Five Exotic Fantasies: Love in Reverse, Book 3 (7 page)

Rob smiled. “Softer. She doesn’t wear glasses. And her hair was down.”

Like in the photo. Felix wanted to meet that Coco. Very much.

But anyway, for now he had to get his head into gear because he had to read through the file before the hearing and it was already nearly nine. “Okay. So come on, give me your opinion. What do you think of Peter Dell?”

Rob sat back in his chair and linked his fingers. His face had taken on the lawyer’s carefully guarded blankness that Felix knew he himself adopted in the courtroom. “Have you ever met him?” Rob asked.

Felix shook his head. “No real reason for that—he’s only come up to Auckland once and I happened to be in the Bay of Islands branch at the time—I still work from there occasionally because my family live there. But no, we’ve just never bumped into one another, which I guess is kind of strange considering I’ve been here five years. I wondered whether that’s why Christopher asked me to carry out the hearing. Because he wanted someone independent, who hadn’t forged any opinions about the guy, you know?”

Rob shrugged. “Maybe. Although…did you get the feeling that McAllister considers there’s even a case to be addressed here?”

Felix smiled wryly. “I did pick up on the fact that he called the case a ‘trivial matter’ when I first arrived. Plus he said he hoped he could leave once it was ‘done and dusted’. I think he’s expecting me to find Dell innocent.” He tipped his head at his colleague. “Do
you
think Dell’s innocent?”

Rob finished off his muffin and screwed up the paper bag into a ball. He threw it at the bin and missed, grumbled and got up to put it in. “It’s not our job as lawyers to decide whether the defendant is innocent or guilty, only to put the case to the jury.”

“Yeah, well, I happen to be the jury on this occasion.”

Rob sat back down. “And I’m not. I work with the guy—I’ll give you the facts, but I don’t want to pass judgement on him—at least not until after you’ve spoken to him and investigated, if you think it’s necessary. Then I’ll discuss what I think.”

Felix said nothing. Had Dell appointed Rob, and he felt some kind of loyalty toward him? Or had Dell spoken to Rob and told him not to help Felix? He didn’t think Rob looked like the kind of guy who’d cover up the truth, but you never knew. But then again, maybe Rob really was just trying to be fair and let Felix make up his own mind.

“Okay,” Felix conceded, “so tell me this, then. As far as you know, did Dell have an affair with Sasha, the secretary who’s accused him of sexual harassment?”

“Not as far as I know. But that doesn’t mean anything. It’s a big building.”

“What about with other members of staff? Other secretaries?”

That made the corners of Rob’s mouth curve up. He sighed and ran his hand through his hair. “I don’t know for sure. I’ve never seen anything with my own eyes. I mean in that sense, what Miss Stark said to you was right—she does give each lawyer a talking to when they join the firm, and if she sees you ‘dallying’—as you so gentlemanly put it—with any of the staff, she soon puts you in your place.”

“But you’ve heard rumours?”

“Well, he markets himself as the perfect family man. Lives in a mansion, wife in pearls and twinsets, two perfect kids—the boy’s a lawyer himself, just qualified, the girl’s at university in Auckland. They hold dinner parties, donate to charity, you name it. And as I said, I’ve never seen evidence of any affairs, certainly not at the workplace. But it’s just…the way he talks, you know? Sort of disrespectful to woman—he talks down to them. And the way the other partners talk to him. Innuendo. Sly remarks. Of course that doesn’t mean anything either way where Sasha’s concerned—you’ll see for yourself when you meet her that she’s not exactly overt. I can’t imagine him making a move on her. But if you’re sitting here asking me, do I think it’s absolutely a hundred percent impossible that he made unwelcome advances to her, I’d have to say no. There’s reasonable doubt.”

“A true lawyer’s answer,” Felix said. He smiled, but his stomach churned. He already knew he wasn’t going to like Peter Dell. And that wasn’t good when his boss was expecting Felix to find him innocent.

He sighed, stood and stretched, then walked over to the desk. “I’ll take a butcher’s at the file now, I think.”

