Dirty Rich One Night Stand

by Jones, Lisa Renee

  “You had a stroke?”

  “It was nothing.”

  “And you didn’t tell me?”

  “It was nothing.”

  “It was a stroke. I don’t like you, but I love you. You tell me when things matter, and just in case your hard head doesn’t get it. This matters.”

  “It doesn’t matter.”

  I hang up on him. And then I call him back. “It matters.”

  “I love you, too, Cat. And your book was good.”

  “You read my book?”

  “Gabe nagged me until I did, and I’m glad I did. And your coverage of the trial was brilliant.”

  “Brilliant? Did my father just say brilliant?”

  “Yes. Which is why you should—”

  “Do not say it, or any ground we just made will be lost.”

  “Then we should hang up or I’m going to say it. We’ll try this again soon.”

  “Okay.”

  “Goodnight, Cat.”

  I hang up and I really hate that I want to cry. I hate tears. They are born of weakness, and I don’t like weakness at all. A stroke. He had a stroke and Reese still hasn’t called. My Uber pulls up, and I stand up and get in. I’m alone again. I hate Reese Summer. Before him, alone felt good.

  I turn my phone off.

  I’m done.

  Really, really done for the night.

  My mother is melting down, crying hysterically, clinging to me. “I hate him. I hate that I stayed with him. I don’t even know how to start over. I just—I don’t know.”

  Every time I try to move, she clings tighter and cries harder. Finally, she calms down enough that she wants to freshen her face. I’m pointing her toward the bathroom, since she’s never been here, when my phone rings. She stops walking and looks at me. “Is it your father?”

  “Does he know you’re here?”

  “Yes. I told him I was leaving him and you would help me divorce him.”

  I don’t tell her I don’t handle divorces, despite believing she needs one. I’ll get her an attorney. I pull out my phone, and yes, it’s my father. “Dad,” I say.

  “Your mother isn’t answering her phone. Is she there?”

  “Yes. She’s here.”

  “Put her on.”

  “I don’t think—”

  “Put her on.”

  My mother is already in front of me and grabbing my phone. “John,” she says, and a sob follows.

  Fuck. Cat. I glance at my watch. It’s nine forty-five and I’ve fucked the hell up with a woman I really care about. I walk to my mother’s purse and look for her phone. I can’t find it. I follow my mother to the other room. “Where’s your phone?” I call out. “I need a phone.”

  “I don’t know. I can’t find it.”

  “Holy fuck,” I murmur. “I’m going to find a phone.” I don’t wait for an answer. I head for the door and the elevator. The minute I’m in the lobby, I make my way to the security desk. “I need a phone,” I tell the guard.

  He hands me the landline under the desk and I dial Cat. She doesn’t answer. Of course she doesn’t. No one answers numbers they don’t know, but I leave a message. “Cat. My mom showed up in a hysterical fit. She’s now on my phone and I can’t find hers. Please, sweetheart. Call me back. I’m sorry. I feel like shit.” I hang up and realize I didn’t give her the number, and I can’t just stand here.

  I charge through the lobby, and when I hit the street, I grab a cab to the restaurant. In the meantime, I use the cabby’s phone and dial Cat. Once we’re at the restaurant, I pay for him to wait. Cat’s gone. Damn it. I should have just gone to her place. Thirty minutes, and a shit-ton of traffic later, I’m at her apartment. The guard knows me—it’s the same older, dark-haired guy—and I play it off. I walk past him. He stops me. “She’s expecting me.”

  “She didn’t tell us that.”

  “I will pay you five hundred dollars to walk me up there and let me check on her. I can’t reach her.”

  “Maybe she doesn’t want to talk to you.”

  “Come on, man.”

  “I’ll go check on her,” he says.

  “A thousand.” I hand him my card. “I’m good for it.”

  He studies me. “I could get in trouble.”

  “I’ll sue whoever comes at you.”

  “I’ll go get her.” He waves at the lady behind the desk and points to the elevator. He starts walking, and the minute the elevator opens, I’m in it with him.

