The Candy Bar Complete - 4 book box set: Candy Bar Series

by Patrice Wilton

  I laughed, because it was funny. Then I drank deeply from my wine glass, watching him from over the rim. I could play this game. No problem. “Excellent wine, by the way.”

  “My favorite.” He showed me the bottle. “A nice ’87 Margaux.”

  “Hmm. French.” I sipped again. “Delicious.”

  He watched me lick my lips and then he glanced away. “I better go and put those towels in the dryer,” he said, practically knocking over a chair in his haste.

  Perfect! I thought. Now I have him exactly where I want him. Backing away.

  * * *

  Seven-thirty A.M. the telephone rang. Without looking at the caller I.D., I picked up. “Hi, Alexei.”

  “So how did it go with Jed?”

  “Great! I think he wants out as much as you do.”

  “He does?” Her voice sounded surly. “So, what is he willing to give me?”

  “Everything but the kids. Sounds like a nice package, doesn’t it?”

  “How can you say that? Oh, I forgot, you’re not a mother. Only a mother would know that nothing, nothing in the world would be worth giving up her kids.”

  Now that I was really listening, I could hear the insincerity in her voice. “Then, can you imagine how he feels?”

  “No, and I don’t care. He can see them whenever he wants. I’m not keeping them away. He can have them for summer vacations, a few days around the holidays, anytime he wants.”

  She was starting to piss me off. Kids are never supposed to be used as pawns in a relationship. It was not an acceptable means of warfare. And as happy as I am to get my clients out of bad marriages, and get them huge settlements in the bargain, protecting children comes first.

  “I think he wants his children around, not half way across the country.” I knew my voice was edgy but I couldn’t help it.

  “It sounds as if you’re on his side.”

  “I’m not on anybody’s side. It’s not my job requirement to decide right or wrong, good or bad, who deserves what, or did what to whom. If I had to do that, I’d be a nut case.” I sighed, “I’m just saying that he’s willing to be extra generous if you’d stay in Florida, or give him sole custody of the kids.”

  “Did he say how much? Oh, don’t answer, I don’t want to know. I’m not giving them up, and that’s final. You can tell him that for me.”

  “Hal can pass the information on to Clive. I’m no longer involved, remember?”

  “Right.” Alex missed a half-beat then said, “Oh, I do have one request. Stay away from Jed.”

  The warning, I thought, came a little too late. If only I had known to stay away from him the night we were at the Candy Bar. But, I can’t undo the past; I can only control the future.

  “Of course, Alexei.” I sighed, as if the whole thing pained me. “I didn’t want to help, but the poor man was desperate. The kids needed somebody with them while he ran off to the store.”

  “Yeah, I got that.” Her voice curdled like sour cream. “You helped him out this once. Don’t do it again.”

  Big mistake.

  I’m one of these people who don’t like to be told what to do, especially by someone who’s not signing the checks. Plus, it just irks me big time.

  * * *

  I was feeling much happier once the doctor removed my cast. My ankle was still a little tender, but definitely on the mend. Not that I would be running on it anytime soon, but I could resume normal activity, and that was fine with me. I was dying to get back to work before my brain turned to mush. How many news and documentaries could one watch? And reruns of Sex and the City? If I saw Samantha give one more blow job I’d spew all over.

  After countless calls to the office, Hal finally picked up. “Hal! It’s Lydia. Just want you to know my cast is off and I’m ready to return to work on Monday.” Frowning, I repeated, “Stay home? Why?”

  “I asked Fran for your personal records and I see that you haven’t taken your allotted vacation time in the five years you’ve been here. You’ll burn out at this rate.”

  “No, I won’t,” I whined. “I love working. It’s my life.”

  “Although I admire your dedication to your job, I insist that you take your holiday each year, starting now.”

  “But…”

  “No, buts. This Perkins-Harrison case has the potential to be a thorn in our side until they reach some kind of settlement. We both want Alexei to be a satisfied client and she’s a bit wired if you ask me. I’m afraid that if you came back right now, she’d dump Marcia and demand you.”

