Pursuing Yvette: A Second Chance Romance (The Viera Triplets Book 3) Read online

  She nodded and suddenly I realized there was something different about her.

  “You cut your hair!”

  It was a very flattering look for her and I found myself softening slightly as I studied her face closely.

  A small smirk formed on her rosebud lips.

  “I did. That doesn’t change the fact that you’re mad at me.”

  “I’m not mad at you, Yve,” I insisted. “I know, it’s nothing personal.”

  Again, she bobbed her head.

  “I’m glad you can see that. Anyway, I’ll make it up to you tomorrow,” she told me. “I’ve got a lot on my mind and I got distracted.”

  “What?” I asked, my eyes narrowing. “What are you talking about?”

  It was her turn to look perplexed.

  “Coffee. I forgot to get coffee this morning.”

  My mouth parted slightly, and I stared at her.

  The last thing on my mind had been our daily ritual but realizing that she had also forgotten coffee only added insult to injury.

  “If you’re not upset about that, what are you mad about?” she demanded.

  No sooner had the words left her lips did understanding flood her face.

  “You’re pissed off because of what I said to Angeline Sterling?”

  I felt my lips purse into a line, but I didn’t answer.

  I could already feel her scoffing at me and I didn’t want to engage.

  “Yvette, I really don’t have time for this,” I said firmly, turning my attention to the files on my desk.

  To my aggravation, she remained in her spot, watching me with intelligent eyes.

  It’s like she is researching my soul, I thought with some annoyance. Why is looking at me like that?

  “Drave, this is a case. We are opposing counsel now,” she said as if this was news to me. “You can’t take things to heart.”

  My fists clenched, and I gritted my teeth.

  “I am not taking anything to heart,” I snapped. “And I know this is work.”

  “I hope so,” she sighed. “And if you’re concerned about Angeline liking me more because of the Fowler case – “

  “I am not concerned about anything except getting my damned work done, Yvette!” I barked.

  Deliberately, she rose to her feet, a small sneer forming on her lips.

  “Ah,” she muttered. “There’s the Draven I know. It took a while, but I knew that attitude of yours would rear its ugly head again.”

  My teeth were clenched together so hard, I was sure they were going to break.

  “You don’t know me, Yve,” I snarled. “Not like you used to.”

  She laughed shortly, turning to the door.

  “A leopard never changes its spots, Draven.”

  She walked out of the office, leaving me fuming.

  Who the hell does she think she is? I am not the same stupid boy who fell for her when we were kids. I am a confident man, an attorney with a stellar reputation.

  It took me five minutes before I understood the source of my anger and the understanding almost made me choke.

  Forget that Yvette had exerted her power in the conference room or that Angeline Sterling had questioned my abilities in front of everyone.

  What was troubling me the most was how similar my client was to opposing counsel.

  Oh my God! Angeline Sterling is Yvette in thirty years.

  My tummy rumbled, and I winced at the pain.

  Suddenly I was very aware of the fact I had no caffeine on my desk.

  It was probably for the best, given the violent stabs of protest in my gut.

  The office was becoming unbearably small.

  There was nothing I couldn’t do from home that day and the more I thought about it, the more appealing my couch was becoming.

  I was going home.

  I would start fresh again on Monday morning.

  The cobwebs of sleep were clearing from my mind and I rolled to the side, reaching for Yvette but my fingers only wrapped around the duvet as my eyes opened reluctantly.

  Grey light fought its way into the minuscule studio apartment and blearily, I sat up.

  “Yve?” I called but there was no response.

  I could see our entire unit from where I lay on our double bed and the door to the bathroom was wide open.

  Flipping back around, I peered at the clock on my night table.

  It wasn’t even seven o’clock yet.

  Where could she be?

  The first stirrings of panic tickled my stomach and I slipped out of the warm bed, a cold draft assaulting me as I did.

  Did I leave the bathroom window open again? Yve is going to kill me, I thought, padding across the unfinished wood floor to close it.

  When I entered the closet-sized room, my eyes rested on the sink where one toothbrush sat, conspicuously alone.

  Mine.

  As if in a trance, I opened the medicine cabinet and my fears were confirmed.

  Her belongings were gone, just like the shirts and underwear in her dresser and it didn’t take me long to find the engagement ring atop the scarred piece of furniture, accenting a “Dear John” letter like a neon sign.

  My fingers closed around it and I tried to read it, but I barely understood what it said.

  They didn’t make sense despite the eloquence of the words.

  We want different things…we are always fighting…your temper scares me sometimes…talking always ends up in a blowout…I have decided to attend law school at UNC…please don’t contact me…move on with your life and I will move on with mine…focus on what’s important – your career…you may not believe this, but I will always love you…maybe if we had met at a different time…

  The letter fluttered from my hands like a cliché in a bad movie and I slumped to the floor crossed legged and stared at the wall.

  The check for her share of the next two months of rent fell to my side.

  I have no idea how long I sat there, not from any comprehensive sense of time anyway.

