by Susan Hatler
“Hey, Jill.” Scott passed by me, then sat in the plush chair by Ginger’s end of the couch, and handed her a drink.
When a Mojito appeared in front of me, my lashes lifted to see who’d delivered it.
Ryan’s eyes sparkled as he set my drink down on the table, then kissed me on the cheek. “Hi, buttercup. You look beautiful, as always.”
Turning away from him, I threw Sarah my best smoldering look. “Can I speak to you alone for a minute?”
She shook her head, then lifted her drink. “Now’s not a good time. I’m really thirsty.”
I watched her turn to listen in on Scott and Ginger’s conversation, which left me with nobody at my end of the couch, except for Ryan.
He dropped into the chair next to me. “How was your afternoon?”
“Fine.” I sipped my Mojito, wondering what his angle was. I’d all but dumped him, yet here he sat, dedication written in those beautiful hazel eyes. My eyes narrowed.
On cue, his mouth turned up. “You’re not going to tell me how the interview went? After I pretended to be your boyfriend? And believe me, you made that a difficult challenge.”
My mouth formed a sarcastic smile. “No, because you’re my boss, and you’d be obligated to tell the partners.”
He sipped his beer, and studied me. “If you were offered the position you wanted, why don’t you look happier?”
I raised my brow. “It might have to do with who crashed my girls’ night.”
“We were invited.” He leaned forward, his forearms on his thighs. “Not everybody hates me the way you do.”
“I don’t hate you.” I played with the black straw in my minty drink. “I just don’t want to date you.”
“Let’s be friends then.” He held his arms out. “Nothing wrong with that, is there?”
“I suppose not.” I stirred the leaves around my drink, thinking it was odd that he’d want to be my friend after all we’d been through. It kind of didn’t make sense.
I sipped my drink, then noticed my protégé flirting with Ginger. And from the way she was giggling, it appeared the feeling might be mutual.
Ginger turned my way, and also tapped Sarah in the arm. “Remember Patti, who teaches that art class?”
“How can we forget?” Sarah smirked.
Ginger threw her a look. “Anyway, Ripple Art Gallery is showing a handful of her paintings tomorrow night and it should be a lot of fun if you all want to go.”
My stomach tightened as her eyes drifted back to Scott. If she invited Scott, that might mean—
“I’d love to go.” Scott immediately turned to Ryan. “You in?”
He eyed me a moment, then he turned back to Scott. “You bet, buddy.”
Sarah turned to me. “We’re in, too. Right, Jill?”
Ginger looked at me, pleading with her eyes.
I threw my hands up. “Yes. I’ll go.”
Ginger squealed, then began telling Scott and Sarah all about the exhibit I’d been strong-armed (via laser eyes) to attend.
Ryan chuckled beside me. “Bob tells me you’re feeding the homeless lunch tomorrow.”
I glanced up at him in surprise. “You’ve talked to Bob?”
He nodded. “You’re not the only one who enjoyed volunteering.”
“You do charity work?” Sarah joined our conversation. “That’s so nice. I’d like to start doing donating my time, as well. I’ve been meaning to for years.”
“You’re welcome to come. We can always use help.” I paused, stunned by how naturally the “we” had come out of my mouth. It would only be my second time serving the homeless, and I already knew in my gut this was my life’s calling.
“Great.” Sarah sipped her Margarita. “I’m free tomorrow.”
Ryan set his empty glass on the table, and smiled. “I’ll be there, too.”
Of course he would. I wanted to ask him how I was supposed to forget about him when he was everywhere I went.
Chapter Twelve
Saturday morning, I stopped by the office to pick up some papers I’d left by my keyboard with articles about the homeless. Sitting in my chair, I reviewed my notes, then decided to give Bob a call to tell him about my plan for Founding Friendships. He was stoked.
“Bob, that’s very generous of you.” I pressed the phone to my ear, wanting to leap from my chair with excitement, but I had a stack of papers on my lap, and I didn’t want to have to pick them up after.
I tipped the Scales of Justice on my desk, and wondered if my life was balanced yet.