  “Marcia? Marcia Holmes is her attorney now? I thought it was you.” I’m not sure why that bothered me, but it did. There was something about the woman I didn’t trust, and I have good instincts.

  “No, no, I’m too busy and she wanted a woman.”

  I didn’t think he needed to add, “Marcia’s the best. She’s in good hands.”

  “Yes, of course. But…”

  “Enjoy yourself. Take a nice trip somewhere. Come back in three weeks.”

  “I don’t want to go anywhere. I want to come back to work.” I had to stop pleading or I would look even more pathetic than I already felt. “I’ve got a couple of cases I’m working on.”

  “Can you do them at home?”

  “Sure. I’d rather be in the office, but…”

  “That’s it then. We’ll see you back here in three weeks.”

  Disappointment punched me in the gut. I missed the office buzz, the interaction with my colleagues, and how the job made me feel about myself. But he was the boss. And if he didn’t want me around, that was all there was to it.

  “Sure. That will work out fine. Could you please ask Fran to messenger over my files?”

  * * *

  Fran rang the buzzer, and I told her to come up, glad that she’d opted to bring my files herself. This way I could still get the office gossip.

  Hearing her gentle knock, I opened the door, but instead of seeing her, I saw Jed leaning on my door-post. Fran was right behind him.

  I eyed one and then the other. Fran was pink cheeked, and Jed was wearing a cocky grin.

  “What’s up? Fran, why is Jed here with you?”

  Jed answered. “I held the elevator for her, and then discovered we were both going to the same floor. She followed me to your door.”

  “I know why Fran is here, but what do you want?”

  “Wondered if you had any antibiotic cream? And a bandage or two.”

  “I might. Why?”

  “Some idiot driver was trying to park and backed into me.”

  I glanced down at his leg and saw a big black and blue bruise on his thigh and a trickle of blood. “Oh, my gosh! You’re bleeding, Jed.”

  “It’s just a scratch.”

  I took a closer look and wished I hadn’t. He was wearing running shorts which were indecently short, revealing long, lean legs with well sculpted muscles. Should be outlawed, shorts like that on a man like him.

  It probably wasn’t very nice of me to tease. “I’ve got a crutch if you need it.”

  “Keep it. With you it might come in handy.” His eyes contained an unnatural spark. “Hey, no neck brace and no cast?”

  “Nope. I took the neck thing off after a couple of days. Damn thing was killing me. And the doctor removed the cast yesterday. I’m good as new.”

  He gave me the old one up and one down. “Better.”

  I tried not to smile. He shouldn’t be flirting with me, he really shouldn’t. And it was wrong on every level to flirt back, while his wife was represented by our firm. So I said, “Come on in, Fran. Jed, wait here. I’ll get you something for your leg, and then you can go home.”

  Fran moved past Jed into the hallway. Her face flushed, and I could see she thought I was being extremely rude, but she didn’t know the half of it, did she?

  I dashed off to the medicine cabinet and brought him a handful of supplies. “That should do the trick. And watch where you’re running in future. Stay away from parked cars.”
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  He smiled, a slow, sexy smile. “Thanks for your concern.”

  “Say hello to Alexei for me.” There, that wiped the smile off his too cocky face.

  “Bye, Jed.” Fran said. “Good luck with the leg.”

  “Thanks, Fran.” He looked at me. “I wanted to talk to you. I’ll call you later.”

  I sniped, “I can’t talk to you about your case, so don’t call and don’t ask.” I started to shut the door on him, but he barred it with his foot.

  “My barbeque is coming next week.” He gave me his most appealing smile. “Meanwhile, can I borrow yours?”

  “No.”

  He looked past me towards the patio where the Weber gas grill sat next to an inviting table for two. “That’s okay. I’ll just eat a sandwich or something. Don’t worry about me.”

  “I won’t.” I pushed the door against his foot. “Goodbye, Jed.”

  Having gotten rid of him, I turned to Fran. “Thanks for bringing this over.” I took the files out of her arms and dumped them on my computer desk. “I can’t wait to get to work. A week of being idle was boring me into a slow death.”