Rob frowned, getting to his feet. “Butcher’s?”

“Sorry. Butcher’s hook—look. It’s a London thing…never mind.” Sometimes it was easier not to explain. “Will you come and get me when they’re ready for me?”

“Sure.”

“And where can I get a cup of…” He just stopped himself saying
Rosie
. “…tea?” That made him think of Coco’s raised eyebrow, and he smiled.

“I’ll get one of the secretaries to bring you one in,” Rob said.

“No, I—” Felix gritted his teeth as Rob disappeared. In Auckland, all lawyers made or fetched their own coffee. He liked it that way.

He opened the file and huffed another sigh. He’d be glad when the morning was over.

Chapter Eight

Coco couldn’t concentrate. It wasn’t surprising really, she thought—what with it being a strange mixture of a standard day on the job combined with the actual first official day as office manager, as well as the added pressure of knowing Peter Dell was about to go into his hearing. Of course the sudden ability of her brain to wander off course and start daydreaming had nothing to do with Mr. Hotshot and the way he’d nearly kissed her. She wasn’t thinking about that at all.

She pushed away her keyboard and got to her feet. The monthly stationery order would have to wait. Her eyes wouldn’t focus on the figures, and besides, she kept thinking about Felix’s words, about how Auckland’s overheads were so much lower than the Wellington branch’s because they were mostly digital.

What could she do about that? She didn’t dislike technology—she used the internet and email and shopped online and was proficient with lots of secretarial packages. But she didn’t have a tablet, an MP3 player or even a decent phone. She just couldn’t afford it. Technology had always seemed like a wonderful aid for the office and she’d pushed for an update to the branch’s computers a few years ago, and had hired a training consultant to explain to all the lawyers how to use digital voice recording. But it was difficult to be innovative when some of the more senior staff members were stuck in the Dark Ages. There was no way she’d ever get Ted Hoyle to use a Dictaphone, for example, not even an old-fashioned one with the tiny cassettes—he flatly refused to do anything except dictate to a secretary, and how could she fight that when he—and many others—were the ones who paid the bills? Change had to come from above, and she didn’t have that kind of power.

And now she had a headache, so she decided she wasn’t going to think about it for a while. She walked into the workroom and did a slow tour, checking out the place where the lawyers put their files for typing to make sure the legal secretaries weren’t getting too far behind, ensuring all the printers had paper and were free of jams, briefly stopping to talk to some of the secretaries to see whether they had any queries, a circuit she did half a dozen times a day to the water cooler and back, just to keep an eye on things.

She noticed Sasha De Langen wasn’t at her seat. Knowing she might have nipped to the bathroom, she said nothing for ten minutes, but when Sasha didn’t appear, Coco walked through to the break room and found the young secretary standing at the window, lost in thought, a mug of tea in her hands.

“Sasha,” Coco said softly. “Is everything okay?”

Sasha jumped and turned, looking startled. “Sorry, have I been too long? I was just thinking…”

“It’s okay, there’s no rush.” Coco walked forward to stand beside her. “How are you feeling?” She glanced at Sasha’s hand where she held the tea—the mug shook slightly, the liquid slopping up the sides.

Sasha looked back out of the window. Her long brown hair was drawn back into a ponytail, and she wore no makeup—her clear skin looked pale, as if bleached of colour. “I feel a bit sick. I wonder what will happen when they find Mr. Dell innocent. Will I be sacked?”

“You’ve done nothing wrong,” Coco said, a little sternly. “And anyway, what do you mean ‘when’? You mean ‘if’, surely?”

Sasha turned scornful eyes on her. “You really think the partners are going to find one of their own guilty?”

“Probably not, but it’s not a partner who’s running the investigation,” she pointed out.

“I guess he’ll want to talk to me, won’t he? Mr. Wilkinson, I mean. Is that how it works?”

