by Susan Hatler
“Sarah, would you sit down for a moment?” I closed the Somerset file, wondering what was with her tightly wound face. “Close the door behind you.”
She shut the door, took a seat in the black leather chair, and crossed her legs.
“Something’s bothering you,” I said. Even though that was obvious, I figured I should spell it out just in case. Then, I waited. My specialty when questioning a witness was to state the obvious then wait. Nine times out of ten, the witness would explain himself without ever realizing he hadn’t been asked a question.
Sarah wasn’t falling for it. She simply crossed her arms.
I sighed. “Tell me what’s going on.”
“You’re not going to like it.” Sarah kept her eyes level with mine. “In fact, you might not speak to me ever again.”
“Of course I’ll speak to you. You’re my assistant.” For some reason it felt weird saying that. “And my friend.” There, that was better. “So spill.”
She grimaced, then stared at the ceiling. “Bud and I have been seeing each other all weekend.”
“Bud?” I asked, wondering who he was and why I’d care. Then it clicked. “Oh, Bud.”
“I’m a horrible friend.” She started wringing her hands. “He totally tried to pick up on you first. But then I went to the restroom at The Oasis after you all left. When I came out, he offered me a drink. Then we danced. Then we went to Six Flags Discovery Kingdom on Saturday, then the Sacramento Zoo on Sunday.” She gestured with one hand as she spoke. “You know how I love animals.”
I set my elbow on my desk, then slumped my chin on my fist. “You’ve had a busy weekend. I was exhausted after dancing Friday.”
And from thinking of Ryan until late each night. . . .
She bit her lip. “We’re renting Benji tonight, then taking tomorrow night off, because I’m going to an art class with Ginger. It’s drop-in, cheap, and she says it’s been good for her creativity.”
I shook my head. “The only time I’ve heard Ginger be creative, is when she offered to paint her friend Kaitlin’s house. And, in that instance, I believe there was bribery involved.”
“I read that art is good for the soul.” She tilted her head. “Want to come?”
Staring at the stacks of work on my desk, I shook my head. “I need to get caught up on work this week. But, thanks.”
She placed her hands over her chest. “Are you turning me down, because I’m a terrible friend and deep, down you resent me?”
Beep! Beep! The intercom gave two perky beeps.
“Jill?” Ruth’s voice chirped out. “Defense attorney in the Beaumont case on line one for you.”
“Please send her to voicemail.” My brows immediately rose as I realized I’d just prioritized my friendship over my career. I wiggled my head, to shake the crazy feeling off. “What were we saying?”
“That I’m an awful friend.” She made a puppy dog face. “Bud was interested in you. And you’re single . . .”
I lowered my chin. “I think you know who I’m interested in, and it isn’t Bud.”
“You finally admitted it.” She squealed, and clapped her hands. “So you don’t think it’s tacky that I date Bud?”
“Of course not.” I waved my hand in the air. “He seems nice. You two go, have fun, and visit the SPCA or something.”
“I’m so relieved.” She let out an audible breath. “How about I take you out to lunch today to erase any last lingering guilt. Anywhere you want.”
The corners of my mouth rose. “How about that sushi place at 5th and L? I believe you know the restaurant.”
“Of course I do.” Instead of looking guilty, a wicked grin spread across Sarah’s face. “And, you’re welcome.”
****
I bent over my computer for several hours that night, perfecting my résumé. I needed it Friday for my meeting with Madison and her partners. Or, in case the meeting didn’t go well, I’d have to start applying to the masses. Stretching my arms high above my head, I rose from my office chair, plodded to my bedroom and fell onto the bed. It had been an exhausting, but pivotal day. I was taking charge of my career again. And that felt incredible.
Beep! Beep!
I lifted my cell off my nightstand, then ran my finger over the screen: Stuck in court all day today. Miss you.
Although I missed him, too, I protected myself by keeping the words inside. Instead, I sent back: No worries. See you tomorrow.
I hadn’t seen Ryan since Friday night. Three days. Something nagged inside me, wondering if my ten minutes might be up and he’d moved on to the next woman. I considered calling him to flat out ask if he was seeing anyone else, but then my cell rang. “Hello?”
