Counselor Undone (10 page)

She wasn’t used to this kind of unequivocal support from a
man—other than her brother. She’d always faced her battles alone. She’d
cultivated internal strength and an indomitable spirit through hard knocks ever
since her parents split up when she was nine. Michael’s silent offer of support
was as irresistible as it was unexpected, making Jordis do something completely
foreign to her independent spirit. She leaned into him to accept and relish in
that support.

A flicker in Keith’s eyes conveyed he’d seen the unspoken
bond transpire. The bristle to his male ego telegraphed from the flash of
barely controlled anger he directed at Michael. Michael’s expression didn’t
change. He stared straight back at Keith, sending the message he wasn’t
impressed or cowed by his presence.

“Trust me.” Jordis regained Keith’s attention. “The air is
plenty clear. I meant every word I said when I called off our engagement.
Whatever your regrets, their irrelevant to me now.”

Keith’s head tilted. “Michael
Remington
,” he said
slowly. “As in, Remington Hager & McCormick?” Keith looked right at Jordis
as he finished.

She could almost see the dirty thoughts dancing through his
brain, and it pissed her off.

“Yes,” Michael replied.

“I see.” Keith directed a condescending
I-was-right-about-you grin at Jordis.

“No, you don’t see—”

“Oh, yeah, Jordis. I see you wasted no time. How long have
you been at the firm now? Has it even been two months?”

Jordis bit back the obscenity that threatened to burst from
her mouth in response to Keith’s veiled personal dig. She didn’t bother to
correct him about the length of her employment at RHM. “No, you don’t see.” She
took a step forward. “He lied, Keith. He lied to cover his own ass.” Her voice
dropped to a dangerously calm tenor, but her body still communicated aggression.
“Then he used you to make sure his story stuck.”

Keith’s eyes flashed a momentary look of doubt.

She pressed her point. “Yeah, think about it. When a woman’s
own fiancé doesn’t trust her integrity, it makes it pretty easy to get others
to doubt her word.”

“Is that what you told him?” Keith gave a mirthless laugh.
“He bought that line?”

Something in Jordis went cold. “If that’s how you feel
Keith, why are you standing here claiming you want to ‘clear the air’?”

He switched tactics. “Look, babe, I miss you.” He reached
for the hand not pressed against Michael’s side, a bold move considering
Michael’s expression. “I thought maybe you were ready to talk about what really
happened. Maybe we can finally get past it, get back to being a team.” His hand
eased towards a loose curl dangling across her forehead.

Michael’s hand blocked the move. “You need to keep your
hands to yourself.”

Keith bristled. “Look, man, could we have a moment alone,
please?”

“No,” Michael and Jordis said at the same time.

Michael adjusted her body in a way that made it awkward for
Keith to continue holding her hand so Keith released her.

She glared at her ex. “What do you want, Keith? What’s this
really about?”

Keith’s eyes flicked towards Michael.

“Whatever you want to say to me, say it. Trust me, he’s not
going anywhere.” Jordis focused her attention on Keith, but out of the corner
of her eye, she caught the look and tilt of head Michael gave him at her comment.

Keith’s jaw tightened. The familiar tick revealed his
mounting anger. “Clearly, this isn’t a good time.” He pulled his wallet from
his pocket and retrieved a business card. He placed it in Jordis’s hand.
“Here’s my card. I’ll be in town for two weeks. Give me a call when you’re
ready to talk.”

Jordis read the card in her hand.

Keith looked past her at the man standing at her shoulder. “
Michael.
”
He laced the farewell with a macho inflection.

Michael’s smile stayed as nonchalant as his tone, and he
nodded his head in dismissal. “
Keith.
”

* * *

Michael watched Jordis squeeze Keith’s business card into a
wadded ball.

“He just ruined a perfectly good day.” Her voice held a
tense edge that affected Michael in a strange way.

He didn’t like her change in mood. Stepping behind her, he
placed his right hand on her waist and leaned around her to open her fist with
his left. “No, he didn’t.” When her hand unwound, he removed the wadded card.
“Because we’re not going to let him.” He dropped the crumple into a neighboring
trash receptacle.

Jordis looked over her shoulder at him.

“You still owe me a stroll, Ms. Morgan. Come with me.” He
took her hand and tugged her towards the street.

“Where are we going?”

He pulled his phone from his pocket and sent several text
messages. Satisfied, he nodded before placing it back in his coat. “You’ll find
out soon enough.”

He took her hand and pulled her towards the street. As his
mystery woman, she’d said they would be hard pressed to do dinner-and-a-movie
or getting-to-know-you drinks after their steamy first encounter. He disagreed.
They’d done dinner. While a movie wasn’t in the cards, they could certainly
take advantage of one of Kansas City’s favorite couple spots. Their first kiss
had been above the backdrop of the Plaza lights. It seemed fitting that their
first date also occur on the Plaza—even if she didn’t know it was their
first date.

