Sweetest Kisses: A Single Kiss Part 12

"Close the door, please." Trent's tone was serious, no doubt trying to make an impression. He came around the front of his desk and leaned against it while Gerald took a wing chair.

"Gerald, I am going to ask this question only once: Where were you last Tuesday morning?"

"I wasn't here, if that's what you're asking." I was making enough in fifteen minutes for a few days worth of blow. "That was the morning I took my car in for some work. An oxygen sensor had the check engine light coming on. I got here around noon or so, but I put in the OT to make up for the time, Trent. What's this about?"

Spend enough time with defendants, and the lying came easily. The Loomis divorce would be a good place to start. Elvin Gregory wasn't exactly the sharpest letter opener in the- "You are fired, for cause. These entries of appearance from Wicks County prove that you've violated the terms of your employment agreement." Trent dropped a file in Gerald's lap. "Gino will escort you to your desk, where you will pack your personal possessions and leave. You will not return to this office under any circ.u.mstances. Do I make myself clear?"

Gerald shot to his feet, propelled by equal parts amus.e.m.e.nt, rage, and sheer disbelief as the paperwork fluttered to the carpet.

"For c.r.a.p's sake, Knightley." Six months of hard work, a.s.s kissing, and s.h.i.+t cases, and this was his thanks? "Are you too petty to let anyone else take some initiative? So what if I handled a few DUIs on the side? That's no skin off the nose of this uptight, holier-than-thou, s.h.i.+thole of a law firm. You can't share the pie, can you? Well, you don't have to fire me, Knightley. I'll happily move aside so you and your brothers can diddle each other in peace. I am so sick of working here I could-"

Gino's hirsute form appeared in the doorway.

"Mr. Trent, you gotta problem for Gino to fix?"

"Gerald is leaving the firm, Gino, effective immediately. Please see him to his office and a.s.sist him with his packing, then help him get his effects out to his car. Confiscate his badge before he leaves the premises. If he needs anything off his hard drive, have him request it by letter within fifteen days, per company policy."

Gino stepped away from the door, and Gerald moved quickly enough that the office cretin wouldn't think of taking him by the arm.

No more a.s.s kissing, no more having to represent every d.i.c.khead and ho-bag with a mind to stiff their d.i.c.khead, ho-bag exes, no more putting up with the Knightley mafia running his life, no more moony-eyed Gail Russo, who couldn't cut loose if she were knee-crawling drunk...

This would work out, and work out well. Gerald flipped Saint Trenton the bird and headed for his office.

In a corner of Gerald's brain, close to where the survival instinct resided, he admitted some of his optimism-his bravado-was a function of the drugs. Self-preservation required he acknowledge anxiety as well.

That he'd left Hartman and Whitney to go solo would raise a few eyebrows in itself. Hartman and Whitney as a firm would say nothing incriminating, but their silence would speak loudly.

Though they might sue him for breach of his employment contract.

Or Hartman and Whitney could notify the State's bar counsel and start an ethical inquiry.

"Deal with that s.h.i.+t tomorrow," Gerald muttered, tossing his office toy collection of interlocking metal puzzles into a box. As he came upon the package of condoms in his bottom drawer, he realized Trent Knightley was elbowing him out so Hannah Stark could be elbowed in faster. d.a.m.ned uppity b.i.t.c.h.

"You say something, Mr. Gerald?" Gino set one banker's box on top of the other.

"Not to you, a.s.shole." Gerald dumped out two more drawers, thinking how much easier Hannah Stark made it for Knightley to screw him. Hannah Stark or Juliet Randall or whoever the h.e.l.l she was. The b.i.t.c.h had cost him his job, meaning at the very least, he would cost her hers.

"You about done, Mr. Gerald?"

Gerald tossed the French ticklers in the trash. "Yeah, I'm done."

For now.

As Hannah pa.s.sed the Human Resources suite, both Mac and James were heading into Gail's office, and for once, James looked as grim as Mac.

Bad day at Flat Rock.

Hannah had just gotten her coat off and her notes from the morning out of her briefcase when Trent Knightley appeared in her doorway, looking as unhappy as Mac and James.

"I need to speak to you." No how-was-the-morning or did-you-learn-anything?

No asking if Gerald tried to c.r.a.p all over her, then blame her when his tactic backfired?

"Have a seat," Hannah said.

"My office." He turned and left Hannah to trail him across the hall, her anxiety growing with each step. Was she really to be called to the princ.i.p.al's office her very first week on the job?

