Masked Innocence by Alessandra Torre
Sixteen
Brad had dialed the number unsure if Kent Broward would answer. It had been years since they had had a civil conversation.
“My wife’s not here, if that’s who you are looking for,” Kent answered.
Talk about holding a grudge. Brad sighed heavily. “Cut the shit. We need to talk about your work.”
“Unlike you, I’m in the middle of it. Bring up any complaints you have at next quarter’s meeting.”
Brad spun in his chair, looking out on the city view. “Not CDB work, Kent. Your extracurricular clients.”
Kent’s voice tightened. “What about them?”
“I came to you three years ago, when I first found out what you were dealing in. You told me then, in simple enough terms, to stay the fuck out of your business.”
“I remember it, quite clearly. What’s your point?” Kent’s voice was hard, a tone that didn’t match the spineless intellectual that was on the other end of the line. A man who was playing tough with the wrong person.
“This is the Magiano family you’re dealing with now. And I’m telling you to stay out of their business. You were being stupid then, but you’re being suicidal now. You will never be good enough for them, and you are just one mistake away from them no longer needing your services.”
“Your compassion for me is heartwarming. But I’ll tell you the same thing I told you three years ago. The last thing I need from a piece of shit like you is advice. Don’t be pissed just because some of the biggest names in town are coming to me for representation. The Genovese turnover was handled perfectly, and I haven’t heard any complaints from the Magianos so far.” His smugness was infuriating, if only for its stupidity. It was unbelievable that this level of self-destructive egotism came from someone with an Ivy League education.
“This isn’t a dick-measuring contest, Kent. This is about being smart. Fuck our history, forget your hatred for me for one humbling, intelligent moment. You need to get out. Before they take you out.”
Kent snorted, and then there was pure silence for one long, sobering moment. When he finally spoke, there was an equal level of sadness and disgust in his tone. “I don’t know if that’s even possible.”
Brad didn’t know if Kent was referring to his ability to forget their history, or his ability to quit his current clients. It was a moot distinction, because he was right on both counts. It probably wasn’t possible.
* * *
THE SECOND SHOE off, I crouched in my bare feet on the soft carpeting, my head tilted toward the door. My blistered ankles forgotten, I tried to understand what Broward was so angry about. This man speaking, the cold, scornful tone, wasn’t the Broward that I knew. And he had mentioned the Magianos as though he was working with them—or for them. I realized it had been a while since Broward had spoken, and I rose, suddenly panicked, and moved silently down to my office, settling in behind my desk and placing my heels on the floor. Then I leaned back in my chair, looking up at the ceiling and thinking.
The Magianos. It could be a different family. It was probably a common enough name, but in this town, that name translated to one thing: sleeping with the fishes. Broward, with his fastidious flossing, his perfect 2.5-kid family, was as far from a mob attorney as I could ever imagine. Must be a different client, or I had misheard the conversation. I pushed aside my fears and sat up, unlocking my computer and diving back into work.
* * *
SINCE IT WAS the last week of interning, the eight of us decided to grab lunch together on Tuesday. Broward had left at ten that morning, stopping briefly in my office on the way out. His face had been hard, no reason offered for his departure, and I had nodded meekly and returned to my work, waiting for the sound of the wing doors to close. Then I had stood, trotting down the hall to his secretary Sheila’s desk.
“Mr. Broward just left, but he didn’t say how long he’d be gone. Do you know when he’ll be back?”
She turned, her face scrunched, an expression that amplified all of her wrinkles. “Julia. I don’t know where he headed. He had me clear all of his afternoon appointments. Why? Do you have a question regarding one of the files?”
I blushed. “No, just wondering if I could join the other interns for lunch. We were going to run up to the Chinese restaurant up the block.”
She smiled. “I don’t think he’s coming back until this afternoon. You go on and have a good time.”
I shot her a grateful smile. “Thanks.”
“Oh, and, Julia?”
Something in her tone made my stomach clench. “Yes?” I asked casually.
“I want to apologize. I was a little cold to you when you started, but you have been an excellent addition to our team. I was wrong to judge you, and I’m very excited about you staying on.” She smiled brightly at me and I somehow managed to nod in response.
“Thank you, Sheila. I appreciate the opportunity.” I fled her office before she had a chance to say anything else, moving quickly to my desk and sinking into my chair. Getting accolades for not living up to her expectations felt a little sour when I had gone exactly where she had hoped I wouldn’t. Flat on my back, underneath Brad De Luca’s gorgeous, sinful body.
* * *
LATE THAT AFTERNOON, I worked in my office, typing up corporate documents at a furious rate. I wanted to leave relatively early, if at all possible. The girls and I were going out for drinks at nine, and in the interest of keeping their friendship, I really wanted to be on time. Finally, I reached a stopping point and stood.
Broward had returned around three, walking straight to his office and closing the door. After a lunch out, I didn’t really have grounds to ask for an early night. But there was a chance he wasn’t aware of my lunch. I shifted on the soft carpet, trying to get up the courage to go into his office.
“Julia!”
That ended my internal debate. I stepped quickly out into the hall and into his doorway.
“Yes, sir?”
