by Jo Leigh
Max’s other eyebrow rose, and the look he gave Natalie was mostly one of surprise, with a little panic mixed in.
9
MAX WASN’T SURE what to do. Natalie was into film—maybe this was some kind of cinema verité and there were hidden cameras behind the paintings. She’d warned him before that her family was nuts, but...
“I actually don’t take personal cases,” he said, but he didn’t think anyone was listening. The other man, who looked a great deal like Natalie’s uncle Victor, was promising to hire his own attorney, and saying that he would end up owning both restaurants. Victor would have to explain to his children why he had made them poor and homeless because he was a recipe thief.
Max leaned over the table, careful of his clothes. “I thought he was the brother-in-law.”
“Also third cousin.” She huffed an impatient sigh and said, “Oh, for heaven’s sake,” forcefully enough that the men shut their mouths. Boy, she looked great with that fire in her eyes. “I’m here with a guest and you’re embarrassing me. I won’t tell you twice.” Her glare traveled from uncle to cousin to Aunt Hanna, then to several people in aprons. He knew some criminal lawyers who could take lessons.
The straight back, the determined expression and the commanding tone were having an effect on him, too. In a way that wasn’t in the same zip code as the friend zone. As the staff retreated, the quiet was like a fresh breeze. Then his grumbling stomach made her smile and he could relax again.
He poured them each a hefty glass of Shiraz and started filling his plate with one of everything.
“I know,” she said, lifting her wine. “They’re lunatics. They’re also wonderful, but mostly they’re lunatics.”
“The holidays must be interesting.”
“You have no idea.”
He lifted his own glass but he held off drinking as Natalie leaned in. “To be honest, I don’t come here all that often. I think I scare them.”
“Hell, you scared me. You probably didn’t notice, but you could have heard a toothache in this place. Impressive.”
She leaned back, took a sip and traded her glass for a fork. “Thank you. Now. Dinner. I’ll explain the dishes, and we can enjoy what’s left of our time together.”
He began with the pierogi, which he’d had before, although these were much better. Or maybe it was the company that made them taste so good. She explained about the buckwheat groat that were at the heart of the kasha, and varnishkes turned out to be another word for bow-tie pasta.
Just as he’d dug in to the kasha, Ivan hurried out of the kitchen, checking behind him before he arrived at the table with two small bowls of condiments. “My idiot brother-in-law forgot these. And listen,” he said, lowering his voice as he spoke directly to Max, “my cousin Joey just passed the bar with a very high mark. He’s going to represent me in this lawsuit, so you might as well not take the case. It would be a waste of your time.”
“Ivan.” Natalie was getting that look again. He held up both hands and backed away, and Max didn’t blame him.
“My apologies,” she said.
“Joey? That doesn’t sound like a very Ukrainian name.”
“When I said extended family, I meant it. I’ve got cousins and second cousins and cousins twice removed. Joey’s one of the good ones, though. I hope he doesn’t get caught up in all this mess.”
“That’s okay. It’s interesting. The food is really good. Different, but good, and so is the atmosphere. My family isn’t so extended. I have an aunt, Ellen—”
“You mentioned her before.”
“Right. She’s the one who wants me and my brother to be married. She has two kids, daughters. Around my age. We got in a lot of trouble during family gatherings, but that was mostly our fault, not the cousins’. We also have one grandpa who’s still alive. He lives near my aunt Ellen in Vermont.”
“That’s it?”
“Yep.”
“I bet they’re all normal, huh? Don’t yell across restaurants, don’t throw entire turkeys at each other?”
He had to ask. “Cooked or raw?”
“Cooked. Stuffed. A twenty-seven-pound turkey. That was a very special Thanksgiving.”
Max probably wouldn’t have believed the story before he’d seen her family for himself. “I have nothing to top that. You win the weird-family award.”
“Yeah,” she said. “I get that a lot. Why do you think I got into films and books? I needed the escape.”
He laughed. “Ah, it all begins to make sense. I grew up in middle-class suburbia. Mike and I were outside every minute we could be. We played all the sports, even the ones we were crap at. I wasn’t much for reading anything but comic books until high school. Dawn Bryan was my high-school girlfriend for a couple of months in tenth grade and she was heavily into books. I thought she was sexy, and she thought I was a reader, and voilà,” he said. “Magic. She had a habit of asking me about the books I’d supposedly read, so I read them.”
“No CliffsNotes?”
He shook his head. “I never lost the desire to read, only the time necessary.”
“That’s a shame.”
“Life won’t always be this hectic.”
They ate some more, and he found he liked the deep red borscht a lot. He liked her a lot. He wished she was going with him to the party. It would have made him more at ease. Not that he was worried. He just would’ve enjoyed having her there.
By the time he’d eaten enough to take off the edge, he started getting nervous again. His plan had worked, though. Natalie was a great distraction.
“It’s almost time for you to leave, and we haven’t talked about M at all.”
