Love Irresistibly, Page 2

  A few months after that, they’d headed down to Dallas, where Brooke and the two VPs had given their best sales pitch and negotiated a deal with the Cowboys. A short while later, they landed the contract for Dodger Stadium, too.

  During the Dodger negotiations, the general counsel, a woman with whom Brooke had formed a friendly relationship, just so happened to let it slip that she’d heard whispers that the folks at L.A. Arena Company—who owned the Staples Center, aka home to the Los Angeles Lakers, Clippers, Kings, and Sparks—were also unhappy with their food and beverage vendor and looking to make a change as soon as their current contract expired.

  So the dream team had struck while the iron was hot.

  And now, assuming there were no hiccups in the deal Brooke was finalizing today with the lawyers representing L.A. Arena Company, Sterling Restaurants would soon be adding the Staples Center, the number-one most profitable sports venue in the country, to their roster.

  In a word, they were hot.

  Sterling was an exciting, demanding, absolutely exhausting place to work. Sure, that meant long hours for Brooke, but she believed in the company and her role there. Whether negotiating a multimillion dollar contract with the GC of the Dallas Cowboys, or investigating an internal complaint that one of their pastry chefs had a problem playing grab-ass with the waitresses, there was never, ever a dull moment.

  After exiting the elevator at the third floor, Brooke turned down the hallway that would take her to Sterling’s offices. She pushed through the frosted-glass doors and said hello to the receptionist. According to the clock on the wall, she still had fifteen minutes to eat lunch before her conference call. Plenty of time.

  “I’m back,” she told Lindsey, her assistant, who sat at the desk outside Brooke’s office.

  “A couple of calls came in while you were out,” Lindsey said. “The first one was from Justin. He asked that you call him back as soon as you get in.”

  The message took Brooke somewhat by surprise. She and Justin, aka the Hot OB, had been dating for a little over four months now, and she could count on one hand the number of times she’d talked to him at the office. Both of them were always so busy during the day, it was simply easier to e-mail or text him on her way home from work. “Uh-oh. I hope he’s not calling to cancel tonight. We’ve got reservations at Rustic House,” she said, referring to a nearly-impossible-to-get-into restaurant on the north side that was not in the Sterling family.

  “Traitor,” Lindsey said with a grin. She handed Brooke a piece of paper with a phone number on it. “And you also received a call from Cade Morgan at the U.S. Attorney’s Office.”

  Now that got Brooke’s attention.

  Just about anyone who followed the local news knew who Cade Morgan was. One of the top assistant U.S. attorneys in Chicago, he’d made a name for himself by prosecuting several high-profile government corruption cases—and, a little over a year ago, the famous “Twitter Terrorist” case that had garnered international attention. He had a reputation of being smart, disarmingly charming in front of judges and juries, and tough as nails against opposing counsel.

  And what he might possibly want from Brooke, she had no clue.

  “Did he say what this was in regards to?” Brooke asked.

  “No. Only that he’d like you to call him back as soon as possible. He was very firm about that.”

  This unexpected message from the U.S. Attorney’s Office had Brooke feeling a bit . . . uneasy. Cade Morgan was a prosecutor who handled big cases that got a lot of media attention. Whatever this was, it wasn’t a social call. And as general counsel for Sterling Restaurants, her hackles were up.

  “Thanks, Lindsey.” Brooke went into her office and shut the door behind her, trying not to get too rattled by Morgan’s message. She didn’t know what he wanted, she reminded herself, so there wasn’t anything worth worrying about. Yet.

  Never a dull moment, she thought again to herself as she settled in at her desk and unwrapped one of the tacos. Double-tasking per usual, she took a bite while dialing Justin’s number on speakerphone.

  “Hey there,” she said when he answered his cell phone. “I wasn’t sure I’d actually catch you.” She could picture him looking cute in his scrubs right then—an easy image to conjure up since she’d seen him wearing them a few times late at night after one of his shifts.

