Sexy

by JA Huss

  “It doesn’t matter,” I interrupt. I can’t even go there yet. “She showed up at the funeral and handed me this case. Said Fletcher was sorry and he wanted me to have this.”

  “Open it up, you crazy bitch.” Claudio starts piling food on plates as I turn the case around so the locking mechanism is facing me. I press the tabs and the lock disengages, allowing the top to pop up a little bit.

  I lift the lid and peer inside. Claudio comes over with our food and places it on the table as he takes a seat next to me. “What is all that?”

  I stare down at the papers. “Offices of Shalanger, Shalanger, and Shalanger. Fucking lawyers,” I say with contempt.

  But then I start reading the top letter.

  Dear Miss Preston,

  I was hired by Fletcher Rourke to investigate the legality of the last will and testament of your father, Randall Jonathan Preston—

  “Fletcher Rourke?” Claudio says, looking up at me.

  That’s just the first of many questions we have as we read the letter together. And when we’re done, we sit there and stare at the paper in my hands.

  “Cole?” Claudio asks. “Stole your inheritance?”

  I’m having a hard time with it myself. He seems to be a no-good slimeball when it comes to women, but manipulating my father into cutting me out of the will with the idea that he will take over the company is a whole other matter.

  I put the letter down and take out the corresponding documents, all labeled neatly in lawyer fashion, and start flipping through them.

  Some of it is the legal definition of sound mind and body. Some of it is a case study and court ruling precedents. But the part that interests me most is the last piece of paper, signed by my father five days before he died, making Cole Lancaster the executor of his last will and testament.

  As such, Cole will be paid two percent of sixteen billion dollars.

  Thirty-two million dollars of my father’s sixteen-billion-dollar estate will go to Cole while I am left with nothing but a failing hotel.

  “That was the day he left me up in Tahoe to go back to San Francisco,” I tell Claudio as I massage my temples, trying to stave off a headache.

  “That two-timing swine,” Claudio says. He looks over at me with wide eyes. “We’re not gonna let him get away with this.”

  “I don’t know, Claudio. It says here”—I hold up the legal document explaining what sound mind and body means—“that it’s pretty hard to prove someone was unable to make decisions when it comes to a will.”

  “Your father had a stroke, Tiffy.”

  “I know that. But he seemed fine to me. So he must’ve seemed fine to everyone else, too.”

  “Don’t let Cole do this, Tiffy. Please.” Claudio takes my hand and squeezes. “Please. I’ll help you any way I can, but he does not get thirty-two million dollars by cheating. He just doesn’t. He must’ve known your father was getting sicker. I mean, come on! The man died five days later.”

  ”I realize that,” I say. “But that part about me not getting any money was there a long time ago. Look.” I point to one of the documents in the case. “There are several copies of the will. God only knows how this woman got these.” I pause for a moment as I picture her having lunch with Cole that day I blew up at Fletcher.

  “Yeah, but—”

  I cut Claudio off and keep going. “And all of them have the same stipulation. His shares in the corporation will be sold and all his money will be given to charity.”

  “I knew about that,” Claudio says somberly. “Cole told me. But that’s not the point. Why should he get money out of this? And look, Tiffy,” Claudio says, taking out another legal document. “The paper trail of former executors. You’ve been on there since your mother died.” Claudio’s eyes narrow into slits. “Cole stole that money from you. Your father might’ve wanted his estate to go to charity, but he never wanted you to be penniless. He never wanted you to struggle.”

  Tears and sadness overtake me as I look out the window and feel shame. Because I doubted my father’s love and I had no right.

  No right at all.

  Chapter Thirty-Two

  Katie Shalanger’s law office is located in downtown San Francisco on California Street. It’s a towering building made of glass with a semi-circle of columns that reach up five stories flanking the entrance. There is a common square in front with gardens and people sitting on the long concrete planters having lunch. More than respectable—it’s intimidating. I go inside and security immediately directs me to the reception desk where a pleasant and pretty woman takes my name and checks a list.

