I smile because that’s a place I mentioned to him today, as a favorite, which I never indulge in visiting. I text back: It’s perfect.
He replies back with: I will need to shower and change. My place—eight o’clock? I’m going to stay here and get all my work knocked out.
I answer with: That works.
He replies with: Make it seven. You can shower with me.
I smile and type: Six forty-five. We’ll need the extra time.
Six-thirty it is, he replies.
I laugh, but it fades quickly. I think I might love this man. I’m pretty sure I do love this man, but I’ll stick with pretty sure for now, since I don’t know what he and I are doing. Am I sleeping here or there, or what beyond this weekend? Has a one night stand become a one month fling or more? Talking to him about the overstep of calling my publisher, and about that phone call, worked. I just need to talk to him about this and the publishing deal, too. Talk to him. I like that he’s made that feel like the answer.
I get back to work, and ideas start flowing and I lose myself. That’s the release I love about writing, and investigating a case I want to attack from a view no one else is highlighting. I’m blurry-eyed when my phone rings, and I glance down to find Gabe’s number. Gabe again? This is odd. Frowning, I answer the call. “What’s wrong?”
“Can you meet me for dinner tonight?”
“Actually, no. I have plans.”
“How about drinks, then?”
My brow furrows. “Why?”
“I want to see you.”
“Why?” I press.
“Dad has some business situation going on. In case it hits the press, I want to talk it through with you.”
“What kind of issues?”
“I don’t want to talk about this on the phone. I’m bringing that other guy you call your brother, too.”
“Reid is coming. Okay. Now I’m worried.”
“It’s nothing we can’t handle, but like I said. If it gets out, I want you to have a heads-up.”
“What time and where?”
“Boulevard Two on Fifty-eighth at eight.”
“Too far. I have reservations at nine. Make it six and pick someplace closer to me.”
“We’ll just come there at seven thirty. This won’t take long. I’ll bring booze.”
“Booze? What is going on?”
“See you then, little sis.” He hangs up.
I glance at the clock. It’s three thirty. Reese’s meeting is at four, and he must be preparing for it.
I opt to text, not call. I need to meet you at the restaurant. I’ve had something come up.
He calls me. “Is something wrong?”
“I don’t know. Two of my brothers want to stop by tonight. Gabe says it’s something to do with my father’s business, which is their business, too. It might make the press.”
“What are you thinking?”
“A buyout or merger, but I’m not sure why they think I need to know in advance. They won’t tell me anything else.”
“Sounds odd. Why don’t I just pick you up there?”
“Being honest here—I don’t want you to come face to face with my brothers right now.”
“Why, Cat?”
“Again being honest: They want me paired with a powerful attorney. That’s what they loved about Mitch. They want someone they can align with and who they see pulling me back into that family circle. They will lean on us, and I’d rather do us as us, not us and them. At least until we know how we define us.”
“I want to have a conversation about defining us anyway, but I agree. We need to have that conversation before we step into the mix of our families. I’ve got to go. I’ll see you tonight, sweetheart.” He hangs up.
He wants to define us before family is involved.
I’m not going to read into that in a good or bad way.
But between my brothers and Reese, this afternoon is going to be slow, and tonight eventful.
My office is off Central Park with a view to kill for. I glance out of it and wonder how many times I am here and actually see it even when I look at it. I wonder what Cat would think of the view. That’s what she does for me. She makes me see things with fresh eyes.
Someone clears their throat, and I turn to find my junior partner, Nate Douglas, in the doorway. He’s young, in jeans today like myself, and looking ten shades of hung over. “You’re late,” I say. “You were supposed to be here at two thirty. It’s three thirty.”
“Sorry, boss,” he says, crossing to sit in front of my desk in a high-backed leather chair, the wood finish is a mahogany that matches my desk. “I have the flu.”
“So you thought you’d tell me that now as you sit across from me, making me fucking sick. That seems like a good lie to you?”
He pales. “I’m hung over.”
“You’re a junior partner. You don’t get hung over and come in late.”
“You’re right. It won’t happen again.”
“Do you have my file?”
He hands me the file I saw in his hand upon entry. “Here you go.”
I glance at it and then him. His dark hair is newly buzzed and his expression is awkward, and it should be. “What am I looking at?”
“We notified the Feds that you represented the client.”
“And?”
“The client doesn’t want anyone else to talk to them,” he says.
“The response, per this memo, is due Wednesday, and there is no case research at all.”
“The client wants no one but you handling this.”
“What if I was still in trial?”
“I understand, but—”
“Prep a letter asking for two weeks,” I say, dropping the file in front of him. “Get me a number and an agent name that I can call now.”
“It’s in the file. Top page.”
“Get me some research on the guts of this case, and who is involved now. I’ll let you know what else I need after my meeting.”
“Right,” he says, heading for the door, and I want to kick his young ass. But he’s not that young. He’s twenty-eight. At twenty-eight, I was already impressing people, not burying them which is what he’s about to do to my client. At some point, he obviously did impress my team here or he wouldn’t be a junior partner in a firm of eight attorneys.
“Nate,” I call out.
He turns to face me.
