Twin Piques
Page 13
McAllister chuckles. “That’s exactly right. Very good. His wife of fifteen years filed for divorce last month. She has family money as well, not as much as Bainbridge, but there are considerable assets on both sides. Naturally, there was a prenup, but that document has more clauses than a Santa convention. No telling how long it will take the lawyers to hash things out. Meanwhile, both sides agree they need an expert to do a detailed review of each party’s assets and liabilities.”
“That’s where we come in,” Josh concludes.
McAllister nods. “And your team needs to be fair and impartial while conducting this evaluation. However . . .” He removes his spectacles and pulls a tissue from a mahogany box on his desk, which he then uses to rub at some smudge or speck on one of the lenses. “It should not be forgotten that Bainbridge is a very wealthy and influential man who runs a large corporation, one that often has need of the various accounting services offered by ATM.”
Okay, so he wants us to parlay this matrimonial dispute into something bigger and more profitable for the firm. Having a company like Bainbridge Development as a permanent client certainly would be a feather in ATM’s cap.
“Understood,” I assert. “We will do everything in our power to ensure that Mr. Bainbridge has a positive experience working with our team.”
“Absolutely,” Josh chimes in. “We’ll wow him with our efficiency and professionalism.”
“I knew I could count on the two of you.” McAllister winks at us before putting his glasses back on. “Now we’re going to have to reassign the Summers case to another Senior on your team. What do you think, Josh? Can . . .” He pauses to look down at a piece of paper on his desk. “. . . Montgomery or Samuels handle it?”
“No!” I blurt out, surprising myself with the vehemence of my objection. McAllister squints at me, looking confused, while Josh turns in my direction with an expression that clearly reads, “What the hell?”
“Uh, I just don’t think either of those gentlemen would be a good fit with Ms. Summers. As you can imagine given her current situation, she’s quite wary of men. She and I have established a rapport; she trusts me and feels she can be honest with me without fear of judgment. She needs an associate with not only a firm hand, but the ability to buck her up when she has moments of uncertainty and fragility. And I think one of those moments is in the offing. I just discovered something about Grant Kittredge that I’m afraid will come as quite a shock to her.”
“She already knows he stole her money while they were sleeping together. How much worse can it get?” McAllister wonders.
“He used some of those misappropriated funds to set up his barely legal boyfriend in a fifteen-room beachfront estate in Belize.”
Josh grimaces. “Sloane’s right. We can’t call in second-string now or we run the risk of losing Summers when she has a meltdown about this or some future bombshell. I suggest we stay the course with Sloane.”
“But I want her on the Bainbridge case,” McAllister protests.
“I can do both!” Did I really just say that? Am I nuts?
McAllister shakes his graying head. “It’s too much. You can’t split your focus like that. The Bainbridge lawyers want a quick resolution, and you’ve got to be ready for the Summers trial in less than five weeks.”
“I’ve got my Juniors to help me with the grunt work, and Josh can oversee and coordinate everything.” I’m actually starting to get excited by the prospect of working two such different, but equally important, cases simultaneously. If I pull this off (and, of course, I will), I’ll vault right over Samson and Montgomery and be guaranteed that promotion to Manager, and once I’ve proven myself in that role, I can lobby for a position on the department head’s team. I might even beat Josh to one of those spots. Not that this is a competition.
“My team runs like a well-oiled machine, sir, and we’re all up for the challenge. We won’t let you down.” Sweet of Josh to back me up.
“All right then, it’s settled,” McAllister decrees. “I’ll inform the Bainbridges’ lawyers and have them contact you about setting up an initial meeting.” Standing up, he reaches across the desk and offers me his hand. “Sloane, I look forward to following your progress on both of these cases.”
“And I look forward to showing you what I’m capable of, Mr. McAllister.” I give his hand a firm squeeze and take my leave of him, with Josh following close behind.
Once we’re back out in the corridor, Josh gives me a playful pinch in the side and murmurs, “And you thought we were in trouble.”