  “Oh, come on, Mr. Summer.”

  “I’ll pay you the money.”

  “I don’t want your money. Just don’t cause a scene up there.”

  “I have only good intentions.”

  He grimaces and faces forward. The elevator opens, and he doesn’t get the chance to exit first. I am out and down the hall at Cat’s door, knocking, before he is halfway here. She flings the door open, and she’s in a burgundy dress, and mascara has smudged the skin under her eyes. “I made you cry,” I say.

  “Why are you here? How are you up here?”

  She tries to shut the door, and I catch it. “My mother has my phone. She showed up at my place melting down and hysterical. I left her there to go get you at the restaurant. And now I’m here. I left her to come to you. I need to go back. I need you to go with me.”

  “Your mother?”

  “Yes. My mother.”

  “Oh.”

  “Oh.”

  “Ma’am, I can remove him,” the guard says.

  “No,” she says, and I pull her to me.

  “I’m sorry. I hate that I made you feel this.” I cup her head. “I wouldn’t do this to you. I’m not that guy.” I kiss her, a long, deep, tell-her-I-love-her kind of kiss, when I can’t tell her yet. It’s too soon and the wrong time and place. “Come home with me.”

  “I shouldn’t because—”

  “You should for about a hundred reasons I can’t list now. Come with me. I need you, Cat.”

  “I actually need you, too.”

  Relief washes over me. “Grab your things. What can I carry?”

  “I just need my purse,” she says, rushing inside and grabbing it before returning.

  We exit to the absence of the security guard and hurry to the elevator. Once we’re inside, I turn to her, my hands on her waist. “Cat—”

  She pushes to her toes and kisses me. “It’s okay. How are you and how is your mother?”

  “How am I? I don’t know if anyone has asked me that in years.”

  “I am.”

  “And I’m more than fine because you’re here. My mother is a wreck.”

  “I might embarrass her.”

  “Maybe you can help. She won’t leave him. He called, and she jumped all over that call. Cat, this is what I was going to talk about tonight. He cheats. A serial cheater, actually. And I don’t want you to think that’s in our blood. I’m not—”

  “Him. Or my father. Or Mitch, or anyone else I’ve ever known. I know. And you’re right. Maybe I can help. I know my mother’s regrets. If she gives me the opening, I will talk to her.”

  I kiss her. “I’m crazy about you, woman. Another something we need to talk about, because this isn’t going away.” I lean back to look at her. “What happened with your brothers?”

  “One family at a time,” she says. “Yours first.”

  “Speaking of family. Can I use your phone to call my sister?”

  “Of course.”

  She hands it to me, and I’ve finally calmed Stacey down when we reach the lobby of my building and end the call. “She wants to talk to you. We don’t have time, but beware. You’re now on my sister’s radar.”

  Cat laughs, this sweet, bubbly sound that brings me down about ten notches. We step onto and back off the elevator on my floor when she stops me. “I drank three glasses of wine. Am I talking normally?”

  I smile. “Yes, actually, you are.”

  “Huh. I don’t get it, but good.”

  We stop at my door. “Let’s hope I didn’
t save my drunk talk for your mother.”

  “At this point. I’d rather you use that frank talk you do with me with my mother.” I open the door and take her hand, leading her down the hall.

  “Mother?” I call out.

  “In the kitchen.”

  We follow her direction and when we walk into the kitchen, she’s standing at the island with a glass of wine in her hand, mascara down her cheeks. Her hair is a mess. “Who’s this?” my mother asks.

  “Cat. Someone who matters to me.”

  “Hi,” Cat says. “You’re really beautiful.”

  “Thank you,” my mother says. “You’re dating my son.”

  “Yes,” Cat says. “I am. I like him when he’s not being an asshole.”

  “He’s very arrogant,” she says. “But not like his father.”

  “He told me that,” Cat says.

  “Cat, why do you have mascara under your eyes? Did my son make you cry?”