They strolled several blocks hand-in-hand and stopped at a
corner where passengers commandeered horse-drawn carriages for a fee. Several
people waited in line for carriages to return. Jordis looked at him with a
question in her eyes. He gave her that smile often used by parents to keep
children in suspense when planning a surprise.

Soon, the clip clop of horse hooves against frigid concrete
drew Jordis’s attention to an approaching carriage. Unconsciously, she squeezed
Michael’s hand. Open steel bars shaped like a pumpkin sat atop a carriage bed
to create the ambience of the popular Cinderella carriage. Drawn by a speckled
white stallion, the glow of white Christmas lights wrapped around the pumpkin
cage made the coach appear almost magical.

“I used to love riding in that carriage at Christmas time
when I was a kid.” Jordis’s voice softened with the pleasure of her memories.
“I wonder who has the next ride.”

The carriage pulled to a stop at the curb. The father of a
family of four approached the driver of the carriage intending to purchase the
next ride. They watched the driver shake his head negatively indicating the carriage
was unavailable.

“It looks like someone has it reserved,” Jordis said. “Too
bad. It would have been fun to take a ride.”

Michael squeezed her hand back. “Then let’s do that.”

“You brought me here to take a carriage ride?”

Her baffled expression made him want to laugh. He pulled her
along by their still joined hands. “Yes. In fact, I brought you here to take a
ride in this carriage.” He motioned towards the Cinderella carriage.

Jordis stopped moving. Her expression turned from bafflement
to disbelief. “But . . . the carriage is reserved.”

Michael pulled her to him and lowered his voice. “It’s reserved
for us.”

“But, how did you—?”

“The wonders of modern technology.” Michael patted the
breast pocket of his coat.

“That’s what you were doing? Making reservations for a
carriage ride?”

“Yes.”

A soft breeze blew more loose tendrils of hair around her
face. “Why did you do that?” She shivered beneath her wary expression.

With the sun down, the temperature had dropped. He pulled
her scarf from under the collar of her coat and wrapped it around her neck. “Because
I heard you tell my sister that when your mother brought you and your brother
to the Plaza for carriage rides, you selected this carriage whenever it was
your turn to pick. No matter what had happened that week or that day, a ride in
the Cinderella carriage made you happy. After Mr. Wilson, I thought a little
carriage therapy was in order.”

He brushed the hair off her face. “Now, stop questioning me
and get in the carriage. You’re wasting the night.”

Michael offered Jordis his hand and assisted her into the
carriage. When he settled beside her, the carriage driver looked back and
asked, “All set, folks?”

Michael nodded and the renewed clip clop of hooves announced
their departure.

Jordis angled her body toward him. “You were listening the
whole time.”

So, she hadn’t realized he’d been paying attention when
she’d talked with Raina about her memories of carriage rides on the Plaza.
“Yes, I was listening.”

Jordis smiled, and he almost wanted to thank Keith Wilson
for inspiring him to charter a carriage ride to make her feel better. Her smile
made the astronomical fee he’d agreed to pay to guarantee the last minute
availability of the carriage worth every dime. Of course, he’d still find a way
to get back at his old high school buddy, whose family owned the carriage
service, for taking advantage of Michael’s predicament to jack up the price.
For now, however, he was glad his friend had come through for him so he could
counteract the negative effect of Jordis’s interaction with her ex.

When Wilson had approached Jordis, the force of Michael’s
immediate dislike of the man had surprised him. He wanted to know more about
their relationship. He’d gleaned the two had been engaged and the relationship
hadn’t ended well. He wanted to know why, but he wouldn’t risk a downturn in
her current mood by asking. He’d broach the subject some other time.

Jordis hunkered into her coat.

“Are you cold?”

“A little. I guess I spent too many years in LA, and my
blood hasn’t thickened back up yet.”

Michael leaned towards the driver and asked him to pull over
up ahead. He turned back to Jordis. “I’ll be right back.”

He jumped out of the carriage and walked purposefully into a
coffee shop. A few minutes later, he returned with two tall cups of steaming
liquid. Climbing back into the carriage, he handed her a cup.

Jordis took a sip. “Mmm. What is this?”

“Good?”

“Delicious. It tastes almost like gourmet hot chocolate, but
it clearly has some coffee in it.” She took a long swig and a look of ecstasy
crossed her face.

Michael chuckled. “I noticed you always drink tea. So, I
told the barista you’re not really a coffee drinker, but I was trying to
corrupt you. She came up with this. It’s a milk chocolate turtle mocha. Do you
like it?”

