Reunited with My Lawyer Ex

Chapter 6 Unexpected Tension

"Ms. Sterling, I really appreciate all you've done for my grandfather's case." Bruce's tone was polite, no prying, no mention of Alexander.

A professional smile settled on my face. "It's all part of the job."

The second Bruce introduced himself, the business card given by Vincent popped into my head.

'Small world, indeed.'

Bruce was such easy company that we pulled up to my apartment building before I knew it.

"Thank you for the ride, Mr. Wayne," I said, reaching for the door handle.

His hand wrapped around my wrist for a split second before he pulled back, a faint flush coloring his cheeks. "Sorry, didn't mean to overstep."

He nodded toward my collar. "It's a little crooked."

'Must've gotten messed up during my tussle with Alexander.'

I straightened it quickly, offering a small smile. "Thanks."

His grin lit up his face, warm and genuine. "No trouble at all. You wouldn't want your family worrying if you walked in looking disheveled."

He waved as I stepped out. "Goodnight, Ms. Sterling."

*****

Vincent's case went to trial again a few days later.

Bright and early that morning, Bruce's car was parked outside my door.

It was odd, considering Vincent kept saying his grandson was swamped with work.

Every time I'd met with Vincent to go over case details, though, Bruce had shown up to pick me up personally.

"You really don't have to go out of your way to pick me up. The subway or a taxi would work just fine," I told him as I slid into the passenger seat.

He handed me a breakfast sandwich and a steaming cup of coffee, his voice soft. "I just got back to the country not long ago—I should've thanked you sooner. Cut me some slack and don't be so polite."

He nodded at the food. "You never seem to eat breakfast, and that's a surefire way to wear yourself down."

I took the breakfast without argument.

*****

Bruce and I helped Vincent up the stairs, and rounding the corner, we ran straight into Alexander.

His face clouded over in an instant, his jaw tightening so hard I could see the muscle flex.

"Ms. Sterling, I need to discuss some case details with you," he said.

Vincent's eyes flicked back and forth between Alexander and Bruce, his expression unreadable.

I gestured for Bruce and Vincent to go ahead.

Bruce shot Alexander a wary glance, then turned to me, his eyes silently asking if I was okay.

I nodded, and he reluctantly walked off, glancing over his shoulder every few steps.

Irritation etched deeper into Alexander's features.

I asked, "What details?"

Without responding, he grabbed my hand and led me away.

"Where are we going?" I asked, but he stayed silent.

Silently, he tugged me toward a quiet corner, away from prying eyes.

His hand slid into my blazer, fingers wrapping around my waist as he kissed me hard—too hard, too desperate.

I tried to push him away, but he wedged his thigh between mine, pinning me in place so I couldn't move.

My lipstick smudged across my lips, and panic set in—the court was in minutes.

I pushed him away with all my strength, my hand connecting with his cheek in a sharp slap.

He didn't even flinch, his breath ragged as he grabbed my hand again, lacing our fingers together.

"Vivian, let's get back together. Please."

His voice shook, his eyes bloodshot and wild.

I stepped back, startled by his intensity. "Alexander, you're out of your mind."

Alexander admitted, pressing my hand to his chest, where his heart thudded wildly. "Yeah, I am. I'm jealous out of my skull—Gabriel, Bruce, anyone who so much as looks at you. Every time I see another guy near you, it feels like my chest's being seared with a hot iron."

"I barely even spoke to Gabriel. Is that really worth losing your mind over?" I snapped, yanking my hand away.

His expression turned feral, his jaw clenched. "Barely spoke? Then why did he touch your hair? Like he had any right?"

He paused, his voice dropping to a low growl. "And Bruce? Are you really gonna go out with him?"

"No," I said flatly, no room for argument.

"No?" He leaned in, his breath hot against my ear, the words gritted out. "Then why did he show up at Cystone looking for you? And why did he hold you?"

I thought back to the week before, when I'd been roped into a last-minute client meeting.

I didn't have a suit, and after borrowing one, I realized I had no shoes to match.

A coworker mentioned Isabelle kept a spare pair of heels in the office—our size, she'd said.

I refused outright and ordered a pair online, but 20 minutes before the client arrived, the delivery driver called to say he'd been pulled over for a minor traffic accident.

That was when Isabelle showed up, dropping the shoes on my desk.

"Wash 'em and give 'em back when you're done," she said.

When I hesitated, she rolled her eyes. "The client's yours, but he's also the firm's. Do you really think I'd sabotage that? Grow up."

"Thanks," I said, picking up the shoes and checking them over—no obvious issues.

The meeting went smoothly, but as I walked down the stairs to see the client out, the heel snapped clean off.

I lost my balance and tumbled down the steps, landing hard on my ankle.