by Cecy Robson
“Oh, yes, I did,” Becca fires back. “Mm, good roast, Momma.”
“You left,” I remind her over Momma’s thank you.
“True, but I have security cameras for a reason.”
“To spy on your guests?” I offer.
“Well, yeah,” Becca says. “I don’t want people stealing my shit.”
Again, my family whole-heartedly agrees.
“I didn’t see what happened when you went out there on the terrace, but I did see the footage of you leaving holding hands and neither of you coming back,” Becca admits. “I also did some prying and talked to a few people.”
“Ivy Lionelle?” Trin asks.
Hell, that’s my guess, too.
“No, Darlene Sotta,” Becca clarifies. “Ivy’s always been too gossipy.” She angles her head to better see Luci. “And Blythe, but she probably told you as much.”
Luci shakes her head. “Wow, I . . . wow.”
Becca laughs again. “When Mr. Ballantyne needed someone to make them look good, and you needed a job, Landon, I thought it was the perfect solution. Worst case scenario nothing happens, you go elsewhere, life goes on.”
“And best?” Trin asks, glancing at Luci.
Becca’s voice softens. “Landon gets the smile he went too long without.”
The table becomes a buzz of conversation, about me and Luci, and Becca’s involvement, Cal, Jr. and how Callahan and Daddy are going to start extending the house so they’ll have more room when the baby comes. But my thoughts stay on Becca and the gift she handed me, wrapped in a sweet bow.
“What about you?” I ask Becca quietly. “How do we find your smile?”
I expect her to make a joke and laugh it off. When she doesn’t, I realize she’s worse off than I thought. She takes a sip of her water and then lowers it carefully back down. “I don’t know,” she admits, her voice a little lighter and a lot less confident.
I shouldn’t say what I do, but it comes all the same. “Do you think Hale might know where it is?”
That same glimpse of sadness she showed Momma makes an appearance. “If he does, I doubt he’d show me the way. That man stopped giving a damn about me a long time ago.”
I look at Luci and give her hand a squeeze, practically melting when she meets me with her warm gaze.
“I don’t agree,” I tell Becca, lifting the hand carefully grasped in mine. “Sometimes, you just need the right chance.”
Chapter Twenty-Three
Luci
Mr. Ballantyne storms forward, the anger in his face making those walking toward him escape into the row of cubicles. “Luci, what the hell is this about the new offices being painted red. It’s a law firm, not a brothel!”
I snag Jillian, the new secretary by the wrist when she tries to bolt. “Sir, the offices will be paneled in dark wood to give the floor a more classic look.”
He rams the piece of paper he’s holding forward. I lift it from his grasp and examine the image. “I see.”
“A brothel?” he offers.
I try not to laugh. “The decorator’s computer system contains more advanced graphics than our software. It makes the images appear a different color, rather than the tones they’ll actually be.” I return the paper to him and pull up the images on my iPad. “This is what the main reception area will look like. If you scroll through the other pictures, you’ll see the rest of the floor plan in detail, in addition to the color palates for each office and common area.”
He takes my iPad, scowling at it. As he flips through the pictures, his features soften. “This is . . . nice.”
“Yes, sir.”
“Better than I thought.”
“She did a nice job,” I agree.
He glances up, what’s left of his frown still in place. “You’re sure it’s this.” He lifts the hard copy. “And not this shit?”
“Yes, sir. The more advanced images are included digitally in the contract. I approved them and signed on your behalf, as per your instruction.”
He nods. “Tell me this, why doesn’t our technology measure up to the decorator’s?”
“Because we don’t need the software she uses at Ballantyne and Bradley. If we did, or if we need anything close to it in the future, I’ll be sure to research it and present it to you.”
“All right.”
He seems troubled as he hands me the iPad. I take a moment to forward the email. “I just sent you another copy of the pictures, including the contract. The images will appear better on your computer screen and you’ll be able to look through all the specifics at your leisure.”
