Hard To Handle. Jamie Denton
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name, but he’d earned the partnership by working his ass off and consistently racking up more billable hours than any other associate in the firm.
Once the buy-in was complete, he’d be one of three managing partners running the Bay area office of the Southern California-based firm. He already held the responsibility of monitoring the caseload of close to two dozen associates, a quad of law clerks anxiously awaiting bar exam results and twice as many paralegals plus numerous support personnel. In addition, he still managed his own caseload, which ran the gamut from more high-profile divorce actions to adoptions, all the way down to custody matters, as well as support and visitation modifications. He loved it all, too, which was a helluva difference from the live-hard-play-harder-but-leave-a-good-looking-corpse philosophy he’d cultivated most of his life.
He left the bar and made his way to the deck in search of Mikki. He supposed in part he had her to thank for his success. When they’d separated, he’d honored the Baylor family tradition by turning into a classic workaholic. He’d buried himself in his work, using the law as a means of survival because it’d been preferable to facing the truth—that by walking away from his marriage, he really was no better than the bastard of a father he despised.
Another of his less than sterling moments.
The truth was even tougher to face: that he hadn’t had the balls to tell Mikki he’d never wanted the divorce in the first place. As much as he tried to convince himself he’d been young and filled with an overdose of foolish pride, a semblance of wisdom did blossom with age. If faced with the same set of circumstances, he liked to believe this time around he wouldn’t hesitate to make the right choice, rather than behave like a selfish prick all because she’d filleted his ego by adamantly refusing to have a baby.
Based on her reaction tonight, convincing Mikki he’d changed wouldn’t be easy. Not that it mattered what she thought of him. They were finished a long time ago. Or were they?
He paused near the open, glass double doors. Did it make a difference what she thought of him? Had he merely acted in his usual impulsive manner or was there another motive he hadn’t been aware existed for ensuring Mikki would be his date for whatever prize her locket held?
The answer had him taking in a deep, unsteady breath. He couldn’t possibly be thinking in terms of second chances.
Could he?
He hadn’t wanted the divorce, even if he had run at the first sign of trouble in their marriage. He blamed immaturity and pride. She no doubt blamed him—period.
Still, he thought with a twitch of his lips, in their time apart he had learned to appreciate the value of patience and determination. An asset he figured he’d be calling on in abundance tonight, because once he informed her their divorce had all the validity of a fake ID, she’d no doubt push him to the limit.
Provided she didn’t shoot him on the spot.
WHAT THE HELL was Nolan doing here?
Mikki rested her arms on the smooth redwood railing and clutched her glass of cola firmly in her hand. The need to indulge in something stronger hadn’t waned so much as a fraction.
Just one drink, she thought. One. That’s all she needed.
Except she knew better. One was never enough. That first bitter taste of bourbon hitting her tongue would only be the beginning. The soothing warmth sliding down her throat was as much of an addiction as was the welcoming buzz of alcohol hitting her bloodstream. She’d have another, and another, until she’d numbed herself into a drunken stupor.
She leaned forward and lifted her face to gaze at the stars blanketing the darkened sky over the Pacific, then took in a long, unsteady breath. Partially hidden behind the cover of a bushy potted juniper, she tried ignored the few couples braving the damp night air to cuddle together away from the crush of the crowd inside Clementine’s. A piercing stab of envy reduced her diligence to not think about how alone she felt in comparison to mere wishful thinking.
A tremor passed over her skin, but she didn’t hold the cold Pacific breeze culpable, or her own foolishness in venturing outdoors without the benefit of a sweater to ward off the brisk chill of the May evening. Oh, no. Nolan held that honor. His unexpected presence was responsible for the shock waves of too many emotions to articulate rolling through her.
If she wasn’t careful, she’d roll right up to the bar and order a shot of bourbon to add to her cola.
What possible motive could he have for being in San Francisco?
She struggled to keep her teeth from chattering as she moved deeper into the shadows. His return could have something to do with the probate of his father’s estate, except Nolan had never made any secret of the fact that he rejected everything his rich, influential father represented. When she’d gone to pay her final respects to her former father-in-law, whom she’d only met on two occasions, it hadn’t exactly escaped her notice that the powerful state legislator’s son had been notably absent.
And to think Nolan had once possessed the gall to call her coldhearted because she didn’t want children. The man could write a bestseller on cool detachment. She’d even gone to her own father’s funeral—and she’d hated everything about the man who’d molested his own daughter.
Out of habit, she immediately shoved that unpleasant thought back into the closet where it belonged. Opening the clasp on her evening bag, she searched for the pack of emergency cigarettes she always carried with her. She and Nolan hadn’t always been at each other’s throats or circled like wary hounds afraid to say the wrong thing. There’d been a time when they hadn’t been able to get enough of each other. She missed those lazy Sunday mornings they’d spent in bed, making love most of the day and only surfacing long enough to regain their strength. She missed how they used to debate case law or talk about the future—before he’d ruin it by bringing up the subject of family. At first she’d change the subject or remain noncommittal, but after a while he’d to become more insistent until she’d finally told him the truth—she wouldn’t ever have a child with him. She hadn’t offered an explanation beyond she wasn’t the mothering type.
She hadn’t always felt that way about children, and whether or not her fears were unreasonable, in her opinion, she had no business having babies when she was having trouble controlling her addiction to alcohol. Besides, she already had two strikes against her: an abusive father and a mother who’d abandoned her. Everyone knew three strikes and you were out.
Suddenly she felt much older than her thirty-two years. She slipped a long slim from the pack, then dug out the disposable lighter and lit up. She inhaled deeply, taking the smoke into her lungs, waiting for the familiar calm to wash over her to curb the need for a drink. But the substitute failed to provide on all counts. No vice in existence was capable of calming her rattled composure tonight.
Studying the reflection of the twinkling lights on the surface of the water below, she smoked her cigarette and listened to the sound of the rising tide. Not even the gentle lap of water against the thick pylons could sooth her.
When she thought of everything she’d thrown away to protect her secrets…the lies she’d told to the one person she should’ve trusted the most…
She let out a regret-filled sigh. She’d been twenty-three and at the start of her second year as law student at Berkeley when she’d met Nolan. With no interest in another messy romantic entanglement after her last disastrous relationship, she’d initially tried to ignore him. Except her dismissal had made him even more relentless. Only a woman without a pulse could’ve held out when he poured on the charm, and she’d caved. Within six months she’d fallen helplessly in love with him, with his tenderness, his gentleness and the way he’d made her feel safe and cherished. The fact that he’d enough sexual energy to power up the lights at Candlestick Park hadn’t hurt, either, she thought with a wry grin.
They’d moved in together within a year and midway through their final year of law school, they’d eloped. After graduation, they’d both worked as law clerks while awaiting bar results. Nolan had clerked for an appellate court judge and she’d been