Twin Piques

by Tracie Banister

  The answer is a resounding, “YES!” of course, but I can’t very well say that out loud. I’ll just have to prove my worth to Mr. Bainbridge through actions. He gives me the names of the other men with him, who are all members of his staff at Bainbridge Development Companies.

  “My lawyer got waylaid by an urgent call on the way in, but she’ll be here shortly,” he explains his lack of counsel.

  She? I thought his attorney was Edmund Reece, senior partner at Chapman, Brown and Reece and one of the most cutthroat divorce lawyers in San Francisco. Reece’s high profile clients have a history of coming out on top, which is why I felt a little sorry for Mrs. Bainbridge when I first saw his name in the legal papers. So, who’s this she Bainbridge is talking about? Did he change lawyers? That would be highly irregular at this point in the proceedings. I can’t believe no one bothered to inform our office about this.

  I’m about to ask what’s going on when Josh says, “If you and your team would like to take a seat . . .,” and sweeps a hand toward the conference table. I notice that Renee and her lawyer have already situated themselves on the far side of the table, and she’s avoiding having to make eye contact with her soon-to-be ex by focusing all of her attention on the phone in her hands, which she’s furiously texting on. I can only imagine what those messages might say . . .

  “Rat bastard just arrived – SMH! Was hoping he’d been hit by bus.”

  “J wearing tight European-cut suit. Thinks he’s 007. Bet he needed man Spanx to get into it.”

  “What would hurt more – hot coffee in face, strangulation by $300 necktie, or yanking out handful of hair plugs?”

  “Simmons, would you get Mr. Bainbridge some coffee? How do you like it, sir?” Josh is being very obsequious; he should probably dial it back a bit. We’re not supposed to be playing favorites.

  “Black, two sugars.” Bainbridge’s coffee order elicits a brief reaction from Renee. She lifts her eyes from her phone, gives her husband a reproving look, then quickly drops them again. Not sure what that was about. Maybe Bainbridge is pre-diabetic and he shouldn’t be putting sugar in things.

  “I would love a cup,” says a female voice from behind me. “With a soupçon of reduced-fat hazelnut creamer. But don’t bother if it’s not a Colombian roast. Coffee’s not worth drinking if it doesn’t come from Colombia, preferably the Bucaramanga region.”

  No way.

  No freakin’ way.

  This high-maintenance coffee snob who pretentiously uses French words and her knowledge of world geography to show off how superior she thinks she is can’t possibly be . . . Nope, I’m just sleep-deprived and I’m hallucinating, that’s all this is. I’ll just turn around and introduce myself to this woman who is definitely one hundred percent not–

  “Thea,” I say the name flatly when I see her smug, pointy face and stupid, short hair. She might go to some overpriced, chichi salon for upkeep on that messy pixie cut of hers, but I’m pretty sure the result would be the same if she did it herself with a Flowbee. I really am astounded by my bad luck. Seriously, universe, of all the female divorce lawyers in the Bay Area, this is the one who has to represent James Bainbridge? Gav’s ex, my mortal enemy, the most overbearing, arrogant, ridiculously competitive woman on the planet. I must have done something really crappy in a previous life to deserve this.

  “Hello, Sloane.” She purses her glossy crimson lips and narrows eyes defined by smoky shadow and liquid liner at me. (Dramatic makeup is the norm for glam queen Thea. I’ve seen the woman clean out her cat’s litter box while wearing false eyelashes and shimmer powder.) “You look confused. I hope you’re not out of your depth with this matrimonial dispute. Of course, you’ve got one, two . . .” She cranes her neck, which is short and stubby just like her legs, to look over my shoulder, “. . . three colleagues here to hold your hand, so I’m sure they can bail you out if need be.”

  I want to punch her in her perfectly straight, obviously fake nose, then smear that garish red lipstick all over her pale, vampiric face, but I won’t because that’s what she wants – to throw me off my game and make me doubt myself so that I’ll screw up at this meeting. Not gonna happen, bitch.

  Trying to smile sweetly (I have to channel Willa.), I say, “I’m confused because I was given to understand that Mr. Bainbridge had retained the legal services of Edmund Reece, and it doesn’t make sense that he would replace a lawyer of Mr. Reece’s caliber with, well . . . you.”

