Triple Jeopardy: Lawyers Behaving Badly, #2

By Cleo Peitsche

Maisie is so screwed. Literally—who could resist dominant billionaire bosses? But it’s more complicated than that. 

Ethan Brennbach. Raphael Lattimore. Trent Banno. To protect their most vulnerable clients, these hot lawyers aren’t just bending the rules. 

They’re breaking the law. 

If Maisie is too attached to turn her bosses in, she should at least get the hell away. Fast. 

But she’s starting to unravel their secrets. Plus, it’s hard to run when she’s always on her knees.

And even harder when her heart is on the line.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Pouch Productions
• Release date: Apr 27, 2016
• ISBN: 9781533708793

Cleo Peitsche

If Cleo isn't writing (or reading!) erotica, she's probably sitting on her balcony, watching the wind blow through the trees. She loves snowstorms, piña coladas, horses, and pasta primavera. If she won the lottery, she would hire an assistant to take care of the technical side of e-publishing so that she could write all day.Some random facts about Cleo:1. Thinks life's too short to forgo HEAs and HFNs.2. Sprained an ankle joining the mile-high club. (Never again!)3. Favorite writers include Cormac Mccarthy, Junot Diaz and Rachel Caine.4. Gets weak-kneed for bookish guys who know how to fix things with their hands. *swoons*

Book preview

1

Maisie stifled a stream of expletives as she walked back to her desk. Two weeks at LB&B Law, and someone always made her homicidal before nine in the morning.

Flipping her long, messy curls behind her shoulders, she picked up the phone. Sorry, but…

Holy hell, Ethan Brennbach was walking across the room.

It was the size of him that always caught her attention first. He wasn’t a walking obelisk, but he would stand out in any gym. He was noticeably bigger than his refined, well-dressed peers.

Then, the confident way he moved. Graceful, sure.

But powerful.

It was clear he was in charge. Erase his business suit—she sighed at the thought—toss him a spear, and he’d save the village from starvation. Give him a battle-ax and he’d leave a swath of enemies lifeless on the battlefield. Oh, yeah, she could definitely see that, his dark blond hair grown out into a thick mane, war paint across his chiseled chest.

Then he would come home triumphant to take his glory with whichever woman he wanted. Ethan was a man born to dominate.

She’d known it even before the first time he’d bent her over his desk and punished her for attempting to seduce Trent Banno.

Maisie’s pulse sped up and her skin tingled, wanting Ethan’s touch.

If only he would turn around and fucking look at her. The last two days, Ethan had been all business, ignoring her pleading gaze and desperate sighs.

She needed to talk to him.

Hello? Ajay sounded irritated. Maisie had never met him, but she imagined he looked like a bridge troll. You were only gone a second. How thorough could you have been?

I have to go—

Hold up, Ajay grunted. I’m not done. The Grugero file—half the guts are missing. Not just that one. I’ve got a list here somewhere. His voice faded into mumbling.

The phone loosened in Maisie’s grip as she devoured her boss with her eyes.

Ethan wasn’t even looking at her, but she could feel him. Inside her, driving hard and fast. His kiss burning her lips, the scent of bergamot, wood-smoke, and citrus in her lungs. The deep richness of his voice always at the periphery of her awareness.

She had a mental channel tuned to the Ethan Brennbach station. The only time she wasn’t obsessing over Ethan was when she was with Trent Banno or Raphael Lattimore.

Ethan had stopped in front of Mrs. Donahue, who was nodding and taking frantic notes.

Maisie could only see the left side of his face, the undamaged side. She still didn’t know how he’d gotten the scar, which stretched from his jaw to just below his eye.

Look at me, she willed. I’m dying here. Please, sir.

He turned abruptly. His stormy gray eyes burned right through her.

Maisie sucked in a quick breath.

He was gorgeous—but scarred and imperfect, technically; the mask-like hardness of the right side of his face disrupted his elegant façade. Maybe that was why she looked at him and thought of the battlefield.

Because of the scar, staring at Ethan was against the rules, but Maisie couldn’t help herself.

Ethan turned and headed toward the exit.

Maisie made the mistake of looking at Mrs. Donahue, who stood, smoothed down her calf-length tweed skirt, and headed Maisie’s way.

With each step the woman took, Maisie felt her heart sinking.

Can you start from the beginning? Maisie asked, suddenly glad Ajay was still on the phone. I’ll need to write those down.

You weren’t writing?

I didn’t realize it was so long—

Forget it. I’ll email the list. He hung up, leaving Maisie defenseless against the irritated woman bearing down on her.

