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“And you’re the best of the best.”
His lips curve. “And to think I started out as the asshole who cut in front of you in the coffee line.”
“Thankfully now you have manners.”
The doorbell rings and he laughs before pressing his cheek to mine, and whispering, “I love you, Cat.” And then he’s walking away and I can barely breathe again. I don’t know what to do. I don’t know how to be a good wife right now but that’s what I want. I want to do the right thing. I have to do the right thing.
Chapter forty-three
Cat
Reese heads to the door to greet his team, our team really because this is our life. We do everything together. We deal with all things together. I’m a part of his work and he is a part of mine. I barely breathe without this man and yet I’m having his child and I can’t tell him. I know I can’t. Not yet.
“Hi, Cat.”
I blink to find Elsa standing in the doorway, looking blonde and beautiful as usual in a blue suit. She is beautiful and also with my husband all the time, but never once have I worried about them together. How many women would feel that confident with a man as successful and gorgeous as my husband? But I do.
“Hey, Elsa,” I greet. “I hear there are some bumps.”
“Have you heard the recording?”
“No. Bad?”
“Yeah. It’s bad. Your husband is going to have to work magic in his opening statement because of course, the jurors heard the tape. It’s everywhere.” She heads to the coffee pot, comfortable here, and why wouldn’t she be? Reese loves to hold game planning sessions here. I love that he loves to come home to find his magic with his cases.
I twist around to face her. “That doesn’t seem like the opposing counsel. Reese could move to delay the trial to allow a fair jury to be selected.”
“Cat.”
I turn to find Reese in the archway between the kitchen and the hallway. He motions me forward. Richard, another attorney on Reese’s team, walks in and heads to the coffee pot. “Hey, Cat,” he says, shoving his longish brown hair from his eyes, his red tie at half mast.
“Hey, Richard.”
I join Reese in the hallway and we walk to the office down the hallway. He sets a tape recorder on the mahogany desk and leans on the edge next to it. “I want to play the leaked phone call. Ready?”
“Hit me with it,” I say, sitting down in one of the wing back chairs as he punches play.
Dana Warren, my husband’s client and heiress to the Warren Empire, starts to speak: “He’s mean. He’s so mean. He says horrible things. He does horrible things. The world would be better without that man.”
“I understand wanting someone dead,” a male voice says. “You know I do. You know what I’ve been through.”
“Only you escaped. I can’t escape.”
“You can always walk away,” the man says.
“Not until the day he’s dead and he might even have provisions to enslave me after that. The money will be my prison. I don’t think I want it anymore. I don’t want it.”
“No one walks away from that kind of money. When he’s gone, you’ll have control.”
“He’ll find a way to make sure I don’t. I need to just—"
The tape cuts off. “Where’s the rest of it?”
“I don’t have it and Dana swears that’s when she said she loved her father. She says she said she couldn’t hurt him but it hurts that he could hurt her.”
“Who was the man?”
“Reginald Hicks, her boyfriend, and he says that he didn’t leak the call. He doesn’t know how anyone got it. He’s willing to testify to the rest of the content of the call.”