  Thea glowers and I’m certain she’s about to toss some barbed remark back at me, but Josh interrupts before she can.

  “Hello.” He offers Thea his hand, along with his most charming smile, probably the same one he used to get under cheerleaders’ skirts back in college. “I’m Josh Finley, Senior Manager. I sent Parker to the kitchen for your reduced-fat hazelnut creamer. He should be back in a second.”

  Oh, please, please, let Parker botch this like he does everything else and put regular creamer in her coffee. The thought of highly caloric globs of fat coursing through Thea’s system and ending up on her non-existent hips fills me with glee.

  “You’re very kind, Mr. Finley,” she simpers while shaking his hand, holding on just a moment longer than she should. “Mind if I call you ‘Josh?’ Seems fitting since Sloane and I are already on a first-name basis.”

  “You are?” He gives me a questioning look.

  “We know each other through a mutual . . . friend.” That doesn’t seem like the right classification for Gav for either of us, but I’m supposed to be in work mode here, so launching into a long-winded explanation of how close and complicated my relationship with Gav is, and how he might have married Thea if I hadn’t worked overtime trying to talk him out of it, wouldn’t really be appropriate.

  “Hmmmm, small world,” Josh remarks. “Shall we get this meeting started?” He ushers us over to the conference table where Mr. Bainbridge is standing in a group with his men, his back turned to his estranged wife who’s still occupied by her phone. Mrs. B gets a tap on the shoulder from her attorney and she gazes up. When she sees Thea, she looks taken aback, then suspicious.

  “What is this, James?” she asks irritably. “Where’s Edmund Reece? Did you decide you’d rather be represented by someone with breasts? I’m surprised you haven’t bought her a new pair yet, like you did with Madison. You do realize that sleeping with your lawyer creates a conflict of interest, right? I can have her disbarred for that, can’t I, Leo?”

  Okay, not only did Renee Bainbridge just imply that Thea was flat-chested, she also accused her of having sexual relations with a client and threatened to ruin her career all in the same breath. I need to update my status from liking this woman to having a massive girl crush on her. If it didn’t behoove me to maintain my professional decorum, I’d reach across this conference table right now and give her a high five.

  “You are such a vindictive, delusional shrew–,” Mr. Bainbridge seethes, but Thea silences him with a touch on the arm.

  “Mrs. Bainbridge, I’m afraid you’ve misread the situation. I am now Mr. Bainbridge’s attorney, but only because Edmund Reece, my mentor at Chapman, Brown and Reece, was taken ill unexpectedly yesterday. As I’m the one most familiar with his caseload, it was decided by the other partners that I should step in and fulfill his professional obligations.”

  “I’m sorry to hear that,” Josh interjects. “I hope Mr. Reece will be okay.”

  Thea sighs and makes a face that should convey sadness, but looks more like constipation. “He had a massive heart attack and is undergoing a triple-bypass later today. It will be a long recovery period, most likely several months. I’m just glad that I have the knowledge and expertise needed to take his place . . .” There’s a pregnant pause before she adds, “. . . temporarily.”

  Uh huh. Edmund Reece better watch his back. Thea’s always been a schemer and an opportunist, so she’ll probably go All About Eve on his ass when he’s not there to protect his position at the firm. Hell, I wouldn’t be surprised if she
slipped some heart attack-inducing drug (probably a double dose of Viagra – any man Thea’s dating would need it, so she’d have easy access) in his morning latte to facilitate this whole rise to power for herself.

  “Thank you for clarifying that for us, Ms. Nichols,” I say with the requisite politeness. “Now, why doesn’t everyone take a seat and we’ll proceed?”

  Parker returns with Thea’s coffee. I can see that the cup is filled almost to the brim and even though I know it’s incredibly petty and immature, I find myself fantasizing that he’ll spill some of the hot, brown liquid on her lap, staining, and hopefully ruining, her buff-colored pants. Unfortunately, all he does is slosh a little bit of the coffee on a stack of papers she just pulled from her briefcase. I do have the satisfaction of seeing her look extremely pissed when Parker tries to mop up the mess, just making it worse. Finally, she waves him off with disgust.

