"It's marketing," I said, doing the same. "It's all fancy window dressing. But since when do you go to a shop that doesn't look appealing? Your history gives potential clients a sense of trust. You're established; part of the community. And I know attracting more international work is high on your list of priorities so the links with London will reassure companies and individuals looking for a reputable law firm to work with."
He sat back, dark brown eyes that looked the color of strong, roasted coffee beans flickered around the room. His hair was no longer tied up, flopping down to his ears. I suspected he pushed it back and messed with it when he was concentrating; thinking about it made my libido start to do the conga just below my stomach.
"I like your ideas, but I knew I would," he said. "I research anyone I'm paying to do a job and what I saw of your work I thought was tasteful and upmarket without being out of reach of some potential clients. I thought the job you did for Lizards was exceptional, although I'm not sure how you persuaded the CEO there to step out of the 1800s." And then his hand went through his hair and I couldn't help but be jealous of his fingers. I tried not to stare at his biceps or forearms. I'd never found forearms attractive before but now I was wondering what Jackson Callaghan's forearms would look like if he was on top of me, that bare chest exposed in all its glory, his forearms either side of my chest.
Refocusing on what he was saying was somewhat difficult as the image of him above me had used up the majority of my brain cells. "I sold him a product that was almost too good to be true and made it easy," I said, wishing he would pull his sleeves down. "What I do isn't complicated as long as the client knows what direction they want to take their firm and what image they want to present." A family of four sat at a table next to us, a toddler and small infant part of the party. It was a welcome distraction and gave me an opportunity to move my eyes away from the man in front of me. "We do need to discuss the retirement ball for your father. We've already put together and contacted a list of venues for their availability and have caterers booked."
Jackson swallowed, looking thoughtful. "What do you need?" He stared at me with eyes that now seemed piercing. My automatic response would not be in the slightest bit professional. I tried to hold myself together rather than melting into a pile of girl goo at his feet. I was behaving irrationally. It needed to stop.
"Regular meetings with you or a representative with authority to give me the go-ahead regarding the rebranding and the website. I have people at my office who do the design work and will transfer everything over. I'll need access to a budget to get everything booked for the ball and details of your usual suppliers for stationary etcetera so I don't have to chase around." I folded my arms, sat up straight and noticed that his eyes dropped briefly to my chest. My dress was fitted just enough to hint at what might be under there. As I said to Jackson – it was all about the window dressing.
"Is this your only project at the moment?"
Amelie arrived with our breakfasts and I was suddenly starving. "No. I have one that's just about to finish with a launch next Friday and another I'm halfway through, but a lot of that one is being run by one of my employees. There are several others but none I'm leading." Although all were technically my projects and would be used as ammunition to either force Richard to sell or for him to buy me out at substantial cost.
"We'll meet every other day if we can, or at least schedule a phone call. I'll have my secretary set something with you each morning, starting tomorrow. Even if there's nothing to update it means you won't be held up waiting for someone to give you go ahead if we know when you can get hold of me." He put his cutlery down and stretches his back by pushing his chest forward. "Tell me about you."
I looked at him, puzzled. So far, it had been all professional, apart from the comment made about Maxwell's lack of kink. "What do you want to know?"
He shrugged. "How long have you lived in London; where do you live, which gym you usually use... I know it was Claire who commissioned you. I was away in Ireland when you came for the initial meeting but usually, I find out as much as I can about anyone who will be working for the company."
"So, you're doing the stalker bit after you signed the contract?" I smiled, willing myself to keep from flirting. I was usually the consummate professional, especially when dealing with men. Issue anything that could be interpreted as friendly banter and you left yourself at risk of being questioned as to how serious you were, or what other services you offered.
Jackson laughed. "Yep. Finding out about your skeletons after the horse has bolted with the skeleton riding on top. Besides, you'll know a lot about me with everything you've had to find out so it's only quid pro quo." He beckoned a waitress for another coffee.
"I'm thirty-two, I'm from Derbyshire originally and I studied marketing at Bath University before completing a masters in strategic marketing at Imperial where I met my, hopefully soon to be ex, business partner," I said, staring at the table. I didn't need to mention the soon to be ex, and already ex in some respects, to Jackson.
He raised his brows. "You need legal advice?"
That could be an offer I couldn't refuse. I'd been putting it off for too long already. "Yes. I guess so. But after I've done this job for you."
He said nothing, finishing the remains of his coffee and looking at me. I knew what he was trying to do, to get me to fill the silence and tell him more without him asking.
I groaned and broke easily. I hated silence. "He's already my ex in one way. We got together when we were doing our masters degrees. He was ten years older and his father wanted him to take on the company so insisted Richard got some form of qualification. His dad was the Cole in Cole Henderson and the majority shareholder. Around the time we graduated I inherited a decent sum of money from a great aunt and bought out Henderson, who, quite wisely, didn't fancy being in business with someone who knew pretty much nothing about marketing but everything about how to schmooze clients. And the rest you can probably work out."
Amelie delivered our coffee, an extra biscuit with each cup. "You look sad, sugar," she said. "He stole your heart already?"
I looked up at her and smiled. "That would be simpler. But don't worry – my heart's well-guarded. There's no chance of him running off with it."
She winked at me and disappeared to the table with the toddler who was trying to color in his mother's arm.
"Let me have copies of your contracts tomorrow and I'll start to look into it. I'm assuming that it's you who's driven the business. Is that all of it, or just the creative aspect?" He looked deadly serious and I was glad I didn't face him in court. The coffee eyes were now stormy, darker. Part of me wanted to know what it would be like if he did steal my heart, but that was not on the agenda and couldn't be. I didn't get involved with clients and I couldn't get involved with anyone until the business situation with Richard the dick was resolved. Me dating anyone would just be extra ammunition for him.
"All of it. For six years." I tried not to sound bitter or to offer any more details, however badly I wanted to talk it over with someone and for them to take my side.
"You'll need to give me more than that. I assume you can prove how you've grown the business, you have the accounts and the evidence of what you've worked on?"
I nodded. "I'm meticulous. That's something we fell out over. I apparently worked too hard. While I was working late nights to get the company moving and accumulating new clients he was working his mother's best friend's daughter." And the bitterness spilled out like the Thames churned out garbage at low tide. "I shouldn't be telling you all this. You're my client – it isn't your problem and not the image I want to present."
He didn't join my pity party, for which I was grateful. "Can you afford to buy him out?"
"Not at the price he wants. But I can afford to pay what he probably deserves based on the growth of the company's worth and his lack of input." I poured more coffee into my cup and pushed away the feeling of sickness that always occurred when I thought about Richard and the business and the possibility of having to walk away just to save my sanity.
"I'll email you a list of what I need from you and then we'll get it moving. You'll be fine," he said. His words reassured me and then a hand landed on top of mine, squeezing briefly and softly. "Let's meet after work tomorrow and you can give me the full story then. I'll let you buy me dinner. As long as it's not prissy food."
I laughed, my hand completely frozen by the electric shocks he had just fed into me. Claire had talked about her brothers and sisters plenty of times when we'd met for drinks. I knew Jackson was single, driven, fun with a love of motorbikes that had caused him and his father to fall out on more than one occasion. She'd talked about his regular hookups, some of whom she'd met at corporate events or the occasional family party. He'd sounded like a nice, interesting guy, but not my usual type. Clearly, my body disagreed a whole lot.
"Oh, I'll find the prissiest restaurant possible," I threatened, smiling.