“It’s not necessary,” he says. “But thank you.”
He pauses before taking off. I watch him, wondering why he seems so upset. One of the new paralegals steps forward, waiting until Mr. Ballantyne disappears into his office before approaching me.
“Ah, Luci, is it?”
“Yes.” I offer him my hand. “You’re Dante, aren’t you?”
He smiles, shaking it like he’s afraid to break me. “That’s me. I’m going to be helping Mr. Summers out. He told me to see you about getting an office next to him.”
“Oh, yes, one moment please.” I glance at the time, and pass the folders I’m carrying to Jillian. “I’d like you to distribute these to all the attorneys directly, except the senior partners. They’re not to be disturbed, but you can give them to their secretaries.”
Jillian’s hesitant stare bounces from the pile back to me. “What if I see the partners?”
“You can explain you’re dropping of the monthly reports with their secretaries unless they prefer to view them directly.”
“You can do it,” I add when she doesn’t move. “And it will help me out tremendously.”
“All right,” she says.
“Follow me please,” I say to Dante. I scroll through my iPad as I walk. “I won’t be able to give you an office until the partners move upstairs. But if Landon wants you closer, I can certainly arrange that.”
“Landon?” He trips over his words. “Sorry, I’ve only ever heard the higher ups call him by his last name.”
“Oh,” I say, noting how his comment makes me involuntarily smile.
Landon and I have spent the last few weekends travelling to Kiawah, and though our time often involves more work than play, he on his upcoming cases, and me finishing the work I bring with me, playtime has brought us closer.
His family is eccentric, hilarious, and absurdly perfect. We have dinner with them every time we’re down. But as close as we are, I still haven’t told him about Fernie.
I thought in time I would. Yet after he explained how awful his ex-wife was, and how “fucked up” her family is, I couldn’t be another lover in his life with a dysfunctional past. I simply couldn’t. He shouldn’t have to deal with the baggage that I bring. If I could just help Fernie get clean, I wouldn’t be another woman he feels compelled to save.
My concern is I haven’t seen her since the night I was attacked.
“I take it you’re friends?” Dante asks.
My fingers fly across my iPad when an urgent email pops up. “Yes, we’re friends,” I say. I reply to Jefferson’s email, that no, he’s not losing his insurance, rather we’re changing providers to offer better coverage.
“All right,” he says.
His tone is slightly off. I assume he picked up on more than I intended. I don’t bother to clarify. He’ll find out the truth soon enough.
People whisper about me and Landon. Thankfully, it’s mostly positive. I suppose Landon won over the employees of Ballantyne and Bradley as easily as he won me over.
Jefferson pops out of his office as Dante asks how soon the move will take place. “Luci, question,” Jefferson says.
“One moment please,” I tell him, turning to address Dante. “It might be a while. In the meantime, let me speak with Melinda about switching cubicles with you. She’s closest physically to Landon, but wor
ks directly with Desiree, the junior partner. The switch might work in both your favors.”
“I can tell they’re physically close,” Dante mumbles.
“Excuse me?” I ask, stopping just in front of Jefferson.
He glances around. “I just meant Melinda and Mr. Summers seem tight. She’s always hanging around him, offering to help.”
“Dude,” Jefferson says. “Don’t be an asshole. Landon’s with Luci, not Melinda.”
Dante’s face flushes red. “I’m sorry, I didn’t know—”
“Now you do,” Jefferson says.
“I’ll let you know about the move as soon as I can make arrangements,” I say, moving forward.
Jefferson trails me. I glance up from my iPad, trying to focus on anything but Dante’s comment. As much support as we’ve received, I know there are a few ladies in the office who seek Landon out. That doesn’t mean I’m thrilled about the reminder.
“How long do I have to enroll?” Jefferson asks.
I welcome the office talk more than he knows. “One more week. Fill out your information on the link I sent you, I’ll take care of the rest.”
“Can I add a dependent later on?”
