Man of Fate

by Rochelle Alers

  When she returned to the kitchen on the first floor she found Kyle had prepared the dressing for the Greek salad and sliced the potatoes, which he had tossed with olive oil and herbs and left roasting in the oven. The most delicious aroma came from the steaks in a heavy skillet as he tested them for doneness.

  Moving closer, Ava joined Kyle at the range, her arm going around his waist as if it were something she’d done before. “Are you cooking with the brandy or drinking it?” She pointed to the bottle of brandy.

  “I’m going to cook with it.”

  She watched intently as he removed the skillet from the heat, added about half a cup of brandy, then returned the pan to the high heat until the liquid was reduced by half. He waited a couple of minutes, removed the steaks to a cutting board, added heavy cream and butter to the pan until the cream was reduced to a thick sauce, and then put the steaks, along with the accumulated juices, into the skillet to warm them through.

  Dipping his head, Kyle dropped a kiss on Ava’s hair. “Please get the wine from the fridge. I’ll bring the plates upstairs.”

  “What about the potatoes?”

  “I’ll bring them, too.”

  Five minutes later they were seated in the darkened solarium with the rays of the setting sun coming in through the wall of glass and flickering candlelight providing the only illumination as soft music issued from a satellite radio station.

  Ava swallowed a piece of butter-soft steak with the savory sauce and then took a sip of fragrant merlot. “Have you thought of moonlighting as a chef?”

  Kyle stared across the table at Ava over the rim of his wineglass. “No.”

  “Why not?”

  “Because I barely have time to cook for myself.”

  She took another sip of wine. “How often do you cook for yourself?”

  “Unfortunately, not enough. I usually spend so much time at my office that I end up ordering from a local deli.”

  Ava set down her glass. “I used to order out until I had an incident with a deli in the neighborhood where I work.”

  “What kind of incident?” Kyle asked, leaning forward.

  “I’d ordered a salad plate with tuna, potato and hardboiled eggs. Later that evening I wound up with stomach cramps that kept me up all night. When I told the owner what had happened he became very defensive, denying I’d gotten sick from something he’d prepared.”

  “What do you do now?”

  “After that I started bringing my own lunch. I cook on Sundays for the entire week. The only thing I have to do when I come home is either to prepare a fresh salad or steam vegetables.”

  Kyle stared at Ava for several seconds. “Have you stopped eating at restaurants because of a single incident?”

  “No. It’s just that I refuse to eat anything that is prepackaged or not cooked to order.”

  “That’s good to know.”

  “Why’s that, Kyle?”

  “It would prove problematic if I wanted to take you out to dinner at a restaurant.”

  Ava’s eyebrows lifted. “Who said I was going out with you?”

  “You did.”

  “No, I didn’t.”

  “Yes, you did, Ava. Didn’t you say you were interested in me?”

  Her mouth opened and closed several times. “You must have had a super-size portion of arrogance and cockiness for breakfast and lunch.”

  Kyle threw back his head and laughed, the rich, deep sound coming from his chest. “You were the one who wanted to know about me, not the reverse, Miss Warrick. When I told you there wasn’t much to tell, you said you wanted to hear it anyway. You said, and I quote, ‘Because I’m interested in you,’ end quote.”

  Ava wrinkled her nose. “I was curious, Kyle.”

  “Curious enough to let me take you out?”

  She knew she was caught in a trap of her own making. There was no way she would be able to spar verbally with Kyle Chatham and win every time they engaged in a debate.

  “I’m no longer curious, but I will agree to let you take me out.”

  Why, Kyle thought, did Ava make it sound as if she were doing him a favor? But then again, she was, because no woman was obligated to date him. That was something he’d learned years ago. The first time he’d asked a girl to go to the movies with him and she refused, he’d sulked for days before realizing he wasn’t exempt from rejection.

  Placing his right hand over his heart, he inclined his head. “You honor me, milady, with your kindness.”

