Buddha
When Wendy shakes my hand, a spark of awareness surges through me. When she thanks me for helping her, I want to stay at her side and fight her battles for her, but bitter experience has taught me I can’t do that. Once upon a time, I was in love with a woman and I wanted to protect her from the world, but it ended in disaster. Lauren killed herself, and the man responsible for her suicide got away scot-free. Never again.
Her blonde hair is the color of the sun on a winter’s morning, and her eyes are the most unusual shade of pale blue. She’s not conventionally beautiful; her face is too narrow and her forehead is too wide, but somehow, I can’t tear my eyes away from her. Though most women can’t wait to get into my bed, they like to act disingenuous about my sexual tastes. Not Wendy. Her candor is refreshing and rare.
Hudson and I watch her leave. Once she’s out of sight, Hudson gives me a speculative look. “That was interesting,” he says contemplatively.
I raise an eyebrow. After Hudson’s disaster of a marriage a year ago, he’s been more reclusive and less trusting. I thought he was interested in Wendy, but maybe he’s not ready to put the Megan Klinsmann shitshow behind him. “Are you having second thoughts about dinner?”
He shakes his head immediately. “It’s been a while; that’s all.” We drink our beers in silence. Finally, Hudson breaks it. “Is something bothering you?” he asks. “You look troubled.”
Hudson and I have been friends since college. I’m not surprised he would pick up on my mood. “You remember my buddy Levi? He’s out of jail again. He asked if he could stay at my place until he got back on his feet.”
Hudson stiffens. “Tell me,” he says slowly, “that you said no.”
“I said yes.”
Hudson curses loudly. “Damn it,” he snaps. “Levi Engels beat his ex-girlfriend’s new boyfriend half to death and tried to pin the rap on you. He’s bad news. You know that. You need to cut him loose.”
It’s not quite that black and white. I hit Jason too. I wasn’t entirely innocent.
“I can’t do that,” I reply. My foster father liked to use his kids as a punching bag when he was drunk. Levi would intentionally provoked him so he’d be the target, not me. Now, it’s my turn to help my friend.
“Asher, you’re a lawyer. Unless it involves a client of yours, you’re obligated to report a crime. If you hang out with Engels and he does something dodgy, can you turn him in? Give the guy money, for fuck’s sake. Just don’t let him back in your life.”
His argument is logical. I should listen to him. I gulp my beer down in two long sips. “Let’s change the topic.”
Hudson frowns, his unhappiness clear. “Fine,” he concedes. “Did you see the news? Paul Hancock died this afternoon.”
“He did?” I ask sharply. I’ve been in meetings all day, and I haven’t had a minute to check the news. “No, I didn’t know.”
Both Hudson and I have history with the Hancocks. Many years ago, through some slick and unethical corporate maneuvering, Paul Hancock stole a large piece of land in Staten Island from Hudson’s father, Nathaniel.
My beef is with Paul’s son Thorne, who is, if possible, even more vile than the father. My fingers grip the long neck of my beer bottle. “I suppose Thorne Hancock will inherit his father’s money?” God, that makes me furious. After what Thorne did to Lauren, he should be in jail for the rest of his life. Instead, he’s walking around, free as a bird. And Lauren’s dead.
“I suppose he will,” Hudson answers, giving me a sympathetic look. He was there with me at Lauren’s funeral. He’d seen Lauren’s mother sob with grief, and rage at my inability to convict Thorne. Though ten years have passed, I can still feel the sting of the icy-cold wind on that February afternoon. I can still see Lauren’s family somberly shoveling dirt over the coffin of the twenty-one-year-old.
I failed Lauren. I still feel guilty. I still feel responsible.
“The old man has kept Thorne on a pretty tight leash all these years,” Hudson is saying.
“That’s bullshit,” I snarl. “Paul Hancock used his money to buy his son out of a rape conviction. Paul Hancock lied and cheated, and cut your father out of the biggest deal of his life, almost bankrupting him in the process. Don’t make him out to be an angel. He’s not.”
“I didn’t say he was.” Hudson’s tone is mild.