A glance at his watch confirmed that the car would arrive in the next few minutes. “You’re right. I wish we had longer.” He folded his napkin and thought about finishing his second glass of wine, but passed. “We’ll have to try again.” He looked at her. “Don’t get me wrong, I really enjoyed tonight, but I was serious about the movie. I’m very interested to hear your thoughts. My exposure to old films is limited, and I’d like to learn more now while I have the chance.”
“You mean before you get this promotion?”
“Yep. Whether I stay where I am or go with another firm, I’m going to be swallowed whole. No time for much fun at all.”
“A promotion should be a reward. That doesn’t sound like much of a win.”
That stopped him for a moment. She had a point, but it was all leading to an endgame that was more important than time to relax was now. “Worth it, though.” He checked his watch again. “You think we can find someone to give us the bill?”
“There won’t be a bill tonight. Not after that nonsense at the table. If you haven’t noticed, they’re still going at it. I swear, it’s like coming to the circus.”
After putting a twenty on the table for Zoya, he stood and was about to say thanks again when the kitchen door swung open. It was Ivan tugging along a dark-haired guy Max hadn’t seen before. The kid had curly hair, black-rimmed glasses and an attempt at a soul patch, and he looked as if he’d rather jump off the Brooklyn Bridge than be dragged into the dining room. Before they reached the table, a very unhappy-looking Victor made his own appearance.
Natalie stood up, tossed her napkin on the table and took Max by the hand. “We’re leaving. Now.”
Feeling like Clyde to Natalie’s Bonnie, he hurried with her to the front door. When she stopped, it was to turn around, hold out her hand to the crowd still following them, and say, “I’m not kidding. Stop.”
She didn’t let go of him again until they were up the stairs and standing by the curb. With uncanny timing, the limousine sent by the recruiting agency pulled up in front of the loading zone. He opened the back door but kept his eyes on her. “Next time, we’ll go somewhere else.”
She glanced at the backseat of the limo, then back at him. “I—”
A half second later, he had his hand behind Natalie’s neck and he was kissing away whatever she was about to say. The move surprised him, but not half as much as the fact that the impromptu kiss went from friendly to scorching in the space of a breath.
It was awkward with the door between them, with the car idling in the red zone, with the city buzzing around them. But it also filled him with the taste of her, the scent of her perfume and then the feel of her hand gripping his shoulder, holding him steady.
The sound of an obvious throat clearing brought him back down to earth. Natalie’s eyes were as dark and wide as they could get, and he hadn’t felt this flustered in years. He’d kissed her. He hadn’t planned to, but he’d done it.
“Excuse me.” A familiar woman’s voice came from behind him. From the backseat. “Max? We don’t want to be late.”
Stella. She was supposed to be meeting him at Parlor.
“Sure,” he murmured to her before turning back to Natalie. “We have to, uh...”
“Right,” she said. “Okay. Um. Have a...good time?”
He nodded and leaned forward to say, “You still owe me a movie night,” then slipped into the limo. Natalie closed the door after him. The limo surged forward into traffic before he could make sense of any of it. He watched her until a bus cut off the view.
“Well, that was a thick slice of awkward.”
Max turned to his surprise companion. “I thought—”
“I know, I was supposed to meet you at the club, but I wanted the time to go over things with you. Now I’m glad I did. We need to get you focused.”
“Yeah,” he said. “No problem. Not at all. I’m completely here and ready.”
Stella, who was not only beautiful but incredibly good at her job, didn’t look convinced.
“Really. We’re just friends. She knows a lot about old films. And Ukrainian food.” He sounded lame, even to himself. Jesus. What the hell had he been thinking with that kiss?
“Max. You can think about her another time. Tonight’s important. Other attorneys the partners are considering will be there, but you’re going to be the main attraction. Everyone will be sizing you up. I swear, after all the work I put into getting you there, if you blow it, I may just kill you.”
“Elliot Beckingham,” Max said, blocking out any other thoughts. “He’s looking for a shark, someone who can swim in deep water. He’s got three major cases going right now, the most important being the pharmaceutical class action. Dan Grohl is the lead on that one, and I aced him out of the number-two spot at Northwestern.”
Stella sighed. “Thank God. Now, let’s go over your strategy. Particularly how you’re going to handle the questions about you appearing in court more often.”
“I know you like bringing this up, but they shouldn’t be looking at me for my courtroom abilities. I’m there to make sure the attorneys who are in court have the best information possible.”
“I keep bringing it up because you don’t seem to believe me. They’ll still want you to do that, but they’ll need to know you’re prepared to do the heavy lifting in front of a judge and jury. And that’s not just Beckingham. All of them want the total package.”
“Fine. Okay. I had more than my usual load of court days on the seafood case, so there should be no problem. I’ll still emphasize the research, though.”
Stella smiled and pushed her long blond hair behind her shoulder. “As my father always said, lead with your strengths, but be ready for anything.”
* * *
THE LIMO HAD disappeared awhile ago, but Natalie kept looking down the street. Everything around her had dulled to a muffle the moment Max had kissed her. Passionately. Sensually. There had been nothing casual about it. In no sense was it a friend saying thanks to another friend. Tongues had played a major role, and that didn’t happen between pals.
What the ever-loving hell?