  It was Ava’s turn to laugh at his theatrics. “What do we have here? You’re a chef and an actor. What’s next?”

  Kyle sobered quickly. “That’s it.”

  “Are you a good attorney?”

  “I’m adequate. Why? Do you want me to sue the deli owner for you?”

  “No!”

  “You said his food made you sick.”

  “But I don’t want to sue the man.”

  “Bringing a suit may save other people from the same fate.”

  “I don’t want him to lose his business, Kyle.”

  “If the health department cites him for too many violations, then he’ll be forced to close down.”

  Ava glared at her dining partner. “I don’t have much faith in the criminal justice system.” Her expression and voice communicated disdain.

  A swollen silence ensued, only the sounds coming from the radio and their measured breathing audible. Kyle felt as if she’d personally attacked his vocation. It was obvious Ava had little or no respect for shyster lawyers or the criminal justice system.

  “Why would you say that, Ava?”

  “I’ve been involved with cases where judges have dozed off through the entire proceedings, then woken up to render the wrong decision. I’ve had mothers who should have never had their children placed in foster care, and then those whose children were returned to them as mandated by the court only to be taken away again.”

  “The law isn’t perfect, Ava, especially when it’s being interpreted by mere mortals.”

  A slight smile parted her lips. “Yours truly included?”

  Kyle smiled and nodded. “Yours truly included.”

  The conversation changed from law to politics. “Where were you and what were you doing when the news came down that Barak Obama had won the election?” Ava asked.

  Kyle winked at Ava. It was the same question he’d asked his parents and siblings after the historic event. “I was working late, but had the television on. As polls closed in several States I started keeping a tally. After a while I gave up all pretense of trying to read a brief. My buddies Duncan and Ivan were also working late, so we all got together in the kitchen to watch the returns. Duncan ordered takeout and once we cracked open a few beers it was on. The three of us polished off a twelve-pack before eleven o’clock, so when the announcement came that Barak had won we were less than sober or steady. All I can say was that it was a sorry sight to see three grown men literally crying in their beer.”

  She gave him a pointed look. “You weren’t really crying, were you?”

  “Yes,” he confirmed. “It was a mixture of relief, joy and much too much beer. Where were you?”

  “I was on the phone with my college roommate who’d flown back to Iowa that Sunday so she could vote. We talked for hours and when Iowa went blue both of us were bawling and babbling like idiots. We ended the marathon call when President-elect Obama made his victory speech. I was so pumped up that I couldn’t sleep that night.”

  The negative vibes Ava gave off whenever she didn’t want to be bothered, or when she felt herself liking a man a little too much, never reared their ugly head as she and Kyle discussed the events of President Obama’s long and grueling campaign, the Democrats’ electrifying convention and the night that changed America and Americans forever. The warning not to discuss religion or politics was for naught, because it was politics where she and Kyle found common ground.

  “How long did you stand in line before getting into your polling place?” Kyl
e asked as he peered at Ava over the rim of his wineglass.

  “Not quite two hours.”

  Kyle whistled softly. “You had me beat by an hour.”

  “What time did you get up?” she asked.

  “I was in line a little before five, and the line was still down the block and around the corner.”

  Ava gave him a pointed look. “No wonder you waited only an hour. I got to my polling place at eight.” The topic smoothly segued from politics to sports as the sun moved lower in the horizon and the candles flickered until they burned out one by one.

  * * *

  “Please, don’t get up,” Kyle ordered softly when Ava reached for a plate to clear the table.

  “I’m not an invalid.”

  “I know you’re not, but I’ve got this.” He stacked plates and flatware with the agility of an experienced waiter.

  Waiting until he’d taken everything to the downstairs kitchen, Ava removed the tablecloth, turned on a table lamp to its lowest setting and blew out the remaining candles. Kyle had stacked the dishes, serving pieces and pots in the dishwasher when she walked into the kitchen.

