The side of his mouth hitched, a flare of male satisfaction lighting his gaze. He dropped his hold on her and before she could blink he rapped on the roof. “Here!”
The wheels slowed as the vehicle pulled over. Was he getting out? “What about seeing me home?”
“My driver will ensure you arrive safely. Remember our bargain. Good evening, Miss Greene.”
And he disappeared out the door and into the dark Manhattan night.
With fourteen respected attorneys on staff, the law offices of Thomas, Howe, Travers & Tripp bustled during the daylight hours. The firm occupied three floors of a nine-story brick and terra cotta building downtown near the federal court building. One of New York City’s most prestigious firms, THT&T handled everything from murder trials to patent filings. Frank was the newest and youngest partner attorney but also the best known around town. It helped that he moved easily in high society, and he’d made friends with reporters at just about every newspaper in the area.
Once off the elevator, he nodded at various employees along the way to his office. This floor handled mostly civil cases, with the more serious criminal cases worked on upstairs by Thomas and Howe. Frank avoided the murder trials whenever possible; he’d seen enough of that in his youth. No need to relive those horrors all over again now.
His secretary, Mrs. Rand, stood at his approach. “Good morning, sir. I have placed the morning papers on your desk.”
“Thank you. When is my first appointment?”
“Mr. Jerome is coming in at nine thirty. The material is on your desk to review.”
“You are an absolute gem, Mrs. Rand.” He continued into his office, removed his coat and dropped into the leather chair. One of the newspapers was open to a specific page his secretary wished for him to see. Closer inspection revealed it as the society page, one of Mrs. Rand’s little jokes. She liked to ensure he never missed his column mentions.
BEAUTY AND THE BARRISTER . . . Spotted together last night at Sherry’s were two of the city’s well-known luminaries, Miss G_______ and Mr. T________. The lady sent back her first course and requested another dish. Was it not to her liking or had she changed her mind? One wonders if she may also change her mind regarding her betrothed as well.
Barrister? Really? A solicitor would’ve been a fairer comparison. Frank could hardly believe the lack of imagination in the society writers. Couldn’t write directions to their own homes.
He wondered if Mamie had seen the blurb. Of course, her father would be furious over the attention. Frank would find a way to explain it, if need be. Besides, there were far greater things to worry about this morning.
Like how he’d almost kissed her.
Worse, she had wanted him to.
He’d bedded women from Brooklyn to the Bronx, Morristown to Massapequa, and beyond. Since the age of twelve, he’d been able to recognize desire on a woman’s face, the heat in her eyes. The way her breathing hitched and the thrumming of her pulse in her neck. Mamie had stared at his mouth like it was pistachio ice cream on an August day.
No doubt he’d been staring at her the exact same way.
As the night wore on his craving had grown worse. What had started as a quickening of his blood at dinner had turned into a semierection in the carriage. Christ, he feared what might’ve happened if he hadn’t hopped out halfway uptown. Would he have come in his trousers at Seventy-Second Street?
Mamie had been jealous of Abigail Phillips, though she covered it well with a lie. Frank, however, spotted lies as easily as breathing. A product of his upbringing, he supposed, with abuse and neglect the only constants in his sordid life.
This was why he’d cut Mamie loose. No more would he follow her around town, riding to her rescue at the first sign of danger. She was growing into an unhealthy obsession and there could be no future for the two of them. Better he forgot about her and moved on. She was welcome to visit every two-bit dive, casino or dancehall. He no longer cared.
You must stop following me. I’m tired of having my evening ruined because you show up.
She was right. It was past time for this to end.
He tossed the newspaper aside. Work awaited him, including the papers he needed to ready for his first meeting of the day. Mamie Greene was in his past.
He was nearly ready for his first appointment when a knock sounded. His secretary poked her head inside the room. “Sir, Mr. Greene is here to see you.”
Shit.
The meeting was impossible to refuse . . . and he wasn’t all that surprised by it, either. Frank took off his reading glasses and slipped them in the top drawer of his desk. “Show him in.” While waiting, he stood and put his coat back on.
Duncan Greene was an imposing athletic man. He’d been raised in privilege but one would never call him “soft.” If you found yourself in a taproom brawl, you’d certainly want Greene on your side. But Frank had grown up around plenty of men more terrifying than Duncan Greene. If Mamie’s father thought to intimidate him, Greene would be sorely disappointed.
Greene entered, a brown derby in his hands. His suit was impeccable, perfectly tailored. That he’d come to Frank instead of issuing a summons spoke volumes about the timeliness of this conversation.
“Good morning, Duncan.” Frank held out his hand. Duncan shook it in a crushing grip, one so hard that Frank nearly winced.
“Frank. Thank you for seeing me.”
“Of course. You know my door is always open for you. Have a seat and tell me what’s on your mind.” As if he didn’t already suspect.
“I was in the neighborhood this morning so I thought I’d stop and have a chat.” Duncan lowered himself into the armchair across from Frank’s desk. “We’re both busy so I won’t waste any time. I wish to know your intentions toward my daughter.”
Intentions? Jesus. “It was one dinner, Duncan.”
“One dinner noted in every society column this morning. I’ve already had a visit from Mr. Livingston, the father of Marion’s betrothed. He is equally concerned.”
The two older men should instead concern themselves with Mamie’s habit of stealing money from strangers at casinos. A dinner at Sherry’s hardly equated with gambling and larceny. “Concern that is totally unfounded, in my opinion. We ran into one another and she mentioned a fondness for Louis’s artichoke soup. I offered to escort her.” The lies fell easily from his tongue.
Duncan’s gaze studied Frank carefully, and Frank fought the urge to shift in his chair like a guilty defendant. “Marion’s story was of a similar thread.” He tapped his fingers on the armrest. “You may already know this about me, Frank, but it bears repeating. I don’t care for attention, not for myself or my family. The Greene name has always been associated with respectability and, as my eldest daughter, I expect Marion to follow decades of tradition.”
Frank nearly snorted. Mamie bucked so much tradition that Duncan’s head would spin if he ever found out. But it wasn’t Frank’s job to inform his client of this. He needed to reassure Duncan, agree to whatever Duncan demanded and get on with his damn day.
Duncan was one of New York City’s most powerful men. One word from him and no one above Thirty-Fourth Street would work with Frank ever again. He could kiss his legal career goodbye. And Frank hadn’t bowed and scraped since escaping the poverty of his youth only to throw his vast fortune away on a woman.