Working Stiff:Casimir (Runaway Billionaires #1)(24)

Watson's team murmured to each other, real quiet-like, far too low for Rox to hear.

When she glanced at Wren, the other woman was looking back at her, one  eyebrow cocked down. Her knife-edge eyeliner perfectly delineated her  eyes, tilted from her Chinese ancestors, and accentuated just how  confused she was.

Jan finally looked up at Rox. "Had the other driver been drinking?"

"Nope. Blew a flat line on the breathalyzer. He was cited for changing  lanes without a blinker, but it was just an accident. He had really good  insurance, though."

In Rox's ear, Cash whispered, "Don't tell them anything else."

Jan frowned harder. "Really." Weally.

There wasn't a question mark at the end of Jan's comment at all.

Rox said, "Yeah."

Jan turned and leaned on her elbows. "Is he all right?"

She said, "He was hurt pretty badly."

Cash hissed, "Rox!"

"But he's alive," Jan said, confirming that.

"Yeah."

Jan sat back. "You heard about Pym over at Pym, Copeland, Jackson, and Garcia, right?"

"Yeah." When his car had gone over a rail and exploded a year ago,  they'd identified the charred skeleton from his dental work. "I guess  it's just Copeland, Jackson, and Garcia now."

Jan said, "He was butting heads with Monty Evans on a weird contract  clause. A sober driver with good insurance got a stupid little citation  because it was just an accident."

Cold sweat popped on Rox's back. "I'll take that under advisement."

In her ear, Cash whispered, "I'm sure it's not related."

Rox said, "Um, I suppose we need to get back to this."

In her ear, Cash whispered, "It's a coincidence. That was a year ago.  Monty has negotiated dozens, if not hundreds, of contracts for the  studio in the meantime."

Rox bit her lip and typed, K.

In another hour, she had convinced herself that it was just an accident,  that it was stupid to be paranoid. Movie studios didn't kill people.  They sued them. Lawsuits were far more destructive than killing someone,  which was quick and easy compared to what industry lawyers could do to a  person.

For four more hours, with occasional bathroom and coffee breaks, Cash spoke, and Rox repeated the legalese.

The whole time, she couldn't shake the feeling that he was standing  right behind her, his arms around her and his lips near her neck,  whispering in her ear.





CASIMIR DE BERGERAC





Casimir lay on the couch in the media room with his laptop resting on  his stomach and Rox's three cats surrounding him, whispering into the  Bluetooth to cue Rox while she was in the meeting with Watson's lawyers  and accountants.                       
       
           



       

Yes, he knew that he could hold the Bluetooth a little farther away from his mouth and speak normally.

He whispered, "Tell them: this contract includes standard work ethic  clauses, which Watson has never had trouble meeting, so we didn't  quibble on those. Communication is key in the event of a personal or  health emergency, and provisions for those are written in the usual  manner."

Rox typed, K.

Casimir scrolled to the next section of the contract, Amenities.

This part was easy. He could discuss it with his eyes closed, so he did.

Casimir imagined plush, succulent Rox in his arms, his nose buried in  her hair and the scent of her lemony shampoo rising all around him, and  he whispered, "Ms. Watson has asked for certain amenities, all of which  are reasonable and standard, and those are outlined in this section."

Her body would press against his, her curves soft against his hardness, and her skin smooth under his palms.

He didn't worry that Pym's accident last year might be connected to his  own. In Los Angeles, car accidents happened every day. The only wonder  was that he hadn't been involved in one sooner.

"Let's discuss amenities," he whispered and sipped from the glass of wine on the table beside him.





JUNIOR PARTNERS AND PARALEGALS





Rox was walking out of the meeting, whispering with fretful, brooding  Wren, when Josie grabbed Rox's elbow and steered her into her office  again.

This time, Josie kicked the door shut. "Is he okay?"

Sweet baby Jesus, Rox had thought that she was going to get bawled out  for impersonating an attorney. "Yeah, he's fine. He's having a hard time  with some things."