  “Here you go, Miss Preston,” she says, handing me a visitor’s badge. “Miss Shalanger is expecting you. Use the pass to access the twenty-fifth floor.”

  I don’t need to have this meeting. And when I called, the receptionist seemed hesitant to give me a face-to-face. I’m not sure if Katie is nervous about how this all went down, or if she thinks I might come to her work and cause a scene.

  I get to the elevators and swipe my badge and press the button. The elevator doors close and a second later I’m flying upward. Towards what, I’m not sure. The truth, I hope.

  The doors open again and I come out directly into a lobby. Which means they have the whole floor. These Shalangers are nobody you want to mess with if you’re on the opposite side of the courtroom from them. Their whole image says they are serious, accomplished, and have considerable assets available for their clients.

  “Miss Preston,” the woman at the greeting desk says, standing up so I can see her better. “Miss Shalanger will be out in a minute. Can I get you some water?”

  “No, thank you,” I say, taking a seat in one of the overstuffed leather chairs. I wring my hands for four minutes before a sweet voice says, “Miss Preston?” from the other side of the room.

  I stand and walk towards her. Katie Shalanger is tall, blonde, and utterly gorgeous.

  And she was a client of Fletcher Novak. He was setting her up with a man.

  I don’t understand.

  I shake her outstretched hand and say, “Thank you so much for agreeing to meet with me.”

  She gives me a tight smile and then leads the way through the hall and waves me into her office. It’s large and clean. Neat and tidy with no messy files like my office in my father’s corporate building a few blocks down. Everything here is about appearances.

  I take a seat in another overstuffed chair, and Katie takes the one next to me instead of positioning herself in power behind the desk.

  “I’d just like to start by saying I’m so sorry for your loss.”

  I nod, biting back the sadness. “Thank you. And as you can imagine, that’s why I’m here. I looked at the files you left me and I understand what they mean, Miss—”

  “Call me Katie,” she says, taking my hand and giving it a squeeze.

  “Katie,” I say, swallowing. “I understand what you were trying to tell me with those documents. My lawyers have looked them over and, well, they’re taking care of things.”

  “I’m glad… may I call you Tiffy?”

  “Sure.” I laugh.

  “Tiffy, I’m glad. I’m not a probate lawyer. I’m not a lawyer at all, in fact. My father and uncles do that. What I do is investigate for them. And Fletcher is… well, I consider him a very good friend. He went to school with one of my cousins, and she… well…” Katie throws up her hands. “OK, you know he runs a matchmaking business, right?”

  “I do,” I say.

  “So I hired him, and that same night, he hired us. First it was about you and the company. He was just trying to save his job. But then he mentioned that Cole Lancaster looked familiar. So I started digging. Just in case there was something there I needed to know.”

  “And there was.”

  “There was. At first it was just about the frequent visits to the hotel. The rooms, the room service billed to the company. Things like that. Things Fletcher could use to prove he did nothing wrong by dating patrons
of the show. You see, Cole was”—she does finger quotes—“‘dating’ plenty of employees himself.”

  I swallow hard again. “I figured that out too. A bar waitress told me that day my dad had a stroke.”

  “I’m only bringing that up because I need you to understand Fletcher didn’t set out to pry into your life. And he doesn’t want you to think he did. It started out as a way to fight for his job.”

  I let out a sigh. “But you found more.”

  “Your friend Claudio told Fletcher about your father’s interest, and he mentioned it to me. Just a little FYI. Sometimes things that don’t seem important at the time end up being the crucial details that wins a case.”

  “And you went on a hunch?” I look down at my feet. “Was Cole that obvious? Was I the only one oblivious to his true nature?”

  She laughs. “I doubt that. He had a lot of scams brewing, Miss Preston. And your father’s will was just one of them. I think he used your longtime friendship to manipulate you and your father. When you know someone, you have every right to trust them. No one expects betrayal from someone they counted on as a friend.”

