Engagement Rate (The Callaghan Green Series Book 1) Read online

  And why the fuck had I suggested dinner tomorrow? I knew that as soon as Claire found out she would have me backed against the wall in a choke hold, reading me the riot act about how to treat one of her friends/a female/freaking employee. I stifled my groan and gestured for Amelie to bring me the bill while Vanessa was in the bathroom, probably applying more lipstick to those lips that would do a damn fine job wrapped around my...

  And there it went again.

  Vanessa emerged, lips glistening and tossing her long dark hair over her shoulder. I left a couple of notes for Amelie and walked outside with Vanessa, trying to control the urge to move her hair behind her ear. The morning rush hour had dimmed and the rain had stopped, leaving London in an better light. We'd spent more than two hours having breakfast and talking, once we'd covered her bell end of an ex the conversation had led on to gyms, marathons, restaurants and days away from the city. Unlike the women I'd dated recently, words hadn't needed to be forced.

  "What's planned for today?" I asked as we headed back into the offices. I could hear Maxwell losing his temper with his secretary as soon as we entered and I wished we had stayed in the café.

  "More detail on the website layout given your feedback and developing the initial designs for the logo and branding. Then I'll give a call to a couple of venues for the ball – I know of three that have availability for the date you want then I'll confirm catering," she said, pausing. I ditched the urge to touch her again.

  "Make sure Kirsty pulls her weight," I said. "Delegate what you need."

  "She says she's busy meeting potential clients this afternoon," Vanessa replied, moving her hair away from her face.

  I kept my hands frozen and shook my head. "She's more likely meeting her brother who works for another firm then she can put a late lunch on expenses. I'll talk to you more about her tomorrow – if you're still good to meet then?" I offered her a way out. If she was any good at reading people she'll know this wasn't just being professional and working way past my hours. I was interested. She'd probably also know it couldn't go anywhere.

  "We'll chat about it then. I might have some suggestions on how to develop your marketing department internally so you get the best out of it. What time tomorrow? Seven?" She licked her lips and I felt my cock twitch. My diary was clear. I could go down to the cellar and strain few other muscles but then my sister would get even more suspicious if I wasn't checking up on everyone after being gone so long.

  "Seven's good. Start with drinks? I might end up with some of the entourage with me," I gestured to the offices belonging to my siblings and two of the other partners. We weren't a small firm, and although we were family led, there were a few older solicitors that worked here as well as a couple of newly qualified and associates who were closer to my age than my father's.

  "Sure. Text me with where, as I'll probably finish the day at my offices tomorrow." She gave me that smile and I nodded back before walking into Max's office as he'd started shouting again.

  I leaned against the doorway and watched my older brother in full flow. This was where he became our father: impatient, lack of insight and sheer brilliance. This was why I was the managing partner and practice manager and he remained in his office or in court and, occasionally, lecturing law students.

  "I can't work with him anymore." The woman stood near his desk looked at me and I wondered who the nearest first aider was. Either she was about to have a coronary or my brother was going to be maimed. "He's rude, demanding and needs to look up the definition of manners. I might just be the 'hired help' but there are ways to treat people." She glared at the pair of us before storming out. I closed the door before she could slam it.

  "How many's that so far this year?"

  "Five," he said, staring at a pile of papers. "I apologize. I know I've just caused you another headache."

  "Are you in a worse mood because you've been fighting again?"

  He looked up. "Fucking Claire."

  "I would've noticed even if she hadn't said anything. You've got a bruise coming up on your left temple."

  "It was a one-off. New guy in the gym and he was being a tool with one of the women so we got in the ring. Just a casual thing. You'll be glad to know he's hurting today," Max turned a page over making sure I knew I only had 33% of his attention.

  "Your decision," I said. "But if you end up in the hospital again I am going to tell Dad."

  He shrugged. "Whatever. How was your extended breakfast with the pretty new marketing lady?" Now he looked up, eyes seeing straight through me.

  "Productive. I like what she's come up with so far. And she's easy to work with." I ignored the pretty comment.

  Maxwell gave me a shit-eating grin. He hadn't forgotten about the pretty comment. "I like her. Had drinks with her and Claire on Tuesday night. Intelligent, quick-witted, decent rack and a bitable ass. I don't have the same rules as you, brother. Besides, she's only employed by us for a couple of months."

  "She's not your type," I told him, trying not to go in heavy with the glare.

  "Why's that?" That grin again. I wasn't above punching my brother. It may have happened a few times before.

  "Like you said, she's intelligent."

  "Are you inferring that most of my girlfriends aren't?"

  I couldn't win this point as there was enough evidence to suggest that most of his girlfriends had been university educated, frequently holding professor status. "She's spoken to you. She'll have sussed you out as the player you are in three seconds flat. Plus, she thinks you're violent and only have sex to Ed Sheeran tracks."

  He laughed, holding his side. I suspected he had bruised ribs. My brother enjoyed mixed martial arts; more to the point, he enjoyed legitimately kicking the shit of people. He was an almost teetotal, control and fitness freak who only ate organic and defined juicing as a religion. "Well, you had to tell her something to help yourself out."

