Safe Space (Book 1)

by Tiffany Patterson

  I looked at the dude who’d grabbed her attention. He appeared to be about ten years older than her, but by the way he damn near hovered over her, it stirred something uncomfortable in my chest. When she threw her head back laughing at something he said, my hands twisted in my pockets. A few moments later, the conversation was over as the guy caught the elevator up and Chanel pivoted toward the front door. Her eyes remained downcast as she tucked some of her hair behind her ear. When she finally looked up, her eyes widened as they landed directly on me.

  I grinned.

  “You said I was the one following you, but I’m pretty sure this is the second time I’ve seen you at my place of work, so it has to be the other way around,” she teased.

  “What if it is?” I countered.

  “Then we’re going to have to do something about that.”

  “Such as?” I raised an eyebrow.

  “Giving your picture to security.”

  I let out a belly laugh at that.

  “Considering the amount of money I pay my financial advisors who work in this building, I doubt they’d take too kindly to that.”

  She shrugged. “They’ll deal.”

  I chuckled. “If you say so. It’s a little early to be leaving work, isn’t it?” I asked, checking my watch. It was only after two in the afternoon.

  “Definitely too early for that, but I’m just grabbing a late lunch.”

  “Damn, they got you working like that? Can’t even get lunch at a decent hour?” I shook my head playfully.

  “It is what it is.”

  “I’m glad I ran into you, though. How’d your client from Friday make out?” That’d also been on my mind since Friday night. I sincerely hoped Chanel hadn’t taken it upon herself to intervene in any more domestic issues.

  She shook her head. “I have no idea what you’re talking about.” She looked me square in my face.

  “Oh, so we’re doing that, huh?”

  She shrugged again. “Have to. It’s called attorn—”

  “Attorney-client privilege. I know. I do have my own lawyers. Plus, my best friend is a pretty decent attorney in his own right. Maybe you’ve heard of him, Jason Combs?”

  She shook her head, turning her lips downward. “Can’t say that I have, but if he’s any good, I should hear about him soon enough.”

  I busted out laughing. “I should tell my boy you played him like that.”

  She waved a hand.

  “Where’re you going for lunch?”

  “Just going to grab a salad from the deli a few buildings down, nothing fancy.”

  “Cool, I’ll walk you.” I stepped closer, placing my hand on the small of her back, urging her to walk through the turnstile door ahead of me. She hesitated for a moment, then must’ve thought better of it. I shook my head at her stubbornness. This one was going to keep me on my toes.

  “I got it,” I told the cashier a few moments later as I paid for both our salads and drinks. Since it was well past the lunch hour rush, Richie’s Deli was pretty empty. With both my and Chanel’s food, I found a table by the window to sit. When I noticed Chanel just standing there, I gave her a questioning look.

  “I was just going to grab my lunch and head back to the office,” she explained.

  “What? Can't you take forty-five minutes out to even eat? Do you have a meeting you need to rush to get back to?”

  Her eyelids lowered briefly before she looked back at me, and I knew the answer before she opened her mouth.

  “Good, then you can sit and eat. You’re already two hours past lunch time; I’m sure a few minutes to sit and eat won’t hurt.” I moved to pull out her chair, and she slowly lowered herself into it. “Was that so hard?” I questioned, once I found my seat.

  “Maybe.”

  “Tell me what’s got you so busy that you can’t take lunch at a decent time,” I prodded as I squeezed Italian dressing onto my salad.

  “I could be asking you the same thing. It’s two, and it looks like you’re just sitting down to have lunch also.”

  “Touché.”

  “Busy life of an entrepreneur, huh?”

  I nodded, waiting until I swallowed my food to speak. “But I wouldn’t have it any other way.”

  “What do you like most about owning your own business?”

  I wiped my mouth, taking time to contemplate my answer. “The freedom, of course. I don’t have any limits to what I can or can’t do. As long as it’s all legal,” I jibed. “But yeah, one of the things I always hated about school or working for someone else is it was always on their schedule. Now, I get to make my own schedule, do things when and how I want them done.”