Josie crossed her arms and frowned. "With the contracts?"

"Yeah. The contracts."

"Like what?"

"Like there are some problems with them. Has he said anything to you about them?"

Josie's dark eyes widened, and her head tilted forward. "Rox, did he have a head injury?"

"What? Oh, no. No. Not at all. Cash had me read his charts to him while  he was in the hospital because his eyes were swollen shut, but they  actually ruled out any kind of head injury or concussion. His brain's  all there."

Josie deflated with relief, and she braced her hands on her knees, bent  over. "Jesus Christ, I thought I'd lost a partner there for a minute.  It's just been a few days since they said that Valerie was going to make  a full recovery and could come back to work soon."

"About Valerie-"

Josie was still bent over. "You scared the shit out of me, Rox."

"Yeah, but about Valerie. We've been finding some serious irregularities in her contracts, things that she should have found."

Josie squinted at her from where she was bracing her hands on her knees. "Was this before or after her stroke?"

"Before."

She straightened. "Valerie is the best. If she signed off on them, then I'm sure it's okay."

"They really aren't okay. These clauses are very, very not-okay."

"Valerie is the senior partner because she's been in this business for  decades. She knows everyone, and everyone knows that she's the best.  Cash has only been out of law school for a few years and was only made  partner a year ago. I'll take Valerie's interpretation of a clause over  Cash's every day of the week and twice on Sunday. He's just not as  experienced."

"Even I can tell that these clauses are either squirrels to give us  something to take out so we won't fight the other rights grabs, or else  something is terribly, horribly wrong."

Josie smiled at her. "Roxie, sugarbear. As much as I value your very  astute judgments, I am going to trust the interpretation of the senior  partner over a junior partner or a paralegal."

Rox ground her teeth at that.

Just a damn paralegal, was she? She wasn't damned blind.

Josie walked her to the door, even though Rox was hanging back,  stuttering. "Now you go back to Cash and tell him to get better and to  make sure that he's not second-guessing the senior partner's judgment."





NOT A TRIUMPH





Rox grabbed the Styrofoam boxes of Mexican food take-out off the other  seat of her car and practically skipped into the house. "Cash! I can't  believe we pulled that off! They bought it, hook, line, and sinker and  are under the blatant misconception that I'm a scum-sucking,  bottom-dwelling lawyer. You should be paying me ten times what I make.  Everything went perfectly!"

Cash was lying on the living room couch, a half-empty bottle of wine  beside an empty glass, with his laptop on his thighs, sound asleep. That  horrid white bandage was still stuck to his face.                       
       
           



       

Speedbump had climbed up on the couch somehow and was sacked out across Cash's legs. Cash had probably helped him up there.

Pirate was curled up between his side and the back of the couch.

Midnight sprawled on the floor. He stretched and sauntered over to greet her with a rub.

Cash had been drinking alone.

And he had fallen asleep while working, even though it was barely five o'clock.

Cash was one of those high-energy guys. He paced. He jumped up and  gestured. He had a standing desk in his office to work at. When they  traveled together, he was at the gym before her and stayed to drink with  the clients or other lawyers long after she retreated to her hotel  room.

He didn't doze off while watching television at midnight.

She very gently lifted his computer off of him by one corner of the  screen. He stirred a little, his hair brushing his forehead, but he  didn't wake.

Rox tucked the computer under her arm and glanced down to make sure she hadn't roused him.

His breathing deepened as he settled, and his strong chest rose and fell easily.

Rox opened his computer and entered his password, Oranje-Nassau-6.

On his desktop, files and folders littered the screen like he had thrown them against the wall and some had stuck.

She frowned. Cash usually nested his files in multiple levels of  organized folders and then alphabetized them. While she hadn't actually  gone snooping in his bedroom, she bet that he color-sorted his socks.  Her quick glimpses at his closet suggested that his several racks of  suits were organized first by color and then by style, then maybe by  designer.