The Cost of Happiness: A Contemporary Romance

by Braden, Magdalen

  “Lord no. This silk tulle is fantastic. And I checked the label. Mollie Stone.”

  “That’s good?”

  Kassie snorted. “It’s not Dior, but it’s what my mother would call ‘a good name.’ And at a proper vintage clothing shop, it would probably sell for seven hundred or so.”

  If Meghan had been wearing the high-heeled sandals, she’d probably have fallen on the floor. “Seven hundred dollars?” she hissed.

  “Don’t feel bad about this place. My mother’s on the board. They’re doing fine. They can afford to let you have it for a song. But shh, don’t say anything.”

  The saleswoman took Meghan’s money and handed her the dress, carefully folded and placed in a used shopping bag. Meghan felt like cradling it all the way back to Kassie’s car.

  “Okay, now that we’ve got the dress, we need a few more things,” Kassie said as she drove away. Ten minutes later, they were parked behind a tiny lingerie shop that appeared to be closed. Kassie knocked and a petite woman with hair the color of red wine let them in. Kassie had, it appeared, made an appointment for Meghan to be fitted for a proper bra.

  “I can’t afford this,” she whispered to Kassie.

  “No, but I can. As your fairy godmother, I get to supply something, right?”

  No way Meghan was going to make a scene. “Oh, all right.” She’d find a way to repay Kassie someday.

  It took nearly an hour, but at the end of it, Meghan had a delicate little shopping bag lined with the palest pink tissue paper cradling a nude strapless bra and matching lace panties. She was pretty sure she could have purchased an entire outfit for work for the same amount of money, but when she’d tried on the dress over the bra, she could see why she needed it. Once again, Kassie had been right.

  On the drive back to West Philly, Meghan tried to thank Kassie. “I still can’t believe I was that girl in the mirror.”

  “Don’t thank me yet. We have to find you shoes and a bag and I’ll need to do your hair and makeup on the night.”

  “No end to the fairy godmother business, is there?”

  Kassie grinned. “Not when it’s done right.”

  After the late summer chill of Casco Bay in September, Philadelphia was sweltering. Dan collected his car from long-term parking and headed for Meghan’s apartment. She hadn’t answered the phone, so maybe she was at Kassie’s place. Anyway, it was getting close to dinner time, so she had to come home soon to cook one of her new healthy meals.

  He’d missed her. He’d told everyone all about her, how smart she was, her sense of humor, how she’d cracked the SMS case. Chris had smiled, his sisters had rolled their eyes in their classic “we know what’s really going on” expression, and Mom had gotten that “I might be getting more grandkids” gleam in her eye. He’d wanted to tell her that he would marry Meghan, but it was premature to discuss that with his parents. They’d jump the gun…again…

  He called Meghan’s office phone at the oddest hours. He didn’t want to call her apartment. That felt too needy. Instead, he’d had a blast leaving her tiny messages. “Hi, hope you’re having fun.” Stuff like that. He figured she’d enjoy listening to them on Tuesday morning.

  Dan parked alongside the brick apartment building, grabbed his overnight bag and buzzed Meghan’s apartment. No answer. He couldn’t buzz Kassie’s place without her code, so he collected some of the mini-Sputnik seedpods at the base of the huge sycamore trees on 43rd. He lobbed them at Kassie’s windows. On the third Sputnik attack, the window slid open.

  “What?” Kassie demanded. Then she saw Dan. She turned away from the window. “It’s for you.”

  Meghan appeared behind the screen. “Dan? What are you doing here?”

  “Making a fool of myself, apparently. Can I come up?”

  “I’ll come down.”

  A faint voice said, “Okay, Juliet, your Romeo’s here. Now shut the window. You’re letting all my nice, cool air out.”

  A few minutes later, Meghan greeted him at the security gate. “Hi.”

  “Hi. Going to open the gate for me?”

  She looked startled, then laughed. “Yes, I am. I’m just surprised to see you.”

  He took her hand as they walked toward the door leading to her side of the building. “I came straight from the airport.”

  Before she could put her key in the front door, he dropped the suitcase and pulled her into his arms. “I missed you.”

