Wes’s chuckle held no mirth as he stopped in front of her. “And to think I thought things couldn’t get worse.”
The slow curve of her mouth was mesmerizing.
“I knew you’d be surprised.” Vivienne’s eyes glittered, hard and sharp.
Beautiful. She’d always been so fucking beautiful.
“Did Whitfield send you?” Just saying his former client’s name made anger surge in Wes’s veins, and he had to actively relax his fists. For the last two months, he’d poured all of Soteria Security’s time and resources into figuring out how someone had bested their top-of-the-line security system and hacked Max Whitfield’s tech empire. As thanks, Max and his business nemesis, Cybercore CEO Liam Kearney, had joined their considerable forces and accused Wes of the crime before siccing the FBI on him. Not that he and Whitfield had ever had the fuzziest feelings for one another, but he’d deluded himself into believing there was respect there.
Now, all bets were off.
“Hardly. He’s still very upset with you.”
Wes hiked his pant leg high enough to reveal his state-of-the-art, tamper-proof ankle monitor. “You can tell him the feeling’s mutual.”
“I can’t actually. I quit last week. Max is no longer my concern.”
The announcement surprised him, though he masked it. Lead counsel at Whitfield Industries was the sort of power gig Wes had assumed would need to be pried out of her cold, dead, lawyerly hands. Vivienne’s career had always been priority number one. Six years ago, he’d been stupid enough to test that theory, and his hubris had resulted in an incisive verbal flaying, a glorious breakup fuck and her walking right out of their place and onto a plane bound for Yale.
The resulting years of radio silence had come to a crashing halt a year ago, when she’d returned to LA to accept a position as Max Whitfield’s legal consigliere.
The current state of their relationship consisted of little more than the coldest of professional acknowledgments and an undercurrent of venom whenever they sporadically ended up in the same meeting.
Of course, now that neither of them worked for Whitfield in any capacity, the thin layer of civility that had coated their professional interactions for the last twelve months was no longer required.
“Then to what do I owe the distinct lack of pleasure?”
Icy amusement arched Vivienne’s brow. “I was in the neighborhood.”
Dread settled cold and flat in his gut at her ill-timed appearance in his world, but he kept his expression bland. “Terminal Island seems a little outside your usual radius. Are you in the market for clients? Or dates?”
There was no reason it should bother him that her laugh sounded rusty.
“Invectives, Wesley? And to think I was expecting a thank-you for using my kick-ass lawyer skills to get you out on bail.”
Not good. Not fucking good at all. “You’re not my lawyer.”
She wasn’t his anything. Not anymore.
“Well, I believe you were made aware that Denisof Price Goldberg is no longer interested in representing you going forward.”
Ha. The bastards couldn’t disassociate fast enough. DPG had dumped his ass almost the moment he’d been arrested, citing conflict of interest with their ongoing role as counsel to Soteria Security.
Proof that his company, the one he’d built with brains and sweat and sacrifice, was disassociating. It was what he and his partner, Jesse Hastings, had agreed to when they’d been making contingency plans, something they’d written into the contract when they’d incorporated. Just one of many business-first precautions—a what-if that was never supposed to happen.
Wes gave a terse nod. “I was.”
That, he’d been expecting. What he hadn’t been expecting was the hesitancy by several other large law firms—all directly or indirectly affiliated with some of Soteria Security’s biggest clients—to also balk at the idea of representing him.
Blackballed. Whitfield and Kearney wielded their clout with devastating precision, he’d give them that.
“I wasn’t, however, made aware that I had new representation.”
Something flashed across her face that he might have labeled remorse if he hadn’t known that Vivienne was incapable of it.
The odd look was replaced with haughty disdain as she straightened to her full height. In her heels, she was only about two inches shorter than his six-three. “So how did you think you got released today? Magic legal fairies?”
“I figured my assistant had finally hired someone.” Wes aimed for an offhand shrug. “We had a very promising meeting scheduled with one of LA’s most elite attorneys. You might have seen his picture on some of the bus stop benches downtown.”
He was only half joking. Because every cell in his body was screaming at him to back away from the woman in front of him, his freedom be damned.
The two of them had imploded in spectacular fashion last time they’d been in each other’s orbit. It had fucked him up for longer than he cared to admit. And if he was going to clear his name, if he was going to get his company back, he couldn’t afford even the slightest distraction.
“So you’re saying you’d rather hire some hack ambulance chaser who will be thoroughly outmatched by the elite law team representing your former company than be represented by me?”
“Yes.” That was exactly what he was saying.
She blanched, and against his will, Wes found himself trying to soften the blow. “You’re a corporate lawyer, not criminal defense.”
So fucking weak, and she knew it, too.
Determination manifested itself in the set of her chin. “I can do this, Wes.”
The use of his name threw him off. Slipped beneath his defenses. Crawled under his skin.
His blue eyes cut to her dark ones. “As a rule, I don’t like to mix current business and former pleasure. Things tend to get messy.”
Vivienne pressed the remote starter in her hand, and the glossy Vanquish S Coupe behind her purred to life. It was a gorgeous car. Sleek and sexy, just like its owner.
Tendrils of unease fisted around his spine as she pulled the door open for him.
“Doesn’t matter if you like it, Brennan. I’m all you’ve got.”
And that was exactly what he was afraid of.