  The fog never really lifted, not after I managed to dress and leave the apartment, Yve’s check in hand.

  The haze enveloped me as I made it to the bank, deposited the money and instantly withdrew it.

  I managed to hold fast to the numbness as I plied myself with liquor for two months, drinking away the pain of losing my first love.

  But I got over her, I told myself, slightly distraught that such an excruciating memory had resurfaced. I picked myself up and dusted myself off. I learned to control my temper and I became the lawyer I had striven to be. I am not the same man she thought she knew back then.

  The words were firm and convincing in my mind, but I wondered why there was a nagging in my chest as I recalled Yvette’s eyes staring scornfully at me.

  “There’s the Draven I know. It took a while, but I knew that attitude of yours would rear its ugly head again.”

  “No,” I growled to the empty car, my foot falling slightly heavier on the gas pedal as I drove toward my apartment on Queen Street. “I am not the same man. And she has no right to pretend she knows me when she walked away.”

  As I heard myself speak, I wondered who I was trying to convince.

  Had I been holding onto resentment toward my ex-fiancée even though we had maintained a perfectly innocent friendship all these years?

  Of course not! I snapped at myself. This is about work and nothing else. Yve is trying to get under your skin already and she’s succeeding.

  My hands gripped the steering wheel and I steered the Audi onto George Street.

  I didn’t have to prove anything to Yvette Viera, but I did owe it to Angeline Sterling to win her the best settlement I could.

  Nothing about this is personal, I reassured myself. This is about getting my client everything she deserves.

  I tried to ignore the fact that there was laughter in my head.

  6

  Yvette

  I eyed the phone furtively but apparently not covertly enough.r />
  “Yvette!”

  Guiltily I looked at my mom and offered her an innocent smile.

  “What?” I asked, pretending I hadn’t been glued to the cell but she was not fooled.

  “Honey, it’s Thanksgiving. Why do I always have to fight with you about your phone?”

  A pang of annoyance coursed through me.

  It was the same tired argument although it seemed that she was more focused on me today than she usually was in the past.

  I looked helplessly around for reinforcements, but everyone was busy with their own thing.

  Vyolet and Evan sat on the sofa, deep in conversation while Alex banged at the out of tune piano in the corner.

  The baby was taking a nap, but the monitor sat nearby so that her parents could hear if she stirred away from down the hall.

  My dad had Slade trapped and I could see Maya trying not to roll her eyes as she listened to whatever football conversation they were having as the game played on the television.

  “You’re being antisocial,” my mom continued. “Come and sit with the family. We haven’t seen you since before Halloween!”

  I blinked, trying to recall when Halloween had been.

  My life wasn’t measured in holidays like hers or my sisters.

  I barely noticed the changing of seasons or the days of the week.

  Mine was dictated by settlements and court dates.

  There were no weekends, only slower days.

  “I’m coming,” I sighed, reaching for my Blackberry but her scathing look stopped me.

  I reluctantly left it on the dining room table where she had insisted I leave it.

  “What is so important that you need your phone on Thanksgiving?” she continued, and I rolled my eyes as I followed her back into the living room.

  No matter how many times I tried to explain to her that life did not stop on Sundays and holidays, she insisted on rehashing the same questions at every occasion.

  I longed for the days when Maya was her target.

  Even Vyolet is off the hook because she has a baby, even though she hooked up with dad’s best friend. Life is unbearably unfair.

  “I am working on an important case,” I told her. “And my client is supposed to be sending me some financials soon. I want to ensure the email comes through securely. It’s very sensitive information.”

  “On Thanksgiving?” mom demanded as if I had uttered some blasphemous statement. “Doesn’t she have a family?”

  “Not anymore!” Maya interjected wickedly. “She’s divorced!”

  Mom gave her a baleful look, but I swallowed a smile at my sister’s off-color joke.

  “She is a he,” I began. “And he is a very important figure who likely doesn’t stop for Thanksgiving.”

  I said it meaningfully, but the implication was lost on everyone.

  I guess they don’t equate me with an important figure, I thought dryly.

  My mom and sister eyed me, waiting for me to elaborate but I felt disloyal saying more.

  Not that the Sterling divorce was being kept low profile.

  On the contrary.

  Angeline Sterling had decided to make the battle as public and messy as possible.

  All major media had been notified and the press could not get enough of the celebrity split.

  “You’re handling Ryerson Sterling, aren’t you?” Slade piped up from the couch and I whipped my head around to look at him.

  “You know about this, then?”

  He chuckled and shrugged.

  “I would have to be living under a rock not to know,” he replied.

  Instantly he looked up apologetically.

  “No offense.”

  There was a polite chuckle, but all eyes were on me as they waited for a response.

  Reluctantly, I nodded.

  “I am,” I said slowly. “It’s only been a couple weeks though.”

  “And already media circus,” Slade volunteered.

  I wished he would stop talking.

  “Well he is a media mogul,” I replied lightly. “It would be hard for him to escape it.”

  “What is he like?” Maya asked, her green eyes brightening. “I bet he’s larger than life.”