  It was a kiss of homecoming. Who cared he’d only been gone for seventy-two hours. Anyway, it had felt longer.

  They kept kissing until someone behind them cleared his throat. “Uh, I need to get to the door.”

  “Sorry.”

  The guy—a pimply undergrad—shrugged. “It’s nice to see old folks getting it on.”

  Dan looked at Meghan. She just laughed.

  “Do you want to go to dinner?” Dan asked. She might not have enough to feed him.

  “No, it’s okay. I made a huge batch of cold soup today.” She led the way up the stairs.

  “Sounds yummy.” Sounded like an oxymoron—cold soup.

  “It is.” She caught his eye. “No, really. You dare to come here and then doubt my culinary abilities?”

  “Well, I didn’t entirely come for the food,” he admitted.

  “Tough. I haven’t eaten yet, so you can eat with me or go hungry.”

  “Cold soup sounds delicious. I’m just eager for dessert.”

  “Ha ha.”

  Over dinner—the soup was very good—they talked about their respective weekends. Dan described the annual lobster-and-clam bake on the tiny stretch of pebbly beach. Meghan told him about the fireworks and free concert she’d attended Friday night.

  “And on Saturday, I made this.” She got up from the table, returning with a small, lumpy red square.

  “It’s lovely. What is it?”

  “My first pot holder. I knit it.”

  Her face, glowing with happiness and pride, took Dan’s breath away. He’d seen her all buttoned up in a suit out-arguing Blackjack’s niece in the moot court. He’d seen her composed even in the presence of the firm’s chairman. He’d seen her understand the minutiae of technical specs described by engineers. But it was a small lumpy square of knitting that made her this proud.

  “I love you.” It was out of his mouth before he could pull it back.

  She clutched the pot holder tight to her chest. Her mouth was open and the look in her eyes—well, he couldn’t figure it out. She looked scared.

  Dan stood up and put his arms around her. “It’s okay. I’m sorry if I startled you. You looked so happy.”

  She pushed him a little, just enough for her to get her arms free. She wrapped them around his waist, resting her cheek on his shirt. He could feel the pot holder at his back.

  “It’s okay,” he said again, his lips against her hair.

  Oh, God. What was she supposed to say? She loved him so much and she knew it wasn’t going to work out, but she wanted it to, she really did. If she said the wrong thing, it would all unravel. He’d be upset or sad. He’d leave.

  Meghan kept her arms around him. It wouldn’t work forever, but for now, for this moment she could hold on to him.

  She tucked her face against his neck, smelling him. Smelling his skin and his desire for her. She wanted to believe she could smell his love for her, sweet and potent, but it was too hard to believe that’s what he felt. For her.

  She closed her eyes and breathed in. He smelled so perfect, sunny and happy. She’d missed him so much.

  Eventually, they both loosened their grip and pulled back. They returned to their food, the misshapen pot holder between them on the table. Dan picked it up to admire it more closely, which gave her time to calm down. They didn’t say anything more about her mini-meltdown.

  They rushed through the dishes and tidying up. Meghan could imagine Dan wanted to get to the bedroom. The shock was her own desire. She’d missed him in so many ways.

  The sex was great, bet
ter than ever. It even felt different, having Dan inside her, moving slowly, looking at her in the dim light of her bedroom.

  Somehow she managed not to cry out when she came. He kissed her forehead, then the delicate skin alongside her eyes, her cheeks, the ridge of her chin. He finished up at her mouth, kissing it over and over, as though he could make her happy simply through the power of his love.

  He loved her. He wasn’t the kind of man to say those words lightly. She wanted to believe this fixed everything. All she’d have to do is say, “I love you,” back to him and everything would be okay.

  Nothing went like that. She’d have to tell him about her mother, and that could end it. Oh, not that Dan would believe she’d had anything to do with her mother’s scam. But knowing who her mother was—what Bianca’d done—that would be bad enough. Shit like that would have to change his impression of her as someone worth loving.

  Suddenly, all her lies of omission piled up, like stinking laundry next to the bed. She’d gotten used to living with her past. She couldn’t share it, though, not with Dan. She curved her body around his, enjoying the illusion that the only thing she could smell was him.