“That really did go amazingly well, didn’t it?” I can’t stop smiling; I feel giddy with relief and excitement. What an incredible opportunity I’ve been handed! This is my chance to shine, to prove myself to the partners, to even get some media attention since both of these cases are ones involving prominent people. It’ll be a lot of work, long hours, dedication, determination, focus– Did Josh just say something?
“I’m sorry, what?” We’re standing at the elevators, waiting for one to take us back to nine. Apparently, Josh already pushed the DOWN button while my brain was in planning mode.
“I said, we should go out for a celebratory lunch later. You know, at the usual place.” There’s an unmistakable glint in his eye when he issues the invite, which means he’s talking about a little afternoon delight at his apartment, not grabbing a club sandwich at La Boulange.
“Seriously?” I retort just as the elevator dings and the doors slide open, allowing us in.
“You have been awfully stressed. I thought a little one-on-one time might help.” He smirks as I punch the 9 button on the elevator console.
“I’m sure you did.” Men think sex is the answer to everything, don’t they? Happy? Let’s bang a headboard to keep that serotonin flowing. Stressed? An orgasm will make you forget all those pesky problems. Sad? We can screw those blues away! “But I’m afraid I don’t have time for ‘lunch’ today. I’ve got a two o’clock with Blythe Summers I need to prepare for and I went to get started on reading everything we have on the Bainbridges.”
“Okay. Sure. Yeah, I’ve got stuff to do, too.” He looks down at the ground and kicks at a loose thread in the carpeting there.
And he’s pouting, which is ridiculous. It’s not like I said, “Ew, gross, having sex with you is a totally repulsive idea.” I have work to do. Important work. And that has to take priority over our recreational activities for the time being. I shouldn’t have to explain this to him.
We arrive at the ninth floor, and I dart through the doors. “I’ll touch base with you when I get back from my meeting,” I throw over my shoulder in parting to Josh. If he says something back, I don’t hear it because I’m already headed for my office, making a mental list of everything I want to accomplish by the end of the day.
Chapter 13
(Willa)
I unlatch the gate that allows access to the back yard from the side of the Victorian, and an excited Cicero bolts through, pulling his leash out of my hand. When I catch up to him on the far side of the yard, he’s trying to make friends with a gorgeous golden retriever who’s lounging on the grass, a few feet away from the rose bushes Brody is tending to. As Brody just got the go-ahead from Sloane yesterday afternoon, this is his first official day on the job. So, Cicero and I are sort of like the Welcome Committee.
“Hiya.” I wave at him. It’s unseasonably warm for June (seventy-four degrees is tantamount to a tropical heat wave in San Francisco), and he’s dressed accordingly in cargo shorts and a navy tee, with some green camo sneakers on his feet. “Cicero and I were next door visiting Mrs. Langley and Mr. Cuddles and we thought we’d stop by and see how things are going. Plus, share some of these oatmeal raisin cookies fresh from the oven.” I indicate the saran wrap-covered plate that our kindly, old neighbor gave me. Although I protested that I couldn’t possibly eat so many, she insisted on sending me home with a couple dozen.
Squinting up at me, Brody says, “Sounds like a good excuse to take a b
reak.” He rises from the ground, brushes the dirt and grass from his knees, then removes his work gloves.
I roll the plastic wrap back and pass the cookie plate to Brody. Cicero immediately runs over and assumes the begging position, tongue hanging adorably out the side of his mouth. “Nice try. You know you can’t have raisins,” I tell him, bending down to unhook the leash he’s still dragging around. “Why don’t you introduce me to your new friend?” I lean my head toward Brody’s canine companion.
Wagging his tail, Cicero trots over to the golden. He loves hanging out with other members of his doggy brethren and he’s already decided that this pretty lady is going to be his new BFF, even though she appears to be completely indifferent to him. I lower myself to the ground in front of her, place my purse next to me, and assume the Lotus Position, which I learned from Tommy when he was in training to be a yogi.
“Hello, Roxie,” I greet the blonde beauty while Cicero does a little dance on his hind legs, trying to impress her.
Hearing a choking noise coming from above me, I gaze up at Brody, shielding my eyes from the sun with my hand.