  I feel the tears spring forth, and it pisses me off that I could control them when she mentioned my father, but not this frank admission of what Cole did. “I’m sorry,” I say, dabbing my eyes with a tissue I pull from my purse.

  “Don’t be. It’s a sad thing when trust is broken.”

  “Well, I want to say thank you for all the work you did. My lawyers said we have a solid case. Your research and thoroughness will make sure that Cole Lancaster is not the executor of the will, and that title is given back to me.”

  She squeezes my hand again. “I’m so glad.”

  “But that’s not the real reason I’m here.” I stare at her, willing myself to ask the question. “I want to know if you…” Fuck. “If you know where I can find Fletcher.”

  She smiles and I already know what she’s going to say. “I’m sorry, I don’t. I know he left Tahoe. And I have a feeling about where he went. But he is a client of ours as well, so I can’t share that with you.”

  “I understand.” I also feel defeated. “But I said some things I’d like to take back, and I was…” My words trail off because her smile is firm. She will not divulge anything about Fletcher to me today. “Well, if you see him or talk to him, can you just let him know I’m sorry for all the things I said?” I shake my head with a sigh. “I don’t know who he is, but the person everyone thinks he is, Katie, that’s not real, is it?”

  She smiles bigger, like I just hit my target. But it comes with a noncommittal shrug. “I’m sure he’ll turn up again. One day.”

  “OK,” I say, withdrawing my hand from hers and standing up. “I won’t take up any more of your time. But one more thing, Katie. Why did you hire Fletch? I mean, I don’t understand why you needed his… services.”

  She stands with me, and now she’s beaming. “Tiffy, surely you’ve noticed that Fletcher has a remarkable presence. He’s charismatic, and fun, and friendly. He knows his way around a woman.”

  I chortle.

  “But not like that. It’s not what you think. I can give you this small piece of information, as it’s so vague, no one could misconstrue that as breach of privacy. He’s not what you think. Nothing about him is what you think. So if you see him again, keep that in mind. And if you don’t, don’t feel bad about how it ended. He liked you, I know that much. Or he’d never have gotten so personally involved.” She laughs. “Especially without a contract.”

  Jesus. I laugh about that too. “Did he help you, Katie? With whatever it was you were looking for help with?”

  Her shrug is as big as the smile she lights the room up with. “He did, Tiffy. He did. I’m a satisfied customer. And no, it wasn’t Cole.”

  I laugh too. “I figured that.”

  “You’re too good for that guy. I’ll give you one piece of advice I got from Fletcher the first time we met, before we signed our contract. I think that’s fair game. When I first explained my problem to him, he took my hand, leaned down into my ear, and whispered, in the softest voice possible, ‘You’re way too good for him, Katie. Don’t devalue yourself like that. And if you hire me, I’ll remind you of this fact for the rest of your life. I’ll never let you forget it.’”

  I can picture it in my head. So clear. And then the vision morphs into Fletcher and I out on the rocks that day. “Did you believe him?”

  She nods slowly. “I still do.”

  “You didn’t feel like you were…” I look down, and then eye her from under the hair that falls in front of my face. “Being used? Like you were being played? That he was just telling you those things because he wanted something?”

  “Never.” She stares at me for a moment, probably working out the fact that he told me those things too, only I chose not to believe him. “He’s the real deal, Tiffy. I hope you two can work it out some day. I’d really like you to know him the way I do.”

  We shake hands one more time after she walks me back to the greeting area, and I spend the quick trip downstairs knowing that I will never see Fletcher Novak again.

  Chapter Thirty-Three

  Nine months later

  The bright sunshine of early morning in Tahoe was a sight I missed since I’ve been gone. June can be hit or miss in the mountains. It can snow one day and be a balmy seventy degrees the next. You just never know.

  But this year we lucked out with a mild spring that lingered all the way through the first day of summer. And right now the South Shore is alive, even at nine AM on a Tuesday. I flip up my sunglasses as I walk into the lobby of the Landslide Hotel and look to my right to check the front desk.

