Grind (Cal and Macy's Story 2)

Chapter 8

Utah is a gorgeous place to visit. I've been skiing a few times in Park City but I've never been here in the summer, and I've immediately put it on my list of places to come back to see in warmer months. Ordinarily, I would build extra time into this trip, but I have a trial starting next week that I really need to get some hard-core work done on.

Macy and I calmly sit in Mr. Stokes' waiting room. His law office is in a tiny strip mall with threadbare industrial carpet and faded wallpaper that's peeling at the edges. Macy looks completely out of place in her buttery yellow Chanel pantsuit. Per my request, I asked her to bling herself up in her best designer clothes and shiniest jewelry. I want these people to slobber a little bit over the prospect of riches that they think they're getting here today before I lay the hammer down.

"Mr. Stokes will see you now," the receptionist says as she stands from behind her desk.

Macy and I stand up, and I motion for her to precede me. As she passes by, she gives a gentle bump of her shoulder against mine and whispers, "Make this fast, Carson. I'm dying for you to fuck me."

I bite down hard on my tongue as Macy breezes past me in a fresh swirl of citrusy scents, hoping the pain will avert a hard-on. As I follow her down a narrow hallway, I keep my eyes pinned on the back of her head rather than her ass, so as to avert any further potential embarrassments. But I'm not going to lie... I'm jonesing to get her back to the hotel room, and it's been hard to keep my mind on business first, pleasure second.

The receptionist leads us to a door at the far end of the hall on the right and I follow Macy in, using the opportunity to size up my opponent. Russell Stokes is middle aged, short, and balding. He has on a cheap suit with an old ketchup stain on his tie. His eyes immediately go to Macy's breasts.

His client, Belinda Merrill aka Pam Styles, also eyes Macy up and down, but her eyes are pinned to the canary-yellow diamond ring she wears on the middle finger on her right hand, that I'm betting falls just shy of ten carats. It's gaudy, and Macy told me on the plane that her parents bought it for her for her eighteenth birthday and this is the first time she's worn it. She actually grimaced as she held her hand out to look at it.

Quick introductions and polite handshakes are made, and Macy and I sit on the opposite side of the conference room table from Mr. Stokes and Miss Merrill/Styles. I pull my phone out of my breast pocket and check my texts.

As expected, I got an update from Keith Marlow. He flew out here three days ago and was keeping tabs on Brian Merrill aka Jason Penner.

His text brings a smile to my face. Jackass is so stupid. He's in the parking lot.

Man, this guy is a total idiot. It's clear that he and Pam Styles cooked up this alienation-of-affection claim, professing to be married, and then pretending that Macy destroyed their marriage. While Keith stalked him these past few days, he found out that they were still living together in the same house, and he's sent me about thirty close-up photos of the two of them cavorting all over town together, including one picture of him sliding his hand up in between her legs as she unlocked the door to their house. I have those printed on 8x10 color glossies in my suitcase. I can't believe the man would be so dumb though as to actually be waiting out in the parking lot, but I guess he thinks his partner in crime will be walking out of this law office with a big, fat check that he'll want to take with her straight to the bank.

I almost snicker out loud over how much fun this is going to be.

Sliding my gaze to Macy, I'm surprised to see her hands slightly shaking as she clasps them on the table in front of her. Not giving one fuck what anyone thinks, I reach my own hand over and gently grasp her knee, giving it a squeeze. Her hands immediately calm, and she turns to give me a sweet smile.

Russell Stokes clears his throat, and I turn my gaze toward him. He gives me a smarmy smile and says, "I'm pleased you wanted to meet early on to discuss settlement talks. I'm quite confident that we can come up with an equitable settlement amount that will be acceptable to Miss Merrill and won't hurt Miss Carrington's purse strings too badly."

He then has the additional poor taste to laugh at his own sleazy joke, his eyes twinkling at me.

I give him a bland smile and lean to the side to pull a folder out of my briefcase. "There's not going to be a settlement offer today," I tell him casually as I lay the folder on the table before me.

The cheesy grin melts off Mr. Stokes' face. "I'm sorry. Did you say there won't be a settlement offer?"

"That's right," I confirm as I stare him down.

"I'm confused." He cuts a quick glance over at his client, who looks as bewildered as he does. "You said you were prepared to put substantial money on this case."

"Yeah, well, I lied about that," I tell him calmly. "We're not putting any money on this case because you don't have a valid claim."

"Your client," Mr. Stokes sneers while pointing across the table at Macy, "had sex with my client's husband and then encouraged him to leave her. Your client broke up a long-standing marriage, and my client is heartbroken."