“It’s incredible. What’s in it?”

“Two types of gourmet chocolate—including chocolate
shavings—real cream, flavored cappuccino, nuts and something secret I
can’t get the owner to tell me.”

“Well, I wouldn’t tell you either if I had a hot chocolate
recipe like this. I’d be a millionaire from hot chocolate sales alone.” She
adjusted in her seat. “Have you talked to them about possible trade secret
protection for their recipes?”

His brow furrowed. “Actually, no. I never thought about it.
But you’re right. Dana should be taking precautions with her recipes.”

“Dana? You know the owner well?”

“Yes, she graduated from high school with my sister, Liliana.
She was always at the house for some reason or another.”

“I’d love an introduction. Some intellectual property
protection and a targeted social media campaign and we could make this shop the
place to come for gourmet beverages. Then, Dana and her staff could upsell
their other goodies.”

He’d never thought about a business pitch to Dana. He rarely
got involved with clients until they had a dispute they wanted to squash or
litigation they needed to win. Jordis’s brain seemed to work on a proactive
basis at all times. He admired that. The transactional team led by his Business
and Finance partner had been after him for some time to work on a targeted
cross-marketing campaign with the Intellectual Property Litigation group. Maybe
he needed to put Jordis to work on the project as a liaison between the two
departments. He filed the thought away for later consideration.

His attention returned to his carriage companion. The
tension in her shoulders from the encounter with Wilson had started to ease.
The calming motion of the gliding carriage and the hot beverage appeared to
have relaxed her. He placed his arm along the seat behind her head. Every once
in a while, his fingers slid through the hair of her ponytail.

After a while, Jordis asked, “So, your grandparents live in
Milan?”

He nodded. “My maternal grandparents.” He didn’t usually
talk about his family. People, especially women, had a way of taking personal
information and using it like weapons in warfare. His ex had. She’d gone so far
as to pretend to share his interest in motorcycles by buying one of her own.
But, whenever he made plans to ride with her, something always came up. It
wasn’t until he’d found out about her plans to fawn her pregnancy by another
man off as his that he’d finally put two and two together. She’d taken lessons
and gotten her motorcycle license, but she didn’t really like to ride. She’d
scoped him out and planned his seduction like a professional mercenary staging
a coup. The devastation she’d wreaked on his faith in women and belief in romantic
love still lingered.

Somehow with Jordis, he didn’t feel the tight pull of angst
that usually accompanied a woman’s inquiry into his personal life. In fact, he
felt compelled to tell her about his Italian roots.

“My parents met the summer after my father graduated from
college. He embarked on a summer tour of Europe. On his jaunt through Milan, he
spied a beautiful Italian girl coming out of a gelato shop with a group of
friends one day. According to my father, she’d been breathtaking. He couldn’t
take his eyes off her. Eventually, she noticed him staring and smiled at him
before disappearing from the piazza.

“My dad always chuckled when he described how, try as he
might, he’d been unable to stop thinking about the Italian beauty. So, he
returned every day for four straight days to the same spot at the same time of
day hoping she would show up again. On the fourth and final day, he resolved
that if she didn’t show, he would relent and move on to the next city on his
seat-of-the-pants itinerary. He sat outside the gelato shop that day for five
long hours. As dusk began to filter over the piazza, he gathered his
disappointment and rose to leave. That’s when he spied my mom walking alone.
She’d come specifically to find him. From that moment on, the two spent every
possible minute together. They decided to make it permanent after knowing each
other for only two weeks.”

“Wow. That’s very romantic.”

“My grandfather didn’t think so.”

“No?”

“Nope. Apparently, he was dismayed when the ‘smooth-talking
American’—” He made air quotes. “—requested permission to marry his
daughter. Grandfather had expected my mom to marry a nice Italian boy and raise
tons of children in Milan, not abscond to another continent with an Anglo.”

“Ah.” She nodded her head. “Same story. Different country.”

He stared at her for a moment. “Is it?” Those eyes of hers
watched him closely, waiting for him to explain his question. He caressed her
cheek with a bent finger. “How do you feel about Anglos, Jordis?”

Jordis fumbled the coffee cup in her hand. She tried to grab
it, but shaky hands and marked surprised weren’t a good combination, and the
cup tilted from her grasp. Michael managed to grab the cup before leftover
chocolate mocha filled her lap. He tucked it aside.

“I . . . um . . . What do you mean?” Her soft voice contrasted
with the look of amazement on her face.