  “I stepped out of the office for a short break,” Justin said. His obstetrics practice was located a few blocks from Brooke’s office, which was nice if they wanted to meet for lunch. Although come to think of it, they’d only met for lunch once, back when they’d first started dating.

  He sounded apologetic. “I just sent one of my patients to the hospital to be induced. She’s only a half-centimeter dilated, but she’s forty-one weeks with gestational diabetes. Since it’s her first baby, this could be a long night. Sorry to have to cancel on you like this.”

  “Darn babies. Somebody needs to explain to them about date night,” Brooke said jokingly. While she was disappointed not to see Justin tonight, she understood that work conflicts sometimes came up. Heck, she’d had to reschedule two dates so far this month because of last-minute emergencies she’d needed to handle at the office.

  “Yeah. Right.” He cleared his throat as if hesitant about whatever it was he wanted to say next. “You and I sure seem to be missing each other a lot these days.”

  Aw, the Hot OB missed her. And he was right; it had been a busy month. She’d been in Los Angeles for nearly a week, working on the Staples Center deal, and then had been swamped trying to catch up with everything at work after that. Lately, it seemed the only times she and Justin were both free was between eleven P.M. and five A.M. “So let’s not miss each other tonight, even if we can’t do dinner,” she suggested. “Why don’t you text me when you’re finished at the hospital and come over to my place?”

  “That’ll probably be around two A.M.”

  “I know. But since that’s the only time we both seem to be available, it’s either that or nothing,” Brooke said.

  “Yes, that certainly does seem to be how it works with us. Heaven forbid we ever go on an actual date.”

  When she heard the frustration in his voice, Brooke got a sinking feeling in her stomach.

  Not again.

  She tried to smooth things over. “Look, I know that things have been crazy for me with these back-to-back deals in Los Angeles. You’re a doctor, you know how it is—your schedule is just as bad.” Admittedly, she was feeling a bit defensive right then, and felt the need to note that for the record.

  He sighed. “I know. Tonight is my fault. And then next time, something will come up for you.”

  “We talked about this when we first met.” Given her less-than-successful track record with relationships, she’d been up front with him from the beginning about the demands of her job.

  “You’re right, we did,” he said. “And frankly, back then I thought I’d hit the jackpot. It was great that you never got mad when I had to cancel plans, or when I forgot to call. And you never complain that I don’t take you out enough. Hell, in some ways it’s like dating a guy.”

  Alrighty, then. “I don’t need to be wined and dined, Justin. I can walk into eight restaurants in this city and have every employee practically tripping over themselves to make sure I’m happy.”

  “I’m sorry, Brooke,” he said contritely. “But this . . . doesn’t work for me anymore. I like you. You’re a great girl, and you have awesome Cubs skybox tickets. I love it when they bring that dessert cart around.”

  Glad she scored high when it came to the important things in life. “But?”

  “But you seem to be really focused on your career right now—which, don’t get me wrong, is totally fine—except, well, I’m thirty-four years old. I’m starting to think about getting married, having kids, the big picture. And I guess what I’m trying to say is . . . I don’t see a woman like you in that big picture.”

  Brooke blinked. Wow.

 
A woman like you.

  That stung.

  “Fuck, that came out harsh,” Justin said. “I just meant that you’re so independent, and I don’t even know if you want to get married or have kids, and half the time I think you just like having a warm body to cuddle up with every now and then—”

  “Hold on. This is the non-harsh version?”

  “Sorry,” he said, sounding sheepish. “I just think we’re looking for different things. I want—”

  “A big-picture girl,” Brooke interrupted. “I got it.” She definitely didn’t need to have it spelled out for her any clearer than that.

  When both of them fell awkwardly silent, Brooke glanced at the clock on her phone. “I hate to say this, since it’s apparently what makes me a small-picture kind of girl, but I have to go. I’ve got a conference call with a bunch of other lawyers in Los Angeles that can’t be rescheduled.”

  “I understand. You do your thing. Good-bye, Brooke.”