“Now, it’s only a one-bedroom unit,” Bob explained. “It hasn’t been used in quite a long time. So, it’ll need cleaning, painting, and probably some minor repairs.”
“Your guest house sounds perfect.” I bit my pinky nail, and forced my mind to the project at hand. The sooner we fixed up his little apartment, the faster we could move someone in there. Tomorrow was Sunday, so I could buy the supplies today then get to work in the morning. “If I buy paint tonight, and we start cleaning after serving breakfast tomorrow, then how long do you think until we can move someone in?”
Bob blew a breath. “It’s only six-hundred square feet, Jill. I think we can have it ready by next weekend. If we have the manpower that is.”
I racked my brain. “I think I can find a few volunteers, and I know Sherri already received some donations.”
“Great, we’ll start tomorrow then.” He sounded delighted. “Thanks for thinking of this. Founding Friendships is sure to make a difference.”
I was pleased by Bob’s generous offer of his guest unit, but felt a tad guilty at the enormous responsibility he was taking on. “Last time, really. Are you sure you understand the liability involved?”
Bob’s laughter flowed through the receiver. “You sure do sound like a lawyer, Jill.”
“I know I’m not your attorney, but I just need to make sure you understand the risks you’re taking.” I threw him an example. “What if the guest slips and falls on your property?”
“Ah, Jill.” Bob chuckled. “I’m sixty-two years old. My spare apartment over the garage has been wasting away for enough years now. To tell you the truth, I’d enjoy the company.”
My heart warmed. “Thank you, Bob. Really. I’ll pick up supplies tonight, and will see you tomorrow.”
After I hung up the phone, I immediately reached for my mouse, and drafted an email to Sherri regarding donations. I also filled her in on the phone call with Bob, assured her I’d pick up the necessary supplies, and told her I’d see her tomorrow morning.
Before turning off my computer, I glanced at my incoming emails. Charles Mansfield? I clicked on that message.
Jill,
Let’s schedule that lunch we talked about. Monday work okay? Ethan will be back and we have something important we’d like to discuss with you. Name the time, and I look forward to seeing you.
Charlie
Lunch with Charlie and Ethan sounded like a treat. We hadn’t been out together in over a month. After checking my calendar, I wrote back that I could squeeze lunch in between eleven-thirty and twelve-thirty, but I had a court appearance at one. I clicked the SEND button, and then checked the clock in the lower right-hand corner of my monitor. Almost noon. I had to hurry to the cul-de-sac because people would be lining up by now.
Grabbing all my papers, I paused at the door. It felt weird being in my office, but not doing any attorney work—especially considering it was the weekend and that’s all I used to do.
****
I stood inside Ripple Art Gallery in downtown Sacramento, and admired Patti’s paintings, which were all hanging on the same wall. Ryan was at the bar getting champagne. Even though he said we would just be friends, this felt oddly like a date.
“What do you think?” Patti came up beside me, sipped her wine, and gazed up at her paintings as if she were seeing them for the first time.
I studied the abstract art. They were bold, beautiful, and their patterns had no rhyme or reason. They seemed
very Patti. “They’re beautiful.”
“Thanks.” Patti gave me a quick hug. “I’m glad you came to my very first showing. I’d better go make the rounds. Everyone keeps asking about the artist. Later.”
I felt so happy for my new friend. Patti seemed thrilled, and rightly so. She’d had a dream and she’d gone for it. Now her paintings were on display for all to see (and buy). I thought about my own dream to become a partner. I wondered when that would happen and whether or not I’d be as excited as Patti.
“Jill Parnell?” A familiar, annoyingly perky voice rang out. “Is that you?”
I turned around, and cringed. “Hi, Val.”
Valerie gestured to the paintings around her. “Isn’t the exhibit out of this world?”
“Yes.” I stepped in the opposite direction, trying for a sly escape. But Val stuck to me like gum on my red heels.
“I couldn’t help but notice you’re here with Ryan.” She cooed as if they were the best of friends. “Are you two dating?”