  None of the people busy with the checkout rush are familiar. But what did I expect? You can’t go home again. I scratch the scant stubble on my chin for a moment, considering.

  Should I stop and ask about her?

  But someone bumps into me, a man with a young family, his hands filled with a baby and luggage, while his wife is busy herding two small boys under five.

  “Sorry,” he says, distracted with the baby in his arms as she starts to become upset.

  “No problem,” I say. Yeah, I think I will skip the front desk and head right down to the training room.

  I ease my way through the bustling crowds lingering on the edges of the casino. They’re lined up in front of the restaurant that now has a long and colorful neon sign that reads Breakfast Buffet.

  Looks like she made some changes and the changes were good.

  I punch the elevator button with the card Claudio sent me in the mail, and then wait. Patient, but thinking. He asked me to come by, somehow having gotten wind that I was in town on the North Shore finishing up some business.

  I didn’t ask about Tiffy, but he offered. She doesn’t know I’m here. All he wanted was some advice on the all-new and revamped Mountain Man show.

  After Cole fired everyone I heard Tiffy shut the show down for good. Maybe with the idea that the hotel needed a new look. Or maybe she was just overwhelmed and didn’t care to put it back together. Some magic act came in to replace us, the whole place got a little more family-friendly with the addition of a water park that opened a few weeks ago, and I figured she’d just move on and forget we ever existed. But now the Mountain Men are back.

  Claudio found me through Steve. Tiffy tried to call. Many times, in fact. But I never answered that old phone number. Not once. It was a link to a life I was more interested in forgetting than rekindling.

  Steve though, he and I remained in touch, though I told him to keep it private. Which he did. Until now.

  But it was nice to hear Claudio’s voice. And nice to hear the updates on the hotel as well. Maybe being a part of the Mountain Men was never my endgame, but I was invested.

  The elevator arrives and opens for me. And as I step in, all the memories of this routine come washing over me. The feeling is as brief as the ride down one floor, though. I get out, flash my badge to an unfam
iliar face standing guard in front of the training room, and then pull that door open, allowing the sounds of rehearsal to boom out into the hallway before I can shut the door behind me.

  The stage lights and smoke machines are on, and the six guys on stage are in the middle of a routine that looks very much like a dress rehearsal. It’s opening night for the new show. They have two stages now, I hear. Claudio filled me in. The family-friendly magician is still here, alternating nights with a comedian and the Landslide’s own version of a Shakespeare Festival for those people who prefer air-conditioning to the outdoor amphitheater up on the North Shore.

  That might not be her best idea since she took over the hotel. It’s hard to compete with a tradition. But she’s trying and I’m glad. And hell, what’s success anyway without the sting of an occasional failure to spur you forward?

  “Fletcher,” the familiar voice says from off to my right.

  “Claudio.” I laugh, surprised at how happy I am to see him again. He’s looking very professional and sleek in his expensive designer suit. I extend my hand, but he hesitates.

  “Hell, give me a hug, you gorgeous specimen of a man.” He pulls me into him and claps me on the back.

  I laugh and clap him on the shoulder. “Steve is MC, huh?”

  “Snotty bitches are going to be pawing him like an animal once the show opens. I have to guard my heart, Fletch. Keep him on the sidelines as much as possible.” Claudio squints his eyes at me and says in a serious voice, “I’m the jealous type, you know.”

  He makes me chuckle again. “Yeah, I bet you—”

  “No!” The voice booms out, and then the music stops. Tiffy Preston walks out on stage. “No, Jerry. Not like that.” She strides up to him wearing old jeans and a white tank top that reminds me of a Tiffy version of myself last summer. Her hair is all piled on top of her head in something that says that whole idea of doing it was an afterthought. She bellows, “Music!” It starts thumping again, right where it left off, and Tiffy starts moving to the beat. “Tease them, Jerry. You have to seduce them.” She yells it over the noise, the stage lights bouncing off her as she joins the five dancers in the act. “Only show them—”