  "I'm not interested."

  "Like fuck you're not. She looks like every wet dream you've ever had."

  "How would you know?"

  "I remember your porn collection. And which pages were most destroyed. Plus, I checked your search history on your laptop when I borrowed it a few weeks ago."

  "I hate you."

  "Same old, brother, same old. When's the bike being delivered?"

  My desire to knock his two front teeth out evaporated at the mention of my new bike; it was a custom build; a treat and its delivery would be like ten Christmases rolled into one. "Two weeks. I might let you take her out."

  "Who? Vanessa?"

  "Fuck you. Anyway, she's off limits. To both of us."

  "She's not my type, Jacks, in all seriousness. She has a sister vibe going on for me, possibly because I was listening to her and Claire giggle for an evening while working their way through the cocktail menu. Don't know why she's off limits for you. She's not really an employee. And let's face it, half your irritability is down to you being a little too friendly with your right hand at the moment." He looked back down at the papers on his desk, a move which summed him up completely. He was a workaholic and nothing that took his attention away from work, including less than competent secretaries, was worth too much of his time.

  "Off limits. What does Claire want me for?" I said. Sometimes it was better to be forewarned where my sister was concerned.

  "Possible new case. You heard of Katie Worthington?" His attention was back on me, so this must have interested him, legally anyway.

  "The model, spokesperson for that charity that works with kids with a skin condition?"

  "That's the one. She's not a porn star so I wasn't sure if you'd be familiar." The continual references to me watching or reading porn stemmed from when we were teenagers and our step-mother, Marie and the Greene in Callahan Greene, caught me in a compromising position with her computer. As punishment, she made sure that every member of our family who was old enough to find it funny knew about it. Max had never forgotten it, mainly because it kept the spotlight off what
he was doing at the time.

  "She needs a family lawyer? I thought she was happily married to some business mogul. Dean Lacey? The entrepreneur?"

  He nodded, leaning back in his chair which gave a loud creak. "That's the one. She wants a divorce. But it's more complex than that; she's out for blood. He's been having an affair and she's got the pictures to prove it. It's going to get messy and that's without the media involvement. I think there may be more to it; he's not as squeaky clean as he's portrayed himself."

  "Fuck. Claire won't want another case like this. You remember the Derek Nixon one where she was having to switch hotels and hire security?" My sister was the family law expert. She headed up a team of five and had developed a solid reputation for being able to deal with high profile, high priced clients. In short, she was a shark, but she picked and chose her cases depending on who she thought was in the right. "You fancy supporting her?" Maxwell could hold his own in that field, although his specialty was medical malpractice with the occasional class action lawsuit.

  "No can do. I've got too much on with the Pearson-Regis case. We're due in court in ten weeks and as far as these things go, it's on the biggish side and growing. Besides, something like that will end up with me putting a fist where it shouldn't go. Speak to Claire. Your caseload is light, you could assist. Or look at fees and put security in from the start."

  "Both are possibilities. But Claire has a good team – she doesn't need me to assist; it's if she's willing to lead on it. And the client has approached her. I'll speak with her later. How's everything else been while I've been away?" I sat down in a chair near the window. Jet lag was starting to catch up with me, although having a sleep during the day would be the worst thing to do.

  Maxwell nodded. "Business-wise everything is kosher. Seph had a good win last week at mediation. Claire's a freaking genius. Two of the others had decent settlements too." Max sighed. "Work's fine. If it wasn't you'd already be aware of it."

  "What isn't fine then?"

  "Seph's still not okay. I think we need to ask Payton to come back for a bit. The Manchester office is up and running, she doesn't need to be there and to be honest, I could do with her in my department and Seph could do with her full stop."

  I tipped my head back and looked at the high ceiling. Seph and Payton were twins, the second youngest – I always forget who was actually born first. They were the product of our father's second marriage to Marie, three years after our mother died. Seph, given name Joseph but no one ever called him that, was highly strung, probably gifted and when he didn't have a clear direction or a definite focus he became a mess. Three months ago his childhood sweetheart had finished their relationship. Only he was surprised; they'd been together since they were 21 but had never lived together and there had been no sign of the relationship going anywhere solid. But now he was stranded and doing everything too hard; partying too hard, drinking too hard and working too hard. The combination wasn't the best, for him or for the rest of us.

  Payton had been in Manchester for the past six months, helping to set up a satellite office there to meet demand in the north. It was only temporary, a few months until we were confident that the managing partner there was happy also. Payton was only twenty-seven, with four years' experience as a lawyer but she'd been working in our offices since she was sixteen. Her biggest case so far had been for a company in Manchester and it had been better for her to work on it whilst up there.

  "She can hand her files over and come home whenever. Do you want to speak to her about it?"

  "Yeah, I'll give her a call this evening. She knows what Seph's been like recently and she was thinking about returning sooner rather than later. The manager knows what he's doing and he's pleased with how the two new solicitors have settled in. He just needs another paralegal – I think it's tomorrow he's interviewing." Max squinted at his computer screen, probably looking at the diary and I stood up.

