Legally Addicted (9 page)

‘
Petit-fours
, ladies?’ The caterer was at the table proffering a large mixed box of truffles and mini-chocolates. It gave her the perfect opportunity to escape.

Out on the veranda she sat in a director’s chair, one of several set out around a large teak outdoor table.

Brad took up a chair beside her, while Roger and John lingered inside, twittering with their wives; still gossiping, no doubt, about the exchange they had just witnessed.

Well, let them gossip. Dayton and Llewellyn had brought Brad into this partnership without consulting her, and she had every right to be tetchy.

‘Are you okay, Georgia?’

Brad took up a chair beside her and patted her arm. She hadn’t expected his touch to be comforting, but it had the effect of releasing the tension that had built up inside her and she didn’t try to shrug him off.

‘Yes, sorry. I don’t like being excluded from things, that’s all.’

‘So I noticed. Whisky?’ Not waiting for a response he handed her a glass, pouring a good inch of the tawny liquid in the bottom.

‘I do get what it feels like to be left out. Not excluded and whispered about in the way you would have experienced, of course, but ignored, yes, I get that.’

Georgia had never told anyone how much the sniggers and comments whispered from behind raised hands at the exclusive high school she attended, at law school, and even now to some extent around court or at formal bar dinners, hurt her. But Brad somehow understood that was how it had been for her. She wanted to ask him what he meant about him being ignored too, but before she had a chance, Roger and John came outside, pulling up chairs opposite.

Roger began spraying his arms and legs with insect repellent that he had brought with him, while John produced a briefcase and handed around papers setting out an order of business. The agenda listed all of the partner’s names — including hers. She shrank back into the fabric of the oversized chair and sipped the whisky; heat scalding her throat, mirroring the social burn she had just inflicted on herself.

The others had intended to include her all along.

Brad smacked at an imaginary mosquito against his head.

What an idiot.

Georgia was withdrawn now, slumped back into her chair, speaking only when spoken to, but not actively taking part in the discussions.

He should have made it clear that it was always his intention the cigars and scotch session would include her. It was meant as a convenient way to break off from Dayton and Llewellyn’s gossipy wives, though it was a damn shame they had to endure the outdoors, even on an unseasonably balmy autumn night, complete with biting insects, to make their escape complete.

He passed Georgia the insect repellent, and she sprayed it on absently.

He tried to concentrate as Dayton and Llewellyn gave a summary of the financial position of the practice, going into unnecessary detail about the partnership’s overheads, liabilities and the current state of cash flow, but his attention kept straying back to Georgia.

She looked stunning. Her black dress, tied up around her neck, set off her delicate shoulders, the dim outside lighting bounced off her honey coloured hair and her eyes simmered deep in thought.

He wished Dayton and Llewellyn would push off to bed, but they were still only halfway through the agenda and both ageing men seemed to have plenty of life left in them yet.

‘Now, starting with the priorities for the family law team,’ John said, introducing the first item of any weight on the agenda. ‘Roger and I have talked, and we both feel that Bradley joining the practice is good timing. We would like to see a repositioning of our emphasis to target the high-value and celebrity markets, and progressively divest ourselves of our lower value clients.’

Georgia, who had been leaning back in her chair, sat upright, gripping the tabletop until her knuckles gleamed white.

‘Since when has the quality of legal advice provided by our firm been governed by the depth of the client’s pockets? I’m not going to turn people away just because they can’t produce a postcode for the Eastern Suburbs.’

John Dayton’s grey moustache twitched.

‘No-one’s suggesting anything unethical like turning people away on the basis of ability to pay, Georgia, but if our client list is already full with more complex matters, then it will be legitimate for us to take a pass on the low value work. You, of all people, should see the benefit in that.’

Brad winced. Dayton’s reminder to Georgia of her unequal standing as a non-equity partner within the firm wasn’t a great idea, coming so soon after her self-induced humiliation at the dinner table.

