“Whatever, ain’t nobody calling women bitter for being hurt.”
“Tuh, are you serious now?”
He gave me an incredulous look.
“The same thing happened to me with my college boyfriend. I told you about it. My then-best friend not only fucked my boyfriend, but got pregnant by him. Of course, I was devastated. But I lost count of how many times I heard, ‘don’t become bitter now’ or ‘all men aren’t like that’ whenever I said I wasn’t ready to date again. I had to go to law school across the country in D.C. just to escape everyone looking at me as if I’d done something wrong to make him cheat on me.”
“Okay,” he said after a while, beginning to plate our food.
I don’t even want to think of the number of times I’d heard my father pull the “bitter” card on my mom whenever she would rail against his cheating. Even still, she would take the time to remind me not to become bitter like she was, as if she hadn’t had a legitimate reason to feel the way she did.
“You might have a point,” he conceded. “Let’s eat in the dining room,” he gestured toward the area.
I obliged, following him to the room off from the kitchen that housed the long, black modern-style dining room table and chairs.
“I might have a point?” I continued as we sat down.
“That’s what I said.”
“I’ve only been a woman for thirty years, but I might have a point.” I scoffed.
“Whatever. You know more about being a woman, yes. I won’t argue, but don’t downplay shit men go through.”
“I wasn’t,” I countered. “I’m just saying, men and women both hold onto hurt from past relationships, but it seems more acceptable for men than women. How many rap songs do men scream ‘fuck these hoes’ or ‘I’m not here for love’? Hell, even R&B nowadays is these young dudes singing about how they just wanna smash and pass. There’s no more crooning to their lover.”
“What, you mean like Keith Sweat’s begging ass?”
I laughed at that.
“Maybe not that much begging,” I answered. “I’m just saying, it’s okay for men to be more callous about relationships than women.”
“A’ight. But,” he started, picking up his fork and pointing it at me, “that doesn’t mean you get to treat me like I’m some other nigga. I wasn’t the one who fucked up in the past.” He leveled a heavy gaze at me. I had to fight to keep from fidgeting in my chair. I wasn’t treating him like he was one of the dudes from my past, was I?
Chapter Twenty-Three
Chanel
My stomach tightened as my hand pressed on the glass door to push through it. My ears were hit with the typical buzzing office sounds, murmurs of busy professionals bustling about, copy machines running, phones ringing followed by the cheery sounds of the receptionist answering. Anyone stepping into this office could see that the owners had done well for themselves. The glass door I’d entered proudly read Law Offices of Combs & Combs. The immaculate outer office space with hardwood floors, glass tables with legal journals and gossip magazines for waiting guests, leather office furniture, and the running waterfall in the corner all spoke the success of the firm.
In the last few weeks, I’d been in this office more times than I’d ever been during my childhood. Thankfully, I’d managed to avoid seeing my father on my previous visits, but as my eyes landed on the dark pair of shiny Ferragamos that rounded the corner, I knew my luck had finally run out.
He walked next to some famous entertainer who’s name I couldn’t place, hand on his shoulder, laughing at some joke only they could hear. My father was no doubt charming the pants off this man whose job it was to entertain others. He was good at that, making other people in his presence feel as if they were the center of the universe. At least, I guessed that’s what they felt like when his attention was on them. I never really had the luxury of finding out. I swallowed down those ugly emotions at the same time his eyes landed on me, widening for a nanosecond.
“Chanel,” he breathed out. “Can I help you?”
Both men came to a stop in front of the receptionist’s desk.
“I have a meeting with Robert.”
My father nodded in understanding, a light seeming to dim in his eyes. “Josh, this is my daughter, Chanel,” he introduced.
“Well, well, well. Elliott, you never told me you had such a beautiful daughter,” Josh said, lifting my extended hand to his lips. I suddenly remembered where I knew this guy from. He’d been on a popular daytime soap opera that’d gone off the air a few years earlier. His perfectly square jaw, hazel eyes, and blond hair all looked as perfect in person as they did on television.
I grinned and dipped my head in an attempt at bashfulness. “Thank you. Nice to meet you.”
“Likewise, beautiful.” He tossed me a playful wink.
“All right, Josh, I’ll get those papers to you to look over, and we can move forward from there.” My father’s voice held a bit of an edge as he moved to usher Josh out, placing a hand on his back. I was a bit thrown off by how quickly he seemed to want to get away from me, but didn’t have time to think about his motives. I was going in for yet another deposition with Robert and his client. Thankfully for her, Michele didn’t need to attend.
I donned my professional tenor when speaking to the receptionist. “Chanel Richards for Robert Lang, please.”
“He’ll be out in five minutes. You can have a seat. Would you like any coffee, tea or water?”
“No, I’m fine.”
She went back to what she was doing on her desktop.
“Chanel.”
I looked up to find my father had returned.
“Can, you uh, come see me in my office once your meeting with Robert ends?”
I had to bite the inside of my cheek to keep my mouth from hanging open at the uncertainty I heard in his question. I wanted to ask him what about, but a second later, Robert emerged from the hallway.