Coco thought one of the partners would have spoken to her about the process and cursed inwardly that she was the one who had to do it. She’d speak to the head of HR about that. But it wasn’t fair to keep the girl on tenterhooks. “Yes, I would imagine so. First he’ll speak to Mr. Dell and inform him that he is investigating his conduct. He’ll ask him whether he accepts or denies the allegations you’ve made, and give Mr. Dell the opportunity to explain his actions. After that he’ll decide whether he’s satisfied with the answer Mr. Dell has given—if not, he’ll go on to investigate further, and he’ll talk to you, and me, amongst others, until he comes to a decision.”

“So Mr. Dell may explain his way out of it, in which case Mr. Wilkinson might decide he doesn’t need to talk to me.” Sasha’s voice dripped with bitterness.

“Maybe. Somehow, though, I don’t think so.” Coco thought of the way Felix had agreed not to tell anyone about her nickname. “Mr. Wilkinson is an esteemed lawyer, known for his fairness and decency. I think he’ll want to hear your side of the story before he comes to a decision.”

Sasha swallowed, then nibbled at a fingernail, and Coco felt a twinge of uneasiness. Although some of the young women on the secretarial staff were the same age as her or even older, and Sasha was probably only a couple of years younger, she was in charge of them all, and she should really have made more of an effort to support Sasha. True, she really had thought HR would explain more details about the hearing and what that meant for the secretary, but still, Coco knew she should have checked on her before this. They hadn’t spoken privately since she’d heard the young secretary’s allegations, partly because she was now semi-management and she wanted to be seen to be neutral, and partly because of the guilt that stirred inside her like a monster rising from the deep. She knew things—things that would have helped Sasha with her case. But she couldn’t reveal them. And that ate her up as if she’d swallowed a cupful of devouring maggots along with her morning breakfast.

“I’d better get back to work,” Sasha said.

“Probably best to keep occupied,” Coco replied as kindly as she could. “Concentrate on other things.”

“Yeah.” Clearly, though, Sasha wasn’t going to be able to think of anything else until she’d heard the verdict.

Sasha walked off, pouring her cool mug of tea in the sink as she left. Coco watched her go. At least the girl had had enough courage to come in that day. She could easily have pleaded sickness or taken the week off, as Peter had done.

Thinking of Peter made her stomach churn. She moved to the window and rested her forehead on it for a moment, closing her eyes and blocking out the view. How come, after all these years, she could still picture that scene in his office so clearly? Why had it haunted her so much?

She’d only been at the firm six months, fresh out of secretarial college, seventeen, naïve and innocent as they come. Christopher McAllister was in the process of setting up the Auckland office, coming and going between the two while he finalised details, leaving Peter to run the Wellington branch.

Peter had taken a liking to her from the beginning. Even in her naivety, Coco could sense that. When he walked past her desk, he stopped to perch on it and ask how she was doing. He came over and sat with her in the break room sometimes. And he started asking her more than the others when he wanted to give dictation. He said it was because she was so quick at shorthand, and she half-believed him, although that didn’t explain the way he liked to watch her while she worked, and how his gaze would run up her figure, admiring her breasts and her legs. She wasn’t sure how that made her feel. She’d never been on a date. Never even been kissed. It was the first time any man had paid her any real attention, and in some ways, she was flattered. But she knew he was married, and something about it didn’t feel right—he was thirty years older than her for a start.

So she tried not to think about it and worked hard. She loved the job, and she knew she was good at it. It would be difficult to get ahead because of dead man’s shoes—or dead woman’s, more likely, with the senior positions filled by older female staff who looked likely to be there for donkey’s years. But she didn’t let that deter her, and practised her shorthand and typing every night, took every course going, and generally worked her butt off.

Then one evening Peter asked her to help him finish a case he was working on. She’d stayed later than usual to finish some typing and went into his office without thinking, even though she knew there were only a few people left in the building. He talked for a while, made her some coffee, and didn’t seem in a hurry to discuss the case. Eventually she told him she should really be going because her mother would be waiting for her.

He came and sat beside her on the sofa to one side of his large office. He was a good looking guy, slim, athletic, with dark hair. He smelled good, and he was obviously rich. He sat too close to her and put an arm along the back of the sofa, and then he stroked her hair.