  Fran followed me inside and immediately began to rave about my apartment. When I moved in I recruited my brothers to paint the walls as everything was a builder’s boring beige, and I like color. My living room walls were a soft blue, and I’d jazzed them up with some bold artwork. I had some interesting sculptures on pedestals that I’d found in a few South Beach shops. The kitchen was one of my favorite rooms. It was sunny yellow, with a burnt orange granite backdrop and counter-top, and I had an array of copper pots, vases of various heights, and silk floral arrangements perched on top of the high cabinets.

  “My apartment is about half the size and I overlook the parking garage. When I answered the ad, they called it ‘the city view’. It’s more like the ‘city dump.’”

  “I’m sure it’s nice. You have good taste.” Actually I wasn’t all that sure. I really didn’t know much about Fran. She dressed in frumpy clothes and acted like she was past her prime, but her face and skin looked as unlined as mine. She either used a fabulous line of skin care, or was younger than she appeared.

  “No, it’s true. I keep saying I’m going to move, but I never do.”

  At the end of the three minute tour, Fran asked, “Why were you so rude to Jed? I know you represented his wife and probably hoped to nail his ass, but…”

  “No, I don’t have anything against him. I never make it personal. It’s just that Marcia is now Alexei’s attorney, and I prefer not to get too friendly. That’s all.”

  “Too bad. He’s a hunk.”

  “I suppose.” Yeah, he was a hunk all right. A hunk of trouble. And the last thing I needed, the very last, was an unavailable guy to distract me. I had to maintain focus or Marcia or someone else would scoop that next partnership, and I’d be sitting around wondering what happened. Like the last two times.

  “You suppose? What are you wearing? Blinders?” Fran wore a Mona Lisa smile on her lips. “Boy, what I’d do to him if I got the chance.”

  “Fran!”

  She made a face. “I know. I’m too old to think about sex, right?”

  “Of course not.”

  How old was she anyway? Forty, fifty? I honestly couldn’t tell. Some people are born old while others never age. Fran was the former.

  “I just didn’t think you did.”

  “Well, I do.” Her cheeks grew pink. “Not very often, but once in awhile.”

  I had to bite the inside of my cheek to keep from smiling. “So do I. Once in a while.”

  “So, what do you do about it? I’ve never known you to date, Lydia. I mean, I’m sure you do, but nobody talks about it.”

  “I went out with Stephen for nearly two years.”

  “No kidding? I thought I knew all the goings on at the office—who’s doing what to whom.” She bristled. “Not that I’m a busy-body, but it’s my job to know.”

  “Everybody else knew; how could you have missed it?” I smiled, remembering. “It was fun at the start. Sneaking off together for lunch, meeting over the coffee counter or water cooler, sharing special meaningful glances when we thought nobody was looking. No wonder sex is so rampant in the work place. It’s exciting.”

  “Like Marcia and Ted.”

  “No way! Marcia’s got to be at least ten years older than him. And I thought he was gay.”

  “We all did, but I don’t think so anymore. I don’t personally see what Marcia sees in a guy like Ted, but she goes after what she wants, and I bet she doesn’t take no for an answer.” Fran hitched her butt on the kitchen stool. “If they aren’t doing it, they are at least thinking about it. So what happened between you and Stephen?”

  “He decided to take this job offer in Washington and he didn’t ask me to go with him.”

  “What a creep.”

  I may have loved Stephen even more than I did Kevin, but I couldn’t be sure—there had been too many years in between. I was not totally innocent when I met Kevin, but he had been my first real love, and I like to think he meant the things he said, and that he loved me too. But Stephen was different. He was a rare breed of man. He could make a woman—that would be me—feel as though nobody else existed. Every moment spent with him had been special.

  I was always self-conscious because of my height, and he was only an inch taller than me. One evening we had a black tie dinner to attend and I was stepping into low heels when he stopped me. He told me he wanted every eye in the room on me as we walked through the door. He told me how proud he was of me, how stunning I looked, and how much he desired me.