“I—uh, sure,” I responded, my eyes bouncing from him to Robert and back to my father.
He stepped aside to allow me space. “I’ll wait for you.”
My steps almost faltered at that, and I glanced over my shoulder. I didn’t say anything, and I doubt he wanted me to.
“Chanel,” Robert greeted in his professional demeanor.
I followed Robert down the hall to the conference room. As I entered, I saw his client looking like the oversized, sulking professional football player he was. He obviously didn’t want to be there, and likely having heard the word “no” from very few people in his life, he wasn’t used to not getting his way.
I’d seen so many people like him. Usually men who had power and fame become reduced to sulking children when they were dealing with a soon-to-be ex-spouse who finally stood up to them. And of course, the kickass lawyer who behaved like a dog with a bone for her clients. I looked at the handful of other professionals in the room, squared my shoulders, and glided into the room as if I owned it.
“Robert, Michael, fellas,” I nodded to the other people in the room, realizing I was the only woman. “Let’s get this over with, shall we?” And with that went yet another deposition that seemed to play in my client’s favor more than the opposing side’s.
“You are going to regret this,” Robert sneered behind me, two hours later.
I rolled my eyes at his idle threat.
“Robert, you need to calm down before you have an aneurysm or something.” I rolled my eyes as if bored because that’s what I was. Jacob Wyatt had practically admitted to cheating on his wife the entire length of their marriage, or rather, he’d been made to look like a fool when confronted with evidence after his repeated denials. Evidence in the form some very elicit pictures, courtesy of a private investigator and a DNA test that proved he’d fathered a child outside of his marriage.
“You think this shit is funny? You’re ruining a man’s life!” Robert seethed through clenched teeth.
Out of the corner of my eyes, I saw his hands ball into
fists at his side and then flex before doing it again. A small tingle of something akin to fear began at the base of my belly, but I tamped that down. Robert may have been on edge with the pressure of this case, but I doubted he was violent or irrational. I sighed, realizing it probably was just my experiences with violent men in the past…in particular, the not so distant past of Michael killing his family just a month ago.
“I’m not ruining anyone’s life. Your client did this to himself. He ruined his wife’s life along with his own. It’s time for him to take some personal responsibility. It would be best for you to advise him to drop his pride and go with the settlem—”
“I don’t need you to tell me anything about what to advise my client,” he countered. “He wants to take this to court. Let’s let a judge decide this, once they see all the evidence. Including how manipulative and conniving and man-hating you are.”
I scrunched my face. “Man-hating? Look, we can draw this out some more and take it to court, and your client will likely end up paying more than Michele is already asking for. I will convince her to ask for more, considering all she’s endured. And I can be very convincing.”
He gave a mocking chuckle. “I bet.” He glowered at me.
I didn’t particularly care what Robert thought of me, but his over-the-top behavior right then had me considering what I’d done to him. Aside from a few encounters previously, we’d rarely crossed paths. And even with this case, I hadn’t acted in a way any typical lawyer fighting for her client wouldn’t have. I’d come across many opposing attorneys who fought against me, hard, in the courtroom, and then we’d go out to lunch and chum it up after court was over. In my profession, I came across the same people over and over, representing clients, so developing a friendly rapport was common. So, I couldn’t understand why Robert was getting into such a personal attack against me over this case.
“Okay, Robert. If that’s what your client wants, then so be it.” I shrugged taking a step back. “You enjoy the rest of your day. I can see myself out.” I went to turn toward the outer office, but paused when I remembered my father had asked to speak with me. Backtracking a little, I turned and headed in the opposite direction, going deeper down the hall. I glanced over my shoulder to see Robert’s stern gaze still on me, squinting when he saw me pause in front of my father’s door.
I rapped on my father’s door that was slightly ajar. Pushing it open even more, I watched as he raised his head. His expression morphed into surprise and then eased into satisfaction as he stood.
“Chanel, how’d it go with Robert?”
I frowned. “I probably shouldn’t discuss that, considering…”
He nodded, understanding.
“I’m sure Robert will let you know soon anyhow. He just watched me come speak with you, so he’ll probably be in here later on today.”
“Please, have a seat.” He extended his hand to the chair that sat in front of his desk.
I glanced around his huge corner office. He’d redecorated since the last time I was there. The office had a more modern feel, similar to the décor at his home.
He must’ve read my thoughts because he added, “Marjorie helped me redecorate.”
“She has a good eye,” I complimented, meaning it. I sat and looked at my father expectantly, waiting for him to address whatever he’d asked me to come in for.
He chuckled. “You look so much like your mother with that face.”
I dipped my head, pushing my hair behind my ear.
“Yeah,” he began to cover the awkward moment. “Well, I’m sure you’re busy. How’s it going over there at the firm?”
I studied him, wondering what his intentions were behind that question. His hands lay clasped, resting on his desk, back erect and eyes trained on me. Although his face looked semi-relaxed, those burnt sienna eyes were sharp.
“It’s going well. Busy,” I nodded, thinking of the five case files I had sitting on my desk, and another three I had awaiting me at home. “But I’m managing,” I felt the need to add, perhaps slightly more defensive than I’d intended.