“Mow did roo–” His mouth is stuffed with cookie, so crumbs spill out when he tries to talk. He’s obviously confused as to how I know his dog’s name.
I tap my temple and smile. “Pet psychic, remember.” Not waiting for him to respond, I ask, “Is Roxie short for Roxanne?”
He nods, still chewing.
“So, you must be a fan of The Police song, or maybe Cyrano de Bergerac.”
He swallows, making it possible for him to speak intelligibly again. “Both, and the Steve Martin movie, too. It suits her, don’t you think?”
“Absolutely. You rescued her when she was a few years old, right? She came from a puppy mill?”
Brody looks incredulous, which means I nailed it. “You’re scary.”
I chuckle. “You’ll get used to it. Is she always like this?”
“Like what?” He shoves another chunk of cookie between his lips.
“Listless, disengaged. Most dogs get hyped-up when they meet new people or come into contact with other dogs, but she’s barely lifted her head since we got here. There’s nothing wrong with her physically . . .”
“So, you’re a vet now?” He raises an eyebrow questioningly.
“No, but I’d sense it if she felt unwell. Hold on . . .” I lift Roxie’s chin and stare into her dark eyes for a second before determining, “You’ve been feeding her the wrong soft food. She’s not a fan of the stuff in the can with the pink label. It’s got a strong odor that’s very off-putting and it tastes even worse than it smells.” I crinkle my nose with disgust when I get hit with that sense memory. “Must be salmon-flavored. Okay, so you are not a pescatarian. Message received, Miss Roxie.” I affectionately ruffle the fur on top of her head.
Brody frowns. “I thought the pink label was what she always ate.”
“No, it’s the food in the can with the yellow label she likes, the chicken-flavored.” Apparently, Brody’s not very detail-oriented, or maybe he’s been off his game lately because something’s been distracting him.
“So, we’ll pick up some chicken-flavored soft food on the way home. Problem solved.”
“Would be nice if it were that easy . . .” I glance down at Roxie, who doesn’t seem to have perked up any since disclosing her dietary complaints to me. “. . . but I think the food issue is just the tip of the iceberg here. Have you ever noticed that pets’ moods and behaviors are often reflective of their owners’? Dogs in particular are very empathetic creatures; they’re more tuned into our emotions than we realize.”
Brody suddenly becomes very twitchy; his eyes slide away from mine and he starts scratching his neck like something just bit him. “Uh, well, if that’s true, then Roxie’s probably feeling a bit stressed since I’ve got a lot of work to get done here. In fact, I really need to get back to it. Thanks for the cookies.” He re-covers the plate and hands it down to me, then walks away as quickly as he can without actually breaking into a sprint, ending up at the rose bushes on the opposite end of the garden.
“Okay then, I’ll just play with the dogs,” I say to his retreating back, but he doesn’t acknowledge that he’s heard me.
Something strange is going on here. Not just with Roxie, but with Brody. One minute he’s eating cookies and we’re having a pleasant chat, then the next he’s giving me the brush-off. He shut down when I mentioned the emotional tie that some dogs have with their owners. I must have hit too close to home and he didn’t want me to dig any deeper, so that’s why he ran off. I don’t want to get in Brody’s business . . . All right, maybe I do, because I’m curious by nature and he has exhibited some puzzling behavior both times we’ve been face-to-face. Standoffish and a bit gruff in the green room, but then I drew him out and he was relatively amiable. Somewhat sociable today, but then he got uptight and bailed. There has to be some underlying reason for all this, and I think it behooves me to solve the mystery so that I can aid Roxie, who is clearly in some kind of funk. That’s my job, right? Giving a voice to animals so that their owners can understand them and their needs better.
Of course, my assistance in these matters is usually requested, and Brody might not appreciate me sticking my nose in where it doesn’t belong. What to do, what to do. I glance over at Brody, who’s now industriously clipping things off the rose bushes, without his protective gloves, then I swivel back to look at Roxie. She puts her head down with a sigh. Yes, she sighed. Dogs can do that you know. It’s not just a human thing. Okay, decision made. I can’t stand by and watch this poor dog suffer when it’s in my power to help her.