  “Mr. and Mrs. Bainbridge,” I address the divorcing couple, “thank you both for coming today. This firm has been retained to conduct a comprehensive forensic audit on your income and assets for the purposes of presenting the court with all the data needed to make a determination on matters including (but not limited to): division of property and monies, as well as child and spousal support. Lifestyle reviews on both parties will be done, as will analyses on everything from sources and uses of cash to electronic evidence. Counsel, do you have the preliminary financial disclosures I requested?”

  “Right here.” Leo passes the documents up to me, as does Thea.

  “I hope you remembered to list your overseas accounts, the safe deposit boxes where you have cash stashed all over the state, and the money and stocks you transferred into accounts that were opened with your girlfriend’s social security number,” Renee goads her husband. “His girlfriend is my twenty-three-year-old niece, by the way,” she tells the rest of the table. “Her mother, my sister, refuses to speak to me now thanks to Mr. Midlife Crisis over there, so that’s another relationship he’s ruined with his lies and selfishness.”

  This is the first I’m hearing of that salacious tidbit. YIKES No wonder Renee hates James’s guts. Bad enough he robbed the cradle – why’d he have to do it from his wife’s family’s nursery? I wonder if this niece is the Madison who was mentioned by Renee earlier, the one James bought new boobs for.

  “These allegations are specious and unfounded,” Thea declares, sounding bored, probably because she repeats this phrase a lot in her line of work. “Your client’s grasping at straws, Leo.”

  Was she? I’m flipping through the financial disclosure provided by Thea and I’ve yet to see any of the items referred to by Renee. Josh is looking at me questioningly, so I tap my chin with my Montblanc pen, that gesture being our secret code for, “We might have a problem.”

  “I won’t let you cheat me, or your daughter, out of the money that’s due us, James. You might have screwed over Nancy, but I’m not that bubble-headed. I lived with you for fifteen years; I know all your tricks.”

  Nancy must have been Wife Number One. I don’t recall her being mentioned in any of the bios I read about Bainbridge. I wonder if he’s got her stuffed in an attic somewhere.

  “Was it only fifteen? Because it seemed like fifty, you frigid bitch!” Bainbridge shouts. “And you’re not getting one dime from me until you return my mother’s ring. She accuses me of hiding things, but she . . .,” he directs my attention to Renee by pointing a finger at her, “. . . is the one who’s a thief. She’s in possession of stolen property, an heirloom that’s been in my family for generations, and I want it back!”

  “What is the estimated value of this ring, Mr. Bainbridge? Was it ever appraised?” I attempt to steer the conversation away from insults and allegations and back to facts.

  “$148,000. The ring has Burmese rubies in it and once belonged to Greta Garbo.”

  “You only want the ring so you can give it to Madison,” Renee spits. “Your mother entrusted that ring to me when she was on her death bed; she wanted Ava to have it – your daughter, not your half-plastic, pop star wannabe girlfriend. Of course, I should know better than to expect you to care about your child’s feelings and wishes. You’ve proven over and over again that you are the world’s worst father. I suppose Ava should just be grateful you acknowledge her existence; that’s more than your other kids can say.”

  “Other kids?” I glance up from the legal pad where I’ve been scribbling some notes.

  “He has illegitimate ones from all his affairs throughout the years. At least two that I know of, probably more. You’d think he’d learn his lesson and start practicing safe sex.”

  James Bainbridge opens his mouth to either refute or confirm Renee’s claim, but Thea keeps him quiet once more by patting him on the arm.

  “These alleged offspring are not germane to the case at hand, Mrs. Bainbridge, so I request that you desist from mentioning them in this slanderous fashion.”

  “My client just wants to make sure her daughter gets what’s rightfully hers,” Leo Warner asserts.

  “Unlike those other poor children whose mothers you paid a pittance to so that they’d keep their brats out of your life.”

  “Enough!” Bainbridge pounds his fist on the table. “I want that ring, Renee. Mother didn’t bequeath it to anyone in her will and I was her only heir, so everything that belonged to her is legally mine. Right?” he asks, turning to his attorney.