  She snorted. “That doesn’t seem controlling at all.”

  “Whatever,” I shrugged. “I like shit a certain way. I’m not a micromanager though. I’ve found I can’t be an effective business owner if I spend my days trying to manage what everyone else is doing. I hire smart, competent people and let them do what they do. They consult me when things need to be changed or improved, but the day-to-day operations are their responsibility. And if the numbers don’t look good, then they have me to answer to.”

  She nodded. “Seems fair.”

  “And what about you? Why family law?” I waited for her to finish chewing the forkful of food she’d just taken.

  “Because it’s the hardest,” she stated casually.

  The curious look on my face must’ve urged her to continue.

  “I started out in entertainment law, right after I moved to L.A. I mean, it’s L.A., right? What other type of law would I practice, and considering my family history…” She trailed off, but I knew she was referring to the fact that her father was one of the top entertainment lawyers in the country, and Jason had followed in his footsteps. “But then one day, a wealthy female business client of mine said she needed to file for divorce. She was a major producer in Hollywood, one of the few women at her level,” she noted. “So, I found myself spending my time researching divorce and family law in California.

  “Before I knew it, it consumed me. Family law is extremely complicated. You wouldn’t believe how some divorces can drag on for years. I once worked a case in which the client came to me after being in and out of divorce court for almost a decade. And they didn’t even have kids! Family law is complicated for two reasons. One, the laws are still developing and vary greatly from state to state. What works in California may not work in Texas. And two, the feelings involved. You know how one of the most dangerous calls for a police officer to go on is a domestic dispute, because emotions are running high and the likelihood of violence increases dramatically?” she paused, waiting for me to answer.

  I nodded.

  “It’s pretty much the same for divorce attorneys. Imagine being the one who is in the middle of splitting up a ten or twenty-year relationship with children involved, and one or both the spouses have been cheated on. I had the spouse of a client boldly bring his mistress to a deposition.” She shook her head. “When my client saw the huge rock he’d put on the mistress’s finger, she flipped out. That was a day.” She laughed. “And get this.”

  “What?” I leaned in, waiting to hear.

  “Eighteen months later, I became the divorce attorney for that same mistress.”

  “Get the hell outta here!”

  “I’m dead serious. People are a mess.”

  “With entertainment like that, no wonder you enjoy it.”

  She gazed out the window, watching people as they passed. “Yeah, it has its moments.” She turned back to face me. “Most of the time it’s sad. Under all the yelling and fighting are really just hurt people, you know?”

  “I can imagine.”

  She checked her cell phone. “I have to go.” She gathered up her trash and took the final sip from her can of diet soda.

  “Yeah, me too.” Checking my watch, I hadn’t realized how the time had gotten away from me. I had another meeting across town in about thirty minutes.

  “Thank
s for lunch,” she said as we stood outside her office building.

  “You’re welcome. We should do this again, but dinner instead,” I eased in. The way her eyes bulged at that, you would’ve thought I’d just kicked her puppy.

  “Uh, you mean like a date?”

  “No, not like a date. An actual date.”

  My brows bunched when she began shaking her head. “I can’t.”

  “Can’t date?”

  “Right.”

  “Because you’re seeing someone, or…?”

  “Because I don’t date.”

  I paused. “You don’t date?”

  “Um-um,” she shook her head.

  “I hate to break it to you, but we were pretty much just on a date.” I gestured to the deli we’d exited minutes before.

  “That wasn’t a date. It was an impromptu lunch. Almost like a business lunch.” Chanel shrugged.

  “A business lunch? Do you often kiss men you go on business lunches with?” I almost bust out laughing when her mouth hung open. She obviously thought I’d forgotten about that.

  “I was half-drunk, and it was very late.”