“I’m sure you are. Peter Walters over there says you’re doing an excellent job.”
“You’re making calls about my job performance now?”
“No, nothing like that. Peter and I go back all the way to law school. We were having lunch a few weeks ago, and I asked him about you.”
“Why?”
“Why not? I just wanted to see how you were faring over there.”
I tilted my head, skeptical. “That’s why you asked me to come in after my deposition with Robert? Just to ask how work was going?”
“Yes and no,” he answered cryptically.
My hiked brows begged the question.
“I wanted to know how you were doing over there, yes. I haven’t had a chance to speak to you much since everything went down with Xavier’s mother and the tragic loss of your client. I also wanted to speak to you about the possibility of coming on board with Combs & Combs.”
My back hit the back of my chair. My father was inviting me to join the firm, his firm. Jason has asked me to join, insinuated that it was what both he and our father wanted, but I hadn’t seen any proof of the latter until now.
“Um, well, as far as Wanda, that’s…” I shrugged. “Old news, I guess. And what happened to my client, it’s—I’m doing all right. No lingering scars from the ricochet,” I informed him.
He nodded reluctantly, probably realizing I wasn’t going to go into more detail.
“And working for us?”
“Really? I mean, seriously?” I couldn’t be sure if he was only asking because Marjorie or Jason had put him up to it.
“Yes. Have you ever thought about it? I know your brother has spoken to you.”
“More so bugged me about it,” I murmur.
A slight smile appeared on my father’s face. “He can be persistent.”
“He gets that from you,” I blurted.
“So do you.” He leveled me with a serious look.
I bit down on my tongue to keep from asking how he would know. But so far, that visit had been a relatively friendly conversation. I lowered my gaze to the window just over my father’s shoulder, pondering the idea of working for him.
“I have thought about it.” I slowly brought my gaze back to his. “But that wasn’t necessarily part of the plan when I moved back to Houston.”
I wondered if my honesty offended him. It wasn’t meant to. I wasn’t trying to be malicious, just honest. I’d never imagined my father would want me to work for his firm.
“I can give it some thought?” I posed it as a question, but it was a comment. I needed more than one meeting and a few minutes to make this decision. I liked the firm I worked for at present, and could see myself growing there under the tutelage of some of the older attorneys. I wouldn’t rush the decision.
“Absolutely. I know you’re doing good work over at where you are, and might not want to leave any clients high and dry. You could bring them over with you if you come.”
“You’re willing to expand the family law branch of the firm?”
“Of course. Many of our current clients require those services already, as evidenced by your meeting with Robert today. We could expand on that. Have you lead it. You wouldn’t have to fight tooth and nail to make partner.”
He was beginning to lay it on thick. “I’ll consider it,” I stated as I stood. “I have a phone meeting I have to get back for.”
“No problem.” He braced his hands on the arms of his chair to stand. “We’ll be here, awaiting your decision. No rush.”
“Okay,” I answered, feeling uneasy. I wasn’t expecting this at all. I knew Jason wanted me to join, but I never foresaw my father calling me in his office with the proposal.
“Oh, one more thing,” I paused, turning back to my father. “Would there be an issue with me practicing under the name Richards?”
He blinked. “You…you’d still want to practice under your mother�
��s maiden name?”
“I’ve established a reputation under this name. All of my licenses are under the name Richards. It would be a huge hassle to change that now.”
His mouth worked, opening and closing before he spoke. “If that’s what you wish.” His hands moved to button his tailored suit jacket. His voice had taken on a professional, polite yet distant tone.
I strode toward the door. As much as a part of me wanted to believe this was my father coming around, there was the adult me that knew people my father’s age didn’t change. For a second, I wondered if he’d had some ulterior motive. History had taught me not to get too attached where my father was concerned.
Chapter Twenty-Four
Chanel
“Come with me to D.C.” His deep timbre sent chills up my spine as his warm breath passed over the damp skin of my naked back. I was lying on my stomach, cheek pressed against the pillow, facing him. His big body was stretched out, leg strewn over mine as the fingers of his left hand made small circles at the small of my back.
We’d gotten to his place not too long ago from a night out at another event hosted by a longtime friend of his. Another one of Xavier’s restaurants had catered the event that was held at the Museum of Fine Arts. It was an event filled with much schmoozing and discussions of the various exhibits. The best part of the night, however, had been coming back, and Xavier barely shutting the door before he damn near ripped my dress off me. Presently, we were lying in bed in our afterglow.
“D.C?” I questioned.
“Yeah, I have to be there next Thursday through Sunday. A joint venture that’s now opening. There’ll be a lot of D.C. elites there. You’ll probably run into some old law school classmates.”
I groaned. “Uhh, that’s a reason for me not to attend.”
His deep chuckle warmed my core. “It wasn’t that bad there , was it?”
I give a half-smile. “No, I’m just teasing.”
“Then you’ll come.”
The movement on my back ceased as he awaited my answer, and right then I’d have agreed to almost anything to get him to keep touching me like that.
Safe Space (Book 1) Page 24