  His love should make everything perfect. Instead, it was only going to make the loss that much more painful.

  When Meghan could tell Dan had fallen asleep, she forced herself to let go of him and rolled over to fall asleep alone.

  Chapter Twenty-One

  Meghan was amused to notice how much difference a weekend could make. Before Labor Day, back when it was still summer, work was sleepy and aimless. Three days later, the firm hummed with industry and purpose. The summer associates had left and the partners were back from their late-summer vacations. Courts were anxious to get their dockets cleared. Opposing counsel wanted to move litigation along. Philly’s weather might still be hot and humid outside. Inside, everyone was expected to crank the work out as though summer never happened.

  For Meghan, the days after Dan’s return from Maine flew by. Before she had a chance to panic about their big date, it was the Friday before the Fergusson Formal.

  Which meant it was two days before she decided what to do about Dan—admit that she loved him too. Or break up with him.

  It didn’t bear thinking about. Better to get some of the mindless work done. She pulled a stack of file folders toward her.

  She’d just managed to forget what tomorrow was when Dan called her into his office.

  When she got to his door, he rushed out. “Come with me.” He grabbed her wrist and started heading for the stairs.

  “What’s wrong?”

  “Nothing. Wally’s meeting with Bert Shiner upstairs and we’re late.”

  Objections crowded Meghan’s head, jostling to be said. She settled on one of the least testy comments. “Why didn’t I know about this meeting?”

  “Yeah, I forgot to tell you. On purpose. I didn’t want you staying late preparing a PowerPoint presentation on the sixteen reasons why it’s inappropriate for you to be in the meeting with Wally and Bert.”

  “Oh.”

  “The plaintiffs’ law firm has assigned the case to Jeanette Pierson. She’s going to demand millions to get out of the case. You need to be here for this.”

  They hurried to one of the small conference rooms at the east end of the building. Wally Leith rose politely as she entered. The deceptively schlubby man must be Bert Shiner.

  Dan made the introductions.

  “Meghan’s the one who found Greg for us, Bert, so you have her to thank for your retention.”

  “Meghan showed particular initiative,” Wally said. “With Bert’s permission, I’ve told Lou Trioli that we think we have generated some leverage to use with plaintiffs’ counsel. We’re about to find out. I felt it essential that you be here for this call.” He smiled at Meghan quite particularly.

  “Thank you,” Meghan said. She took the chair next to Dan, then tucked her hands in her lap so no one could see them clenched tight together. She didn’t often feel like a fraud, but in this room, right now, with these people? Total phony.

  Dan hit the hands-free phone system in the center of the table to get a dial tone and then tapped in Jeanette Pierson’s number. A minute later, she was on the line.

  “Dan Howard, I hear you’ve gone over to the dark side. Representing corporations like ProCell?” Her voice was light and musical, as though she knew she was making a little joke.

  Dan identified who was in the room with him, then said, “So, Jeannie, what would it take to get ProCell out of the litigation at this point?”

  “Not happening, Danny. We’ve just discovered documents that put ProCell in bed with Argus and Tech3. Looks like it’s going to be an expensive one for you guys.”

  Meghan’s throat closed. What had she overlooked? What could Pierson have found? Oh, God, and she convinced Lou they were going to get out of the case on the cheap. Shit.

  Dan didn’t seem too concerned, but that was the way experienced trial attorneys did it—never letting anyone see them sweat.

  “What do you think you have, Jeannie?”

  She laughed, a tinkling little noise. “That’s what discovery is for, and we’re not there yet. But my firm is willing to hear a counter-offer if you’re that desperate to get out of the case now…”

  “Sure,” Dan said smoothly. “How about this. You dismiss ProCell entirely from the case.”

  She laughed again, but the tinkles sounded tinny and forced. Was she waiting for Dan to admit he’d been joking? Finally she said, “Okay, so you’re not being funny. Before I get pissed off, tell me why you even think we’ll consider dropping ProCell? Our investigations show them as fully complicit in the overbilling.”