  And then Cat does the most incredible thing. “Because I thought Reese stood me up, but of course he wouldn’t, and I would have known that, but it was bad timing. I talked to my father, who I haven’t talked to in months because, you see—I hope it’s okay that I know this—he’s like your husband. He cheated on my mom, and she died of a stroke, unhappy because she never left him. But two weeks ago, he had a stroke and no one told me. And he’s still an asshole, but I don’t want him to die.”

  Cat starts crying and my mom starts crying, and two of the most important people in my life are hugging and they barely know each other. But then, Cat apparently has a way of making the Summers fall instantly in love.

  Hours later, my mother is in the bed in my spare bedroom, and I am finally able to sit with Cat in the chair in my bedroom, her by my side, her hand on my leg and mine on hers. For a good hour, we sit there and talk about her father and her brothers. “Bottom line,” she says. “Nothing has really changed.”

  “You talked to your father. That’s big.”

  “We talked. That’s all that changed. But for your mother I think a change really is going to happen for her.”

  “She says she’s leaving him,” I say. “She’s never said that before, but it’s hard to know where this leads when she goes back home Monday. My father always wins her over.”

  “I predict that won’t happen this time,” Cat says. “She’s stronger than you realize. I read some books on the psychological factors of people staying in these situations because of my mother and my father. Basically what I learned is that, we as humans, radiate towards the familiar. The familiar is safe in our minds, even if it’s really destructive to our lives. We’re creatures of habit. But your mother came here, outside her safety zone with your father. To me, that says that she was testing the waters, seeing if she could leap to the next dock and still settle her feet firmly on the ground.”

  “Maybe. We’ll see.” I pull her legs to my lap. “Moving to a completely different subject. Anything on your book deal?”

  “Yes, actually. I have to make a decision by tomorrow night. They offered me five hundred thousand for the Jennifer Wright book and two hundred for an option book which is double what I got last book.”

  “But the last book hit the Times.”

  “Yes, for four weeks and it sold very well.”

  “Are you happy with the offer?”

  “Of course,” she says. “That’s a huge figure but you have to sign on as a consultant on the Wright book. That’s part of the deal.”

  “Done.”

  “Which means I need you to sign an agreement and take at least two hundred thousand of the money for yourself.”

  “I don’t need that money, Cat.”

  “If we break up—”

  “We’re not breaking up,” I say. “That’s not part of the equation. But here’s my counter offer. I’ll sign the agreement and if you want me to take the money, I’ll put it in savings account for us to use on whatever. Together. Agreed?”

  “I don’t think—”

  “Take it or leave it, Cat.”

  “Okay. Deal.”

  “Good. Now. Next item on the agenda. Move in with me.”

  “I—You want me to officially move in with you?”

  “Yes. I know you love your apartment, but—”

  “No. Yes. I like it here. The apartment isn’t the issue.”

  “Then what is it?”

  “We’ve only known each other a short while.”

  “We’ve lived together almost the whole time. I’ve never even considered living with someone.”

  “Why me? What makes me different?”

  I slide my hand to her face. “Because you’re everything, Cat.”

  “I repeat. We’re new.”

  “And that means what?”

  “I can’t be everything.”

  “And yet you are. That’s the only explanation I have to any objection you give me. Move in with me. We’ll do a trial. Keep your apartment. If you end up unhappy, you know you have it.” I roll her to her back and settle over her. “Say yes, Cat.”

  She rests her hand on my face in that way she does that undoes me and I have no clue why. It just does. She does. “Reese,” she whispers.

  “You’re killing me here. Say—”

  “Yes. Yes I’ll move in with you.”

  And there it is. Her undoing me all over again.

  Sunday starts with Cat and I standing at the island in the kitchen, drinking coffee, when my mother joins us and announces that she’s leaving my father, as if she didn’t announce the same thing last night. “But I’m not leaving my job at the university, or my home. I called him and told him to be gone when I get back.”