“No.” I stiffened, hoping she wouldn’t make a play for him right in front of me.
“I came with Troy.” Val fluttered her red nails in the direction of the bar. “He’s getting us a drink.”
“That’s nice.” I nodded, wondering where Ryan was with my drink.
“Troy told me you attended Patti’s art class where he models.” She winked at me. “I’ve gone a time or two myself.”
“How nice.” I sucked in a breath, then glanced around for any of my friends. Spotting Ginger across the room, I excused myself. I strode toward my friend then stopped, seeing she was in a deep conversation with Scott.
Luckily, I spotted Ryan. He headed my way with two full champagne flutes. It must’ve taken him about twenty minutes to get through that line.
Ryan handed me a glass of champagne. “Could we go to the back and talk?”
“Sure.” I frowned when he slipped his hand in mine, but followed him toward the back where it was quieter and slightly more private.
We slipped into the last two vacant chairs.
Ryan turned to me. “How’d it go today? I didn’t see you after they assigned us different stations, and I know you were working on your project.”
“It went better than I could’ve possibly imagined.” My day serving lunch to the homeless felt just as rewarding as last time. I took a breath. “The person we selected for Founding Friendship’s first guest is the very woman who inspired me to create the program.”
Ryan looked truly interested. “Tell me.”
“Her name’s Beth. She’s about my height, a little younger, and has been on the street for six months.” I shook my head as I remembered how gently I’d spoken to Beth, who had looked a little frightened when I approached her.
Ryan put his hand over mine. “I’m proud of you for doing this.”
My stomach warmed at his words, then I went on explaining. “She was abused by her husband for over a year before she left him. She’s still afraid he’s going to find her. We invited her to stay at the apartment, and she was hesitant at first.” My eyes welled up. “Said she didn’t have any money.”
Ryan’s eyes were somber. “She thought you were going to charge her rent?”
I nodded. “I told her all we want in return was for her to try to have hope. Sherri’s going to contact a battered women’s shelter to find out what kind of counseling Beth will need. And whatever it is, believe me, we’ll get it for her.” I dabbed the corners of my eyes. “When she accepted our offer to help, do you know what she said?”
He shook his head.
My throat tightened. “She asked if she’d be allowed to have a garden.”
He put his hand on my arm again. “I hope you told her yes.”
“Of course.” I smiled, then pulled my hand away.
“How are your parents doing?” he asked.
“The same.” I glanced down at my champagne, and sighed. “I left a message for my mom, but she never called my dad. It’s weird that she only phoned me the one time, but I get that she wants to be alone.”
His brows came together. “Why would she want that?”
Finishing off my bubbly, I set the flute on the table. “Peace. She can do what she wants, when she wants, and she doesn’t have to be responsible for my dad anymore.”
He sipped the last of his champagne, then set the glass next to mine. “Wouldn’t she get lonely?”
I stared at my hands, then lifted my lashes. “Lonely is better than heartbroken.”
He traced the back of my hand with his finger. “Maybe if she talked to him about what her concerns are, then they could resolve them, and she wouldn’t have to be either.”
Unwillingly, my throat tightened even more. If only it were that easy.
****
On Sunday, I’d served breakfast to the homeless, then spent the rest of the day getting Bob’s apartment ready for Founding Friendships’ first guest. Sarah and Ginger helped me with errands—picking up paint, and necessary cleaning supplies at the hardware store. Not the same as a girls’ night out, but definitely rewarding, and we’d made our own fun dabbing each other with paint any time one of us said the word “work.”
Not hard to guess who received the brunt of the paint brush pokes, but I was getting better. . . .
It had been an emotional day, watching my plan come to life, and it was made even better by sharing it with my friends. I smiled, remembering the laughs we’d cackled over take-out pizza, even though we were beyond exhausted by the end of the day. We’d made a terrific start, and on stand-by for cleaning the apartment this upcoming week were Sarah, Ryan, Scott, and even Kristen, who arrived home from her honeymoon late Sunday night.
All in all, it was a very productive weekend. The only way I would’ve been happier was if it weren’t Monday morning, and if I wasn’t at Corbett, Gray, & Shaw. Sigh.