  Dan shook his head, “Jeannie, you and I both know that’s not an automatic assumption when a company pays a fine to the FCC. If you’re so sure you have proof that ProCell acted in a way consistent with knowledge of the overbilling, and that it intended to overbill its customers, you’d better start talking. We’ve got proof that ProCell didn’t even have the necessary components for the overbilling.”

  “You can’t possibly have that. You’re bullshitting me, Danny, and I don’t like it. Judge Stephens won’t like it either when I move for you to be sanctioned.”

  Meghan’s stomach flipped over. Could Pierson really do that?

  “Aw, Jeannie, is that any way to talk? What are you going to do, move for sanctions because I offered your plaintiff class an incentive to get my client dismissed from the case?”

  “I’m getting off the phone now, Danny.” Her voice had turned sour.

  “Jeannie, if you do, you risk losing out. We’re going to the Feds next. What we have not only clears our client, but it gives someone a Sherman Act claim against Argus and Tech 3.”

  “Wally? Are you still there? How can you stand a new partner behaving like this? He’s trying to get me to pass on a certain payday for everyone in the class with a ProCell phone, in exchange for what? Whispers round the water cooler?”

  Meghan checked. Wally Leith looked relaxed. He even had a slight Cheshire Cat smile, as though he was enjoying this act.

  No one at the table looked concerned. Personally, Meghan was terrified that Pierson would hang up and ProCell would fire them, Fergusson would fire her and Dan’s reputation would be tarnished.

  “Ms. Pierson,” Wally said with his courtliest charm. “You should pay attention to what Dan’s offering you. It’s worth a lot more than you realize.”

  A sigh whistled through the speaker. “Okay. What do you think you have? Tick, tock, Danny. I have real work to do.”

  “Conclusive proof that Argus and Tech 3 colluded with ATC to defraud their customers.”

  “Proof?” Pierson sounded distrustful, but not quite as dismissive as before.

  Bert spoke up. “A legal tape recording of the meeting where they colluded.”

  Dan and Wally smiled at each other. Meghan wondered if it was safe to breathe again.

  After a moment, Pierso
n rallied. “I don’t understand. If such a tape exists, how does it show ProCell deserves to be dropped from the suit, and why can’t I just demand the tape during discovery?”

  “Ms. Pierson, this is Bert Shiner. I represent the individual who made that tape recording. He’s not a party to your litigation, he’s not subject to your subpoena power, and frankly we highly doubt that you’ll be able to find him the way Ms. Mattson did. I have heard the recording. I believe it is exactly what my client says it is, namely a contemporaneous recording of a meeting in which officials from Argus, Tech 3 and ATC can be heard conspiring to share the technology that allowed them to defraud their customers. The participants in the meeting specifically mention their intention to keep ProCell from getting the technology in question. Dan here can supply you with evidence that ProCell did not, in fact, use the same technology as the others did, so ProCell customers cannot have been overbilled. You and I both know that the real reason why you’ll drop ProCell is that’s the only way you’re getting my client to talk to you.”

  “And your client is—?”

  Bert laughed. “Anonymous for the moment. Oh, and he’ll be cooperating with the authorities now that an immunity deal is hammered out.”

  “Okay, Bert. But could someone explain to me why I don’t just wait for the DOJ to indict these bastards and I learn your client’s name then?”

  Dan fielded that one. “Two reasons. First, you’re going to need Bert’s client’s testimony in your own case. The Department of Justice may not indict, or they might just go for conspiracy. They may not identify Bert’s client by name. He could be shielded by the federal whistle-blower statutes. You’d be gambling a lot. Whereas, if you agree to drop ProCell after seeing a redacted transcript of the meeting, you get Bert’s client to authenticate the tape, you get a stronger case against the remaining plaintiffs, and you get a hell of an argument for punitive damages.”

  “And the second reason?” All the music had left Ms. Pierson’s voice, leaving it hard as polished brass.

  “ProCell has enough independent evidence to move for dismissal, or in the alternative, to have the case severed. You’ll be fighting on two fronts, and our motion to dismiss will turn into an evidentiary hearing with dueling expert reports. Very costly—and that’s all coming out of your firm’s bottom line. If we prevail, as we will, you’d eat those costs.”