  I frowned. “It’d been hours since you’d had anything to drink, and you had the presence of mind to work with a client. You weren’t that out of it. Don’t even try that shit.”

  She turned her eyes downward. “I can’t believe you called me out like that.”

  “Believe it, baby.” I stepped closer. “You only have yourself to blame. You put your lips on mine. Now I can’t wait to taste yours again. Only, next time,” I tipped her chin up with my forefinger, “I want to be able to savor it. Friday night was much too short.” I was close enough to see the vein on the side of her neck beating. I knew my words had their intended effect.

  “I don’t date,” she said in a whisper.

  “Who’re you trying to convince, you or me?” I stepped back, putting my hands in my pockets.

  Her face turned defiant, and goddammit if that didn’t turn me on even more.

  “I don’t need to convince anyone of anything. I don’t date,” she hissed.

  “Why not?”

  “Oh, geez, because I haven’t met many men worth my time. So why waste it when I have food and a perfectly good entertainment center and enough double A batteries at home?” The scorn in her voice was apparent.

  “Damn.” I whistled low.

  “You’re gonna call me bitter now, right?”

  I shook my head. “No. Jaded, yeah. Maybe all this time spent working on divorce cases has taken its toll.”

  “Maybe,” she conceded. “Either way, I don’t date.”

  “Yeah, okay. We’ll see.” I grinned at her confusion. Her little diatribe may have been enough to scare off other dudes, but I wasn’t them.

  “You should get back to work.” I gave her a deadpan expression when she looked at me curiously, as if she was just waiting for the other shoe to drop.

  “Okay.” She walked back into the office building. I remained where I was long enough to see her look back over her shoulder. Grinning, I gave her a two-finger salute, and she hurried back upstairs.

  ****

  Chanel

  “He’s going to be served with the divorce papers today. You probably should expect a phone call from him,” I discussed with Michele Wyatt over the phone. Today was the day her husband was getting served with divorce papers. I’d called Michele to let her know and to help her make any plans if she deemed it necessary. Her husband, Jacob, was away on a business trip, so now was the perfect time to serve him, while she was still in the home. “Do you have any questions for me?”

  “N-no, I don’t think so. You’ve explained everything so far. I just wish it was over already.”

  I could hear the anxiety in her voice. “I know. It will be. We’re just going to take this one step at a time. You never know, Jacob could recognize that your marriage is over and decide not to contest the divorce.”

  Michele tutted at that. “I don’t think so. You’ve never met my husband. He hates to lose at anything. It’s what makes him so good on the field, and…”

  “So disruptive at home?” I supplied.

  “Yeah,” she sighed.

  “Well, whatever happens, I’ll be right there every step of the way. This isn’t my first rodeo.”

  “Thanks, Chanel. I appreciate this.”

  “No problem. I’m getting ready to leave the office, but if you have any emergencies, you have my cell.”

  After hanging up with Michele, I returned a few emails and then grabbed my workout bag. It was Wednesday night, and twice a week, Gabby and I attended a Caribbean-inspired dance class. Wednesdays and Fridays were usually our nights, but our schedules had been thrown off the previous week when Gabby was out of town, and I had attended my family’s dinner.

  I wasn’t one for working out a lot, but these classes made it fun. The class was filled with women in short shorts and high heels, throwing our hips and asses from here to there. It felt good to sweat to great music a few times a week. With these classes, I didn’t have to feel bad about my lack of gym membership.

  “Hey, girl!” Gabby greeted me as I got out of my car in the parking lot of the dance studio. I smirked as I took in her well-shaped frame in a pair of tight booty shorts with a purple workout bra. At five-nine, she towered above me a few inches. Her hair was styled that evening in a short black pixie cut with chestnut brown highlights.

  “Opted for the short hair today?”

  “Yeah, girl, you know I like to change it up weekly. It confuses the people at work.” We both laughed at that.

  “I still don’t know how you stuff all that hair under those wigs.” I shook my head.