  After hanging up, Brooke stared at the phone for a long moment.

  Another one bites the dust.

  That was her third breakup since starting at Sterling. She seemed to be in a pattern with her relationships, where everything was great in the beginning, and then somewhere around the four-month mark things just kind of fizzled out. The men would give her some speech about not getting to the “next level,” or about wanting “more” than hot sex at midnight after a long workday.

  “Hold on. A guy said this to you?” Her best friend, Ford, had looked both shocked and appalled by this when they’d met for drinks after Breakup Number Two. “As in, someone with an actual penis?”

  “Two guys now,” Brooke had said, her pride admittedly wounded at being dumped again. “I don’t get it. I don’t put any pressure on these men, I’m happy to give them all the space they want, and the sex is good enough. What else could your gender possibly want in a relationship?”

  “Beer and nachos in bed?”

  “This is the advice you offer, your sage insight into the male perspective? Beer and nachos in bed?”

  Ford had flashed her an easy grin. “You know I’m not good at the relationship stuff. Even other people’s relationship stuff.”

  And, judging from today’s turn of events with Justin, Brooke wasn’t all that much better.

  I don’t see a woman like you in that big picture.

  The intercom on Brooke’s phone buzzed, interrupting her thoughts.

  “I have Jim Schwartz, Eric Keller, and Paul Fielding on the phone for you,” her secretary said, referring to L.A. Arena’s in-house counsel and the two outside attorneys who represented them. “Can I put them through?”

  Right. Back to work—no time for a pity party. As Brooke shoved her now-cold tacos back into the bag and reached for her phone, she spotted the note on her desk and belatedly remembered the call from the U.S. Attorney’s Office. Well, Cade Morgan would just have to wait.

  She told her secretary to put the call through and forced a cheerful note into her voice. “How are my three favorite Los Angeles lawyers today?” she asked.

  As they said in Hollywood, the show must go on.

  Two

  CADE STRODE UP to the lobby desk and presented his U.S. attorney ID to the security guard.

  “Cade Morgan, along with Special Agents Seth Huxley and Vaughn Roberts,” he said, gesturing to the two men in suits who stood behind him. “We’re here to see Brooke Parker with Sterling Restaurants.”

  The security guard reached for his guest list.

  “She’s not expecting us,” Cade said.

  “O-kay . . .” The guard shifted uncertainly as he looked at all three men. Cade waited unconcernedly, knowing exactly how this would turn out. As he’d come to realize during the eight years he’d been an assistant U.S. attorney, there were very few places a man flanked by two armed FBI agents couldn’t get into.

  After a moment, the guard gestured to the guest book sitting on top of the gray marble desk. “I just need you to sign in.”

  “Of course.” Cade grabbed the pen and quickly scribbled his name. “Cade Morgan. Plus two.” After he set the pen down, he noticed that the guard stared at him curiously. He was familiar with that look of recognition; his was a name many people in this city recognized—often because of the high-profile criminal cases he’d prosecuted. Although, not infrequently, people still remembered him for his other claim to fame.

  The guard pointed. “Cade Morgan. Quarterback at Northwestern, right?”

  Bingo.

  “That’s right,” he said.

  “What was that, twelve years ago?” the guard asked. “I remember watching your last game.” He grinned. “It’s not like Northwestern goes to the Rose Bowl every year, right? You carried those guys there.”

  Cade brushed this off modestly. “It was a good team. We ran a really strong spread offense that year.”

  The guard gestured excitedly. “That last play was beautiful. Probably one of the best moments I’ve seen in college football. Really a shame about your shoulder, though. They said you would’ve gone pro.”

  This was true. Cade very well may have gone on to play professional football, if a two-hundred-and-thirty-pound linebacker hadn’t taken him down hard in an attempted sack just a half second after he’d released the ball. When they’d hit the ground, the linebacker’s full weight had come down on Cade’s right shoulder, his throwing arm, and he’d known immediately that the situation was bad. A couple of hours later, after being rushed to the emergency room, X-rays had confirmed he’d suffered both a broken collarbone and a torn rotator cuff.

