A Wifey for the Bad Boy(177)

“Sir,” a man stooped next to Chad, whispering in his ear. Chad raised an eyebrow at his words, and stood up.

“Well Claire-bear,” he said, ignoring the look she gave him for it. “I must be going. Mrs. Anderson, look after her, will you?” With that, he pushed out his chair and followed the other man out of the room, walking after him with his hands clasped behind his back.

Claire finished her meal at a slower pace, and by the time she set her fork down Mrs. Anderson was already approaching her. “Was it all to your liking?” she asked kindly.

Claire nodded, but asked, “Does he always eat this much?”

“Oh, no,” Mrs. Anderson shook her head. “The boy barely eats anything, I’m afraid. When he called upon the kitchens, he kicked up quite a storm.”

Claire scoffed. “I can imagine, asking everyone to change their schedules at the last minute.”

“Oh, quite the contrary,” Mrs. Anderson giggled. “The chefs were only too happy to comply. And while he did manage to polish off a plate, I believe the only reason he asked for it was because of you.”

That made Claire blush, but she didn’t answer. There was a time when Chad had cared enough to do that sort of thing—when he’d bring coffee to her morning classes, or hide sweets in her bag for later. He’d never seemed to care that she wasn’t skinny, but maybe that was why it’d hurt so much when she’d found out.

“So,” she said, clearing her throat. “He said to ask you about Ainsley…?”

“Oh, yes,” she said happily. “I’ll got get him for you,” she patted her shoulder as she left, heading towards one of the many doors. Claire just sighed, and sagged in her chair.

Ainsley was ready immediately, and Claire was relieved to see that instead of a limo, he had a simple BMW pulled up for her. As she got into the car, try as he might she ignored his protests to have her ride in the back and took the passenger seat next to him, rattling off the address of the courthouse.

“Ah, yes,” Ainsley said as he pulled onto a main street. “Mr. Michaels had business here yesterday. It was lucky he saw you when he did,” he added.

“What business did he have at one in the morning?” she asked, staring out the window.

Ainsley shrugged. “Court business. Such a late night is not so unusual for him by any means, I assure you.”

That made Claire turn and look at Ainsley. “No?”

Ainsley shook his head. “Much is expected of him,” he said. “As he is the son, set to inherit the firm one day.”

That just made Claire slump back against her seat. “Yeah,” she muttered sarcastically. “I can just imagine.”





Chapter 3

Claire hadn’t been at work for more than an hour when she found Chad’s note. It was hidden in her folder among the various paperwork, and she couldn’t help but pull the cream piece of paper out with a scowl on her face. His handwriting was scribbled across it, complete with his personal cell number and a second one to contact Ainsley.

As if.

Claire tried to work as normally as possible, immersing herself in her work as she sorting through the evidence against her client. Some things just weren’t adding up, though. For one, the opposing lawyer was trying to say that Claire’s client had taken a workshop just three days before the incident concerning safety in the work place, one specifically highlighting the assembly line and the personal protective equipment a worker should wear concerning it. Yet, Smith’s schedule called for him to usually work three days on, and two days off. Shouldn’t he have been off of work on the day that they were trying to say he attended a workshop?

Claire opened up her email and shot off a letter to Smith concerning his work schedule. If they could prove that he’d never attended their so-called ‘workshop,’ then she might just get their case thrown out and clear the way for an easy win.

By the time ten o’clock rolled around and most of her coworkers had left, Claire decided that she couldn’t call it any closer and turned off her own computer. After last night, she wasn’t going to stay out until the courthouse was a ghost town again. She’d leave when there was still traffic outside at least, and get home safe. Besides, the next bus was due to arrive in ten minutes anyway.

Claire hadn’t expected to find a black BMW with Ainsley sitting in the front seat right outside.

“Ah, Miss Claire!” he said, practically falling out of the car.

“Ainsley,” she said slowly. “What’re you doing here?”

“Collecting you, of course,” he said happily, already walking around to open the passenger door for her. “Mr. Michaels didn’t want you to be alone tonight, not after yesterday.”