“Will you tell Sheila to dismiss the staff at seven?”
“Today?” A stupid question, but this was so far out of normal behavior that I was confused. Talk about good luck.
“Yes, Julia. Tonight.” He gave me a pointed look, his face irritable, and I hesitated before speaking.
“Just the support staff, or the paralegals also?”
He waved his hand in the air dismissively. “Everyone. The whole wing. She’ll know what to do.”
“Certainly. Is there anything you need me to take care of before then?” I shifted my weight, knowing that I should get the hell out of there before he changed his mind.
“Your normal duties. Just tell Sheila.” Irritability was definitely in his voice now. Great.
“Yes, sir.”
He grunted in response, and I fled his office, doing a little dance when I reached the privacy of my own. I reached for the phone and dialed Sheila’s extension.
* * *
AT 8:05 P.M. I leaned against the linoleum counter in my kitchen and rolled my eyes at my roommate. “I don’t give a damn if she was a bad lay—you don’t abandon a chick and then expect Zach and me to babysit her all day.”
“I would’ve given a bad lay a ride, Jules. This girl was crazy! She was talking wedding plans!” He pounded his fist on the counter to emphasize his point, and a spoon bounced off the counter and landed on the dirty floor just as my phone began to ring.
Through a mouthful of chips, I answered on the fourth ring.
“Yes?” I said playfully.
“Nice to talk to you, too,” Brad’s smooth, sexy drawl sounded through the phone.
I grinned, the motion carrying through my tone. “Don’t give me that. I’m in the middle of something very important.”
He chuckled. “Likely. Are you at the office?”
“No. Broward let me off at seven! Can you believe it!”
“So, are you coming over tonight?” His voice had taken on a suggestive lilt, and I smiled into the receiver.
“Yes, but I pl
“Good. He can join me in defiling you later on.” The sex in his voice was delicious, and I couldn’t fight the shiver that shot through me.
“Oh, I don’t think you want to mess with him. He’s a big, scary guy, ripped with muscles, that type of thing—he can be quite intimidating,” I teased.
“Well, call your manly boyfriend when you are done at the bar. I don’t want you catching a cab.”
“Fine, but be ready!” I playfully snapped, and hung up the phone. I looked up at Alex.
“That your sexy man?”
“The one and only,” I said, grabbing a final handful of chips and checking my watch. “I have to get ready. We’ll take up this conversation later,” I promised, giving him a quick hug and skipping down the threadbare carpet to my room.
Seventeen
“So, give me the scoop on Brad.” Olivia gripped a cold bottle in her hand and smiled at me over the dark rim. Olivia was my closest friend, though I’d never admit it to Becca, who sat to my right.
I blushed and picked at the label on my own beer, a Michelob Ultra. “Nothing much to tell,” I said, evading her direct gaze.
“Come on!” Becca said, tossing her perfectly cut and dyed hair over her shoulder. “We just listened to a fifteen-minute snooze fest on O’s history class, for God’s sake. Give me something good. Are you guys official yet?”
“Yes. As of last week, yes.” I set down my beer and looked into their expectant faces.
Becca squealed and clapped her hands; Olivia’s response was, as expected, less enthusiastic. “Are you sure about this, Jules?”
I met her eyes squarely, loving the fire behind them. “Yes, I am. Why are you so against it?”
“Yeah, O, Brad is, like, awesome!” Becca chimed in, though I didn’t know that Becca’s endorsement was going to help my case with Olivia. If there was a disaster on two legs anywhere in a five-mile radius, Becca would be going after him and frothing at the mouth.
Olivia sighed, setting down her beer and squaring off for confrontation. “First, you don’t know much about him. You met him two months ago. Second, you were warned by at least five people to stay away from him, that he was a philandering sex addict. Has anyone who knows the man suggested he has any redeeming qualities?”
I blinked, unsure of how to respond. The girl made some good points. There was a reason she, along with Becca and I, would be headed to law school after graduation. I hadn’t been completely honest with the girls about Brad, for more reasons than one. But I wasn’t sure if giving full disclosure would help or hurt their opinion of him.
“Olivia,” I began, trying to formulate a reasonable response. “While I work at CDB, I have to keep our relationship a secret. So I haven’t met many people who would vouch for his redeeming qualities. But you’ve known me three years. Do you think I have poor judgment in people? I’m not blindly throwing myself into this relationship with stars in my eyes and blinders on. I’m approaching this hesitantly, and seeing how it goes.” I shrugged. “If it doesn’t work out, I haven’t lost anything but a few weeks of my summer.”
“I would have followed that reasoning if you were about to end your internship, but you’re taking a job there now. You can’t keep this relationship a secret and expect it to work.” She had gone past concern and moved into preaching, a transition I wasn’t crazy about since her logic was sound.
“Ignore her,” Becca said, waving a hand dismissively in Olivia’s direction. “Tell me about the sex—and don’t think about holding any details back!”
Olivia butted in, intent on ruining any fun. “Yes, tell us about the sex. Are you using protection?” Her eyes narrowed, and she watched me closely.
Jeez. “Yes, Mom, I am using protection,” I spat out. Becca elbowed Olivia and then leaned forward.