My steps slow as I reach my office. I turn to look at him. “Are you anticipating having a dependent to add?”
Although I keep my voice soft, he glances around to see who might be listening. He hooks my elbow and leads me into my office, shutting the door.
His sullen expression says it all. “Who is she?” I ask.
He shakes his head. “Some woman I picked up at a bar.”
I place my iPad on my desk and walk around it, giving him a moment.
Jefferson isn’t a bad guy, he’s smart, handsome, and a gifted litigator. But like many of the young attorneys who work here, he’s allowed his accomplishments and the money he’s accrued to give him a false sense of power and a belief he’s untouchable.
I lower myself into my seat, motioning for him to take the chair in front of me. “You’re not looking to put this woman on your plan, are you?”
“No.”
My attention falls to my desk, wishing I could help, despite recognizing this burden is his to carry. “You’re adding a child?” I ask, clarifying what I already know.
“She says I knocked her up. Maybe I did.” He huffs. “We went out a few times. She told me she was on the pill, like an idiot, I believed her.”
I want to point out that these things happen even on birth control, but that’s not what he wants to hear.
My hand slides across the skirt of my teal summer dress, the color bright despite the weak April sunlight streaming in through my window. It’s the same dress I wore when I took a pregnancy test two weeks ago. I hadn’t been feeling well, and my period was late. I stared at the stick on my vanity as I washed my hands, waiting for the results.
“Is there something I should know?” Landon asked.
I hadn’t heard him walk in, too distracted by what I may or may not see. “I’m a little late,” I admitted. “And I’ve been run down lately. I think I’m getting sick, but I need to make sure that’s all it is.”
He gathered me in his arms and kissed my cheek. “You’ve been working a lot,” he reminded me.
“I know,” I agreed.
“Maybe too much?”
“Maybe,” I replied.
“How late are you?”
“Two weeks,” I said. “But sometimes I skip a month.”
I checked the time on my phone and sighed. “It’s negative,” I added, trying to reassure him and myself.
He stared at the stick and the single line it produced. “Are you sure?”
I couldn’t blame him for having his doubts. We’ve had a lot of sex, and there are moments when I don’t take my pill exactly on time. “It’s been ten minutes, and it hasn’t changed.”
He hugged me close when I returned his embrace. I couldn’t help thinking he was disappointed. And as worried as I was, I was disappointed, too.
“If you do get pregnant, I’ll take care of you and our baby,” he said, his voice thick with emotion. “I swear I will.”
He meant it, which is why I love him.
“She’s a waitress,” Jefferson says, bringing me back to the moment. “She doesn’t have insurance. I can cover her hospital costs if it comes down to it, but will only add the baby to my plan.”
“Your baby?” I ask.
“Looks that way.” He shrugs as if it’s no big deal and his life isn’t imploding around him. “She’s agreed to have a DNA test, but is sure I’m the father.”
“I fucked up, didn’t I?” he adds.
“Take it one step at a time, Jefferson,” I say. “That’s all you can do.”
He seems to be looking over my shoulder and toward the view of the neighboring building. I doubt he sees it or feels anything. I only hope when the time comes, he does the right thing. “This wasn’t supposed to happen to me,” he says. “Shit, it’s not like I’m sixteen and naïve.”
If he were anyone else, I could tell him a baby is a blessing and someone he’ll grow to love and accept. But Jefferson never planned on a family. He’s not one to commit. “If I can help, let me know.”
“Thanks, Luci.” He rises slowly, the weight of his worry keeping him down. “No one else knows, keep it that way, okay?”
“You don’t have to worry about that,” I assure him.
He’s almost to the door when Kee-Kee marches in. She frowns when he walks by without a word. “What the hell’s wrong with him?”
“Rough case,” I say.
“Fitzgerald vs Vitale?” She doesn’t wait for me to answer. “That’s because Andrew Fitzgerald is an absolute nutcase. If he didn’t have the bills he does, no way would we represent that mess.” She crosses her legs. “So, you and hotness.”