‘Low value work or lower value human beings?’ Georgia’s retort came swift and fierce, as Brad had expected.

‘Before we get too far on with this, gentlemen,’ Brad said, wading in, hoping to calm the waters before Georgia got any more upset, ‘Can I say that to a certain extent I agree with Georgia, although for different reasons. Low value can equal high volume work, which leads to technical skill and experience.’ Georgia took a sharp breath and opened her mouth to speak, but he gave her no leeway to interject, anticipating what, in her already piqued state, her likely objection would be. ‘Not that I’m suggesting that Georgia doesn’t have either experience or knowledge, but variety refreshes our skills and keeps the work interesting. Take it from one who often gets bogged down in a handful of complex cases at a time.’

Dayton shrugged.

‘Let’s leave things as they are then, for the time being.’

Llewellyn looked at his watch.

‘Since we’re not going to progress these discussions any further tonight, I think I might turn in. I suggest we also postpone the last item regarding increasing our office space until we see how the additional revenue from the family section stacks up against the expense of taking on more square footage.’

Brad swore a silent oath. Llewellyn was taking one last stab at Georgia, making her regaining an office conditional on her increasing the revenue from her client list, and ensuring that he got the last word in the process.

‘Why don’t I have a look at the Spencer portfolio and see what’s available? I’m sure Spencer Corp could offer the firm a lease on very favourable terms.’

‘Mates rates?’ Llewellyn asked, smelling a deal.

‘Yes, if you like.’

Brad risked a look at Georgia out of the corner of his eye, worried he was going too far, using his Spencer Corp ‘silver spoon’ resources as leverage to turn the situation around, but her expression was unreadable.

John Dayton stood up.

‘Well that sounds promising, and on that positive note, I’m happy to call it a night as well.’

‘Goodnight all.’

Georgia went to lift herself out of her chair, pressing down on the wooden armrests, but Brad lightly gripped her arm, indicating she should stay. The satin feel of her warm downy skin was a reminder of what she had felt like beside him that night at the penthouse. She shot him a quizzical look that resounded through his abdomen.

Damn.

He had underestimated how difficult it was going to be to sit in this ‘look but don’t touch’ hellhole he had excavated himself into.

‘Thanks for backing me up with those two,’ Georgia said, once both the older partners were well inside and out of earshot.

‘Yes, I thought the old farts would never run out of steam and take themselves off to bed.’

‘You shouldn’t call them that.’ Georgia’s words were censorious, but her tone was anything but. She laughed, the outdoor lighting reflecting in her eyes so that when they danced they looked like white capped waves.

‘Why not? That’s what they are. I bet you had as much fun talking to old Gladys and Doris in there earlier as I had making small talk about cricket and comparing the value of the Australian dollar against the greenback with their husbands.’

She laughed again, much harder this time, dislodging a blonde lock from behind her ear.

‘I am sorry that my coming into the firm has shaken everything up for you, and just when you’ve made partner too.’

He reached over to wind her hair back into place. Sliding his hand down the side of her face, he stroked her cheek with his thumb. He hoped it would be enough for her to jump the divide and kiss him. It would have to be; he didn’t dare do any more.

Brad’s touch was an electric charge that sent Georgia’s hormones colliding like a bunch of excitable atoms as the realisation hit her.

He wanted her.

So why was he mucking about gazing into her eyes instead of jumping her?

‘So are you going to hurry up and kiss me?’

In one swift movement he withdrew his hand.

‘No.’

‘Why not?’

She wrinkled her face as she tried to work him out. He obviously wanted to spark this thing between them back up again, but he had put himself in a professional position where that would be near impossible, and now he wouldn’t even so much as kiss her?

‘Georgia, you have to make the first move.’

His voice was matter of fact as if he had just stated some irrefutable aspect of common law, and yet she knew Brad was right. Dayton and Llewellyn were already salivating piglets at the trough at the thought of cornering the celebrity break-up market. If she couldn’t handle working with Brad, she would have to leave the firm. Without a partnership track record it was terrible timing for her to be trying to break into another firm. If Brad left, Dayton and Llewellyn would forever blame her for the derailment of their gravy train.

