by Liz Durano
“You’re welcome.”
“Did I wake you?” he asks as he sets the mug down on the table next to us.
I shake my head, keeping my eyes on his mouth. “No, I didn’t even realize you were here until after I was, um, making coffee in the kitchen.” Liar. And where else would you make coffee anyway? “So I thought, maybe…”
Dax takes the other mug from my hand and sets it down. I don’t even protest. I don’t know if I still have it—whatever it is that men want—but a part of me wants to find out. I want to know if it’s all my imagination, the way he looks at me, and how his gaze travels from my eyes to my lips, lingering there before moving downwards. I want to see that bulge in his jeans, reminding me that I’m still attractive, beautiful even.
“Harlow…” he murmurs, and I feel his fingers pushing an errant lock of hair from my face. He dips his head, and now I’m looking at his eyes. Blue and so intense. My heart beats so loud I can almost hear it echoing throughout the room.
Boom. Boom. Boom.
I stifle a moan and press my thighs together, feeling the heat rise to my chest. I bite my lower lip this time and let my gaze move down, and I exhale triumphantly. He’s hard, and he’s—
“There’s someone at the door,” he says, the words snapping me back to the present.
“What?”
Then I hear it. Someone is at the door.
“Oh, yes,” I stammer and pulling my robe tighter around me, I turn away and rush out of the workspace. For a moment, I forget where the front door is, and when I remember, shame fills me for what I’d just done.
Have you no shame, Harlow?
No, apparently not.
The knocking comes again, along with a familiar voice. “Harlow, it’s me. Open the door.”
It takes me a few seconds to process seeing Frank Weston, my divorce lawyer, on the other side of the front door with its glass insert that hides nothing of my current appearance, so far from the woman he’s always known. Mussed up hair, no makeup, barefoot and wearing a plush white bathrobe. I look nothing like the surgeon he knows, the woman who used to lunch with his wife a few times a week discussing who among the women at the country club had what done and whether it was done well or not.
But at least I brushed my teeth, I tell myself as I pull open the door but don’t invite him in.
“Frank? What are you doing here?”
He wipes the sweat gathered on his brow and I can see his combover clearly in the light of the Taos sun. Frank is wearing a white shirt and tailored trousers, his leather shoes already dusty from the short walk from his rental car to the front door. It’s hot outside and the sun is beating down on the graveled driveway. My car is parked right in front of the garage doors, clean and shiny. I sigh. Dax didn’t have to do that.
“I could have sent a courier but I figured this would be faster,” he says.
“What would be faster?”
“These papers,” he says, pulling a folder from his leather briefcase. “Jeff’s lawyer called me two days ago and they want you to sign these.”
“What is it for?”
“Your estate in the Hamptons. It’s the last thing we need to settle before we can get all this over with,” Frank replies, exhaling. “Look, you told me yourself, Harlow. You didn’t care what happened to it, just like your Manhattan property that you signed away to Jeff. So he figures, since you always hated going to the Hamptons, he’d like for you to sign off on the property, and he’ll pay you back your share of what you paid for it. That’s as simple as I’m going to make it, but I’m sure you know what I mean.”
“Is he out of his mind?” With the current market, the property is worth millions.
“No, but you said so yourself, Harlow. Even Belinda tells me you hate the place. You have a staff of three people taking care of it…for what? You never go there, and Jeff would gladly take it off your hands. Besides, he’s getting married in less than three weeks, and he’d like to raise his family there.”
Old Harlow would have burst out crying right about now and Frank would have taken me in his arms and patted me on the shoulder and say, Now, now, dear Harlow. It’s not too bad. Sign here anyway and the sooner it’s done, the sooner this divorce will be over, and who knows, this depression you’re experiencing will be gone, too. Some things just don’t work out, no matter how hard we try.
But Old Harlow is gone. In her place is someone new—or someone I hope is new. I look down at the folder he holds out to me, nudging it towards me.