“Buon giorno.” Kristen’s cheerful energy rang through the line. “Come stai?”
“I’m not sure what you’re saying, but I think it might include hello.” Holding the phone to my ear, I felt a chuckle escape. “How’s your honeymoon?”
“It’s beyond words, English or Italian.” Her tone sounded wistful. “But I’m calling to check on you. Have you been applying fun to your life?”
I fluffed the pillow beneath my head. “I went dancing Friday night.”
“That’s great,” she said, sounding excited. “With who?”
“Ginger, Sarah, and, Ryan.” I blurted, without thinking.
Long pause. “Ethan’s best man, Ryan?”
My mouth twisted. “Yes, he’s the one who got my promotion at work.”
“The nephew?” She sounded stunned. “I knew he’d landed a job at a firm downtown, but I’d been so busy with the wedding I hadn’t asked which one. That must be awkward.”
She didn’t know the half of it, but I may as well share everything. “He kissed me at your wedding, then again Friday night. It’s kind of a long story, and I’m not sure how much this is costing you per minute.”
Long pause. “As Ethan’s wife, I can assure you that Ryan’s a great guy. But, as a woman, I feel compelled to tell you that he tends to break hearts.”
I felt a deep pang in my chest, and I pressed my hand over my heart trying to soothe it. “Thanks for the heads-up.”
Kristen sighed. “Ethan’s waiting for me. We’re going on an all-day tour of Venice. The guide will show us amazing frescos that we’ve always wanted to see. But, before I go, tell me what you have planned for this week. For fun, I mean.”
“Um . . .” I racked my brain, and came up with zip. It felt like I’d been busted. “I was sort of considering going to an art class with Ginger and Sarah tomorrow night.”
“Art is good for the soul,” she said, quickly. “I have to run. Have fun at the class tomorrow night, and don’t work too hard. Bye, sweetie.”
“Bye, Kristen.” I hung up the phone, and continued rubbing my chest.
Ryan was a heartbreaker. Just like I’d thought. Touching my bottom lip with my finger, I could almost feel our kiss on the front porch. How could he show that much passion if he didn’t have feelings for me? I sighed, remembering why I’d never invested myself in a guy. Men were just unreliable.
Keeping my eye on my goal, which Kristen had reminded me of—and, that was supposed to help my career—I dialed Ginger’s number. “Hey. How are you?”
“I’m great.” Ginger’s voice was cautious. “But you sound down.”
Biting my lip, I said, “I’m miserable, but I don’t want to talk about it.”
“I’m sorry.” Her voice sounded sincere. “Anything I can do?”
My throat squeezed. “I want to sign up for your art class tomorrow night. Is it too late for me to get in?”
She made a dismissive sound. “Not at all. I know the teacher, Patti Smith. I’ll call her tomorrow and let her know. Sound good?”
“Works for me.” My voice was flat, and I felt drained of energy.
“Does this have to do with Ryan?” she asked, in a suspecting tone.
My eyes burned, and I felt like I might lose it if I confided in her. “I’ll see you tomorrow.�
��
I ended the call, squeezing my phone. Kristen’s words circled my brain, prompting me to reread Ryan’s text. Miss you.
He didn’t seem like the kind of person who would say something unless he meant it. But uncertainty flowed through me, and one thing was for sure. I’d be getting even less sleep tonight.
Chapter Eight
Ryan stopped by my office the next morning, but I brushed him off claiming I was overloaded with work, and glued to my desk the rest of the day. Not a lie. Then he surprised me by dropping by take-out from Takeshi at lunch, making it hard to keep a tight leash on my growing feelings for him.
After work, I carpooled with Sarah to a beautiful Victorian building in mid-town where Patti Smith’s art classes were held. Ginger handed me a large tablet of sketch paper as they converted the room for art class. “You talk to Ryan today?”
“Barely.” I tore a large piece of paper from the tablet, then handed it to Sarah. “I’m trying to focus on work.”