  “I told you, it’s easy. I’ll give you some pointers one day, but I like the bobbed look on you.” I’d permed my hair and cut it into a bob style, right before we’d moved to Houston.

  “Thanks, bestie. How was your day?” I questioned as we walked through the studio doors. We were bombarded by the sounds of Soca music coming from one of the dance classes that had a few minutes left. We headed down the hall to the locker room. I needed to change out of my work clothes.

  “It was good,” she grinned. Gabby loved her job, although her main intention was to open a spa that catered to a range of women at different price points. Working for a plastic surgeon, she was mainly limited to working with more elite clientele, but she spent her free time doing free services or taking private clients at lowered rates. She was a regular at the shelter where I’d dropped off Anne the other weekend. We both spent a great deal of time volunteering there. Though the services we offered were different, both were much needed for women who found themselves at their lowest point in life.

  “And yours?” she asked. “Ohhh, look at that face. I know it’s not a client that’s got you looking like that. Spill it,” she implored, tugging me by the arm to sit down next to her.

  “It’s nothing,” I lied. “We gotta go.”

  “Girl, bye,” she waved her hand. “Class doesn’t start for another ten minutes. Spill it.”

  “Fine,” I grinned. “I was leaving the office for a late lunch and bumped into Xavier.” Her eyes widened as if telling me to continue. “We had lunch together, and then he asked me out on a date.”

  Her hazel eyes grew wide, and she covered her mouth with her fist. “Oh, shit! I told you he was feeling you.”

  “Whatever,” I dismissed her.

  “Whatever, what? I told you about putting your lips on people, leaving them mesmerized and shit.”

  I giggled.

  “It was a quick peck, and I still maintain that I was half-drunk at the time.”

  “Mm-hmm, if you say so. So where and when y'all going out?”

  I raised an eyebrow. “You damn well know better. We’re not going out.”

  She rolled her eyes, exasperated.

  “Don’t give me that damn look. You know I don’t date.” I stood.

  “Yeah, I know that tired-ass exc
use of yours.”

  I glared at her. “It’s not tired, nor is it an excuse.”

  “Who do you think you’re talking to? I know you inside and out, and I know that your ‘I don’t date’ ain’t shit but an excuse to avoid getting your heart broken again.”

  I held up my hand. “We’re so not getting into this right now.”

  “Sure,” she shrugged. “But, I’m not the one avoiding any semblance of a dating life out of fear.”

  “Yeah, you just date lame ass dudes who you don’t take seriously,” I retorted. If she was going to call me out, she damn well better expect a little bit of it in return.

  “Nice try at deflection, but we’re not talking about me. Let’s talk about the man you’ve had a crush on since fourteen just asked you out.”

  “I have not had a crush on that man since I was fourteen,” I defended.

  More like since I was twelve.

  She frowned. “Again, who do you think you’re talking to? This is Xavier Grant you’re talking about, right? Been your brother’s best friend since forever and the guy you’ve had googley eyes over since you first laid eyes on him? And you turned his invitation for a date down after your fast ass had the nerve to kiss him when he gave you a ride home. But you’re not making excuses, right?” She folded her arms across her chest.

  “I knew I shouldn’t have said anything to you,” I mumbled as we exited the locker room.

  “Like you could hide anything from me. Pssh.”

  In spite of our argument, I laughed. Gabby was right. There wasn’t anything I could keep from her for too long. It's always been this way. We clicked from the very first day we’d met in our first law class. She’d made a comment about the professor’s hair and we cracked up. We’d been tight ever since, even when she opted to drop out of law school in pursuit of a different career.

  The hour-long class went by in a flash, and we emerged sweaty and flushed with endorphins. After grabbing my bag from the locker room, I parted ways with Gabby in the parking lot for the fifteen-minute drive to my condo. On the way, I thought about what Gabby said. Was I using my no dating rule as an excuse?