“I’ve put highlight stickers on all the places you need to sign and initial—”
“Whose side are you on, Frank?”
Frank cocks his head back in surprise. “Excuse me?”
“I said, who’s side are you on? I thought you were my lawyer.”
“Of course, I am, and that’s why I’m here, some strange house in the middle of nowhere that’s good only for a fucking apocalypse,” he says angrily and I see a bead of sweat roll down his temple. “You do know my trip here is on your tab, and my office will be adding this to your bill.”
“Then add it,” I say, hoping my voice doesn’t shake for I know my insides sure are. My heart is about to burst from the shock of what I’m saying, and my knees are trembling beneath my robe. “And don’t forget to add the return ticket, too. We wouldn’t want you stranded here, Frank. Belinda wouldn’t like it. Now get the hell out of my property.”
Frank removes his sunglasses and stares at me like I just sprouted two heads. “What the hell has gotten into you, Harlow? I thought you wanted to make this divorce go easily and that’s all I’m doing here. I’m on your side, okay? Your job is to trust me, remember? Why don’t you just sign the papers like a good girl and get this over with?”
“Because she’s not a good girl—not to you, and not anymore,” says a deep voice, and I turn my head to see Dax standing behind me, his deep blue eyes burning with anger. “She’s a woman, and don’t you ever forget that.”
Chapter 12
Dax
It doesn’t take long for me to realize something is wrong the moment I hear the man’s voice at the door. There’s a whiny quality to it, and it makes my skin crawl. What the hell is a New York lawyer doing in Taos? I’m glad I made my way to the front door quietly, allowing me to hear the crap this bastard was saying to her.
Good girl, my ass. What kind of lawyer treats his client that way? Not only that, but he expects Harlow to sign away her equitable share of a house in the Hamptons? Is he out of his fucking mind?
Suddenly it hits me. The gun, the note—and why she’s so far away from home. Those along with the sadness in her doe-eyes, it all makes sense now. If only Harlow trusts me enough to tell me herself. I just hope that suicide note wasn’t to the asshole who sent her damn lawyer halfway across the country to belittle her. I stand next to Harlow, and the man named Frank stares at me, his eyes bulging out of its sockets.
“Who the fuck are you?”
“It’s none of your business who I am, but if I were you, I’d get back in your car right now, and do as the lady says.”
Frank turns to Harlow. “As your lawyer—and friend—I’m warning you, Harlow, this isn’t the smartest move—”
“No, Frank, this is the smartest move I’m making in my life. As my lawyer, you had no right to come here and tell me where to sign away my claim to my property, and yet you did, just like you had no right to talk me into giving up everything I’ve given up so far all because you said it was for my own good,” she says, her voice breaking before she takes a deep breath and continues. “But not anymore. Effective today, I am letting you go as my lawyer. Now leave, or should I call the New Mexico Bar Association to verify your license to practice law in this state?”
I pull out my phone and hand it to her. “You can use mine if you want.”
“Jeff was right. You definitely lost it after Marcus,” Frank scoffs as Harlow gasps, and she brings her hand to her mouth, her eyes brimming with tears. Oh, hell no, he d
id not just say that. I don’t know who Marcus is, but if he was as close to Harlow as her choked gasp implies, then Frank has just crossed every fucking line imaginable. All I see is red… and Frank’s face.
My fist meets his nose, and Frank howls, falling butt first to the ground. I don’t know how people in Harlow’s world settle things, but in mine, this usually does the trick, especially when they don’t play by the rules in the first place, their carefully selected words designed to hit where it hurts the most.
“You hit me! You fucking hit me!” Frank shrieks, clutching his nose that’s beginning to bleed. In a few seconds, it’s going to gush, but I couldn’t care less if he bled all over the place. I need the man out of my property right now.
“Get the hell out of here and don’t ever bother her again,” I say, flexing my fingers. Shit, I haven’t hit anyone in years, not when the last time got me in trouble.
