The Pecker Briefs Read online

She’s also not interested in my flirting, and I know this meeting is winding down. Still, I can’t help but ask. “Why the chains? I mean, you could have just been waiting here and handed Drake the injunction.”

  To my surprise, those pale eyes light up with mischief. She gives a subtle nod at something behind me. I crane my neck to peer over my shoulder, seeing what appears to be a reporter and cameraman standing near a white crossover with the logo for one of the local news stations emblazoned on the passenger door. The cameraman is clearly filming us as we speak, although they’re too far away to hear anything.

  When I turn back to her, she grins. I’m momentarily dazzled by her spectacular smile. She leans toward me. “Wouldn’t be nearly as dramatic without the chains, and Mr. Daniels… the media coverage on this matter is extremely important. You’ll find that out soon enough.”

  I can’t help but laugh.

  At her audacity and her ingenuity. Her sass, cunning, and clear enjoyment of the win she is relishing here this morning. Good for her.

  I nod and turn my body, opening a direct path to the reporter. Viveka gives me a wink and pushes past me, shoulders held back and a sway to her hips. Her arms swing slightly as she walks, full of confidence and poise. Her ass is fantastic from behind.

  “Miss Jones,” I call. She stops and turns to me. “Who chained you up?”

  This is not an attempt to flirt again, but is a definite curiosity.

  She gives me a grin that pops out two perfect dimples. Inclining her head, she replies, “Someone who calls me Veka.”

  My laughter follows her until she reaches the reporter and cameraman. If I stick around, they’ll want my statement. I don’t know nearly enough about whatever the fuck this is to sound intelligent, so I make my way to my G63 and head to my office to start my workday.

  CHAPTER 2

  Viveka

  Turning my wrist over, I take a quick glance at my watch.

  4:59 PM.

  “Shit,” I exclaim. I roll my feet off my desk, and then push out of my squeaky secretarial chair.

  Snatching my keys off the corner of my desk, I jet out of the front door of my law firm and quickly lock it behind me. I’ve always been comfortable in high heels, though the ones I’m currently wearing are only two and three-quarter inches high. It’s nothing for me to run down to the next business in this little strip mall and practically throw myself through the swinging glass front door of Do or Dye, a hair salon.

  Because Frannie has a set of cowbells tied to the interior door handle and given the thrust and momentum of my entrance, Frannie and the woman who she is working on both jump in surprise.

  “Good Lord, child,” the woman sitting in Frannie’s chair says.

  I give an apologetic smile to Mrs. Dewberry as I rush to the reception desk. Throwing open the right-hand drawer, I pull out the remote control.

  Turning toward the TV that is mounted in the corner of the salon, situated so the women sitting under the hairdryers can watch TV with close captioning if they wish, I push the power button and flip through the channels to find what I want.

  Frannie ignores me, going back to putting fat curlers in Mrs. Dewberry’s iron-gray hair. She comes in every Thursday, rain or shine, for the same wash and set. She’s a sweet old lady struggling on a very small retirement income, so Frannie only charges her half-price.

  This is something that Frannie does routinely for many of her customers. It’s why she can only afford to set up her shop in this cheap strip mall in the bad part of the city. It’s not hard to figure out my situation is not all that different since I’m her next-door neighbor here.

  “How did it go today, Veka?” Frannie asks, rolling another lock of Mrs. Dewberry’s hair.

  “How did what go today?” Mrs. Dewberry interjects herself into the conversation. That’s par for the course though while in a hair salon.

  I stand in front of the TV, gazing at it with my arms folded across my chest.

  “It went perfectly,” I say, shooting a grin over my shoulder. “Just like we planned.”

  Frannie was my accomplice this morning. She accompanied me to the Swan’s Mill construction site just before daybreak. She’s the one who chained me to the tree and left me there to battle the wolves on my own. Frannie would’ve totally stayed with me, but I didn’t need her help to serve the injunction and she had an early appointment set for eight.

