The woman's mouth dropped open at his statement. "But Barrett, he started it."
"I don't care. And I won't be representing either one of you."
"But you're the best," she said. "Give me another chance."
"I'm sorry, no. Please go."
"He's right, we should go," the man said, looking first at Barrett's stony expression and then at Kate's angry face. "I certainly don't want this to get into the papers."
"You and your publicity, that's all you care about," the woman said angrily.
Kate sighed. It looked like the water was only a temporary setback. They were ready to start the second round. But before they could say anything further, Barrett opened the front door and literally pushed them both onto the doorstep, slamming the door behind them, and turning the dead bolt with a resounding click.
He turned around with a guarded expression on his face, and she gave him an uncertain look. She didn't know what to expect. Thoughts of possible eviction sprang to mind as she shifted back and forth nervously, hoping he would speak first because she couldn't think of a thing to say.
"I'm sorry about that, Kate. I had no idea they were going to get involved in such a violent argument."
She let out a relief at his apology. "They might have lost me a client."
His lips tightened at her pointed remark. "I hope the words might have mean you'll be able to smooth things over."
"We'll see. Those two were really nasty to each other. Does this happen a lot in your line of work?"
"It really doesn't. I was just in initial talks with the wife. But, apparently, her husband insisted on following her here and their argument started before they ever got into the building. The woman just found out her husband has had a lover for the past five years, who is now pregnant. Naturally she's a little upset."
"A little upset? If I were him, I wouldn't turn my back on her. She wants to kill him."
"She told me their entire relationship has been volatile."
"I don't know how you deal with all that anger."
"It's not usually that violent or that verbal." He paused as the doorbell rang. "That's probably the police." He opened the door to two uniformed officers standing on the landing.
"We got a call about a disturbance," one officer said, taking a good look at Kate and then at Barrett. "Is there a problem here?"
"No, the problem just left," Barrett replied.
"Are you all right, miss?" the other officer asked, directing his comment to Kate.
She looked at him in surprise. He thought she and Barrett were the ones who had been fighting. "I'm fine. The two people who were arguing just left."
The officer stared at them thoughtfully, his gaze drifting to her splinted fingers. "If you're sure."
"I'm sure," she answered.
"I'm the one who called you," Barrett said with annoyance.
"Okay. Have a good night."
Barrett shut the door and shook his head. "What a day."
"You can say that again," she said, rubbing her aching temple once more. "I thought I had it bad with Jana but compared to your clients, she's a delight. Why do you do it, Barrett? Why this kind of law?"
"Because people going through a divorce need help. They're too emotional to take a step back and divide up their property equally. They need an objective observer who can help make things fair."
"I guess."
"I see you got a splint for your fingers. Are they broken?"
"No, just jammed. They're already feeling a lot better. I can probably get rid of the splint now."
"I'm glad. I was wondering."
She wanted to be touched by his comment, but his wondering certainly hadn't led him to make a short trip up the stairs to find out if she was all right.
"Are you finished for the day?" he asked.
"I guess I am. Jana was my last client."
"Then I'd like to take you to dinner—as an apology for possibly losing you a client."
"If you knew the size of her deposit, you'd be offering a private plane ride to Paris for dinner."
He smiled. "How about an Italian restaurant in North Beach?"
She hesitated, her first instinct to say no, to keep her guard walls up, but maybe she needed to spend more time with Barrett, to remind herself that he was not someone she needed to waste her time thinking about. It was just dinner.
Nothing else had to happen.
"It's really good," Barrett added. "What do you say?"
She should say no, she meant to say no, but when he looked at her with those intense green eyes and that sexy smile, the only thing she wanted to say was yes, and before she knew it, she was comfortably ensconced in a silver-gray Mercedes.
Chapter Seven
As Barrett drove into North Beach, famous for its excellent Italian cuisine, Kate's mouth began to water at the sight of famous restaurants like Original Joe's and Mama's, but when Barrett helped her out of the car, they didn't head toward one of the known hot spots. Instead, he walked her toward a long, dark alley.
"Where are we going?" she asked.
"You'll see." He took her hand. "So you don't trip in those high heels. I don't think you need another fall."
She definitely didn't need that, but that wasn't the real reason she left her hand in his. His fingers were warm, and she liked feeling connected to him. She liked him. She hadn't wanted to admit that to her friends, but she had to admit it to herself.
But as soon as this dinner was over, she had to start putting some distance between them, because her reasons for staying away from him were still there.
Barrett led her down a stairwell to a closed door. The only sign for the restaurant was a simple gold placard—Sonny's.
"I've never heard of this place," she said.
"You're going to love it. One of San Francisco's best-kept secrets." He opened the door and waved her inside.
She let go of his hand as she stepped across the threshold. She paused, as her eyes adjusted to the dim light. There was a hostess stand in front of thick red curtains, and beyond, she could see about twenty tables in front of an open kitchen.