I reposition myself so that I’m lying tummy down on the grass, with the cookies next to me. When Cicero makes a move toward the plate, I shake my head “no” and motion for him to sit, which to my surprise he does. Propping up my head by placing it in my hands, I gaze searchingly at Roxie. “Do you want to tell me what’s wrong?” I inquire in a soft voice.
At first, I get nothing from her, but all of a sudden the floodgates open and images start pouring in, accompanied by some very strong emotions. The onslaught of information takes me a few minutes to sort through and process. “Wow!” I whisper in amazement. “That explains a lot about him.” I sneak a peek over my shoulder at Brody, who’s still hard at work and doing his best to pretend I’m not there.
“I appreciate you sharing that with me, Roxie, and don’t worry. I’ll have a chat with your daddy about this, and we’ll get it all straightened out.” I give her paw a reassuring pat. Standing up, I confirm that I don’t have any bits of nature stuck to me and adjust my top which has slid off my shoulder, leaving a lacy, pink bra strap exposed. I deposit the cookie plate on the table between the Adirondack chairs and push it as far back from the edge as I can (I’m not taking any chances on another quiche incident!), then march purposefully over to Brody who’s now digging around in the dirt with his hands.
“The roses are looking much better already!” I enthuse, employing my usual m.o. of saying something positive before getting to the unpleasant stuff.
“Thanks.” Brody pulls a bandana out of his shorts’ back pocket and uses it to wipe some beads of perspiration off the back of his tanned neck. “A few weeks of TLC and these roses will be flourishing again. I’m really fascinated by how your grandmother set this garden up. She’s got floribunda mixed in with hybrid tea roses and miniatures. So many varieties and colors and several have cross-pollinated seemingly on their own as I’ve seen no evidence of grafting.”
“Uh huh, interesting.” He lost me at floribunda. I really do want to be educated about my grandmother’s flowers, how to take care of them, etcetera, but right now there’s a more pressing issue. “Listen, Brody . . .” I pause to swat at a fly that’s buzzing around my face and also to stall for time while I search for the right words. This is a sensitive subject, after all, and I want to approach it in the correct way – show the proper concern, but not overstep my bounds.
“Roxie’s sad because you’re sad,” I blurt out. Oooops – so much for handling the situation with kid gloves.
“What?” I can’t tell if he’s mad, insulted, or both. Whatever he’s feeling, it’s not good, judging by the glower he’s directing at me. “I’m not sad. Do I look sad?”
“Um, well . . .” Scrunching up my face, I survey him. “It’s not so much the way you look, but you have had this aura . . .,” I make circular motions in the air around him to indicate the energy he emanates, “. . . of unhappiness surrounding you since we first met. Of course, that’s to be expected given the circumstances. You have every right to be feeling miserable and out of sorts. Divorce is incredibly difficult. I know I was a wreck when my husband and I spli–”
“Whoa!” Brody holds up a soil-covered hand to stop the words of commiseration that are tumbling out of my mouth. “How the hell did you know I’m getting a divorce? And don’t tell me that Roxie clued you in, because there is no way a dog can grasp the concept of something like a marriage breaking up.”
I explained this to him before, but I guess it bears repeating. “Ninety-nine percent of the time animals don’t communicate with me via words; they rely on sights and the feelings associated with them. Roxie saw divorce papers. Actually, she chewed on divorce papers, so she got a good look at them. She’s also seen a lot of you sitting around your house, by yourself, staring mindlessly at the TV, eating pizza out of a box night after night, and it’s bumming her out. She misses you playing with her and taking her for long walks.”
“I still do that,” he grumbles, then turns away from me and starts stripping yellow-spotted leaves off one of the sicker-looking rose bushes.
I eye him with skepticism. “Do you?”
“When I can,” he says testily, “when I’m not busy with work. That was one of Justine’s big complaints about me, by the way. She thought I was obsessed with my work. She accused me of caring more about my roses than I did her, which was bullshit. She was just trying to put a guilt trip on me, so I’d take that job offer from Pendelton Pharmaceuticals.” Finishing with the leaves for the time being, he picks up the scissors-like tool with long handles that he was using earlier.