“What the fuck is going on?” I ask.
“Nothing.”
“Answer again.”
He covers his face and drops his head. “My wife left me. I work too much.”
“Then you have the wrong wife or the wrong job. Make a decision and do one or the other right. I don’t do in between. Now. Not later.”
“Yes. I will. You’re right.” He turns and leaves.
I stare after him, aware that I was an asshole, as Cat would call me, but you don’t take a partner role and fuck around with your work. You don’t take a wife and fuck around on her by way of time or other women.
I dig for the agent’s information, a guy named Joseph Downs, and call him. He actually answers. “I took this case as I was going to trial because I know this guy. He’s as honest as they come.”
“He shouldn’t be playing with people who aren’t, then.”
“I need time to research what happened. Three weeks.”
“One week.”
“Two.”
“Fine, but not a day longer, and I want an in-person interview on the fifteenth day. You get fourteen free days. And you know why you get those days?”
“Tell me.”
“My buddy aided the Jennifer Wright case. He said the wife did it, and I hear you got the husband to turn on her.”
“I did, but it’s too bad that wasn’t the direction law enforcement went in the first place. I wouldn’t have defended her. Someone who sucks would have.”
“I hear the DA made that decision. But like I said, you get a favor. One. This doesn’t protect your client
.” He hangs up.
The elevator dings and footsteps sound. My client, Casey Allen, appears in the doorway. “Hey, man. You ready for me?”
“Yeah. And fuck, I forget how tall you are. I guess there’s a reason you played basketball.”
He laughs. “Because I could walk it to the hoop.” He shuts the door and joins me. “I wish I was still living the NBA life right now.”
“I scanned the file,” I say. “Nothing more yet.”
“I get it. That was a big case you just won. Congrats, by the way.”
“Thanks,” I say. “He was innocent. He deserved that ruling.”
“So am I.”
“Tell me the story.”
“I invested in this company that basically does investing. It seemed brilliant at the time, as do all stupid moves. Now they’re being investigated for securities fraud. The principal is a guy named Larry Kurt. Good guy, I thought. Law degree from Yale. How could I go wrong, right? Next thing I know, the Feds are knocking on my door.”
I believe him. “I bought you two weeks for me to research and prep a response,” I say. “My team is going to research and prove you should be removed from this investigation.”
“Two weeks?” he asks. “That’s forever. I want this over.”
“I get it, but it’s better to respond right, not quickly.”
We talk through a few important details and then I send him on his way. I buzz Nate’s office. “I need to know everything about every principal in that company, down to what time they go to the bathroom. Take the files home. Get to work.” He agrees, and I dial a partner who is damn good at corporate law, chat through the case, and form a game plan. He’ll take over a portion of the case.
By the time I’ve gone back and forth with him and called my client to update him, it’s already five. I’m meeting Cat in only a few hours. I decide to haul my stack of random case files home and work from there.
Thirty minutes later, I walk into my house, and holy fuck. It’s empty. It’s really damn empty without Cat. I walk to my home office and sit down, trying to work. I do work, but I’m aware of her not being here every moment. I glance at my watch, and it’s time for me to go shower, and it has to be time for her to meet her brothers, which means she’s likely stressed. I have half a mind to go over there, but I overstepped with the book deal. I won’t do that again.
I dress in a burgundy pencil dress with long sleeves and a V-neck that I pair with black heels with sexy silk wraparound straps at my ankles. I then change into a simple black dress with a flared skirt and snug waist. I am, after all, seeing my brothers before Reese, and they will ask a million questions about my plans. I leave my hair loose and flat-iron it. My makeup is a bit more dramatic for evening, but still soft. I exit the bathroom for the bedroom door and turn back around. What am I doing? I see my brothers and I’m going to change clothes to avoid their questions? No. I just won’t answer their questions. Period. I put the burgundy dress back on.
At seven forty-five, I’ve finished a glass of wine. I don’t drink well, but I have to survive my brothers. My doorbell rings, and I consider another drink but decide to forgo it. I head to the door and open it. Sure enough, there stand my two big, blond, gorgeous, arrogant brothers. Reid, as the oldest, has a few age lines and a few extra inches on Gabe, but otherwise, they are twinkies, and both twinkies are looking me up and down. “Who is he?” Reid asks.
“You haven’t spoken to me in months,” I say. “And that is the first thing you say to me? The answer is none of your business. To the kitchen,” I add, and turn and walk away.
I get there and pour that wine, of course. I need it. The two of them are in jeans and T-shirts which always seems off for them. Sometimes I think they sleep in three thousand dollar suit-pajamas. I consider saying that. I don’t think they will be amused but I am. Gabe sets a bottle of some whiskey on the counter I won’t drink. I don’t look at it, but rather just stand on the opposite side of the island from them. The whole me-against-them thing.
“You look too good,” Gabe says. “I don’t like it.”
“You both really need to not speak,” I say.
“Your column’s good, Cat,” Reid says. “The kind of good it wouldn’t be if you weren’t a damn good Harvard graduate attorney. You should be practicing.”