“I’m suing you!”
Like that kind of trouble. But right now, I don’t care. He just insulted his own client, the woman I’m not ashamed to say I’m crazy about.
“Go right ahead. But first, what is it called when a person enters and remains on someone’s private property after being told to leave?” Frank’s eyes bulge even more as he pushes himself off the ground. “Oh, that’s right, a misdemeanor. Right, Frank? Now, wouldn’t it be interesting to see that on your license—in addition to the charge of practicing law in a state where you’re not legally licensed to practice, right?”
Without another word, Frank scrambles into his car and hightails it out of there, gravel ricocheting off the back of his tires. I don’t wait for him to turn into the highway. I hurry back into the house, shut the door behind me and follow Harlow into the living room where she’s pacing the floor nervously.
“Harlow, talk to me. What’s going on?”
“Nothing.”
“Nothing? Your divorce lawyer flies all the way here from New York to insult your intelligence and hurt you, and that is nothing?” I ask as calmly as I can. Harlow continues pacing the walkway in front of the row of indoor planters, her arms crossed in front of her chest. She’s so closed in and it’s driving me crazy. Why can’t she allow herself to talk to someone instead of hiding away in the Pearl alone—and with a fucking gun?
The thought makes me tense. Hell, the whole idea that there’s a gun somewhere inside the Pearl makes me tense even as I push away the memory of seeing it on the suicide note that night. Was it really addressed to her ex? And who’s Marcus?
“Do you still love him?”
Harlow’s brown eyes flash with anger. “You mean Jeff? Are you out of your mind? Why the hell would I still love that… that asshole who sent my lawyer here to get me to sign everything away? Because Jeff sent him, no question about that. He and Frank used to play tennis at the country club, but Frank assured me they don’t see each other anymore.”
She wrings her hands together, and I can feel her anxiety building even more as she continues. “I should have listened to my gut and fired him a long time ago. I can’t believe I let it go this far—”
I stand in front of her and envelop her hands between mine, halting her nervous habit. If she keeps doing it, even I’ll be a nervous wreck just from watching her. “Harlow, stop for a second. Please.”
She looks up at me, big brown eyes that have the power to undo me. But I can’t let that happen—not right now.
“But you’re not letting anything go now, Harlow, and that’s what matters. I bet he was in collusion with Jeff’s lawyer or worse, with Jeff.”
She takes a deep breath and nods. “I know that now. Well, I always knew it, but I couldn’t… I couldn’t do anything about it because I was too—“ As she pauses, I see the vulnerability on her face. “You won’t understand. No one knows unless they’ve lost a… a child.”
I’m sorry for saving others when all this time, the one thing I couldn’t save was you.
The words on her suicide note return to me then, the realization hitting me like a two-by-four to the chest.
Marcus.
“Oh, Harlow, I’m so sorry.” I don’t stop to ask if my guess is right. I gather her in my arms, relieved that she doesn’t push me away though she’s still coiled as tight as a spring. Is this what she’s been carrying all this time while her soon-to-be ex-husband is busy with his wedding arrangements, waiting till Harlow would finally break down and he’d have everything?
I’ve got many choice words just dying to get out of me, but I tell myself to calm down. If anyone should have something to say, it’s Harlow. But as much as I’d want to learn more about Marcus, I also don’t want her to sink back into the same world she’d been in when I first arrived at the Pearl. Marcus will have to be for another day.
“Do you have someone in mind? As far as a new lawyer?”
“Frank has partners who could easily take over my case, but I need someone new. Someone not affiliated with his firm,” she says, her voice muffled against my chest. “They must have been laughing at me the whole time.”
“They won’t be laughing now, and that’s what matters. The only reason anyone would make fun of you is because they’re intimidated by you, and they know you’re better than they are,” I say, drawing away so I can see her face. “Look, I may have only met you, but as far as I know, you’re an amazing woman and how you’ve managed to keep all this pain hidden is beyond me. But if there’s anything I can do to help you, Harlow, please let me.”