  There’s the part she didn’t give us last night. She told him to leave. She just seemed to need to say it all out loud again. And she never wavers. She is strong about her decision, and there are no more tears. I make a few phone calls and line her up an attorney, and by evening, my siblings have talked to all of us, Cat included, about ten times. Cat and I cut them off when we take my mother out for a nice dinner. The night ends with Cat accepting the book deal and with her in my arms, in our bed.

  Come Monday, since I have to be to work, Cat sees my mother off to the airport and then heads to her place to pack up some things, to bring what she needs. I arrive at work, and my secretary, Maria, a forty-something and a smart mouth, is mumbling in Spanish, which she still, after four years, doesn’t know I understand. I enter my office and sit down, and she appears in my doorway, her dress bright red and blinding. Everything about Maria is bright and bold. “You won. You’re a badass. All that stuff. Moving on. The press is calling constantly. Are you doing interviews at all?”

  “No. Decline all.”

  “I need a recording that says decline all,” she says. “Just so you know. It’s that many calls.”

  “And?”

  “Just letting you know how hard I’m working.” She turns and leaves, but she’ll be back.

  My line buzzes, and I have about ten calls, all from clients and partners trying to catch up, congratulate me, or ask for something. Around ten, Royce Walker calls. “We have a problem.”

  “Of course we do,” I say. “Why wouldn’t we have a problem?”

  “Let’s start with the good news,” he says. “My insider says Kelli Ward is about ten seconds from confessing. The bad news is that they think your client knew all along and covered the murder up.”

  “And they’re going after him for accessory this time.”

  “Bingo.”

  “Fuck. Thanks for the heads-up.” I end the call and dial Ward.

  “Where are you?”

  “Vermont,” he says.

  “Get on a plane and get back here.”

  “Why?”

  “Kelli will likely be charged today.”

  “Holy shit. She confessed?”

  “Yes,” I say. “She confessed.”

  “I can’t believe it,” he says, sounding dumbfounded. “I didn’t want to be
lieve it was true.”

  “I know, but you knew she did it,” I say, testing him.

  “On some level, yes,” he says, “I think I did, but I wouldn’t have admitted that to even myself.”

  “They’re going to try to say you did.”

  “I was acquitted,” he argues.

  “Knowledge of a crime even if you did not commit it is a crime. We’ll make this go away, but it looks better if you’re here, but not with her. Get a hotel room and stay away from her.”

  “I don’t know if I have another round in me.”

  “If I do, you do. No interviews. Don’t talk to anyone but me. Call me when you get back.”

  “Understood.” We disconnect, and I call Cat.

  “Hey,” she says. “Your mom’s plane just took off.”

  “Kelli Ward is about to confess.”

  “Why do you sound so unhappy about this?”

  “They’re going to come at Nelson for covering it up. Or so Royce’s insider tells me.”

  “Did he?”

  “No. I don’t believe he did. I believe he was in love and oblivious, much like my mother for all of these years. Now you know what you’re writing about for tomorrow.”

  “And what will be consuming you. Don’t you have that old friend that needs attention?”

  “The corporate division is going after the people who got him into the mess he’s in. I need to go. I’ll call you later.” I start to hang up but stop. “Cat.”

  “Yes?”

  “I talk to you about my work.”

  “What about it?”

  “I talk to you about my work. I don’t want to stop. I need to have you sign a more extensive consulting agreement than the one you signed for the Ward case. More all-inclusive. Do you have a problem with that?”

  “No. Of course not. I was actually going to suggest we do that. To protect everyone involved.”

  “I’ll bring it home.”

  “Home.” She laughs. “Yes. Bring it home, Reese.”

  I smile. “Bye, sweetheart.” I hang up and stand, crossing my office, and passing Maria’s desk. “I’ll be upstairs in corporate.”

  I take the stairs, not the elevator, and walk upstairs into the office of the senior partner who heads up that division. I don’t ask his secretary to enter. I just pass her by and enter his office. Kent, who is as good a friend as two workaholics can be, the same age as me, and just as aggressive as me, looks up from his desk. “What’s up, man?”