Rannigan’s Redemption is a three-novel epic about the complicated relationship between hot-shot Manhattan attorney Michael Rannigan and fiery redheaded fellow lawyer Maggie Flynn.
This excerpt is from the first book, Resisting Risk. Be forewarned…
Maggie has something of a potty mouth.
Maggie was happy to wake up in her own bed Monday morning. She was also glad that Michael had insisted that she take the extra day. Truthfully she was tired, and she was sick of having to cover up so carefully. She studied her neck in the bathroom mirror. The bruises had faded from deep purple to a pale yellow-green. Another couple of turtleneck days should do it.
Maggie cleaned her immaculate kitchen, reorganized her shoes, and paid a few bills, but when she looked at the clock, only forty-five minutes had passed. She sighed and sank onto the couch, clicking on the television. A flip through the channels revealed talk-fests and game shows. I’m bored out of my mind. Maybe I’ll just go in and check email and that kind of thing. I probably won’t even see anyone.
It was noon when Maggie exited the elevator on the 50th floor. She’d dressed in a purple turtleneck and charcoal slacks, a scarf with a purple paisley design accenting her neck. Karen wasn’t at her desk. Probably at lunch, Maggie thought, and she went directly to her office.
Opening the door, she started to toss her bag on the desk when she realized someone was sitting there. Her arm stopped mid-swing, her eyes wide, and she looked back at the door, frowning. “May I help you?” she asked.
The guy was about her age with brown hair and eyes. He looked startled. “Um, no, thanks. I’m okay for now.”
Maggie raised an eyebrow. “You’re in my office.”
“Oh, you must be Maggie,” he said. “Mr. Rannigan said you wouldn’t be in until tomorrow.”
“And yet, here I stand today,” Maggie replied in an irritated tone. She turned and marched down the hall to Michael’s office. At his closed door she hesitated. He might be with a client, she considered. Fuck that! Some dude is in my office.
She threw open the door with enough force to swing all the way open and it crashed into the wall behind it.
Michael, seated at his desk and concentrating on his computer, jumped.
“What the fuck, Michael?!” Maggie demanded.
“And it’s nice to see you, too, Mags,” he replied with a grin. “Welcome back. We didn’t expect to see you until tomorrow.” He met her at the door and ushered her into the reception area.
“I can tell you didn’t expect me until tomorrow. I didn’t expect some guy to be in my office today,” Maggie ranted.
Michael put up both hands in defense. “Calm down, Mags, everything’s okay.”
Maggie shook her finger in his face. “Don’t you tell me to motherfucking calm down! If you were going to fire me…”
“Fire you?” he frowned.
“You could at least have done it on Wednesday instead of waiting until I come in and find my office occupied by some…”
Michael continued to guide her down the hall. “That’s Josh, we just brought him up from downstairs,” he explained calmly.
“I don’t care where he came from, he can just take his skinny little ass right back…”
“Because as far as I know I still have a contract…”
“You can’t just push me out, I’ve worked way too hard…”
“Mary Margaret! Stop talking,” Michael interrupted. They’d stopped in front of the door to what used to be John Hemphill’s office. He pushed it open. “This is your new office.”
Maggie stopped mid-sentence. She was looking into the most beautiful room she’d ever seen. It was a confection of lavender and cream and eggplant. On the far side of the room next to the floor to ceiling windows, there was a silver chandelier over a small ecru French desk. On the desk was a white and purple orchid in a shallow lavender bowl. Purple drapes and cream sheers framed the wall of glass. Nearer the door there was a seating area with a cream sofa accented with lavender and purple pillows fronted by a glass coffee table. On the other side of the room was a small glass conference table and four purple upholstered chairs. The new pale hardwood floor was arranged in a herringbone pattern.
“It looks like an office in Paris,” Maggie breathed. She crossed the room to examine a pair of large framed photographs. Gasping, she looked back at Michael.
He smiled at her. “Florence,” he said. “This is why I wanted you to wait until tomorrow. The furniture was delivered this morning. We literally just got it finished.”
Maggie’s eyes were wide. “I don’t understand,” she said.
“Let’s go to lunch. We’ll talk about everything,” Michael said.