I arrived to work an hour early, and checked my voicemails. Madison McKenzie’s voice rang out.
“Hi, Jill. It’s Madison. Hope the weekend gave you the time you needed to say yes to my offer. I apologize again for Ed. He had a friend who applied, but I told Ed that the firm isn’t about friendship, it’s about merit. Our personal lives have no place in the office, as that’s our time to focus and thrive. I know you’ll fit in well here. Look forward to hearing from you.”
I dropped into my chair, deflated. I loved practicing law. I had an exceptional work ethic. But the long hours I used to work, would directly conflict with the hours necessary for running Founding Friendships.
Immediately, I reached for a paperclip and dropped it into Lady Justice’s left scale. Clank! Flexible Work Hours. The scales were way off kilter now. I dropped my head on the desk, having no idea what to do.
Beep! Beep!
I waited for Ruth’s cheerful voice to ring out. Silence. “Yes?”
“Jill.” Stan Corbett’s voice came through in an irritated tone. “We need you in the conference room.”
“Be right there.” I ran a hand through my hair, wondering who “we” was.
“What’s that?” Stan asked, and then sounded like he was mumbling.
Had he not heard me? “I said—”
“Good idea.” Stan cleared his throat, and I figured out he must be talking to someone in the conference room. “Bring the entire set of Somerset files with you.”
The Somerset files? What was going on?
I followed the clipped orders, removed the files from the cabinet, and had to use both arms to carry them. I plodded down the empty hallway, jealous of everyone who arrived to work at a normal hour, while I was stuck here dealing with Stan’s babbling. A twenty-five percent raise wasn’t sounding like enough.
I approached the conference room, hands filled with Somerset files, and was mollified to see the door wide open. I entered the room and dropped the monstrous files on the table. Stan and Ryan sat across the table from me. No Jim. No Roger. Couldn’t be that bad if all of the partners weren’t here.
I
dropped into the nearest chair. “What’s going on?”
“Frank Wilson called me regarding the Somerset case,” Stan said gravely. “Told me he’s been trying to reach you, but you won’t return his calls.”
“That’s crazy.” I frowned. “Ryan and I were just at his office on Thursday.”
“I mentioned that.” Ryan gave me a look I didn’t understand. “I also reminded Stan that I merely went to the meeting to observe, since I didn’t think we should take you off the case.”
“Didn’t? As in, past tense?” My pulse quickened, and I stared at Ryan in shock. “Have you changed your mind?”
Ryan paused a moment to stare at me. His hazel eyes pierced mine. “Yes.”
My stomach jumped up to my throat. No. This wasn’t possible. Ryan would never betray me like this. Unless he thought he was doing me a favor, so I wouldn’t have to deal with Frank. . . No again. I’d told him I wanted to stay on the case, and he’d respect that because he respected me. But his words were saying the opposite, which made no sense. . . .
Still in shock, my eyes darted to Stan, who wore a look of pure disgust. Apparently, without Ryan backing me up, he was going to believe Frank Wilson—aka the obnoxious liar—one-hundred percent.
“Your nonchalance regarding settlement is unacceptable.” Stan sent daggers with his eyes. “We gave you a raise, trusted you with this seven-figure case. Don’t you understand the magnitude of that?”
“Of course I do.” My eyes thinned. “As with all my cases, I handled it professionally, and thoroughly. Defense attorney refused to budge on settlement. Ryan was there. Ask him.”
Stan bobbled his head to the left, then right, as if considering my words. Finally, he shifted in the chair, and faced Ryan. “Well?”
I turned to Ryan, wondering if he was angry with me for refusing to date him. Hello? I didn’t want to risk my feelings only to have him disappointment me. Like now. Only, he wouldn’t betray me like this. He just wouldn’t.
Although, I mean, he was. . . .
Ryan seemed to consider Stan’s question for what felt like a lifetime, before he nodded. “Jill’s correct.”
My stomach dropped to the floor, and I felt like a freaking yo-yo. Now I was right?