“You’re still worried about his bad boy rep?” Sarah accepted the sheet and clipped it onto one of the twenty-some-odd easels that circled the room, then she gave me a guilty look. “Just because of what Kristen, Ryan’s friend, and Ryan’s assistant from San Francisco said?”
“His assistant told you he’s a player?” My stomach coiled, as the confirmation list seemed to be rapidly increasing.
Sarah twisted her hand back and forth. “More that he was a hot commodity among the female masses.”
Was that recommendation supposed to be better?
My gaze snapped up to Ginger. “How did things go with Greg?”
“It was fun.” She shrugged. “He flew back to San Diego, and I’m not into long-distance relationships.”
“I understand,” I said. Once my sheet was pinned to my easel, I surveyed the room. Every participant in this class was female. Most of the ladies were young, had their hair done, make-up fresh, and wore dressy clothes—that looked better for a nightclub than an art class.
I looked down at the jeans and basic shirt I’d chosen, considering the high probability that I’d spill paint my first time out. “Why is everyone so dressed up?”
“Oh.” Ginger smirked. “I probably should’ve mentioned it. A lot of us are actually here to learn, but there’s a select number who come to gawk at our model.”
My brows rose. “We’re not painting fruit, or an Asian vase?”
She shook her head. “This class isn’t for still life. Patti hires a live model.”
The woman next to us leaned over. “Our model is absolute eye candy. You’re going to love this class.”
Sarah snickered, but Ginger seemed annoyed.
Why did these women care so much about a model? He could be the hottest guy in the world, but if you couldn’t rely on him then what was the point?
A door in the back of the room squeaked open, and a familiar muscular, blond, strutted into the room. He wore a long green robe as if he were going to a boxing match.
My mouth dropped open. “What’s Troy doing here?”
Ginger eyed me before her gaze traveled over to Sarah’s shocked expression. “You know Troy?”
Closing my mouth, I turned toward Sarah. “So that’s why Troy always shoots out of the office right at five. He has a second job here.”
“Our model works at your firm?” Ginger asked.
Sarah’s eyes bulged like they were about to pop out of her head. “I’m not sure I can stay, and still go to work in the morning.”
“What’s the big deal?” I rolled my eyes, then strode over to say hello to Troy. “Hey.”
He gaped at me as if I had two heads. “Jill? W-What are you doing here?”
Why’d he look so dumbfounded? “Why does it surprise you that I’m here? I have a life outside of the office, you know.”
At least I was beginning to. . . .
Troy’s expression relaxed, and he touched my arm. “Sorry, just a little stunned to have you in class. But it’s cool.” He waved a hand. “I’m fine with it.”
My brows popped up. “I’m glad you’re fine with me painting.”
His face broke into a smile. “Are you an artist? How accurate is your ability?”
I shook my head. “I’m just here for fun. And to exercise the right side of my brain.”
He nodded. “It’s especially freeing after being cooped up with the law all day. So much stress, you know? This is a good way for me to unwind.”
“Art is good for the soul,” I repeated, like I believed it. It sounded like everyone had been relaxing in their down time, except me. “Up until I saw you in that robe, I thought we were drawing fruit.”
“No fruit here.” He gave her a slow smile and ran a hand through his thick blond hair. The sleeve of his robe fell back exposing the thick muscles of his bicep and shoulder.
“Keep in mind I’m a rookie,” I said, feeling out of sorts at not knowing the ropes. Plus, it didn’t look like he was wearing a shirt. I swallowed, hoping he was wearing shorts under there. “I’ll try my best to draw you accurately.”
Troy winked, and his grin widened. “You’d better.”
A feeling of terror came over me as I walked numbly back to my easel. Ginger stood with her hands behind her back, and Sarah was giving me a let’s-get-out-of-here look.
“Welcome everyone!” Patti stood in the center of the room. “Time to get started. Everybody have their charcoal? If not, there’s a box on my desk.”
Always an A-student, I hurried over to Patti’s desk to quickly grab my charcoal, so I wouldn’t miss any instruction. “Excuse me, Patti?”