Mrs. Donahue glanced at the wall of folders piled up on Maisie’s desk. I find it difficult to believe you need more work.

"I am working."

Mrs. Donahue’s eyes narrowed, and Maisie wondered if she’d skipped her morning drink. She often came to work buzzed and tended to tank up at lunch, which usually made her easier to deal with in the afternoon.

You’re not going to make it through probation, Maisie.

What? Maisie’s fingers flew to her neck, but she hadn’t worn the long silver chain today—things had been going so well, she hadn’t needed the extra luck. Her memory flashed on Ethan, on how he’d walked away without acknowledging her. But that was Ethan. Not rude, just businesslike. It didn’t mean anything.

Unless it did.

She swallowed hard.

You need to watch yourself around Mr. Brennbach, Mrs. Donahue delivered in a quiet hiss. He has a brilliant legal mind, and he’s your boss. He deserves respect.

What? Maisie’s jaw dropped. I respect him.

The way you were staring just now was the epitome of rudeness.

Crossing her arms tightly over her chest, Maisie said, You’re imagining things.

Mrs. Donahue’s face took on an unhealthy hue, and her lips pressed so tightly together that they turned white.

Shit. She’d gone too far, and now she was going to get fired.

Follow me. Mrs. Donahue pivoted on one of her square heels and marched away.

Stomach quavering and fingers cold, Maisie rose unsteadily and followed her down the hall and into Raphael Lattimore’s office.

Mrs. Donahue closed the door, sealing them inside the sunny but imposing room. The grandfather clock ticked. I’m trying to help you succeed. Whenever Mr. Brennbach is around, you gawk. Do you think he hasn’t noticed?

Something tightened painfully inside her, and Maisie’s stomach seemed to fill with acid. Oh… she said, mortified. No wonder he was being standoffish. Thanks for telling me.

You’re welcome. Mrs. Donahue’s expression thawed a touch. I know you must be curious about what happened to him. It’s only natural.

Not really, Maisie said quickly. Mrs. Donahue had already made it clear that gossiping about Ethan’s scars would get her fired.

In the hope that it will help you focus on your job, I’m going to do something I swore I never would. I’m going to tell you what happened.

2

Maisie’s heart was pounding so fast, she thought she might pass out. Surely she must have misunderstood?

Mrs. Donahue cleared her throat. It’s a long story. I’ll pour us some water.

Now that she was about to find out what had happened, she wasn’t sure she was ready. She wanted to know, was dying to know, but she couldn’t stand the thought of Ethan suffering.

She realized she’d stopped breathing, and she exhaled shakily.

Expression grim, Mrs. Donahue walked to the credenza and slowly poured two glasses of water from the crystal pitcher.

After handing one glass to Maisie, she took a long drink herself. It happened two years ago, she said. Damn if it doesn’t feel like yesterday.

And then she didn’t say anything else.

Maisie made an encouraging sound, hoping to gently prod Mrs. Donahue into continuing, but it didn’t work.

What if this was all a test, and Maisie had failed? Nervously, she sipped her own water and watched Mrs. Donahue over the rim of the glass.

The woman’s gray-streaked hair was pulled up into a loose bun. She’d been pretty once. It wasn’t age that had destroyed her looks, but rather the way her lips curled down, and the scowling crease between her eyebrows, as if every inhalation brought fresh reasons to express her disappointment.

Her eyes were large and might have been innocently vulnerable. Maisie was used to them seething with annoyance and disappointment, but now they were also colored with sadness.

You don’t know this, Mrs. Donahue said, but LB&B used to have unfettered access to the roof. This is Mr. Brennbach’s building, after all.

A soft gasp of surprise burst from Maisie’s lips. She quickly gulped water to cover her reaction. If Ethan owned Fortune Tower, he was far wealthier than she’d ever guessed. She remembered her first impression of the skyscraper: a gleaming phallic testament to man’s hubris.

Well, Ethan had nothing to compensate for.

Why was the story of his accident beginning with the roof? Maisie felt her face tightening into a frown.

Mrs. Donahue refilled her glass. Her gaze drifted toward the window and the expanse of blue sky.

Every few months we have a celebratory dinner. The next one is in three weeks, so if you don’t get yourself fired, you’ll get to experience one. They’re for fun, to build morale, to allow employees to mingle as equals, not superiors and subordinates. I suggested hosting it on the roof, which is no windier than street level. It’s quite an engineering feat. The view is unparalleled, and the partners often hosted their own small parties up there.

Her voice was