“Tell him about the will, Charles. Tell him how you plan to use The Rose Apartments to rip his fortune away.” Martin’s heart sped up the more he talked, his passion for the truth surging through his veins.
Zeke looked back and forth between the two of them. “Charles, if you have something in the works, now’s the time to tell me.”
Charles’s eyes flicked to the side before he made and held eye contact with Zeke. “I don’t know what he’s talking about, Mr. Wolfe. You can check my billable hours. I don’t have time for an extra project.”
Zeke’s lips disappeared into a thin line. He considered Charles for a moment longer, pressuring him to confess with his silence. Charles didn’t budge. Zeke swung his attention back to Martin. “Have you any evidence?”
Martin chewed his lip. “Only my word. I’d bet my license on this, Zeke.”
Zeke tapped a shiny section on the table, and it brightened into a computer screen. Martin shook his head. He’d had no idea that was there. Zeke was soon knee deep into the company system and brought up Charles’s billable hours for the last two weeks. As he’d said, there were eighty-plus hours on there. If he was being honest with his billing. Martin’s heart sank. It was his word against Charles’s, and the only evidence was in favor of the junior lawyer.
Zeke lifted one eyebrow.
“It’s true, Zeke. I wouldn’t make this up.” He swiped at a drop of moisture accumulating on his forehead. When had it become so hot?
“Perhaps …” Charles pushed off the wall and advanced on them. “You’re confused, Martin. You’re on a lot of medication, and you don’t sound well.” He put his hands on the table and applied a concerned look. “Have you been taking cold medication?”
“Yes, but I’m not hallucinating, if that’s what you’re implying.”
Charles shrugged and stood tall. “He doesn’t look well,” he said to Zeke, as if Martin were a child and they were in charge of his care.
Zeke tapped the screen, and the receptionist’s voice came over the speaker. “What can I help you with, sir?”
“Please call a cab for Mr. Creer; he needs to get home.”
Martin dropped his head back. “I’m not delusional.” He leveled Zeke with a look. “Charles is going after Seattle’s most successful lawyer. He’s taking the battle to his home court. If you let him proceed, then your firm will be a casualty when the Beast gets his fangs into him!” He was on his feet, shouting by the time he was done. Why wouldn’t they listen to reason?
A man in a dark suit with a thick build stepped into the room. He didn’t smile. Didn’t look like he knew how to smile. His beady eyes narrowed in on Marin.
Zeke was on his feet in a flash. “Ah, Jamison. Will you escort our visitor to the waiting vehicle on the curb? We’re done here.”
“Zeke—I’m trying to warn you. Charles—”
Zeke rounded on him, his teeth bared. “Get it together, man. You used to be respected in this town.” He tugged on his tie. “If you keep ranting on about this nonsense, you’re going to lose what little reputation you have.”
Martin pulled his hands to his chest. He saw the dire warning in Zeke’s eyes, the danger. And it was of little consequence. What was his reputation compared to his daughter’s safety? “You’re the fool, Zeke.” He brushed past Zeke, Charles, and the security guard with the ugly mug. He’d have to find another way to stop Charles. Adam hadn’t listened to Philip, but perhaps Bella … He winced at the idea of putting her in the line of fire. He’d already thrown her into the Beast’s den. He was not the father he longed to be.
By the time he was in the elevator, his body was drenched in sweat and he had a hard time taking a full breath. Jamison put a hand out to hold the elevator doors open because Martin wasn’t moving fast enough. He shuffled to the waiting cab. The door shut, and Jamison pounded twice on the top of the car with his meaty fist.
“Where to?” asked the driver.
Martin considered his situation. “King County Medical, please.” He closed his eyes and leaned his forehead against the cold glass.
Chapter Twenty
Adam
“Ican’t believe I’m doing this.” Adam slipped his arms into the black tuxedo jacket.
Ben lifted it onto his shoulders. His smile was part smug, part excitement. “Men do crazy things for the women they love. Hosting a ball for two doesn’t even make the top ten list.”
Adam didn’t bother protesting Ben’s assessment of his feelings. He’d always been in tune with Adam’s moods, anticipating when he needed a car at the ready or an extra hour with the personal trainer to work off some steam. It was what made him invaluable as an employee. Not that Adam had ever thanked him. The omission hung heavy on Adam’s mind. He glanced at Ben, wondering if the man would think him mad for expressing such thoughts after years of stoic behavior.
“I blame you for this penguin suit.” Adam waved his hand down his body. “It was bad enough Bella talked me into a trial run for a ball I’m not having.” He dug his fingers into his hair. There were dozens of arguments he could have brought up, but they all were burned away by the light of hope in her eyes.
Stinking Ben had cornered him with a barber in the shop downstairs. His grandmother had had a full salon installed to ensure she was always put together, come surprise visitors or Seattle rain. He’d missed two regular appointments with his barber since the accident, and now his freshly cut hair felt strange. He’d had the barber leave it a little longer than he normally wore it, but it was much shorter than he’d grown used to. He wondered if Bella would like it—if she‘d like him. If she loved him.
Ben snorted as if Adam’s protests were a pebble pretending to be a boulder.