  The well-known jingle signifying the start of the five o’clock news program for WBCT comes on, and Frannie’s eyes go to the TV. I turn around and wait anxiously as the news anchors do their welcome spiel.

  I sense a presence to both my left and right. Craning my neck one way, I see Mrs. Dewberry standing there with the plastic cape around her shoulders and half her head in rollers staring intently at the TV. I turn the other way to see Frannie standing beside me, excitedly watching as well.

  My dear, sweet Frannie. The best friend I’ve ever had.

  My only confidant.

  My sister from another mother.

  In fact, Frannie’s mother is more of a mother to me than my own.

  I take in her plump face and her kind eyes, counting myself blessed to know a woman such as her. She’s five years older than me, but she doesn’t look it. She wears her hair short and spiky. It’s usually always multicolored. Currently, she has streaks of blue, purple, and shimmery gray throughout. I’m thirty-six, and I’ve been wearing my blond hair the same way for most of my life. Parted down the middle with light layers cut into it, but mostly I keep it in a braid or a ponytail to keep it out of my way.

  Maybe I should have Frannie put in some pink streaks or something.

  “We now turn it over to Angela Halpern, who is reporting on a legal battle that is unfolding over a woodpecker,” the news anchor, Chad Gibbons says in his smooth, rich voice.

  Hurriedly, I snap my head back to the screen. Chad Gibbons is exactly what’s expected from an aging news anchor who was never good enough to make it past the five o’clock slot. Blond hair that is so expertly cut, styled, and sprayed it resembles a football helmet. He has spent way too much time in the tanning booth over the years, and his skin looks like leather. His teeth are bleached so white it’s hard to watch him when he smiles on the TV.

  The camera cuts from Chad to Angela, the reporter who interviewed me this morning. She taped this portion earlier after we talked, and she’s standing at the tree where my chains still lay on the ground. “That’s right, Chad. Today, there was a standoff between real estate developer Drake Powell of Landmark Builders and local animal rights attorney, Viveka Jones.”

  The camera cuts away to prerecorded coverage of me chained to the tree. Drake is visible, waving his arms and cursing, though his words aren’t audible. It was when Ford told him about the injunction, and I can’t help the smile that comes to my face.

  This morning was a lot of fun.

  “Miss Jones served an injunction upon Landmark Builders today, prohibiting them from starting excavation of this property. It’s currently slated to be a multimillion-dollar subdivision known as Swan’s Mill. Ms. Jones sought the injunction in court late yesterday afternoon after an anonymous tip came in that the red cockaded woodpecker was found to be nesting on the property.”

  The video coverage fades away, and generic video of the woodpecker in question begins to play. The bird is small and black with white stripes on the wings. The male is distinguished with two tiny red triangles on either side of its head, hence the name red-cockaded.

  “This type of woodpecker is on the endangered species list, which is curated by the federal government. The bird typically makes its home in trees such as this longleaf pine that Miss Jones chained herself to. Now, according to Miss Jones, the court has ordered a hearing to be held next Tuesday to determine what will happen next. We called Mr. Powell’s office, but he declined to comment. As of the time of this broadcast, we have not received a response back from his attorney, Ford Daniels of the law firm of Knight and Payne.”

 
Next, they engage in drivel-type chatter between themselves, but I tune them out when Frannie’s arms lock around my neck to pull me into a stranglehold of a hug. “Veka, I am so damn proud of you.”

  Mrs. Newberry pats my shoulder gently. “So am I. Although I really don’t understand what’s going on.”

  I aim the remote control at the TV after Frannie lets me go, turning it off. While she settles Mrs. Newberry back in her chair and begins rolling her hair again, I plop in the swivel chair right next to them. I feel giddy with my success today, using my long legs to push me around in circles while Mrs. Newberry asks me questions.

  I tell her all about how I was approached just yesterday morning by the animal rights activist group known as Justice for All Animals. A group of their birdwatchers had been on Landmark’s property—they were trespassing of course—and they noticed the red cockaded woodpecker nests.