The damage is done. I’m angry and frustrated. Life’s not fair, but the idea of Thorne Hancock inheriting his father’s millions just infuriates me.
“I’m leaving,” I say shortly, tossing a hundred-dollar bill on the counter. “I’m going to bed.”
“We still on for dinner tomorrow?” Hudson calls after my retreating back.
Of course we are. I need a distraction. Wendy Williams is exactly who I’m looking for.
6
Wendy
Wherever you go, go with all your heart.
Confucius
I find it difficult to concentrate the next day. I’ve arranged to meet Asher and Hudson at a private club in the Village called Residence. My mind keeps straying from my work, and I pass the hours in a state of nervous anticipation. Finally, at five, I give up and leave, promising myself I’ll stay late at work the rest of the week to catch up on my caseload.
“There’s are a couple of packages for you, Ms. Williams,” my building’s doorman says as I walk in. He lifts a large bouquet of candy pink roses from his desk and hands it to me, grinning from ear to ear. “There’s this too,” he adds, pulling a cardboard box wrapped in silver from a drawer at his desk. “You need a hand with this?”
“No thanks, Andy. I can manage.” I arrange the flowers on top of the parcel while slinging my laptop bag over my shoulder.
Andy gives the precarious arrangement a dubious look. “Are you sure?” he asks. “It’ll be a shame to break that vase.”
He’s right. The cut-glass vase holding the roses is beautiful. The crystal catches the light in the lobby, slicing it into a thousand glittering shards. It looks expensive, and I’d hate to break it. “I’m okay,” I tell him, and inch my way toward the elevators. Thankfully, there’s a couple waiting at the doors, who press the button to my floor for me when they realize I have my hands full. It’s a little trickier at my front door, but I manage by setting the parcel and the flowers on the floor while I fumble for my keys.
Inside, I rip open the wrapping paper and lift out a pair of red and black boxing gloves. There’s a note from Hudson and Asher. “For the next time you get into a fight.”
My lips twitch. The roses are lovely, and the vase is spectacular, but the boxing gloves show that they have a sense of humor. I like their sense of style.
After a quick shower, I dress for my date in a midnight blue dress with a softly draped neck and a fluttery, asymmetrical hem. I’d seen it in the window of a high-end boutique last year. Unable to resist, I’d bought it, but since then, it’s been sitting in the back of my closet. My life isn’t usually exciting enough for pretty cocktail dresses.
I pin my hair up in a loose knot. Tendrils escape from the bun and curl around my face, and when I glance in the mirror, I don’t look like a barracuda in the slightest.
My heart pounds in my chest. I can’t remember the last time I was excited by the prospect of a date. The men I’ve gone out with in the last few years have been uniformly disappointing. Most of them are intimidated by me, and the few that aren’t intimidated are jerks.
This isn’t a date, Wendy, I scold myself. This is the prelude to a hookup. Your panties match your bra, and you’ve shaved everywhere. Be honest, you’re getting ready for sex.
Am I? Despite my bravado, I’m as jumpy as a skittish kitten. I have no idea what tonight is going to hold.
I’m getting ready to leave when there’s a knock on the door. Wondering who it is, I peek through the peephole, but I don’t recognize the young man standing outside my door, wearing a rumpled suit. “Who is this?” I ask warily. How did this guy get past Andy at the front desk?
/>
“Is this Wendy Williams?” he asks, his voice just as cautious as mine.
“Yes.”
“Ms. Williams, my name is Derek Greene. I work at the law firm of Anderson Massey Dodd. Our firm has been retained to be the executor of Mr. Paul Hancock’s will.”
I open the door, and the lawyer thrusts an envelope in my direction. A sense of disquiet fills me. In the years I’ve been a divorce lawyer, I’ve learned to trust my instincts, and right now, they’re telling me that whatever this package contains, it isn’t good. “The reading of the will is on Friday afternoon,” he says. “You’ll find all the details in the envelope.”
My father didn’t acknowledge my existence once when he was alive. He had thirty years to reach out to me; he never did. And now he never will. There’s no more time left. No second chances. I will never be able to look into his eyes and ask him how he could abandon his child without a second thought.
