A Wildly Seductive Night(15)

Now, he was on morning detail, and that was one of his favorite things in the world. He’d been up since the crack of dawn. He and Ace had tackled a sunrise run, covering five miles before Carly woke.

“How could she lose with a peanut butter drink?” Carly asked, as if the answer were patently obvious.

“I don’t see how she can,” he said, leashing up the dog and opening the door.

“Wait. What if she adds honey?”

Clay raised an appreciative eyebrow as the three of them headed for the elevator. “Now, that’s not a bad idea.”

After he and Ace walked Carly to the gymnastics day camp several blocks away, he hugged her goodbye. On the return to his home, he strolled through the quieter streets in the Village, noodling on Tyler’s plans for the new deal along the way. He mentally tallied pros and cons, weighing every aspect. Something wasn’t quite sitting well with him, but by the end of his walk, he had a notion of what it was. Dog walks were good for that—thinking time.

Nothing quite like a man and his beast to sort out what needed to be done.

Once he was ready for work, and Ace was exhausted, he kissed his sleeping wife goodbye, left a note on the counter with the word honey on it, and headed to the office.



Clay thumbed through the pages one more time, reviewing the memo Tyler had written. His proposal for the Powder producer was detailed and thorough. Tyler understood entertainment law and wielded it like a well-sharpened knife. The man knew the specifics and details of contracts, provisions, and loopholes, and he was a master at making loopholes work for him.

But . . .

“Just lay it on me, man. Give it to me straight.”

Clay looked up from the pages on his desk and smirked at Tyler in his dress shirt and royal blue tie, parked on the edge of the coffee table, eager as all hell for Clay’s feedback. He tapped his fingers on his knees.

That was one thing Tyler wasn’t—patient.

“Cool your jets,” Clay admonished. “I’m almost done.”

Tyler dragged a hand through his hair. “That’s your third time going through it,” he said in a huff.

Clay set down the paper and stared hard at his friend and partner. “Do you want my informed opinion? Or do you want me to blow smoke up your skirt and tell you those jeans don’t make you look fat?”

“Ha ha. You know I don’t wear jeans to work.”

“And may you never,” Clay said, because that was not the way an attorney dressed. Look the part, be the part, win the deal. And show some motherfucking respect for the person on the other side of the negotiation by dressing as the degree conferred upon you demanded.

Like a pro.

When he finished reviewing the pages, Clay rose from the desk, strode across the carpet, and parked himself on the couch. Tyler swiveled around and adopted an overly patient look. He folded his hands and plastered on a ridiculous smile.

Clay tried his best to rein in a chuckle. He really did. But he had no luck. Tyler cracked him up.

After several seconds of laughter, Clay cleared his throat and turned serious. “On the surface, this deal looks good,” he began, and Tyler nodded, an eager look in his brown eyes.

“It does, doesn’t it? We can totally get him.”

Clay drew a breath and nodded. Tyler was right. They could likely land this client. They could tackle a deal that had thorns. But Clay Nichols had built his reputation on running a squeaky clean business. He was known for pristine deal-making, airtight contracts, and a flawless track record. This deal, if it went south, had the potential to upend that work. It was risky. It was dangerous. It wasn’t his MO.

But, maybe it could be.

He scrubbed a hand across his jaw. “There’s one provision that concerns me,” he said, then he dived into the part that was rocky. “I think with this sort of risk, you’re going to need to offer more on the back end.”

“I got you,” Tyler said, with a nod. “What you’re saying is this deal needs some lube.”

Clay rolled his eyes. “The back end always needs lube, man. But you also need some finesse in here. See what you can give in on to make this work.”

Tyler rose and folded the pages in half. “I’ll see what I can do to loosen up this loophole.”

“Maybe a stiff drink,” Clay quipped, since Julia always joked that alcohol was the ultimate lubricant. “Something strong.”

Always something strong.





13





“I can’t give away my secrets now, can I?”

Julia flashed a smile for the camera, answering the question the reality-show producers had tossed at her that afternoon as she prepped at Speakeasy during a shoot. They wanted to know how she planned to take on JT.