  They also knew there was imminent construction, so they rushed right to my office in a desperate plea to help them. Now, Justice for All Animals is a small local group. They are led by a veterinarian by the name of Alton Granger. He was the one who sought me out. Even though he really couldn’t afford to pay me, it didn’t take much to sway me to take the case.

  Seeing as how I have devoted my entire legal practice to the protection of animals, it was kind of a no-brainer. Again, it’s why my office is in a cheap strip mall rather than a fancy glass building downtown.

  “Can we just take a moment to talk about how hot that attorney is who was out there this morning?” Frannie says as she dramatically fans her hand in front of her face.

  Mrs. Newberry, who has to be at least seventy, nods her head and says, “Mmmm. Hmmmm.”

  And well… she’s right.

  Ford Daniels is H-O-T.

  So hot, in fact, he had me a bit flustered when he first approached. Given I stand right at 5’10”, the first thing I notice about a man is his height. Because I am totally self-conscious about mine, I always find it an utter relief when I have to deal with someone that is taller than me. And Ford Daniels has me by at least seven inches.

  Once I got over the fact he made me feel small, I noticed how incredibly gorgeous he was. He’s older than I am, but probably not by much. He wears his hair cropped very short and brushed sort of forward in a stylish way. It’s light brown or perhaps dark blond, but the part that got my tummy fluttering was a slight bit of gray focused at the temples and interspersed lightly throughout. His brown eyes were warm and sexy, and there was no doubt that he was flirting with me.

  There was no doubt I was flirting back. I mean, the man filled out his designer suit nicely.

  I’m still spinning my chair in slow circles going counterclockwise when I realize it’s utterly silent. I bring my chair to a stop and find Frannie and Mrs. Newberry staring at me expectantly. Frannie’s hand is poised with a curler in one hand and a lock of Mrs. Newberry’s hair in the other.

  “What?” I ask.

  “He’s really hot,” Frannie prods.

  “Very handsome,” Mrs. Newberry adds.

  I shrug my shoulders. Although I agree with both wholeheartedly, it’s really kind of irrelevant. “If you say so. I think he’ll be a formidable adversary.”

  Frannie rolls her eyes at me and I know without a doubt if Mrs. Newberry was not sitting there listening to us, Frannie would have said something like, “Veka… girl… You need to fuck that boy’s brains out.”

  And I would have to agree. It’s easy to tell just by looking at a man like Ford Daniels that he knows what he’s doing.

  I shake my head in a silent refusal to give her more information. She reads the message in my eyes.

  We will discuss this over wine tonight.

  She nods at me and resumes rolling Mrs. Newberry’s hair.

  I go back to spinning my chair around in slow circles, thinking about the next time I’ll see Ford Daniels, which will be in court next Tuesday. I think I’ll wear my red suit because it’s the sexiest thing I own that is still acceptable to wear inside a courtroom without offending a judge.

  I spin, staring at nothing in particular as the interior of the salon passes by. Frannie and Mrs. Newberry, the reception desk, the large bank of glass windows at the front of the store, the chair beside me, there’s Frannie and Mrs. Newberry again, the reception desk—

  Holy shit… There’s Ford Daniels across the street getting ready to cross and head this way. He glances left, then right waiting for traffic to clear. When it does, he jogs across, aiming straight for my law firm.

  I fly from the chair and stumble three paces to the left because I’m so dizzy from all the spinning. Planting my feet, I hold my arms out to get my balance and ignore the way Frannie is snickering behind me.

  “That’s Ford Daniels,” I say, watching his foot come down onto the sidewalk.

  “Oh, Veka,” Frannie says in a breathless voice. “That man is coming to see you.”

  I hastily smooth down my skirt, and then tuck stray locks of hair behind my ears. This morning Frannie had done an intricate fishtail braid that she started at the right side of my neck, so it can drape over my shoulder. Throughout the day, the shorter locks around my face and jaw have come loose. Why I’m feeling compelled to put them back in place is beyond me.

  Ford Daniels is just a man.

  A hot man, but no different from any other I’ve encountered in my life.

  Besides… technically, he’s my enemy.

