Page 68 of White Raven
God, what was happening? Gross.
“Fine. Lemme just be blunt,” C.J. hissed, parking a hand on her hip. “I came to make you an offer.”
“Get to the point, C.J.”
“Arya Brenwick sent word that she’s your new representation. I dunno what you’re up to, but after that shit you pulled at the indictment, you have to know the firm isn’t gonna let you stay. If that’s really a battle you’re up to fighting, you’ll lose, and you know it. I don’t care what kind of army you’re thinking about throwing at me.”
Brent scoffed, “This isn’t some personal attack, Cece. I beat his ass. He deserved it. I’d like to keep my job, but I’m not declaring war on you or the firm. What are you getting at?”
“Brent, you broke bones in your client’s face. He’s awake and has a lot to say. Broken eye socket, fractured jawbone. Nose is fucked. You more than beat his ass, and it’s not that I blame you, or didn’t enjoy watching it, but…I warned you. I warned you, and you insisted you were okay to represent this prick.”
His jaw tightened, and his throat bobbed as he looked down at the floor. “What’s the offer?”
“I was the only other person in that room. Resign from the firm and I’ll say I saw nothing. It’s his word against ours. I’m in no mood to defend him for you, as well as get into bed with Arya fucking Brenwick because you didn’t listen to a word I said. I think it’s fair.”
While Wren knew absolutely nothing about the inner workings of law, or court proceedings, she hated to admit that some part of her liked this chick. She was fiery, and direct. Reminded her a bit of herself. She was gonna make sure she moved forward, even if she had to play a dirty hand to get there. That was bold.
“He didn’t beat the shit out of himself, Cece. How are you—”
“Stranger things have happened. A guilty dog will always bark first. If he thought it was his only way of appealing to the court, he could have easily done it to himself. I can handle it. I know it’s shitty of me, Brent. I can admit that, but my offer’s on the table. Take it or leave it.”
Was it shitty? Sure. Did Wren admire her audacity? Absolutely. But the war going on in Brent’s head must have been a bloody one, because the look on his face was one of epic proportions, and it did something to her heart.
Eww.
There was a stagnant silence between them all and Wren dragged her toe over the top of her bare foot, desperate to make herself invisible in this tense face-off between them. They had to have been more at one point than just work besties, because the tension was thick enough to cut with a dull knife, and that occasional crawl of C.J.’s eyes over her skin made her itch in the worst way.
“Maybe it’s for the best. Deal,” Brent said, turning and leaving Wren at the kitchen counter as he made his way back upstairs. She eyed that saucy lawyer once he was out of sight and squared her shoulders.
“So…how long did you warm his expensive sheets?” Wren asked, smirking. C.J. smirked right back.
“Long enough to know they never quite satisfied my sleeping habits.”
Wren leaned against the counter, folding her arms across her chest and crossing an ankle over the other, holding her growing smile. “You’re tough, and I could almost say I like you. But he gave you what you came here for. I know that’s gonna be added to the list of things that are hurting him right now, so that being said…you’re still on my shit list. If you so much as call his phone from here on out, you’ll need that whole fancy law firm to cover up the very public ass-whooping I’ll give you. You make this go away, and forget Brent Stratford ever existed…deal?”
C.J. nodded proudly. “Clearly one of us has underestimated the other. Take care of him, will you?” She winked, patting the pile of discarded laundry on the arm of the couch as she left, and Wren smiled as she turned the deadbolt on Brent’s door.
For it to be hot enough that one was forced to wear sandals while trudging out to find a spot on this beach, the sand he was buried in was cool and damp as Nick Specter watched his little boy struggle with yet another bucket to add on top of his itching body.
“Last one, Reese,” he said, dragging a sad frown out of his toddler.
“No fair! I can still see your feet!” He dumped the bucket over Nick’s toes and dropped down to spread sand over them.
“Son, what am I supposed to do if I have to potty?”
The little boy grinned, the sun making a glowing halo around his sandy hair as he patted down the sand. “You can wear my trainin’ britches?”
“Mama hates it when we potty in our training britches. You trying to get me in trouble?”
“You’re already in trouble,” Evie spat, approaching with his cell phone. “I thought we said no work on this vacation?”
Nick’s brows drew together, and he shook his buried hand from beneath the sand, irritating Reese enough to stop what he was doing and scowl at him. “Who is it?”
“She said her name was Northwood. Some detective? What’s this all about?” she asked, handing him the phone as she pressed a hand to her hip.
“Shit…Evie, could you,” Nick gestured for her to distract Reese, and she huffed, taking his chubby hand and leading his reluctant little form back to the water. “This is Nick Specter.”
“Mr. Specter. This is Detective Rhaena Northwood. Boston Police Department. I’m sorry to bother you, I didn’t realize you weren’t in town.”