  A career-ending injury, as it turned out.

  Cade nodded in the direction of the elevators. “Which floor for Sterling?” he asked the guard.

  “Oh. Right. Third floor. Offices are on the north side of the building, at the end of the hall.”

  After thanking the guard, Cade and the two FBI agents made their way to the elevators. Agent Roberts waited until the elevator doors closed. “How old does that get?”

  Cade shrugged. “It’s one of those sports moments people like to talk about.” He eyed the Starbucks cup that Vaughn carried, deliberately changing the subject. “Did you get another chance to flash your badge at the cute barista?”

  He and Vaughn had known each other for seven years, ever since they’d worked on their first case together, a simple single-defendant bank robbery trial. It’d been the first time both of them had been in front of a jury—Cade as the prosecutor and Vaughn as the testifying agent—and for the most part, neither of them had any clue what they were doing. Still, they’d somehow managed to get a guilty verdict, and afterward they’d gone out for celebratory drinks and had spent most of the time making fun of each other’s courtroom screwups. They’d been good friends ever since.

  In response to Cade’s question, Vaughn shot a look at Agent Huxley, who’d been his partner in the white-collar crime division for the past year. “You told him about that?”

  “Of course I told him about that. It was one of the least suave pickup moves I’ve ever seen.” Huxley pulled out his badge, pretending to be Vaughn. “‘I’ll pay for that skinny vanilla latte with my Starbucks card, which—well, look at that—just so happens to be right here next to my FBI badge.’”

  “That’s not how it went down. I told you, she asked to see the badge.”

  “How’d she know that you’re an agent?” Cade asked.

  “I may have mentioned it at some point.” Vaughn grinned innocently. “What? The job impresses the ladies.”

  The elevator arrived at the third floor. “Right. I’m sure she thought you were a real badass with your skinny vanilla latte.” Cade stepped out of the elevator, leading the other two men as they headed down the hallway. Quickly, the dynamic between them turned more businesslike as they approached Sterling’s offices.

  “How do you think Brooke Parker is going to react?” Huxley asked Cade.

  Well, if Cade were a betting man, he’d hazard a guess th
at the general counsel of Sterling was going to be a wee bit ticked off at the sudden and unexpected appearance of an assistant U.S. attorney and two FBI agents on her office doorstep.

  Actually, this was probably something that most people would not enjoy.

  But unfortunately, time was of the essence. They had barely more than forty-eight hours to pull everything together, and he needed to speak with Brooke Parker before she left work for the weekend. He’d had no choice but to take things up a notch. “Once I explain the situation, I’m sure that Ms. Parker will see the value in cooperating with us.”

  Huxley raised an eyebrow. “And if she doesn’t?”

  “Then I’ll explain it again.”

  Granted, Cade knew that what they were asking of Ms. Parker was a bit . . . unusual. For that reason, he had every intention of being gracious and polite during this meeting. At the end of the day, however, he harbored little doubt that she would agree to play ball with them. Some of this confidence stemmed from the fact that he generally believed—and maybe this was simply the idealistic prosecutor in him—that reasonable, law-abiding citizens understood the value of doing their civic duty when called to action.

  And the more practical, cynical side of him said that even unreasonable people knew not to get on the bad side of the U.S. Attorney’s and FBI offices.

  Cade pushed through the glass door etched with Sterling Restaurants’ name, and stepped into the office. It was a sophisticated space, modern and airy with cream marble floors and lots of natural light streaming in through the floor-to-ceiling windows. In front of him, a receptionist sat behind a frosted-glass desk, waiting expectantly. Presumably, the lobby guard had alerted her that they were on their way up.

  “You must be Cade Morgan.” Her gaze shifted as Agents Huxley and Roberts followed him into the office. “And there’s the plus two.” She picked up the telephone on her desk. “I’ll let Ms. Parker know you’re here.”