I listen to the driver’s phone ring on the other line. I come closer to her. “You have no idea. That woman in there probably just tweeted about us in the lobby. Fifty extra people will make their way over from wherever they were… Maybe even more. This is the life of a person in the limelight.” I hike up my shirtsleeves. “This is the life that you’re going to have to get used to from this moment on as the biggest criminal case since OJ hits TV screens.” I tilt her chin slightly with my finger. “Are you ready?”
“No.” Her response is quick-fire fast, and I smirk.
She looks as if she’s ready to say something when a thickening crowd starts to show up, filing directly our way. I grab her and walk, crunching her body into mine. I look at the sidewalk as if my life depends on it.
“Keep your head down and your eyes straight ahead.”
“What…”
I hear Violet gasp in my ear, her body slightly shaking. The crowd on the street turns into a sea of faces, all staring at us and before the sea can swallow us, a car comes screeching around the corner, sliding to a stop.
The black town car honks twice and I part the talking ocean around me with Violet in my arms, my jaw pressed to her hair as I escort her towards the edge of the sidewalk, open the door and thrust her inside the backseat of the colossal car. I slam the door shut and run to the other side, hopping in just as the real photogs start to show on the scene.
The town car driver speeds off, leaving a trail of engine dust and disappointed gawkers behind us. I lean back in my seat, exhaling. I look over to find Violet’s eyes on me. She gapes.
“You set me up,” she sighs. “You knew this would happen.”
“Knew it? Yes. Planned it? No.” I sit up straight, glaring at her. “That’s just what happens in my world, and you’re asking to be a part of it.”
I watch her swallow, my eyes scanning her face. I study every tiny detail.
“You’re too good for this company, you know that, don’t you?” I inch closer. “Your reaction in that conference room said as much when I read it.”
I raise the partition between us and the driver, and I glare back at Violet. Squinting at the sultry redhead, my eyes skim the expanse of her body, starting at her heels and stopping at her baby-blue eyes. I want her to stay here and listen, but I also want to scare her.
I want her to know what she’s getting into with me, with this firm—this case. With a world that will stab at her road to success. I can tell by the twinge of her slight Chicago accent that she’s still a stranger to my city. I’m sure Violet came here as a naive girl in a city full of sharks…but she has no idea that she now works for some of the biggest ones.
Works for a man who would cut his own nose off just to come one step closer to success. A man…who is much like me.
I take a deep breath.
“We’ll eat lunch. We’ll talk. I promise you won’t die from either of those,” I tell her. “But first I want to prepare you. I want to prepare you for what you’re in for—my life. I want to prepare you for what David doesn’t seem to know—that we’re going to be implicated with this case…and what he will do once we fall out of line.”
“We?” She presses.
“Yes…” I scan her body once more. “We,” I emphasize. “Especially since he’s got his eye on you.”
Violet’s jaw drops. “David?” She shakes her head. “He doesn’t.”
I smile. “Yeah, you keep thinking that. And I’m going to give you the tools you need to get through this fucking circus.”
I look out the window, as Violet raises her eyebrows, giving me another glance. “And how do I know I can trust you to do that?”
“Because…” I stare out at the streets, not meeting her eye. “Sparrows? We were born in a fucking circus.” I shoot her a pointed look. “Or hadn’t you heard?”
Chapter Thirteen
VIOLET
Day number six…and it belongs to asshole number one.
The cool New York air is wet with mist as the next few days warm up considerably in Manhattan. Heath’s arrival is official, his immaculate suits in tow. He walks amidst the firm’s lawyers as if he has always belonged, and by mid-day, a gentle breeze turns brisk, putting everybody in the office on edge.
Except for David. Me. And now, of course, him.
Our brand-new boss. More bastardly than ever.
His arms bulge against his expensive white button-down shirt, his biceps stretching at the fabric, showing off. Sleeves rolled up to the elbow, his forearms on full display despite the chill, he reveals a smattering of dark hair trails along his arms and jaw, and as he strolls past my office door in the afternoon, he raises a rough hand to rub it, his frustration evident as he swipes a palm across the cropped strands below his chin.
In preparation for a brand new corporate client, Heath arranges for sets of depositions, pulling participating lawyers in at his whim, and I swear the entire law firm sways with him, obeying his every instinct.
Everyone—every employee, right down to the paralegals—seem to be looking exclusively to him for direction. Even David.
The asshole was smarter than I’d expected, and, hell, I’d always known he was smart. His Harvard education has obviously served him well, and as he sets up meetings, arranges court appearances and sets up a few judicial sessions, I watch him, unable to do anything else.
I’d heard Heath Sparrow was a boy prodigy, but now I’m seeing him in action. Listening to him speak, full of passion and fervor and finesse, is almost more than my holiday-drained head can handle, and I take to ignoring him completely. Crossing a hallway just to avoid him. Turning a corner just so I won’t see his annoyingly handsome face.
Despite the fact that the brain cells of everyone involved in Chris Jackson—including my favorite secretary—seems to be located in their Calvin Kleins, mine are abso-fucking-lutely not, and I decide somewhere deep in my Victoria’s Secret not to let a pretty face—no matter how fucking gorgeous—distract me from my job.
A job that Heath seems so intent on interfering with at every turn.
“Package delivery!” I hear from somewhere in my muddled subconscious. The sound makes me jump.
The nasally sound of new delivery guy Steve’s annoying voice rolls on the edge of rumbling thunder from outside, and the sky opens up, dumping frozen rain down on Manhattan, washing our floor-to-ceiling windows in a sea of dark gray.
Just outside my office door, I notice lawyers, secretaries and assistants scramble, ready to wrap the day, eagerly scurrying past my glass wall to escape back to the safety of home.
But me?
I don’t budge an inch as Heath stalks our wood-grained halls, my attention still on him as he glides past the wall of pristine glass that separates me from the crowded corridor. The wall that separates me from Steven Randall.
He knocks again.
“Ms. Keats?”
It’s a name I’m only now getting used to after two years of having changed it back. Steve’s announcement for my package is still ringing in my ears, when I begrudgingly invite him in, his blue eyes shifty as he pushes into my small, square office.