  He would undress me as though I were a prize possession. After a long day at work he’d massage my entire body, paying attention to my aching muscles, then run a tub full of scented bubbles. He’d make love to me in the bath with the soft flicker of candles our only light, and tell me over and over how beautiful I was and how much he loved me.

  Stephen was unique—a one of a kind. He listened to every word that came out of my mouth. He worshipped my body. I didn’t understand at the time what he found so fascinating about me, and I guess that after awhile he didn’t either.

  His leaving was so brutal, the pain so palpable, I could feel it with every breath I took. I made up my mind I’d never experience that agony again. So I focused on my career, and occasionally invited a man into bed when I had the urge. It might not suit some people, but it worked for me.

  Fran seemed to understand my reluctance to talk about my affair with Stephen and didn’t pry.

  “I’m sorry it didn’t work out,” is all she said.

  “He did me a favor.” I pulled myself together. “I’m not cut out to be a wife and mother. My career always came first and I think he realized that.”

  She gazed past my shoulder, staring out the window. “Not me. I loved being married.” Her voice grew husky. “My husband was killed in a helicopter crash in Maui on our fifth wedding anniversary. The pilot and John died on impact but I was in the back seat. I lost our baby and spent the better part of a year in and out of hospitals, but I survived. That was the worst part. I had to go on living without him.”

  “Jeez, Fran.” I leaned forward and squeezed her hand. “What can I say? Sorry doesn’t even begin to describe it.”

  “I shouldn’t have told you.” She dabbed at her eyes. “There’s no point really. It happened so long ago.” She composed herself. “Nine years. Time to get over it.”

  “You will. You are. And it does help to talk about it. If I can do anything, just ask.”

  Fran smiled, and suddenly she was no longer plain. Playfully, she flipped her hair. “Okay, here’s the deal. During one of your divorce cases if a nice man happens to come along and you don’t want him, think of me.”

  I smiled back at her, seeing a part of Fran, a women I’d worked with for years, that I’d never guessed was there. “You’ve got it.”

  “But I think you should keep Jed to yourself. He’s a doll.”<
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  “He’s a nuisance, that’s what he is.”

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  A few days after my conversation with Fran my sister surprised me with a quick visit. Our family is pretty tight, but Shannon and I were only two years apart and tighter than tight. We pretty much told each other everything. She came right out with what was on her mind.

  “So at Mom and Dad’s the other night, you said you were thinking about getting some man’s sperm. Were you serious about wanting to get pregnant?”

  I rolled my eyes.

  She hurried on, “It would be perfectly natural for you to be thinking about it. You’d make a wonderful mother and if that’s what you want to do, you should.”

  My lips twitched and I shook my head.

  “You weren’t serious, then?” She raised an eyebrow. “You were just egging them on?”

  “What do you think? Of course I don’t want kids.” I laughed. “Look at yours.”

  We were sitting at the table drinking tea while Kylie, her two-year-old, ran around the kitchen, dragging out pots and pans. He squealed with delight every time he smashed them together in a cacophonous, nerve-twitching, ear-popping sound.

  “Stop that.” She spoke to him quietly. “Lydia doesn’t like that noise.”

  Sure, blame it on me. I grimaced. “Come here, baby. Come have a cookie.”

  He dropped the pot and it rattled on the floor. He pushed himself up and his thick little legs wobbled as he came toward me. I lifted him onto my lap, but he immediately began to squirm.

  “He doesn’t like me,” I said to Shannon.

  “Of course he does. Just jiggle him a little.”

  I was always awkward around toddlers. I started jiggling my knee and bouncing him on my lap, but he whimpered anyway. “Here.” I handed him the cookie. “Eat the cookie, honey. Yum. It’s good.”

  His chubby little fingers clasped the cookie and stuffed it in his mouth. Half of it went in, the other half landed in my lap. He wriggled his plump behind, and I saw the remnants of the cookie smear on my white shorts.

  “Cookie,” he cried, grabbing the one on my plate.

  “That one was mine,” I started to say, then saw his face. “But you can have it.”