“Nothing…just that I’d think you’d want to be in a more well-known practice. It’ll make you a lot of money and give you exposure.”
I wasn’t liking where this was heading, but I figured that was why there were first dates. To find out these little quirks.
“Not everything is about making the most money. I deal with a lot of emotional issues with my clients. They’re not simply another file to me. Keeping it smaller enables me to give my clients more personalized service.” Daniel’s reference to the firm being like a family was a reason I’d consider moving to them.
“My father is a doctor, and the first thing he taught me was never to get emotionally attached to my clients at work. I can’t think about the people behind the companies I trade or invest my clients in.” She lifted an elegant, silk-clad shoulder and accepted her drink from the server. “If I short them and they go bankrupt, it’s not my fault.”
Technically she was correct, but that didn’t mean I had to like it. I was no Boy Scout, but there were certain things that would keep me up at night.
We ate our appetizers and chatted about plays and books—safe things we’d discussed online and agreed upon. When theserver appeared and asked if we were interested in dinner, I opened my mouth to say yes, but Lydia answered for us.
“No, we’ll take the check, please.”
The server withdrew, and Lydia directed her forthright gaze to me. “You’re a nice guy, Brenner, but there’s no spark, and no reason to force it.”
A bit hurt, I kept my opinions to myself. “Not a problem.” I reached for the check, and Lydia slid four twenties across the table.
“Here’s my share.”
She snapped her purse shut and stood. I got to my feet, gave her a perfunctory kiss on the cheek, and watched her walk away. I paid the bill, got into my car, and within half an hour was in my apartment, writing that thank-you email to Daniel Roth.
Was I selling out if I moved to Walden, Booth, and Roth? My conversation with Lydia made me sound like a virtuous do-gooder, but in truth, receiving an offer like that made me feel damn good about myself.
After puttering around my apartment, I sat with a cup of tea and practiced a bit of meditation to wind down for bed. Of course that was the moment my phone buzzed, and figuring it was Daniel Roth, I decided to peek.
I was wrong.
Heard you had a nice meet and greet with Daniel. Are you going to say yes? Don’t worry. I’ll teach you the ropes. ~W
And a fucking winky emoji.
All my inner peace vanished. How the hell could I work with Weston Lively?Pompous ass. The intervening years hadn’t dulled his shine, and he’d only grown into the role as a wealthy and privileged senator’s son who’d had everything handed to him without needing to ask.
“Bastard.”
Ignoring the message, I went to bed, but Weston remained on my mind. The next morning, I woke up from a dream of the two of us that was so filthy, I couldn’t catch my breath. Before I could think of moving, I had to get off. I palmed my dick, sliding my grip the same way Weston had touched me that night, and all I could think of was his hot, wet mouth on mine, the rasp of a scratchy late-night scruff, and hard muscles pressing me into the bureau. My body pulsed and throbbed with need.
“Oh, fuck.”
I arched off the bed and came, shooting a hot stream over my hand. Guilty, I glanced around, as if someone had watched me pleasure myself, thinking of a man. But not just any man.
Weston.
In the shower, I argued with myself that I’d be foolish to allow that jerk to influence a major life decision. If I thought the move would benefit me more than staying where I was, Weston Lively would never keep me from my goal.
I deleted his message and headed to the subway.
Chapter Four
Weston
Even though it had taken me more than an hour of searching through old alumni directories to find Brenner’s number, there’d been no doubt in my mind when I texted him that he’d ignore it. I’d done it simply to get under his skin. Childish? Probably. But I’d wanted him to know that our steamy hookup the year before meant nothing and I was still in charge.
There’d been little time in the past month to casually drop in on Daniel to ask if Brenner had accepted the offer—I’d had to fly out to the West Coast to meet with a client, then to Florida for depositions. Upon my return, I’d had a mountain of paperwork to handle and emails to answer, not to mention a nasty custody battle. All this hostility from people who’d once promised to love each other for the rest of their lives saddened me. I might think that fidelity and the institution of marriage were a farce, but these people didn’t, and I had to carefully navigate their fragile emotional state.
Today was the perfect example. A gay couple and their adopted child and dog: Randy, the Broadway star. His husband, Steven, a reality-TV celebrity. A fifteen-year age difference but they’d laughed at people’s negativity. A giant, expensive wedding at the Met. Picture-perfect life on social media, until Randy had been caught with his tongue down a top model’s throat and herhands in his pants. An explosion of photos of the infidelity came to light, and the marriage imploded.
Hand on the doorknob, I hesitated. Raised voices bled through the door, and I winced at the vitriol I heard. I pushed it open and decided I needed to set the tone from the outset.