"We have a problem," Trent said, closing his door as soon as Hannah entered his office.

"Lawyers are good at solving problems," she said, but she didn't take a seat, not even when he took up his characteristic position leaning against his desk.

"Sometimes we excel at creating them. Effective the first Friday in December, you'll handle the child support docket."

Hannah repeated Trent's p.r.o.nouncement in her head, looking for another meaning, for humor, for any interpretation other than the obvious. When it became clear he was waiting for a response, all she could muster was a disbelieving monosyllabic squeak.

"Me?"

"Come here." Trent pushed away from his desk and steered her by the arm to the sofa. "You have an affirmative talent for going pale right before my very eyes. We'll find a way to use that before a jury. Sit down and don't fuss me for giving an order."

"I'm not fussing." Not fussing, not thinking, and not handling that d.a.m.ned docket.

Trent sat beside her and kept a hand on her neck, brus.h.i.+ng his thumb along her nape, a peculiarly soothing touch.

"I should not have sprung it on you like this, but we'll be shorthanded for a while, and I don't see an alternative."

Neither did Hannah, though the timing was a surprise. She'd taken this job, knowing courtrooms would be part of it someday. Someday-in-two-weeks would be a challenge.

"Are you doing this to me because of what happened in court this morning?" she asked.

"What haven't you told me, Hannah?" The hand on her neck slowed but didn't disappear, and for that Hannah was grateful. She'd done well in court, at least in the client's opinion.

She took courage from that. "Gerald and I had a little, um, situation. Nothing worth mentioning."

"I'll be the judge of that. Out with it, Stark."

She focused on the soft green leaves of the rhododendron on the windowsill, while Trent's hand rested at the back of her neck.

She'd been called tactile avoidant for much of her childhood, but she had the peculiar notion that if Trent stopped touching her, she'd be unable to give him the report he sought.

Unable to tell him one of his a.s.sociates had tried to betray another.

And failed.

"We were in recess," Hannah said. "The judge came back on the bench and told Margaret to call her case, but Gerald had ducked out to use the facilities. The judge said a representative of Hartman and Whitney was in the courtroom, and directed Margaret again to call a case. I'd discussed Rory Cavanaugh's situation with her, so we put a joint motion to continue on the record, and the judge granted it. No big deal."

To Rory, it had been a very big deal.

"You entered your appearance?" Trent asked.

"And the firm's, though the firm's appearance was a matter of record."

"Did your client say anything?"

He'd said thank you, more or less. "I asked him a few questions demonstrating hards.h.i.+p, but he wasn't under oath."

"Linker was on the bench?"

While Knightley was on cross-examination. "Gerald had apparently told him I'd be in the courtroom as an observer. He seemed impatient, the judge that is."

"They all hate the child support docket. It's tedious as h.e.l.l, the same facts over and over, but you got your boy a much-needed continuance. Linker gets quirky when his blood sugar's low. I'm proud of you, Hannah Stark. Job well done."

Trent hugged her. A quick, friendly, one-armed squeeze around her shoulders Hannah had not seen coming. That embrace-the equivalent of a high five, a towel snap, or a fist b.u.mp-was nearly as disconcerting as his announcement about the child support docket.

But a whole lot nicer. Trent's arm fell away, and he rose to resume his position leaning against his desk. "What did Gerald have to say about his absence?"

How long had it been since Hannah had been hugged by an adult male and enjoyed it?

"Gerald apologized to the court and let me know he didn't appreciate my interference." I'll deal with you later, b.i.t.c.h.

Trent regarded her steadily, as if he could hear the words replaying in Hannah's head. She stood rather than endure that stare. Dads had stares like that, like they could see right into your soul's backpack to the C minus on your small talk quiz.

Dads did not, however, hug like that.

"I don't think Gerald is in the habit of censoring himself," Hannah said rather than endure more silence. "He's not the first bully I've met."

"He's gone."

"Gone where?"

"Gone from the firm, perhaps from the practice of law. I have to calm down before I decide whether to report him or not."

"For going to the bathroom?" Hannah asked.

"For moonlighting. The specific details of his discharge will remain confidential, but it's public record that he entered his appearance on behalf of private clients in Wick's County. He was tending to his own clients on Tuesday mornings and G.o.d knows when else, while we were paying him to tend to ours, and that will soon be all over every bar a.s.sociation in the circuit."

"I see." Out in the parking lot, flurries danced down from a leaden sky while Hannah battled longing for another hug. "Actually, I don't see. Salaries here are generous, benefits good, and Gerald had no trouble with the work. Why would he screw up a good thing?"