Barrett gave his name to the hostess, and they were quickly led to a cozy corner booth that faced the kitchen but was away from the noise. Soft strains of opera played in the background, and several small candles floating in a bowl of water cast their table in a warm, romantic glow.
She was surprised at Barrett's choice. She would have thought something glitzy, more modern would be his style.
"This is nice," she said. "When did you make a reservation?"
"I texted when we got in the car. The owner is a friend of mine."
After the waiter dropped off the wine list and announced the specials, a very short, round man with a thick moustache greeted Barrett in effusive Italian.
She was more than a little surprised when Barrett responded in kind.
Then he turned to her with a grin. "Don't be too impressed. My Italian is limited to a few greetings, a couple of swear words, and—"
"The words of amore," Sonny finished for him. "Who is this lovely lady?"
"This is Kate Marlow," Barrett introduced. "My good friend, Sonny Moretti."
Sonny took her hand and kissed it with a flourish. "I am pleased to meet you, Miss Marlow. For you and my good friend, Barrett, I will make the finest dinner. You leave it up to me, yes?"
Barrett looked expectantly at Kate and she nodded. "I'm sure whatever you make will be wonderful."
"It will be," Sonny promised. "It's been a long time since you've come to visit me, Barrett. I thought perhaps you had developed a taste for something finer."
Barrett shook his head. "There is nothing finer than your pasta."
Sonny beamed at his response. "For that, I will also send over a bottle of my best wine."
Kate smiled to herself as Sonny gathered up their menus. Barrett certainly had a charming side to him.
"What's so amusing?" he asked.
"Just thinking that you can be ver
y nice when you want to be. You have a way with words—in more than one language apparently."
"I'm a lawyer. Words are my business."
"Right. I almost forgot."
"I'm really not that bad, you know. I help people salvage as much as they can out of their marriage."
"It all comes down to money and possessions," she said with a sigh.
"Not just material things," he argued. "There's also pride and self-respect, mutual understanding, finding a way to keep a family working together in a divorced world."
She was surprised by his passionate, somewhat emotional words. It really wasn't just about money for him. He cared about his work, about the people he served. "All that is important," she conceded. "Although, I think the kids suffer no matter what."
"I can't stop that. But I can try to ease the pain."
"If the parties are willing to compromise. The couple outside your office tonight didn't seem able to do anything but argue. Do they have children?"
"A fifteen-year-old daughter. I'm trying to get them to put her first, but they're caught up in anger and bitterness. Hopefully, that will start to fade at some point."
"I doubt that will happen any time soon." She paused, as the waiter opened a bottle of wine and poured a sample taste.
"You go ahead," Barrett told her.
"I'm sure you're more of a wine connoisseur than I am."
"I trust your judgment."
"Okay." She tasted the wine and nodded to the waiter. "It's lovely."
The waiter poured them two glasses and then left them alone.
"What happened in your marriage?" she asked, not sure Barrett would answer. "If you don’t mind me asking."
He hesitated, then shrugged. "It's not a secret. Vanessa wanted the big wedding, but once all the hoopla was over, she didn't know what to do with herself. She also apparently didn't realize that while I was part of the Fox family, I wasn't interested in living their life. I didn't care about the country club, the golf games or tennis matches. I didn't want to go to social events every weekend. I didn't want every conversation to be about who was cheating on who or who had the most money."
"And you didn't realize that's what she wanted before you got married? Was she the only one who made incorrect assumptions?"
He tipped his head at her point. "No, of course not. We both saw what we wanted to see, and we didn't ask too many questions or look past the wedding."
"Did Vanessa work?"
"Yes. She worked for an interior designer, who handled a lot of rich and celebrity clients. The job put her in the world she wanted to be in, but also again required me to be in that world with her."
"Why didn't you want to be a part of it?" she asked curiously. "You grew up in that environment. And there are a lot of perks. I'm not going to feel sorry for you because you had to play tennis at the country club."
He smiled. "Fair enough. And you shouldn't feel sorry for me. I was fortunate to have everything I needed. But life isn't just about material things. It took me awhile to realize that."
"How long were you together before you got married?"
"About a year and a half."
"That's not very long."
"I wasn't thinking straight."
"She was that pretty?"
"She was—is—quite beautiful," he admitted. "But the pretty was only on the outside. Once we started planning our wedding, I began to see another side to her. She would have meltdowns over menu choices and flower arrangements. Nothing was good enough or special enough or unique enough. She was obsessed. She lived and breathed the wedding plans. And her planner cheered her on at every turn. It was more, more, more."
"The wedding planner was trying to give her what she wanted."
"But not what I wanted."
"Did you tell anyone what you wanted?" she challenged. "Communication is a two-way street. I always talk to the grooms, and I make a point of speaking to them when their brides are not around, so that I can make sure the day works for them, too. However, most men tend to leave the decisions up to the woman. Sometimes you get what you get because you don't speak up."
"I should have spoken up more," he conceded.
"And I don't think you can blame the wedding for all your problems. It sounds like you were on different pages when it came to what you wanted from your life together."