“Jules, I say do as much with that beautiful man as you can. And when you are done with him, pass his number on to me!”
I grinned at Becca and stuck my tongue out at Olivia. “Lighten up on me. I’m twenty-one. I’m allowed to make a few mistakes.”
Her eyes sharp, she took a swig from her beer and met my offhand look head-on. “I just don’t like it. He seems...dangerous.”
* * *
KENT BROWARD HEARD the elevator ding and looked up from the legal brief, listening for a hint at who had arrived. He hoped it wasn’t a member of his staff; privacy was needed for tonight’s meeting. His palms perspired, and he wiped them quickly on his dress pants. He clenched and then relaxed his fingers, willing the tension to leave his hands. Shit had officially hit the fan.
The man walked down the carpeted hall, headed for Broward’s open door. He glanced in dark office doorways, the wing silent and still. It was as the attorney had said—empty. He held a briefcase loosely in his right hand, an expensive suit hanging perfectly on his muscular frame, the fabric swooshing slightly as he walked. An air conditioner clicked on, the cool air welcome on his hot skin. He was always hot. His stride was relaxed; no tension tightened his body. Killing was not new to him.
The man walked into the office without knocking. Broward was sitting at his desk, his head cocked, and he jerked to his feet when the man entered. The man turned, closing the door, and Broward spoke as soon as the lock clicked into place.
“Jesus Christ, what are we going to do about this?” Broward ran his hands nervously over his shaved head, and covered his face. “This is bad, this is very bad.” He pointed to the man. “You. You got me into this!” His voice had reached a shrill level.
“No.” The man’s deep voice filled the well-appointed room. “The money got you into this. Don’t blame me for your poor decisions.” He set his briefcase on Broward’s desk and unclipped the latches.
Broward wrung his hands and looked at the man. “Look, as soon as you told me, I closed the accounts, I hid the trail. Now you gotta get me out of this. Permanently out. I don’t want anything to do with this business or this family anymore.”
The gun came out of the briefcase, fast and deadly. The man saved his witty comeback and made his statement by squeezing the trigger.
Eighteen
Kent Broward’s body was found in his office Wednesday morning at six-fifteen by Sue Mendoza. Mrs. Mendoza had cleaned the fourth floor for the last three years. It was the first dead body she had ever seen.
His body was facedown on the plush cream carpet, a pool of blood surrounding his head and torso. He had been shot twice, twin holes of death marring an otherwise average body.
When Sue Mendoza discovered the scene, she promptly fled the room, locked herself in the nearest office and called her priest. Three minutes later, she dialed 911.
6:30 a.m., Wednesday
“YOU HAVING PANCAKES ALSO?” The rude voice of Martha interrupted the conversation I was having with Brad. I looked into her wide eyes and pursed lips and shook my head. Pancakes sounded good, but it was obvious from her stance and tone that she did not want me to have pancakes.
“I’m fine with just eggs and grits, thank you.”
“Good. Brad, I fixed three. That should be more than enough for you.” She unceremoniously dumped three delicious-looking flapjacks on a plate and slid it across the island to Brad, who was sitting one bar stool over from me. Brad winked at me, grabbed the maple syrup and poured a generous amount over the top of the pancakes. Martha fixed my plate, giving me a scant helping of eggs, grits and bacon. I hopped off the stool and went to the fridge, grabbing orange juice and two glasses from the cabinet.
“There. You two should be taken care of. Brad, you know what to do with your dishes.” The round woman glanced at me, wrinkled her nose slightly, then pulled off her apron and hung it by the door. Without a parting word, she swung open the back door and stomped through, letting it slam shut behind her. I let out a breath
“I know she can cook, but doesn’t her grouchiness get a little old?” I called over my shoulder as I put the lid back on the juice.
His hands grabbed my waist, startling me, and I jumped a little. He stood behind me, nuzzling my neck with his soft lips and scratchy stubble. I giggled a bit, set the juice on the counter and pressed back, feeling my ass fit perfectly against his hard body.
“Easy,” he growled, running his hands up and down the sides of my body, then cupping a breast in each hand and squeezing gently. My nipples instantly hardened against my bra, and I pushed harder against him. He spun me around and used his hands to grip my ass, pulling me tight against him. I grinned, looking into his face.
“What?” he asked, smiling down at me.
“You know Martha’s going to inspect our plates as soon as you leave for work. Are we eating, or are we...” I reached down and grabbed his crotch, rubbing it suggestively, feeling his flesh grow under my hand, the outline now visible in his pants.
“You really have to ask that question?” he said, inhaling when my hand gripped him firmly. He suddenly released me, and I wobbled, caught off balance. His eyes were dark, aroused, and he took a few steps back, unzipping his dress pants.
“The sink. Bend over it.” His voice was authoritative, deep, though I could hear a slight hoarseness to it, verifying his need.
I wore a black pantsuit, and removed my jacket, shivering slightly in the cold house. I met his gaze, seeing pure authority there. I took two steps to the left and turned, facing the sink and looking out the window that hung above it. Darkness still blanketed the street, and the kitchen light no doubt illuminated the room to anyone on the two-lane road. “Brad, the light—”