And why had she worn heels? Her calves were aching, and the Very Sugary Irradiated Berry-Colored Smoothie she'd had for lunch wasn't sitting well. A hug might help with that too.

"Maybe Gerald suffered from champagne tastes on a white zin budget," Trent said. "Maybe the problem was sheer arrogance. In any case, Gerald is gone, and my department is back to square one in terms of workload. Next week is Thanksgiving, so there won't be a Friday docket, but the first week in December, you're the new whiz-bang child support a.s.sociate at Hartman and Whitney."

He came to stand beside her at the window, sounding like he himself could use a hug.

"I wish I could say I'll be with you every step of the way, Hannah, but I have a contested trial next week and another the week after. You'll have to take on the Loomis divorce, and your next target after you get all that under control will be domestic violence emergency hearings."

She'd never wanted to touch so much as a single family law file. Contracts, leases, partners.h.i.+p agreements, those had been her objective. Business law, not this mora.s.s of competing needs and inadequate resources.

Hannah did want to touch her boss. She also wanted to take off her d.a.m.ned shoes, especially the right one.

"Child support, the Loomis divorce, and domestic violence restraining orders. Anything else?" What did that leave? Pre-nups, maybe? She wasn't doing adoptions. Nope-ity, nope, nope, nope.

Trent frowned at her for a long moment. "You're used to managing on your own, aren't you?"

She thought of Grace, without whom she couldn't manage anything. "Most of the time, yes. I temped a lot right out of law school and learned to eat what was on my plate." Another foster care lesson, in truth. "I didn't expect being a lawyer would mean somebody led me around by the hand for the first five years."

Trent took her hand in his.

"It shouldn't mean you never have a hand to hold either. This is my hand." He laced his fingers with hers. "You grab it when you need it, and don't wait until you're going under for the third time."

He squeezed her fingers and let their hands drop.

"What if you're in court?" Hannah asked, pus.h.i.+ng aside the simple, disconcerting pleasure of having clasped hands with him. "We'll all be busy, apparently, including Lee and Ann."

"They haven't been on board much longer than you, though Lee had years of paralegal experience up in Pennsylvania before she went to law school." He was back at his command position, leaning on his desk, pinching the bridge of his nose.

"As much as I hate to do it," he went on, "if you have questions and I'm not here, go to James or Mac. They avoid family law like it is recurring chicken pox, but they will not be able to deny a damsel in distress."

"Bat my eyes, simper, and look helpless?"

"Do you know how?"

"I do not."

He looked relieved, which was intriguing. "You'd distract James if you did, and probably terrify Mac. If they can't help you and it's an end-of-the-world emergency, Aaron Glover is another attorney with whom I sometimes kick cases around-when I'm not opposing him. Jane DeLuca is very good, and Dunstan Cromarty would be regarded as judge material, but for his Scottish burr. What are you doing this weekend?"

Mr. Here's-A-Hug, Job-Well-Done was about to "ask" her to put in some overtime her very first weekend on the job. If Hannah begged and wheedled, Eliza might spring her for an afternoon, but Grace would be mortally disappointed.

As would Hannah. "I like my weekends at home," Hannah said, chin coming up.

"So do I. I need them, in fact. Here's my number. If you want to join us for a trail ride, give me a call."

Trail ride? "I beg your pardon?"

"My daughter, Merle, is horse crazy. I have enough land, and I'm sentimental enough to cave to her wheedling. We have a guest horse, if you're ever so inclined."

Holy unicorns, Trent Knightley had a daughter. That made so much sense, connected so many dots, Hannah nearly kicked herself.

"I took some lessons once." A therapeutic riding program Hannah had been enrolled in at the age of thirteen. She'd loved it, absolutely loved the horses, the scent of the barn, the feel of a furry pony on a cold day. Then the foster parents had decided to divorce, and with two days' notice, every kid in that home had been moved.

"I'll need your number as well, Stark. Your home number."

"Why?" Hannah hadn't even put the landline number on her employee forms.

"Because we live in western Maryland, where the hills are high and the cell towers are few, and some fine day I'll go home with a file you need, or you'll get snowed in, or I'll have a question for you when I'm stuck here in the office on a weekend. Because somebody should know how to get in touch with you if you ever no-call-no-show. Because I'm asking."

Because he was her boss, but he didn't say that, another little puzzle. Maybe being a dad had taught him not to pull rank unless the situation was dire.