“I don’t want to trouble anyone—“
“You’re not troubling anyone with this. If anything, it bugs me that you refuse to let anyone help you.” I tilt her chin, so she’s looking up at me, my voice softening. “My company’s main office and showroom are in New York, and that’s also where we’re incorporated. It’s where my dad, who’s the CFO of my company, is based out of. So if you need a name of a lawyer…”
“But I thought you’re based around here.”
“I stay in Flagstaff because that’s where I draft and build everything, and I come here because this place is special to me. Besides, I can only handle being away from Nana and her cooking every few months. So if you need a recommendation for another lawyer who’s not affiliated with that scumbag or his office, then I can ask my lawyer for one right now, but only if you’ll let me. Will you let me help you?”
Harlow takes a deep breath, and I can almost feel the feeling of relief wash over her as she nods and smiles. And if there’s one thing about Harlow that I can’t get enough of, it’s her smile.
“If you can, I’d appreciate it,” she says. “But what about Frank? What if he sues you for hitting him?”
“Then let him. That’s what my lawyers are for, and he was on my private property. But don’t change the subject, Harlow. I can help you—or I sure as hell am going to do whatever I can to direct you to someone better than that asshole. It’ll take a few calls, but you’re going to show him that you’re not his good girl or anyone else’s for that matter.”
She chuckles dryly. “I guess I’m really more Thelma than Louise, aren’t I?”
“I wouldn’t say that, not after what you’ve been through. And you haven’t given up yet, so who knows? Maybe that’s why you got into your car and drove west, and why you’re right here instead of back there,” I say, pushing a stray lock of hair from her face. “Did you have any plans for the day?”
“No, just getting rid of Frank and keeping what’s mine.”
“Good. Once I get a hold of Cole, and he gets me the names of lawyers you can interview, I’ll hand it over to you so you won’t feel like I’m hovering while you’re handling your business. Would that work for you?”
“I have all the documents stored in the bedroom, so I’m just going to go get them and get dressed,” she says as she walks away from me but I take hold of her hand, and she stops, glancing up at me quizzically. “What is it?”
“You’re more of a Louise than you think.”
*
Four hours la
ter, including a half-hour break to have lunch that I’d called to be delivered from one of my favorite restaurants, Harlow is still on the phone. I could have driven into town to get lunch but I didn’t want to leave her alone, not if Frank just might decide to come back. He did leave her the documents he’d wanted her to sign, which will come in handy when it’s time to sue his ass for malpractice.
But that’s up to Harlow and her new lawyers, and I sure hope the court allows her the change of legal counsel. This time, I hope she gets everything from that bastard she married and for the hell that she must have gone through to want to put a bullet through her brain.
Stay calm, Dax. This isn’t your fight.
But thinking of how close she’d been to losing everything still fills me with anger, especially after everything else I’ve overheard from my workroom. From what I’ve gathered, Marcus was her stillborn son, and it hasn’t even been a year which means Jeff what’s-his-face filed for divorce shortly after. What cold-blooded son of a bitch would do that to a grieving mother? I don’t care what shit she’s done, dude, but to file for divorce while she’s still grieving? I don’t think so.
The piece of cherry wood in front of me is receiving the brunt of my emotions, the Japanese hand planer sending long strips of paper-thin wood unfurling to the ground. The wood is useless now, actually, and if I keep on going, I’ll have nothing left but the planing table in front of me.
“Hi. Is it okay if I come in?”
Harlow’s voice snaps me out of my thoughts, and I turn to see her standing by the door, barefoot and wearing a blue sleeveless top and loose cotton pants. Her hair is secured in a ponytail though a few strands frame her oval face.
“You’re always welcome in here.”
“I just got off the phone, and I think I’ve got everything settled on my end. They’ll call me as soon as they find out what the judge decides,” Harlow continues as she stops in front of me. “So, can you show me how this works?”