Her eyes darken slightly, the way they had last night when
he’d kissed her. The realization that she wasn’t wholly immune to him sent a jolt
of testosterone pulsing through every cell of his body. He’d initially been
reluctant to bring up the topic, but the more attracted to her he became, the
more he ached to know her preference in men. Her reaction told him a lot, but
he needed to hear her say it.

Enjoying her discomfiture, he leaned back in his seat. He
undid the sole fastened button on his coat to counteract the sudden rise in his
body temperature. “I think you know what I mean.”

* * *

Jordis’s eyes slid over him from head to toe in the few seconds
it took her to adjust upright after the coffee scare. Michael Remington had sex
appeal in spades, and she suspected he knew it. His posture oozed confident
masculinity. An odd set of contrasts comprised his persona. Staunchly proper
and GQ in the office, he came off as conservative and straight-laced. Here, on
a carriage ride wearing black jeans and a black sweater, he looked edgy and
even a little dangerous.

He was quite yummy . . . for a white guy. Hell, who was she
kidding? For any guy. The last thing she needed, however, was for him to know
she thought so. So, she tried to keep her expression neutral.

Holding her gaze, Michael pressed for an answer to his
question. “There’s that old cliché that women like their men tall, dark and
handsome.” He was sporting a smile she’d bet a year’s salary made women of
every persuasion want to drop their panties. “I’m just curious. What’s your
perspective?”

Responding to the flirtatious mischief in his eyes, Jordis
gathered her aplomb. “My perspective is there’s usually a basis for most
clichés.” She positioned her back into the corner of the carriage bench
farthest away from him. “I’d have to say tall, dark and handsome always worked
for me.” She flashed her own mischievous grin.

He angled his body towards her. “So, just how
dark
does your tall and handsome have to be?”

They stared at each other for five seconds that felt more
like five hours. “Are you . . . asking me . . . ?” Her voice trailed off. She
dared not voice what she thought he was asking.

She was riding through the Plaza with the heir apparent to
one of the most successful law firms in the city. Everyone knew he, as the only
attorney amongst the living relatives of the founders of the firm, reigned as
crowned prince and soon to be managing partner. He’d been labeled the most eligible
bachelor at the firm. He was probably one of the most eligible bachelors in the
city. Yet, no matter how many women threw themselves at him, he managed to
avoid office interludes and serious relationships. So, she couldn’t fathom why
he sat asking about her preference in men as if interviewing her to be his
potential paramour. Surely, she was missing something.

“What I’m asking, Ms. Morgan,” his voice dropped half an
octave, “is if you’ve ever had a white guy before?”

Her mouth fell open. Her nipples tightened under her shirt.
The rousing image evoked by his question—having her way with this particular
white guy—made her hormones dance. Her hand tightened into a ball on the
seat.

He leaned closer, placing a hand on the side of the carriage
beside her shoulder. The scent of his cologne—
that
cologne, the
one that made her salivate and think of Spartacus—filled her. The
aphrodisiac quality of the fragrance, marked with patchouli and sandalwood,
made this interaction so much more troubling than the conversation alone. Her
eyes closed.

He gently touched her face with his other hand. She opened
her eyes.

“Well?” he asked softly.

“No.” She hadn’t. But, if she were ever going to have one,
he’d be at the top of her list. He was easily the sexiest man she’d ever met.
She hesitated, struggling against the loaded question she knew better than to
ask, but she couldn’t help herself. “Why?”

He smirked. “Do I really have to spell it out?”

She stared into his eyes, not asking the obvious question of
whether he’d ever been with a woman like her before. It didn’t really matter
since he’d made his interest in her clear. How much of that interest was
genuine and how much stemmed solely from curiosity, she didn’t know. What she
did know was she needed a change of topic before they ended up crossing the
line again, a line that kept getting blurrier by the second.

“Michael, I think we need to talk about something else.”

“Do we?”

“Yes.” She pulled her coat tighter around her.

He studied her movement. “I tell you what. If you slide over
here so I can keep you warm, I’ll drop my line of questioning, and we can just
enjoy the rest of the ride.”

Step into my parlor said the spider to the fly.
The nursery school line popped into her head as she considered
his offer. She
was
getting cold again, but sidling up next to him didn’t
seem like a smart move.

He reached for her. “Come on, Jordis. I promise to be on my
best behavior.”

Her posture stiff and unnatural, she allowed him to pull her
close. After a few minutes, snow flurries began to fall. She raised a palm and
caught a few flakes. She glanced at Michael as they melted in her hand. “It’s
starting to snow.”

She didn’t think anything was quite as beautiful as a carriage
ride in the snow through the Country Club Plaza Christmas lights. The night
fell around them in an enchanting flurry too beautiful to waste on worries. It
wasn’t as if he was going to jump her in public. She relaxed and they rode in
silence, enjoying the view.