  I stared at her for a long moment, thinking of ways to explain my client to her.

  He was larger than life but not in a boisterous or aggressive way.

  There was a confidence about him which he managed without arrogance or pretentiousness and I was grateful that I had him and not his wretched wife.

  He seemed taken aback by the divorce, but he was willing to fight just as hard as Angeline to keep what was his.

  “He’s a good guy,” I said simply. “And he doesn’t deserve to lose half his life to that woman.”

  “That woman?” Vyolet and my mom chorused in unison. They stared at me in disbelief.

  “What?” I demanded. “She’s awful!”

  “That is his wife!” mom growled. “She has invested as much into their lives as he has. She is entitled to just as much, if not more for her part in the marriage.”

  I snorted.

  “You wouldn’t say that if you met her. She’s a horrible person. She basically sprung the divorce on him without warning and is doing everything possible to make it as painful as possible for everyone involved. I mean if you want out of a marriage, fine but you don’t have to be cruel about it.”

  “I don’t need to know her to know that a marriage takes two people to make it work. You only know one side of the story, Yvette. You can’t possibly make judgments based on whatever lies he’s feeding you,” mom insisted.

  I almost choked.

  “Lies? How can you make such a bold statement? You don’t know him either. Why are you defending her? Because you think she’s some desperate housewife who can’t defend herself?”

  My mom’s mouth almost disappeared as she pressed her lips together.

  I hadn’t meant it as a dig at her, but she apparently took it as one.

  “I am defending the union. Are there children?”

  “Mom, the Sterlings are in their sixties. Their children are grown.”

  Her face grew red.

  “The children are never too old to be affected by the trauma of a divorce!”

  “Mom!” I snapped, my patience wearing thin. “I am a divorce lawyer. You have never been divorced. I would wager that I know a bit more on the subject than you do!”

  “You have also never been married,” she answered shortly. “You can’t understand what’s involved. That’s why it is so easy for you to break up these relationships.”

  The comment was not meant to be subtle and an uncomfortable silence ensued while I struggled to maintain my composure.

  Again, this was not a topic which hadn’t been discussed a thousand times in the past but the fact that my mother was disappointed in my field of work was something I could not easily dismiss.

  It was no secret that my mom wanted to see me married and practicing real estate law or something which did not offend her traditional value system.

  “I do not break up marriages,” I hissed, gritting my teeth.

  “Well his ex doesn’t know what she’s in for,” my dad laughed nervously, trying to alleviate the tension in the room. “I feel sorry for her attorney, but he wouldn’t be the first one to underestimate you, would he?”

  I lowered my eyes, a slight pink tinge coloring my cheeks.

  There was no need to tell them who Angeline’s counsel was.

  I silently prayed that no one had investigated the Sterlings too much, but God never listened to me.

  “Who is representing her?”

  My head jerked up and I looked at Maya who seemed to be boring holes into me.

  I hated that she could see right through me, even if she wasn’t sure what I was hiding.

  “What difference does that make?” I asked curtly.

  It was the wrong thing to say and even Alex stopped tinkering at the piano long enough to look at
me with curiosity, her Bambi-like eyes unblinking.

  Is it really hot in here?”

  “Oh, it must be someone good!” Vyolet squealed, noting my discomfort. “Tell us!”

  I shook my head and instantly missed the protection of my long locks against my face.

  The bob did not allow for any hiding whatsoever.

  “I read that they are both being represented by your firm, Yve,” Slade said, and it took every fiber of my being not to roar at him to shut his handsome trap.

  “That can’t be right,” my dad said. “There’s some sort of legal conflict there, right sweetheart?”

  I had nowhere to look but up and I glared hatefully at Slade who did not understand my malice.

  “There is a loophole and the Sterlings have found it,” I sighed. “Draven Archer is representing Angeline Sterling.”

  This time, the silence was longer, and it was almost unbearable before Evan spoke.

  “Wasn’t your ex-fiancé named Draven?”

  Until that moment, I had liked my sisters’ significant others but suddenly I wanted to murder them both in one fell swoop.

  “That is her ex,” Vyolet gasped. “How is that going to work?”

  “It’s working just fine,” I said shortly. “Anyway, can we drop this subject? It’s bordering on attorney-client privilege.”

  “We’re not talking about the Sterlings, Yve,” Maya stated. “We’re asking about you and Draven. That can’t be good, pitting you against one another like that.”

  I snorted.

  “No one is pitting anyone against anyone. We are professionals. We know there is nothing personal in this.”

  “It’s bad enough that you have to work together,” mom grumbled. “But now they’re doing this?”

  “Mom, the firm has no idea that Draven and I dated when we were kids,” I growled. “If making mountains out of molehills was a career, you guys would corner the market, I swear.”

  “You were more than dating!” mom screeched, and I wanted to kick myself for falling into the trap. “They should know about your history! It affects everyone!”

  There was no arguing with her.

  Even when she was wrong, she believed she was a hundred and fifty percent right.

  I looked at my sisters for help but before they could speak, dad chimed in.