I’m being summoned to the will reading? I couldn’t give a damn about the will reading. Fighting my anger, I shake my head and hand the papers back to him. “I’m not interested,” I tell Derek Greene dismissively.
A nervous look fills his face. “Ms. Williams, please. Your presence was specifically requested by Mr. Hancock. It’s vital that you attend.” He swallows hard. “My job is on the line here, and my wife just had a baby. Please…”
Damn it. Though I’m angry at Paul Hancock’s presumption, I don’t want to get this kid fired. “Fine,” I snap, ready for this conversation to end. I have a date tonight, damn it. “I’ll be there.”
“Thank you.” He lowers his voice and leans toward me. “Just between you and me, may I offer a word of advice? Bring a lawyer to the reading.”
“I’m a lawyer.”
“You’re a divorce lawyer,” he responds. “Bring someone who knows estate law. Or better still, corporate law.”
Corporate law? Why would a corporate lawyer be required for a simple reading of a will? My feeling of unease deepens, but before I can demand an explanation, Derek Greene hurries away.
7
Hudson
It is one of the blessings of old friends that you can afford to be stupid with them.
Ralph Waldo Emerson
Tuesday is hell.
Our weekly staff meeting takes place on Tuesday mornings. I used to hold them on Mondays until I realized that my team was coming in on the weekends to prepare for it. We work hard at Fleming Architecture—our client load has increased faster than my ability to handle it, and I’ve been working until midnight two days a week—but I also want us to play hard. An architect gets inspiration from the real world. If we spent all our time huddled in our cubicles, our work would quickly get stale.
The six architects file into the room. Nadja’s first to arrive. It’s a little after nine, but she already looks exhausted. “Dobson’s driving me insane,” she complains. “Please tell me you’re going to hire more people. I can’t handle everything on my plate.”
“I’ll have two architects here before the end of the year,” I promise her.
“December can’t come soon enough.” She sinks into her chair. “I’ve been in here since six.”
Colin Cartwright, Heather Maskov, and Mark Summers arrive together. Colin nods curtly at the two of us. Heather gives me a tentative smile, but Mark doesn’t meet my eyes, doodling instead on his yellow legal pad. I raise my eyebrow at Nadja, who shrugs in response. Who can tell what’s going on with these three, she seems to say.
Once the other two have arrived, I get going. “A quick update on the Clark Towers project,” I tell them. “The clients have decided to go elsewhere.”
Raul, my most recent hire, looks up in surprise. “Where?”
“To Kent.”
“We lost another one to Kent?” Colin erupts. “Damn it, Hudson. This is getting ridiculous. At this rate, we’re going to be the laughing stock of the city.”
Mark and Heather both nod in agreement of Colin’s sentiment, but Alyssa, who’s been with us for three years, shakes her head. “Everyone knows Kent is garbage,” she says. “Word on the street is that all of their current projects are running late. In Morocco, the guy who chose Kent just got fired because of the delays.”
Ignoring Alyssa, Colin gives me an accusing look. “You passed up on Stanton Towers, and Kent got the contract instead. You refused to bid on Pine Gardens, and Kent picked it up. Not to mention the airport redesign in Bamako. And that’s just in the last six months.”
Cartwright is an idiot. “Jackson Stanton doesn’t pay his bills,” I counter. “The firm that designed his last building is still trying to get paid, five years later. I don’t want to spend the next decade in court. Mali is a war zone, and the government is on the verge of getting overthrown. That airport is never going to get built. And Pine Gardens is one of Mikhail Vasiliev’s projects, and I’m not going to work for the Russian Mafia.” I give Colin a cold stare. “Any others?”
“You’re too ethical,” he snaps back. “Would it have killed you to give Price a fucking box seat to the Mets game?”
“Price is a basketball fan, not baseball,” Nadja cuts in, her voice hard. “It’s the Knicks he likes. But tell me, Colin, how do you know what Kent offered Jack Price?”
He doesn’t meet her gaze. A chill creeps up my spine. I dislike office politics. I don’t spend a lot of time dwelling on Colin’s imaginary grievances, but it appears that my indifference has come at a cost because Nadja’s right. How does Colin know?