“Pardon?”
She smirks. “You and Landon,” she clarifies. “Still going strong?”
“He’s good to me,” I admit.
“Uh, huh.” Her grin fades slightly. “Mr. Ballantyne is all up in arms, certain Landon is going to steal you away and we’re going to lose you.”
I pause in the middle of logging on to my computer. “Why?”
“Luci, come on. Anyone here with half a brain can see how serious the two of you are.”
I see it and feel it, but the guilt I have over Fernie keeps me from fully enjoying my relationship with Landon.
Fernie has been noticeably absent, so have her group of friends. If it weren’t for me finding her the previous Friday, I would have opted out of going to Kiawah and searched the city for her.
“He’s good to me,” I repeat.
“A little too good which is why Mr. Ballantyne is worried he’ll lose you.”
“I’ll talk to him,” I say, reaching for the phone when it rings. “Luci Diaz.”
“Miss Diaz, this is Nestor from security. You have a visitor.”
I scroll through my planner, thinking it’s business related. “I wasn’t expecting anyone,” I add, skimming through my list. “Is he or she a representative of—”
“She’s not a representative,” he says, his tone cementing me in place. “She says her name is Fernie. She won’t give me a last name and says you know who she is.”
My stomach bottoms out. “I’ll be right down.”
“You don’t want her up, right?”
He’s not really asking me. He’s pretty much telling me she doesn’t belong in the building. “I’m on my way,” I say, trying to keep my face neutral.
I haven’t seen Fernie since last Friday during my lunch hour. She averted my gaze and said nothing, even when I handed her a small bag of groceries.
“You all right?” Kee-Kee asks, standing with me.
“I just have to meet someone downstairs,” I say.
Kee-Kee watches me as I reach for my purse. “I’ll come with you.”
“That’s not necessary,
” I say, trying to smile. “I’ll be back.” I stop in the doorway. “I’m sorry, Kee, was there something you needed?”
“It’s nothing urgent. I’ll catch you when you get back.” She cocks her head. “Are you sure you’re all right?”
“Yes, let’s have lunch tomorrow. Okay?” I force another smile when she nods, then walk quickly away.
I hate leaving Kee-Kee, especially when she appears to need my assistance. But I have to make certain Fernie is safe. I dig through my purse and pull out my wallet, thumbing through the bills as I step inside the elevator.
It’s a busy time of day and people are still trailing in from lunch. Whoever is lingering in the foyer will see me. But I can’t miss an opportunity to help Fernie.
The doors part as I shove my wallet back into my purse and tuck the bills in my hand. I avoid showing cash around Fernie, but I avoid having my wallet visible even more. The last thing I want is to tempt her and cause a scene.
I hurry across the foyer, quietly greeting a few of the legal associates returning from court.
“Hey, Luci.”
“Hi, Luci.”
“Your man killed it in court,” Duncan tells me.
“That’s wonderful, thank you,” I say, my smile lifting slightly.
The new attorneys are carefully scrutinized in action, by the senior partners to assure they’ve hired the right candidates, and by their peers as a way of gauging their competition. If they don’t live up to Ballantyne and Bradley standards, they’re usually asked to leave within the first year, sometimes, as early as a few months. I don’t worry about Landon leaving. I know how good he is and how hard he works.
I want to do something special to honor his achievements, especially his latest one that secured Dania a work visa and allowed her family to stay. For now, though, Fernie comes first.
My steps slow as I look around. I catch sight of her near the far end of the walkway, her small stature overpowered by the two immense security guards looming over her. I frown, wishing they’d treat her with more respect. Yet as I reach them, I see why they’re concerned.
Fernie appears emaciated, her eyes wide and glassy.
Her long greasy hair is matted in clumps around her face. It’s almost eighty degrees outside, but the worn yellow coat she wore all winter still shrouds her delicate frame. I don’t have to guess she’s strung out. Her appearance and how she sways in place is telling enough.
