank you for the opportunity.
Thanks but no, thanks. She wanted no part of Street Legal anymore. No part of their high-profile cases. No part of sending flowers to their jilted lovers. No part of fielding the pleading calls from those same lovers.
She hadn’t said any of that, though. She’d given no reason for leaving—because she hadn’t had to.
So predictably he asked, “Why?”
Nonconfrontational by nature, Bette could only shrug. She was the one who apologized when someone else bumped into her on the street or jostled her on the subway. And that wasn’t just the manners instilled with her Midwestern upbringing.
“You must have a reason.” He persisted.
She had several. But she only shook her head. Her hair, which was so heavy, pulled at the knot that had slipped to the back of her head. The pins shifted, sticking into her skull. If she’d been home, she would have pulled them out, let down her hair.
But she couldn’t do that around him. The tight bun—the glasses—that was her armor to protect herself around him. Not that he would make untoward advances. She knew even with her hair down and glasses off, she wasn’t his type. But she felt more protected in her office camouflage. So that he wouldn’t know the real her. Only her most trusted friends knew the real her. And she would never trust Simon Kramer.
“If you had no reason to leave,” he said, his deep voice husky with frustration, “you wouldn’t be leaving.” He crumpled the letter in his fist.
And Bette’s pulse leaped with fear. Although she was well aware of Simon Kramer’s ruthlessness, she had never been afraid of him before. He’d never been warm and fuzzy with her, but he’d never been mean, either.
“I—I just want to leave,” she said. And she wasn’t talking only about his employ. She wanted to leave his office, too. But he stood in the path between her and the doorway.
He shook his head. “No.”
“But—but you can’t refuse my resignation...” Could he? Before deciding to leave the firm, she’d read over the employment contract he’d had her sign when he’d hired her, and she’d seen nothing about not being able to quit. But he was the contracts and trusts lawyer. He was the one who would have come up with the clauses and legal jargon that would make it possible for him to legally enslave someone.
“I can change your mind,” he said, and even though his lips curved into a smile, his eyes remained cold and hard. “How much will it take?”
“You think this is about money?” Street Legal paid all their employees very well. That was why she’d come to work for him although she’d really wanted to work in a fashion house. But after interning at fashion houses, she knew how little they paid and how hard she would’ve worked.
He tilted his head, and his blue eyes narrowed as he studied her face. “Isn’t everything about money?”
Maybe it was the wine that made her less censored than she would have ordinarily been but she admitted, “Unfortunately it is—to most people.”
“Are you saying you aren’t one of those people?” he asked, and one of his golden brows arched in skepticism. But there was more than skepticism in his eyes. He was looking at her a certain way that he never had before, a way that had nerves swimming in her stomach. He was actually looking at her, and there seemed to be an appreciation in his gaze as if he liked what he saw.
Damn. She was such a lightweight. She had to be drunk to imagine that Simon Kramer would look at her that way, like he wouldn’t mind seeing more of her—naked.
“I wouldn’t have taken the job working here if money didn’t matter to me,” she admitted. But having him to look at, to fantasize about, had given her the inspiration to succeed at her other job.
“So then more money will get you to stay,” he said dismissively, as if he’d closed a case. He tossed her crumpled-up resignation letter into the brass trash can sitting beside his desk.
Frustration—and not just with this conversation—overwhelmed her, overcoming her natural inclination to avoid confrontation, and she blurted out, “No!”
Working for him these past two years had increased her frustration because of all those damn fantasies he’d inspired.
“But you just said—”
“I took the job because I needed money,” she said. “I needed money then.”
His eyes narrowed more as he studied her face. “And you don’t need it now?”
“My reason for leaving has nothing to do with money,” she said. Had she not found another source of income, she would have been forced to stay, but he didn’t need to know that.
“So you do have a reason.”
He wasn’t the trial lawyer of their partnership, but he could have been. She felt like she was being cross-examined on the witness stand. And she didn’t enjoy it one bit. Quitting was not a crime.
“I don’t have to give you a reason.” At least she didn’t think she did.
Maybe she should have had a lawyer look at that employment contract before she’d written her resignation letter. But no matter how much she paid, no lawyer would be as good as Simon Kramer. He was the best.
And, according to his ex-lovers, not just at the law...
“Why don’t you want to tell me?” he asked, and he stepped closer now, so close that she could feel the heat of his body through his suit and her cardigan and skirt.
Heat flushed her body, making her skin tingle. She tried to step back but the desk stopped her, the hard wood pressing into the backs of her thighs as he nearly touched the front of her. Her breasts pushed against the front of the gray cardigan as she struggled for breath. She had never been this close to him before. It was more than unsettling. Her knees trembled and her already tripping pulse quickened even more.
“Because it’s personal,” she murmured. And they had never been anything but businesslike with each other, except in her dreams.
He leaned down, so close that his warm breath whispered across her lips as he asked, “Are you in love with me?”