The silence grows. “Colin?” I prompt. “Anything you want to tell me?”
He finally looks up. “I met with George Kent last week. He made me an offer.” He regains some of his lost bluster. “Not just me. He made Heather and Mark an offer as well.”
I go very still.
“It came with a sign-on bonus,” he adds. “Fifty thousand dollars if we start right away.” He gives me a challenging glare.
“Are you looking for me to counter Kent’s offer?” I ask. My gaze swivels from Colin to Mark and then to Heather, who both look like they want to be anywhere else right now. “I’m not going to do that.”
“It isn’t just about the money, Hudson,” Mark pipes up. “We’d all like to lead larger projects.”
Mark’s last design was a shitshow. If Nadja hadn’t bailed him out, he’d have been seriously over budget. He needs more experience before he’s ready to lead. At least, he does at Fleming Architecture. George Kent clearly has lower standards.
“Stop explaining yourself, Mark. Hudson’s not going to change.” Colin rises to his feet. “I quit. I’ll be out of here at the end of the week.”
I don’t think so. I don’t respond well to threats. “Not the end of the week.” I get up as well. “The three of you have made your choice. Security will stand by as you clean out your desks. Now.”
Two hours later, I call Nadja into my office. “That was fun this morning,” she says. “I’ve been thinking about how we’re going to manage. Alyssa can take on Mark’s projects and some of Heather’s as well. Raul’s going to have to come up to speed fast, but he can take the remainder of Heather’s work. Which leaves the two of us to deal with Colin’s clients.”
“That’s not why I wanted to meet,” I tell her. “I wanted to ask you about Kent. He didn’t make you an offer?”
She meets my eyes frankly. “One of his recruiters called me a couple of months ago, and I shot him down. I’m happy where I am, Hudson. You pay me well, and I get to work on interesting projects. I’m not going to give up what I have for the chance to work for a slimeball like George Kent. I do have principles.”
Nadja is an amazing architect, but more than that, she’s a good person. I don’t know what I’d do without her on my team. “Thank you. I don’t tell you this enough, but I appreciate your loyalty.”
There’s a sheen of tears in her eyes. “Don’t you get all sentimental on me,” she quips. “I won’t recognize who you are.”
I chuckle. “Our workl
oad’s going to be hell.”
“I know.” She sighs. “Still, we’ll be fine as long as we don’t take on any more projects.”
“Sounds good to me. Okay, let’s sort out who’s going to work on what.”
She shakes her head. “I have to meet Dobson in ten minutes,” she says. “How about later this evening? I told Seth I needed to work late, so he’s taking the kids to Coney Island.”
Tonight, I have dinner plans with the intriguing Wendy Williams. “I can’t,” I reply. “I have a date.”
She looks curious. “Anyone I know?”
Nadja hated Megan from the first day she met her. I wonder what she’ll think of Wendy. Not that I have any intention of introducing them; I’m not interested in getting involved with Wendy Williams. I’m just looking for something casual. “No.”
“How about tomorrow morning?”
I wonder if Nadja is resentful that she’s giving up an evening with her family while I’m out on a date. I doubt it; she’s far too nice. Still, I feel a stab of guilt. This is the worst possible time to pursue a woman. If I were smart, I would cancel my dinner plans with Wendy and spend the next forty-eight hours at my desk.
I’m not going to. I hope I don’t end up regretting my decision.
8
Wendy
If you are not willing to risk the unusual, you will have to settle for the ordinary.
Jim Rohn
On the way over to Residence, I get angrier and angrier with my father’s presumption, and my earlier lust evaporates. By the time the cab pulls up in front of a building with darkly tinted windows and no signage, I’m half-tempted to tell the driver to turn around.
A valet hurries forward and holds the door open for me. Thanking him, I walk up a short flight of stairs, where a woman waits for me. She’s dressed entirely in black and her dark hair is scraped back in a tight ponytail. “Ms. Williams?” she asks with an arch of her perfectly plucked brow. “Mr. Doyle and Mr. Fleming are waiting for you upstairs. Please follow me.”
Ménage in Manhattan: The Complete 5-Book Ménage Romance Collection Page 68