He sounded confident, and while his features gave no discernible expression, his eyes exuded the same intense vulnerability as when he was talking about the history of the beach house. Right now, Brad Spencer, who usually wanted for nothing, wanted something he couldn’t automatically have.

Her.

Brad wanted poor disadvantaged downtown girl Georgia. It was thrilling and sexy all at the same time.

Part of her wanted to pull herself out of the canvas chair that was now ensnaring her, and haul him by the hand down onto the sand. The other part of her was freaking terrified.

After barely a second’s worth of consideration the terrified part won and she bolted back inside, almost running through the now empty living room, down the hall, and into her bedroom. Once in the comparative safety of her own room, she shut the door and leaned back against it until her heart stopped leaping out of her chest, and her legs were steady enough that she could stand up straight without structural assistance.

How had this happened? No man had ever gotten to her before. She almost wished one had, because then she wouldn’t be faced with this decision; a choice that Brad had foisted all onto her. She fumbled on either side of the doorframe and found the light switch. The harsh light bounced off the white walls and brought her crashing back to reality. She had worked her butt off to get where she was now. She couldn’t throw it all away on a man, not even one as hot as Brad Spencer, and not even, as Caro had alleged, for the purpose of securing funding support for the addiction centre.

She unzipped her bag and found her nightdress. Not bothering to remove her make-up, she slipped off her dress, shoes, and underwear and pulled the nightgown over her head. The last thing she wanted was to run into anyone on the way to the bathroom, least of all Brad.

Turning on the bedside lamp, she walked back across the room and flicked off the main light, but the moment she got into bed she was too hot. She pulled off the throw and then, when that didn’t cool her down sufficiently, she thrust back the doona, but the dank humid air was still suffocating.

She stuck out her bottom lip and forced all the air out of her lungs, fanning it upwards onto her face.

How had someone as rich and powerful as Brad not yet discovered the miracles of retrofitted aircon and ensuite plumbing?

She pulled back the curtain and then the mosquito screen to open the window, but facing away from the beach, there was no relief from the light sea breeze.

Unable to sleep, her brain replayed all the reasons why she had done the right thing beating a hasty retreat to her room, and why she should never ever sleep with Brad Spencer again.

And then it started listing all the reasons why she should.

She knew where his room was. He had made sure of that, she now realised, with the comment he had made over his shoulder about where everything was when he was showing her around. At the time it had seemed like an idle remark, but now she knew better. He had obviously planned this so-called strategy weekend to create a scenario where they might end up back in bed together.

But then, how could sleeping together again make things any worse? They could hardly get more naked than they had before, and it’s not like she was going to do anything really dumb, like fall in love with him. And then there was the addiction centre. With Caro’s attitude to her proposal, unless she did something to reweight the scales in her favour it was unlikely it would ever happen.

Why shouldn’t she?

She tossed and turned, with the pros and cons slugging it out. Images of this new Brad, all casual and relaxed, kept screening in her mind, running like a series of movie clips every time she closed her eyes. Her hand wandered down her thigh, poised there, undecided.

She needed relief. But why resort to self-help measures when Brad was ready, willing, probably in the next room by now, and oh so mind-blowingly able?

That decided it.

Brad was responsible for working her up into this state. He could damn well be the one to do something about it, and if she needed any further justification then there was always the greater good of re-establishing intimate relations with the man who could help bring her dream project to fruition. Something Caro thought she was doing already anyway.

She switched the lamp on, got out of bed and stomped back into the hall. Feeling along the wall in the darkened hallway in the direction Brad had indicated, she slipped into his room, closing the door behind her. His own bedside light was still on, and he was sitting up in bed, enticingly bare chested, sipping water from a glass. A single droplet had fallen from the glass, beading on his chest, sliding down towards his nipple.