Unfortunately, she’d left her jacket and purse in the restaurant, but when she turned to go back, she found Zoya leaning against the stair railing, holding the items in her hand.
“I thought you said it wasn’t a date,” Zoya said.
“It wasn’t.”
“It sure looked like a date.”
“You saw the...?” She waved vaguely behind her.
“Yeah. Me and the bombshell in the backseat.”
Natalie inhaled and let out her breath slowly. “Yeah. That was weird, wasn’t it? He said it was a business thing. I believe him. But I’m still very confused. I’m gonna go home now.”
“Good idea.” Her cousin handed over the jacket and purse. “You should avoid this place for a while. They’re getting worse. I think they might actually go to court.”
“Oh, for God’s sake. Thanks for being one of the only people in this family who has a lick of sense. You should come over for game night soon.”
“I will. I’ve got to go, but if you need to talk, I’ll be home after closing.” Zoya hurried back to the stairs.
Natalie walked. This time she’d worn comfortable shoes because she hadn’t needed to dress up for a friend. But the kiss had blurred the edges between them. In a major way.
It wasn’t fair. The conversation over dinner, despite the interruptions, had been interesting and so easy. They’d connected, and she felt certain that they could have talked into the wee hours of the morning. They’d each laid out clues, and she’d wanted to dig deeper.
Of course she’d been attracted to him, that was a given. Yet she’d been too engrossed to feel self-conscious about their sexual past or future. It was the kind of simpatico she hoped to find in a husband. Which was terrible. She’d had the best sex ever with a man who was fascinating and engaging, and who’d liked her enough to break their agreement never to meet again.
While a gorgeous woman waited for him in a black limo.
No, he’d told her the reception was business. She had no reason to believe he’d lied. After all, he didn’t owe her an explanation about his love life. They were supposed to just be friends. Oh, God, she didn’t need this roller coaster.
If she had a brain in her head, she’d cut her losses and move on. They hadn’t even talked about films yet— Oh, no, wait, he said she owed him a movie night. If she followed through, she knew that was going to make things even more confusing.
The question was, could she do the smart thing? She’d have said yes if she hadn’t gone into a frenzy when he’d showed up at work. The amount of money she’d spent on underwear made that achingly clear. Her judgment about these things had proven to be flawed.
If only she didn’t like him so much.
If ever there was a scenario that guaranteed doom and heartbreak, seeing Max Dorset again nailed it.
* * *
THE COCKTAIL PARTY was at Parlor in SoHo. The club had such an exorbitant price tag for members that most people in the city couldn’t even dream of belonging. Notorious for its privacy policies and its celebrities, it also made a statement about Beckingham & Quail. Elliot Beckingham was a sought-after fixer, rumored to have gotten some major players out of career-ending trouble.
The attorneys who worked there were definitely ruthless. Smart as hell, too. They made big money, but they dedicated more of their lives to the firm than even Max was comfortable with.
That didn’t mean he wouldn’t consider joining their team. This last case had proven he could be as ruthless as the best of them. After his talk with Stella, the thought bothered him more than it should have, though. Research was his specialty, he reminded himself, and he was persistent, painstaking and creative. If they seriously wanted him in the courtroom, they’d have to pay him a hell of a lot more for the privilege.
After passing the guest-list gauntlet, he walked into a black-and-white wor
ld. The space was huge, and the decor as moody as a Fritz Lang alley. Waiters carrying hors d’oeuvres and Champagne wandered through a very elegant crowd. He didn’t recognize anyone, not yet.
While Stella went off to talk him up elsewhere, he made his way to the bar and ordered a glass of Shiraz. The cellars here were rated five stars, and he wasn’t disappointed. He lingered, looking at the paparazzi photos blown up on the walls, the minimalist decor, which made the people the brightest things in the room.
Natalie would have liked this. The atmosphere felt charged, and if he wasn’t mistaken, the negative-ion levels had been pumped up and the sound of conversations muted. Music played softly in the background. Bessie Smith.
“Mr. Dorset.”
Max recognized the voice. Elliot Beckingham himself. The man was impeccably dressed. His signature white hair gleamed in the unique lighting, but his smile seemed too friendly to belong to a man with his reputation.
They shook hands while Beckingham gave him a once-over Max wouldn’t soon forget.
“Rumor has it that Latham’s win is covered in your fingerprints.”
“Not completely. There were plenty of us on the case.”
“There’s no need to be modest in here, Max. You’re familiar with our client list?”
“Of course.”
“Tell me something,” he said, looking suitably curious, though Max doubted the man ever asked a question without already knowing the answer. “This last case put you in the courtroom more than usual, didn’t it?”
Nodding, Max kept his expression neutral. Stella had warned him, but he hadn’t expected to get to this particular topic so soon.
“How did you feel about that?”
“I was fine with it. Although the partners came to feel I was more valuable researching precedents.”
“I heard from a colleague that you did quite well in front of the judge.”
“I’m not afraid of the courtroom, and I’m a reliable trial advocate. But I’m a firm believer in exploiting one’s strengths. That case wasn’t won in the courtroom, sir. It was my research that tipped the scales.”