"I don't blame the wedding, but I think it set an unrealistic expectation that we couldn't possibly live up to."
She rested her arms on the table as she thought about his statement. "Do you think that if you'd gotten married at the courthouse, you would still be married today?"
He frowned. "Maybe you should have been an attorney. You're very good at debate, picking apart arguments."
"And you're good at avoiding a question you don't want to answer."
He tipped his head. "No. I don't think we'd still be married today."
She felt like she'd won a small victory. "I don't think so, either. What's Vanessa doing today?"
"My mother told me a few weeks ago that she's engaged to be married to an architect. I'm sure she's planning the hell out of another wedding."
"Would you get married again, Barrett?"
"I can't imagine it. I don't think I'm husband material." He paused. "What about you? I know you haven't been married, but have you come close? Are you involved with anyone now?"
"I'm not seeing anyone at the moment, and I haven't come close to an engagement. I haven't met anyone I want to spend the next sixty years with."
"I'd start with six months and go from there."
"I'm not going to get married unless I believe we can go the distance."
"How would you know?" he asked curiously. "There are so many pretenses played out in the dating world—so many games, masks that are worn, double talk—how can you really be sure who that person is?"
"By having really honest and sometimes difficult conversations. By seeing each other at your worst and at your best. By prioritizing what's important."
"What's important to you?"
"Having someone I can count on, who will be there when I fall, who will be my partner through life. I want honesty and trust."
"What about passion, sex?"
Her cheeks warmed at his words and at the look of desire in his eyes. "Well, chemistry is also important. But it can't be everything."
"It can be a lot."
"Or too much. Sometimes, when the attraction is so strong, it stops a person from seeing what's not there outside of the physical relationship." She paused. "I'm sure some of your clients must have expressed that sentiment."
"A few. I'll be honest, Kate. I don't know much about love, not the kind of love you're talking about. I haven't seen it in my family. I haven't seen it in my work."
"Well, you should meet my grandparents."
"You think they'd set me straight?" he asked with a grin.
"Definitely." She licked her lips. "What you just said, though, is why you and I do not go together."
"You wouldn't think so," he said cryptically. "But you do look beautiful in candlelight, Kate."
A shiver ran down her spine at the look in his eyes. "Everyone looks better in candlelight."
"A better answer would be thank you," he said lightly, a smile lurking around the corners of his mouth. "Or you could say I look good, too."
"I'll stick with thank you," she said, trying to quell the nervous flutters in her stomach.
Thankfully, the waiter came by with hot bread out of the oven and a plate of olive oil mixed with balsamic vinegar.
"The bread is amazing," Barrett told her, as he grabbed a hunk and dipped it in the olive oil.
She followed suit and had to admit he was right again. "Delicious," she agreed. "I love warm bread fresh out of the oven."
"Nothing better. Although, I did realize on our way over here that we had pizza last night, so it's a double dose of Italian for you."
"I love Italian. How could I not, living so close to North Beach? And I'm
very intrigued in San Francisco's best-kept secret."
"I don't think you'll be disappointed."
"I'm sure I won't be." She'd no sooner finished speaking when Sonny accompanied the waiter to their table, delivering a large salad to share, along with two steaming plates of pasta and vegetables covered with a garlic parmesan sauce.
"Enjoy," Sonny said.
"I definitely will," she promised, immediately twirling long strands of linguine on her fork, and popping the first delicious bite into her mouth. "Oh, my God. This is fantastic."
Barrett smiled. "I thought you'd like it."
They didn't talk for a while, content to eat in comfortable silence. When they did speak, it was about light, inconsequential things such as movies, books, and the city. They found to their mutual surprise that they did actually have a few things in common. They both liked reading mysteries and sailing on the bay, as well as eating lobster tails on Fisherman's Wharf.
Of course, they also had their differences. Barrett didn't share her love of cable cars, preferring to drive, instead of taking a steep, slow ride up a hill. She didn't share his love of running along the Marina out to the Golden Gate Bridge. And the bicycle she rode was in a spin class at the gym, while Barrett preferred the long winding trails down the coast.
"I'm beginning to realize you're quite the outdoorsman," she commented, as they sipped coffee and nibbled on both tiramisu and cannolis.
"I like to eat, so I need to work it off."
"Which you like to do outside."
"We live in California. We should take advantage of the great weather."
"I like the weather. I just enjoy looking at the bay from a boat or a restaurant with a view." She paused. "Speaking of restaurants, this place is really special. I'm glad you brought me here."
"Happy to share it with you. But I have to say, you're not a very considerate dinner partner. Most of the women I know leave half their plate for me to finish."
She grinned at his teasing comment. "Not me. I also love food, as you can probably tell."
"You can have the last cannoli."
"I couldn't possibly. I'm stuffed. Go ahead."
"I think I'm done." He pushed his dessert plate away and rested his arms on the table. "This was nice. We can apparently get along without arguing."
DREAMING OF YOU GO PL Page 7