  “You’d make some woman a wonderful husband.”

  Shifting slightly, he smiled at her over his shoulder. “Haven’t you ever had a man cook for you?”

  “Not really.”

  “Is that a yes or a no?”

  Ava met his gaze. Will couldn’t cook, so that meant she’d done all of the cooking. The exception was when they either went out or ordered takeout. “That’s a no.”

  “That’s going to change.”

  Vertical lines appeared between her eyes. “What are you talking about?”

  “Whenever we get together I’ll do the cooking.”

  She closed the distance between them until they were less than a foot apart. “Are you that certain we’re going to get together that often?”

  Running his forefinger over her injured cheek, Kyle dipped his head as his mouth replaced his finger. “Call it wishful thinking,” he whispered.

  Smiling, Ava lowered her chin. “Do you want me to grant your wish?”

  “Yes, I do.” Kyle’s teeth closed gently on her earlobe.

  The seconds ticked off before Ava whispered, “Wish granted.”

  Wrapping his arms around her shoulders, Kyle pulled Ava to his chest. “Thank you.”

  She nodded rather than replying. Interacting with Kyle Chatham was so different than what she’d experienced with the other men she’d known. He was arrogant, but instead of it becoming a turn-off, she understood it.

  Kyle was good-looking, intelligent, charming and despite being single he wasn’t a baby daddy. She’d found herself drawn to William Marshall because he hadn’t any baby-mama drama. Maintaining a normal relationship with a man was challenging enough without having to deal with either a woman or women in his past. And if children were involved, then they usually put more stress on a relationship.

  Man-sharing and/or playing stepmother was something she sought to avoid. However, if she did find herself totally in love with a man, then she was willing to make concessions. Her sister said she was unrealistic because Ava had set her standards much too high, but she was quick to remind Aisha that she also didn’t date men with children because of an incident where a deranged woman had begun stalking her, claiming Aisha had come between her ex and his children.

  She’d met men who refused to date single mothers, although they were single fathers. She would go out with Kyle, enjoy his companionship and if and when it ended she planned not to have to look back or wallow in regret.

  “You’re welcome.”

  Easing back, Kyle stared at Ava. “I’ll call and let you know when I’m going to pick you up for the cookout.”

  Going on tiptoe, Ava kissed his cheek. “Good night, Kyle.”

  He returned the kiss on the uninjured side of her face. “Good night, Ava.”

  She walked him to the door and opened and closed it behind him. A hint of a smile tilted the corners of her mouth upward. “I like him.” The admission had slipped between her lips. She was still smiling when she retreated to the kitchen to start the dishwasher.

  CHAPTER 7

  Kyle picked up a portion of sashimi with a pair of chopsticks, staring intently at it before putting it into his mouth.

  “If you’re going to examine every morsel, then I would’ve suggested eating some place where the food isn’t as exotic.”

  Kyle’s head came up and he stared across the table at his dining partner. Jordan Wainwright’s features were as patrician as his old-money lineage. Tall and slender, he exuded elegance, breeding, and his large hazel eyes, close-cropped black curly hair and deeply tanned face attracted both men and women. Heir to a real-estate empire second only to Prudential Douglas Elliman, the largest real-estate conglomerate in the east, Jordan’s decision not to work for Wainwright Developers Group had caused an irreparable rift between grandfather and grandson.

  “I’m sorry, Jordan, but my mind is elsewhere.”

  “Who is she?”

  Kyle affected an impassive expression. “What makes you think it’s a woman?”

  Jordan’s sweeping black eyebrows shot up. “I worked with you long enough to know that it’s not a case you’ve been working on, because you were always the most focused one on our team. That’s why the partners always made you lead counsel.”

  A slow smile crinkled the skin around his eyes. “You think you know me that well?” Kyle asked Jordan.

  “Well enough, Chat.”

  “What else do you know?”

  “I also know that you want me to work with you. If you didn’t, then you would’ve told me that on the phone.”