It takes all of my willpower not to lean across the table and snap the fucker's finger backward, but instead, I bring forth a reserve of steely calm and patience. "The only thing true in that statement is that Macy Carrington had sex. But she didn't have sex with your client's husband, because your client isn't married."

Mr. Stokes stares blankly at me, and his brow furrows inward. "Pardon?"

I nod my head toward Pam Styles, who now seems to be sinking down into her seat. "Your client is not named Belinda Merrill. Her real name is Pam Styles, and she's a career criminal."

Opening the folder up, I pull out the printed criminal record of Miss Styles and throw it across the table at Mr. Stokes. It makes a resounding thwack when it lands in front of him, and he stares at it like it's a poisonous snake. "That's her criminal record, and as you can see, it's quite colorful. Forgery, fraud, petty theft."

I pull the photos out and throw them at Mr. Stokes. "Those are photos of Miss Styles taken over the last three days with the man that I assume you might recognize as Brian Merrill, who is really Jason Penner. He's her cohort in crime."

"I don't understand," Mr. Stokes says as he flips through the photos. He turns to look at his client helplessly. "Belinda... what's he talking about?"

"Her name is Pam," I supply helpfully, and Mr. Stokes' gaze snaps to me. "She has an outstanding warrant for her arrest, and I believe you'll find a sheriff's deputy waiting in your lobby for her as we speak."

Pam Styles sinks down further into her seat, and she mumbles toward her attorney, "I don't suppose you practice criminal law, do you?"

"Mr. Penner is in the parking lot, probably being loaded in a deputy's car as we speak. Turns out, he has two outstanding warrants for his arrest."

And here I can't help but give him a cheesy grin.

"I had no idea," Mr. Stokes blurts out, his face now as red as a tomato. "These people snookered me."

When Pam Styles doesn't do anything to defend herself, I know this must be the truth. Up until this point, I couldn't tell whether this attorney was in on the scam. "Then I can assume, Mr. Stokes, that you'll be filing a dismissal to the lawsuit immediately, which will avert me making a complaint about you to your state bar?"

"Absolutely," he says as he pushes up out of his chair. "I'll handle it personally."

I'm not surprised he's this accommodating to us, because he could have been in a world of ethical trouble if he had any inkling that this claim was bogus. While I think he took this case without sufficient evidence to bolster a claim, he was probably still within the moral bounds governing him as an attorney, so I'm good with not pursuing a complaint against him with his state bar.

I stand up and touch Macy's shoulder lightly, indicating we should go. Picking up my briefcase, I lead Macy out the door. As I proclaimed, there's a deputy standing at attention by the door, causing the receptionist to chew on her fingernails nervously. I give him a nod as we walk past him o

ut onto the sidewalk.

Keith Marlow is leaning up against a burgundy rental car, his arms folded casually across his chest. I take Macy by the elbow and lead her over to him.

Shooting me a grin, Keith reaches down into his pocket, pulls something out, and tosses it underhanded to me when I get close. I make an easy catch and look at an older-model iPhone in my hand.

"Are these the only copies?" I ask him.

Pushing away from the car, he nods. "Yup. He didn't download them anywhere else. Cops took him away about five minutes ago."

I give him a grateful smile and turn to hand the phone to Macy. She eyes it with confusion as she takes it from me, so I go ahead and enlighten her. "That's the phone Brian Merrill took the photos of you with. The only copies."

Macy's head jerks up and looks at me in stunned surprise, then over to Keith. "You got this from him? How?"

"I'll never tell," Keith says with an evil grin, and I swear... I think he flexes a meaty bicep at Macy. I can quite imagine how he got the phone, and I hope it hurt... just a little.

Her gaze goes back down to the phone, and she murmurs, "Thank you. I didn't expect to recover these."

"It's doubtful he would have done anything with them. I'm guessing he was going to try to blackmail you sometime after this case," Keith supplies. "While he swears he didn't download them, and I'm pretty sure he's telling the truth because fingers don't bend backward all that easy, I suppose there's a small chance he has some backup copies somewhere. Unfortunately for him, he's going to be inside a jail cell, so I think you're going to be just fine."

"You'll need to destroy that--" I start to say, but then I'm stunned when Macy cocks her arm back and violently throws the phone down to the pavement where it shatters. She then stomps on the pieces with her designer shoes, a victorious smile on her face.

Makes me want to kiss her.

I sneak a glance over to Keith and fuck... looks like he wants to kiss her too.

I interrupt Macy's stomping dance by taking her by the elbow. Turning her toward my rental car, I tell Keith, "Excellent work. Send me your bill and I'll get it paid ASAP."

"Sure thing, boss," he says with a nod of his head, but then he's forgotten as I propel Macy toward our car.