  “Absolutely. Leo, you should advise your client to surrender the ring before criminal charges are filed against her.”

  “I’m sure there will be no need for that,” I interject, trying to diffuse the situation. “However, I urge both parties to avail themselves of this opportunity to disclose all their assets, because I will find them during the course of the audit and it won’t reflect well–”

  “Renee thinks I have secret safe deposit boxes. You should check to see if she has any,” Bainbridge instructs. “I bet that’s where she’s got the ring.”

  I am so tired of hearing about this stupid ring! It’s not even worth that much when compared to Mr. Bainbridge’s other assets. Clearly, he just wants the damn thing because it’s important to Renee, and I’m secretly hoping she chucked the ring in the bay so that Bainbridge will never get his hands on it. I’d love to tell him to get over it so that we can move on, but that won’t win ATM more of his business, which is the goal according to my boss. So, I have to bite my tongue and humor this jerk.

  “Rest assured that I will be pursuing that line of investigation, Mr. Bainbridge. As I said, we are very thorough here at Ashby, Terhune, and McAllister. No stone is ever left unturned. Now, shall we review both of these financial disclosures and make sure that neither side has forgotten to list something?”

  Chapter 15

  (Sloane)

  The meeting with the Bainbridges drags on for another hour and a half, and I’m just about ready to knock their heads together by the time we all exit the conference room. Renee never did admit to having the missing ring, but she did regale us with a detailed account of how she and her daughter were both searched, along with every box and piece of luggage they took with them, before they were allowed to leave the Bainbridge home, a forty-three room Tudor-style mansion that’s actually worth fighting over unlike this trifling piece of jewelry they’re both so obsessed with. Renee said she was made to feel like a criminal that day and she will never forgive her husband for that. I don’t think he’s been losing any sleep over it. He certainly didn’t look guilt-ridden when he continued to deny that there was any truth to Renee’s claims about him hiding money.

  I walk Renee and her lawyer out to the reception area and bid them farewell, sending them toward the elevators, then I turn back to Bainbridge’s group, which Josh has been keeping a discreet distance away. Mr. B is on his cell phone, so we just exchange nods as he passes by with his entourage of assistants in tow. Thea and Josh are hanging back; she’s smiling and acting like she’s enthralled by whatever he’s saying. “I will definitely
do that,” I hear her tell him with a throaty chuckle as I approach. God only knows what they’re talking about and I really don’t care. I just want her to take her cauldron and her eye of newt and vacate the premises. I’ve had enough of her toxic presence for one day.

  When I join the two of them, Thea looks irritated. I can tell she wants to ignore me, but she can’t without showing her true colors to Josh. So, she decides to wrap things up instead. “Josh, it was so nice to meet you. Don’t hesitate to call if I can be of further assistance with the audit.” She hands him a sleek business card with an embossed logo. “I’m at your disposal.”

  She should be at my disposal. I’m the Senior Associate handling this case, not Josh. The wench is just going over my head to prove a point (that she considers me to be beneath her). UGH I really can’t stand her.

  “Sloane.” She gives me a tight smile that makes her eyes all squinty. “Good seeing you.” A bold-faced lie and we both know it. “Tell Gavin I said, ‘Hi.’”

  Yeah, I’ll be sure to do that right after I get my lady parts bedazzled and participate in one of those karaoke nights my co-worker, Carly, loves to plan, which is to say “never.”

  “Bye, Thea. Hope your boss,” I feel the need to remind her that she also has a superior, “is back on his feet and able to return to work soon.” Then he can thwart any plots she might be hatching to usurp him.

  “So do I,” she says unconvincingly before trotting off to the elevators.

  “You two don’t like each other very much, do you?” Josh murmurs as we head back toward the reception desk.

  “Very observant.”

  “Is this going to be a problem?” he wonders.

  “You know me better than that. When have I ever let personal feelings affect my work?”

  He’s about to respond when our receptionist, Danica, waves us over. “There’s someone waiting for you guys over there.” She points to the chairs and glass coffee table off to her right. “He has a delivery, but he wouldn’t let me sign for it. Said he needed to give it to each of you personally.”