  "I'll see you later, after I've spoken to Claire about this potential new client."

  "You sure you're not off to check up on the marketing lady?"

  "Fuck off."

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  Chapter Four

  Vanessa

  The wine wasn't quite going to cut it tonight so I opted for the bottle of pre-made margarita and promised myself I'd just have one. Which turned out to be an easy promise to keep, as the bottle was pretty much empty as there was less than half a glass left.

  "Evening!" My overly cheerful flatmate banged the door closed and sighed happily. I knew that noise; I recognized it and its meaning like a dog knew the sound of cheese wrappers.

  "I don't need an explanation. I know where you've been and who you've been doing. What I want to know is why there's less than a mouthful of Margarita left and what you're going to do about it?" I wasn't just frustrated at the lack of my alcohol of choice: Jackson Callaghan's naked torso was plastered all over my retinas and I had no idea what to do about it, other than accosting him in his office gym and demand he took me in the shower.

  "Well, someone's not playing with her vibrator today." Sophie smiled knowingly and opened the fridge, pulling out another bottle of the pre-mixed margarita, this one full. "It's a school night, so just one for you. Drink that is. Not orgasm." She topped my glass up until it was full and returned the bottle to the back of the fridge.

  "I've met someone who's attractive. Hot too," I confessed, staring at the drink.

  "Finally. You're considering dusting off your lady parts. Do you want the number of my waxologist?" She sat down on a bar stool and smiled over at me like only someone who has just been freshly fucked can. Sophie was one of my oldest friends. She now ran a growing chain of beauty salons in central London and really didn't need the rent I'd given her since I left Richard the dick. She was currently seeing her personal trainer, who was around ten years younger than her and she appreciated the fact he was only interested in one thing.

  "I've kept on top of that," I told her. "And it doesn't matter anyway as he's never going to get to inspect how the grass isn't growing."

  "He's not the bloody client, is he?" She lost some of the freshly fucked look.

  I said nothing.

  "Van! Do you think you find him attractive because he's safe? You know, because you can't actually do anything about it given your 'no having sex with a client policy'?"

  "No. I find him attractive because he's tall, has arms to die for and I want to trace my tongue over every one of his tattoos multiple times. And he's intelligent and he has long hair that he puts up in one of those man bun things when he's working out..."

  "You've seen him working out? When?"

  "This morning. Early. I've been using the gym in the office. He had no top on and sweet mother Mary... we're going out for dinner tomorrow but it's just as my client and..." I picked up the nearby pair of over gloves and half growled, half screamed into them. "He's going to help me with getting away from Richard too. I've got to send him some information over but he's offered to work on it from a legal perspective."

  "Which you should've started on months ago," Sophie said. "In all seriousness, you shouldn't even dream of sleeping with him until you've cleaned Richard out of every speck of ownership. Or he's paid you off well enough so you can start your own firm. If Mr. Bicep has managed to get you to start proceedings, then he really is your penis in shining armor. Here's your mail," she passed me two envelopes. One was a letter from my gran, who, despite being able to work a computer and send emails just fine, liked to send me postcards of famous Derbyshire beauty spots. She refused to send them without an envelope just in case they were censored. The other was a statement from the bank. I opened it without thinking, listening to Sophie's brief outline of the training she'd had before she hit the gym with her latest boy-toy.

  I didn't hear the conclusion.

  "The complete..." I stared at the piece of paper in my hand, words escaping my clutches.

  "Vanessa?"

  "Richard... he's..."

  "Wha
t's he done, honey. Try to breathe. It's good for you." She held my shoulders and shook them slightly.

  "He's transferred four grand from our office account to his personal..." I went straight to my phone and logged into my digital banking app. I hadn't paid attention to one particular office account as it was what we called the slush fund, containing about ten thousand pounds should we need it in an emergency if something dire occurred to the business. Nothing came out of the account, which Richard knew. I immediately moved four thousand into my personal account and then concentrated on breathing. The rest of the accounts were currently where they should've been.

  "I think you need to call him," Sophie said, looking irate. She'd never liked Richard. I had a sneaking suspicion that at some point, before I got together with him, she may have sampled some of his goods. I'd never asked. I really didn't want to know.

  "Richard. I'm going to call him in the morning. Not now, he'll probably let the floozy answer just to piss me off."

  "No, not Richard."

  "Then who?"

  "Your penis in shining armor, of course."

  ***

  It was just after nine when I plucked up the courage to phone Jackson, my pulse rate akin to someone who had just won gold in an Olympic sprint and similar to when I'd first noticed what Richard had done. My FitBit thought I'd been exercising hard for about forty minutes even though 'anxious and stressed' wasn't a workout option. I pushed aside the butterflies in my stomach that made me feel as if I was fourteen again and about to have my first kiss in some woods with a boy called Mark and instead focused on the fact that I was calling my lawyer. At 9 pm on a Thursday night. Not exactly business hours.

  I was about to hang up when the ringing stopped.