Patti glanced my way. “What’s up?”
It felt like the entire class turned in my direction as well. “What do we use to pick up the sticks? Is there a holder or something, so I don’t get my fingers dirty?”
Several chuckles rippled around the room.
“Jill, right?” she said, reading off a piece of paper. “No holder. Just pick up the charcoal. Your fingers will get a little black, but it’s no biggie.”
“Got it.” My chin lifted, but it felt odd trying something new. I inhaled deeply, determined to relax in my downtime—even if it killed me.
Troy sidled up next to Patti, then dropped onto a barstool set smack in the center of the easels. He leaned back onto the stool, then lifted his eyes toward me in a way that had the hair on the back of my neck standing upright.
Patti appeared by my side. “Relax. Do you see black on my hands?” She wiggled her fingers in the air. “If you don’t find this a good fit, you might consider our print making class.”
I’d rather just stay in the courtroom. Trying a case in front of a jury was much less nerve-racking than this. “Thanks for the idea.”
“Class, be sure to pay careful attention to proportions.” Patti continued her instructions. “How big is the hand compared to the face? Are the eyes and nose appropriate distances apart?”
Sounded like math to me. Maybe I could get a handle on this. Deep breath, and chill.
Patti checked her watch. “We’ve got an hour and a half, then anyone who wants to share their work can do so at that time. Sound good?”
The class murmured affirmative remarks.
“Great, then let’s start.” Patti slipped out of the circle of easels. “Troy?”
Troy glanced at me one more time, then a smooth smile spread across his chiseled features as he untied his belt loop. He shrugged the green fabric off his shoulders, and the robe dropped away. Troy was naked. And staring directly at me.
No, this never happened in the courtroom.
I glanced at Sarah, who’d made a shocked mewing sound, and one distinct thought ran through my mind: I could be at home reviewing my cases right now.
Suddenly, something bubbled up inside of me, and I fought to control my laughter. My colleague was sitting in front of me without clothes on and I was supposed draw him. This was comical. Around me, the scratching of charcoal against paper filled the room with
a rhythmic sound. Yes, I’d seen pictures of David, but I was no Michelangelo.
Patti put a hand on my arm. “You need help?”
I nodded slowly. What had Patti instructed? Proportions? Size? I wasn’t sure I could look at Troy there, let alone draw him.
Patti lifted my hand as it clutched the charcoal, and she brought it to the paper. “Just start with a light outline of the entire body.”
I took a deep breath, then slid the charcoal on the paper in quick strokes as instructed.
“Good.” Patti smiled, as she rubbed her chin. “Just sketch the outline of the forms and smudge them to create shadows. If you show shadow and light accurately, you’ll form the shapes. Make sense?”
“Okay,” I confirmed, then began outlining and smudging. I sketched and sketched, careful to focus on Troy’s face and chest, and avoid anything too far south. When our time was up, I stood back, put my hands on my hips, and admired my work. His chiseled face, hard pecks, and washboard abs hadn’t turned out half bad for my first try.
“What the . . .?” Ginger gaped at the smiley-faced pair of shorts I’d drawn on my model. “He wasn’t wearing those!”
“Creative license.” I shrugged, because I made my own rules.
Sarah and I doubled over with laughter. Only later did I realize that instead of pretending to have fun, I’d had a blast.
****
The next morning, I worked out at Totally Fit, then arrived to work promptly at eight—fired up and ready to plow through legal briefs. Sketching Troy had been a laborious activity. Along the same lines as that guy from Shawshank Redemption scraping his way out of jail with an old spoon. Probably no more art in my future, but it had been an interesting adventure.
I checked my voicemails, and had two from clients, then one from the Helping Homeless Project. Apparently the director of H.H.P. had heard about my donation to the Sacramento Children’s Home and that I’d expressed interest in doing more for my community. They were short on volunteers tonight for their dinner program, so I wrote down their name and number.
Hovered over my desk, I lifted my head as Sarah strode in and dropped a stack of mail in my in-box. “I’m still picturing the smiley-faced results of your artistic talent.”