  “You think you’re slick, don’t you?”

  Jordan smiled, flashing a mouth of perfect white teeth his parents had spent a small fortune straightening.

  “If I am, then I learned it from the best.”

  Kyle sobered quickly. “Why do you want to work for me, Jordan, when you can have any position you want with Wainwright Developers Group?”

  A slight frown appeared between Jordan’s eyes as he stared at the back of his hand resting next to his plate. “Working for my family’s real-estate company isn’t challenging. That’s the reason I went to work for TCB. They may have worked us like pack mules, but in the end we became expert litigators and trial attorneys.”

  “That’s true, but what makes you think working for a small law firm in Harlem is going to be challenging?”

  “It doesn’t have to be challenging, Chat, as long as I don’t have to spend my time defending fat cats who cook their books then bail out with golden parachutes, leaving their shareholders with nothing.”

  Kyle gave Jordan a long, penetrating stare. “So, you think slumming in Harlem is going to be more challenging than defending white-collar criminals or working for your grandfather?”

  A flush suffused the younger attorney’s face under a deep summer tan he’d perfected hanging out at the Wainwright summer compound at Chesapeake Ranch Estates in Maryland. “You think I want to work in Harlem because I suddenly had an epiphany that defending the disadvantaged and underserved will absolve me of the guilt of defending crooks whose greed destroys lives and erodes this country’s economy?”

  “I can’t help you do battle with your conscience, Jordan,” Kyle said, deadpan, “but what I can do is let you work with me on a trial basis. I can’t pay you six figures, but your salary will be comparable to a law…” His voice trailed off when Jordan opened his mouth. “Let me finish. I know you’re going to tell me you’ll work for nothing, but trust fund or no trust fund I’ll pay you. My clients are no different from the ones who came to TCB. They may not have the same earning power but they, too, are looking for someone to help them with their legal problems.

  “The indictments differ in that our defendants are charged with burglary, petty assault, possession with the intent to sell, solicitation, resisting arrest and armed robbery.” Kyle paused, giving
Jordan a chance to think about what he’d told him. “However, I do have a landlord-tenant case that should interest you.”

  Jordan sat up straighter. “Who’s the landlord?”

  There came a beat. “It took a lot of digging, but my paralegal discovered it is a Wainwright Developers Group holding company.”

  A pair of brown eyes with flecks of greenish-gray met and fused with a pair in warm honey-brown. “Now I know why you were reluctant to bring me on board.”

  Kyle shook his head. “You’re wrong, Jordan. It has nothing to do with me going after your family’s company.”

  A muscle twitched in Jordan’s lean jaw. “Then what is it?”

  “I wasn’t sure whether you’d be able to talk the talk and walk the walk.”

  “People are people regardless of where they live, Kyle.”

  Kyle knew Jordan was angry because he hadn’t called him Chat. “That’s where you are wrong, Wainwright. Yes, Harlem is changing, becoming gentrified, but there are still some residents who live well below the poverty line who need more than an overworked public defender to solve their legal problems. Since I hung out my shingle I’ve had to set up a sliding scale for legal fees. You’ve heard of department-store layaway. Well, Kyle E. Chatham, Esquire, has legal layaway. Some of my clients are highly educated, while others can barely sign their names, but they’re all treated with the same respect and dignity afforded those at TCB. If you want to work with me, then be prepared for whatever I’ll throw at you. And that includes suing your family’s real-estate empire.”

  Jordan lowered his gaze and a sweep of thick black lashes touched his cheekbones. “Are you saying you need money, Chat?”

  Kyle went completely still. His friend and former colleague just didn’t get it. “This is not about money.”

  “Then, what is it about? It can’t be about your clients because you seem to be taking care of business, otherwise you wouldn’t have a practice.”

  “I didn’t say I have a cash flow problem. I’ve never had a problem covering payroll or monthly operational overhead.”