  I suck in air through my nose and let it out softly through my mouth. Throwing my shoulders back, I walk toward the door and tell Frannie over my shoulder, “I’ll be right back.”

  That would actually turn out to be a lie.

  CHAPTER 3

  Ford

  “Fuck.” The groan that follows tears free from my throat and sounds about as desperate as my need was to come.

  But I came, and it was incredible.

  My forehead drops down to touch to hers. I feel another ripple of ecstasy working its way up my spine and then back down again. She dislodges her fingernails from my ass as she hums some type of approval or agreement with my last sentiment.

  Just… fuck.

  Lifting my head up, I find Viveka staring at me with those big blue eyes. The pupils are larger than normal, a sure signal she enjoyed that just as much as I did.

  “That was…” she murmurs, sliding her hands up my back, along my ribs, and around to press into my chest.

  I smile down at her. “Amazing is a good word.”

  But who in the fuck am I kidding?

  That was beyond amazing.

  Hell, it’s beyond reasoning that Viveka Jones is in my bed, a mere sixteen hours after we met this morning at Swan’s Mill.

  Admittedly, I hadn’t planned on fucking her. Maybe fantasized about it, but never thought it would happen. No, I went to her law firm because I was curious about her and I had the perfect excuse as Landmark’s attorney to seek her out.

  Her office is in a bad section of town and although I hardly know her, I hated she had to work there. I was surprised when she walked out of the hair salon next door and approached me with a friendly enough smile.

  “What are you doing here?” she asked.

  “Came to get my hair done,” I quipped, pointing to the salon named Do or Dye.

  Cute.

  Viveka rolled her eyes at me, so I fessed up. “I want to talk about the case.”

  “Okay,” she said carefully, motioning her hand toward her office.

  I shook my head and fessed up some more. “Let’s go have a drink and talk about the case. It’s quitting time.”

  My body braced for a fight and I had counter arguments worked up in my head if she insisted we stick to the professionalism of an office setting. But Viveka surprised me for what would not be the first or the last time that day, by giving me a bright smile. “Even better. There’s a bar two blocks down—”

  “Let’s go The Capital Grille,” I rolled right over her. “We’ll grab dinner, too.”
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  And I swear—swear to God Almighty—I did not suggest Capital Grille because my apartment was in the same building. They really have good food.

  She readily agreed, and so we went.

  We had drinks, dinner, and talked about the red-cockaded woodpecker. I know more about the damn bird than I care to, but what she told me would at least help me to prepare somewhat for the hearing on Tuesday.

  One drink turned into two, and then three. The flirtation was obvious, and neither of us needed innuendo. The attraction between us was palpable, and it had only grown since our first meeting while she was chained to a tree. When she glanced at her watch and made a clucking sound of dismay that it was getting late, I had no hesitation.

  “Stay the night with me,” I said.

  Her head snapped my way, and her eyes lasered onto mine. There was no question or confusion in her expression, only consideration. She knew I wasn’t asking for a sleepover, but rather to go upstairs and fuck.

  She said yes and it was one of the happier moments in my life that I can recall.

  And now, I’m inside her and not wanting to lose that feeling. Viveka’s eyes soften as she stares back at me, curling a hand around the back of my neck. She’s not shy when she pulls me down for a kiss, but it’s only a brief touching of her mouth to mine. Then both hands are back to my chest and she is giving me a slight push. “It was definitely amazing, but I’ve got to go.”

  I don’t budge an inch. She pushes a little harder, but I give a slight shake of my head. “You don’t have to run off.”

  She grins, giving a harder push while at the same time wiggling her body out from underneath me. My half-hard dick slides out of her, and I blink in surprise as she rolls gracefully right off the bed. “But I do.”

  “Veka,” I call, testing the nickname for the first time.

  Her head snaps my way, causing her long hair to fall over her bare shoulder. Her fucking nipples are still hard, and I want them in my mouth again.

  She gives a playful wag of her finger and shakes her head. “I told you that name was reserved only for my friends.”