“Do you know, Reid, where you are standing? You are standing in the house that Mom came to to get away from men who tried to rule her life. And our father, who fucked around on her all of the time.”
“Mom didn’t want to get away from Dad,” Reid snaps.
“No? Stay right there.” I walk to my office and return with the letter Mom wrote to me, which I’ve never let them read. I set it in front of them.
“What is that?” Gabe asks.
“The letter Mom wrote me before she died.”
“I’m not reading that,” Reid says sharply.
Gabe picks it up and starts reading, and it’s not long before he’s walking to the living room to be alone. Reid focuses on me. “We need a criminal attorney in the firm.”
“Then hire one.”
“We need someone we trust.”
I narrow my eyes on him. “What’s going on?”
“Dad wants to make peace.”
“So he sends you, who hasn’t made peace.”
“I’m here.”
“Because he sent you.”
“No.”
“Yes,” I say.
“I think you’re wasting your skills.”
“I think you’re a jerk who doesn’t care about anything but your own agenda,” I say. “Why do I matter?”
“It’s a family business. You’re my sister.”
“What is really going on here?” I demand.
“Dad might have had a mini-stroke.”
“What?” I shout, feeling as if I’ve been punched. “When?”
“Two weeks ago.”
“Two weeks ago?!”
Gabe comes walking back in the room. “Reid, you have to read this.”
“Dad had a stroke?” I demand of Gabe.
“Fuck, man,” he says to Reid. “You couldn’t wait on me?”
“You weren’t here,” Reid says.
“You didn’t have a friend with a tragedy,” I accuse of Gabe. “It was Dad.”
“Both,” Gabe says. “I had both happen.”
“Why didn’t both or one of you call me?”
“He wouldn’t let us,” Reid says. “And he’s fine. He’s back at work.”
“He doesn’t want me back in his life, does he? You two just think you can use this to get me back into the circle.”
“This should be a wake-up call,” Reid says.
“You asshole!” I yell. “Mom died of a stroke. You don’t use this as leverage.”
“I told him that,” Gabe says. “I think you should keep doing what you’re doing.” He looks at Reid. “Read the fucking letter.”
Reid snatches it up and starts reading while Gabe looks at me. “Dad’s been stressed, on edge more than usual. We don’t know why, but maybe it was the stroke coming on. He’s fine though. He’s going to take a trip with some woman he’s seeing for the holidays and take time off work.”
“If you don’t agree with Reid, then why are you here?”
“To tell you that I don’t agree with Reid, but he was coming at you anyway.”
“Have you told Daniel?” I ask of my younger brother. “I assume he’s shut out too, since you guys don’t speak to us outsiders?”
“We wanted to tell you first. I’m going to call him when we leave, unless you want to call him.”
“No. You call him. He deserves to find out and ask questions I can’t answer.”
Reid lowers the letter, scowls, and starts walking. Gabe grabs me and kisses my cheek. “I’ll call you tomorrow.”
He takes off too, and when the door shuts, I realize they took the letter. Damn it. I grab my purse and keys, and then my jacket off the coat rack, and go after them, but it’s t
oo late. I reach the elevator and the lobby and they are gone. I flag a cab and head to the restaurant. I’m early, but I don’t care. I’m going to drink more wine, and one thing I know with certainty: Reese will carry me home if I need him to. He’s the one man in my life I know really will catch me if I fall. I don’t need a man to catch me—I can catch myself—but it’s nice to know that he would right about now.
I’ve just finished dressing in a black button-down and black slacks, and have pulled on a jacket, when my phone rings with a call from security. “Sir, you have a visitor at the front desk.”
“Who?”
“She says it’s a surprise and asked if I can send her up or if you could come down. I can escort her up if you like.”
It has to be Cat. “Just send her up.”
I end the call, and as much as I want to see Cat, it hits me then that she’s cleared with security. I walk downstairs and pour a drink, downing the rich stout whiskey, while remembering Cat’s stout coffee comment. I laugh and there is a knock on the door. Cat has a key. I set my glass down, and walk to the door, pulling it open. And the woman standing there is not Cat. She’s the last person I expected to be here right now.
I sit in the restaurant waiting on Reese. And waiting. He’s late, but I know how this goes. You get with a client and can’t get out. He must still be at work. This night sucks. I’m not mad. Not at him. I don’t have that capacity right now. I’m too focused on my father’s stroke. I have a glass of wine. That makes three. My limit is really one. But I eat a bunch of bread and I’m remarkably okay. Funny how anger can sober you right up. Reese is still not here. At nine thirty, I decide maybe I’m angry. He can’t be at work. I’m not going to make excuses for him. Then I get worried. My dad had a stroke. What if Reese had an accident? I call him. It goes to voice mail. I hang up.
I feel sick.
I hate men.
I will never have anyone in my life that is more than a fuck buddy. Fuck. Buddy. Fuck all day and all night to please me, and then get the fucking fuck buddy out of my life.
I throw money on the table and leave. I don’t have a car. I call an Uber and sit on a bench at a corner I’m lucky to find. And then I just dial my father. I don’t think. The wine does. He answers. “Cat?”
Dirty Rich One Night Stand Page 22
