“Adam?” Holly said uncertainly.
His face softened instantly. “It’ll be okay. Don’t worry.”
Of course she was going to worry, Holly thought as she listened to more of Mrs. Fitzhugh’s attacks. She stole a glance at Adam.
He wore his lawyer face and leaned forward attentively. Mrs. Fitzhugh, lulled by his deferential mask, continued to list her complaints against Holly.
At last it was Adam’s turn. “Mrs. Fitzhugh, you sound very different now than you did before and during the Winter Ball. Then you were extremely grateful.”
“That was before I discovered how I was used.”
Adam straightened and fixed her with an unblinking stare. To Holly’s astonishment, a faint pink tinged Mrs. Fitzhugh’s cheeks. “How long does it take to plan the Winter Ball?”
“A year.”
“Who was contracted to decorate for this year’s event—before Ms. Hall?”
“John Kelly.”
“Prestigious name—known for his lavish and unusual interiors. Yet he backed out three weeks before the ball, leaving you in danger of canceling, isn’t that so?”
Mrs. Fitzhugh nodded reluctantly.
“Please answer audibly. The court reporter can’t record gestures.”
“Yes.” Mrs. Fitzhugh answered through gritted teeth.
“Thank you. Mrs. Fitzhugh, to save time, I will summarize the events that followed. You may speak out if any differ from your recollection.”
Holly listened as Adam calmly retold the story of her involvement with the Winter Ball, transforming her from an unscrupulous opportunist furthering Laurel’s immoral career into a hardworking businesswoman, too generous for her own good. At Adam’s prodding Mrs. Fitzhugh, whose eyes kept darting toward Joe Longoria, periodically confirmed his statements.
“Who pays for the Winter Ball?” Adam leaned back against the exhibit table.
“We sell tickets and there are several underwriters. Businesses donate food, flowers, that sort of thing.” Mrs. Fitzhugh eyed him warily.
“And, in fact, Holly Hall donated her services, true?”
Mrs. Fitzhugh nodded.
“Let the record show an answer in the affirmative. Please tell the court what happened when Ms. Hall presented her list of expenses to you.” Adam folded his arms across his chest.
Mrs. Fitzhugh’s mouth opened and closed. “They were terribly high—higher than I’d expected. I’m sure that in other years John Kelly Interiors must have absorbed some of the costs—”
Adam cut her off. “John Kelly Interiors is an established firm that has an inventory of its own. They may or may not have done as you suggested. Did you pay Ms. Hall’s invoice?”
“I . . .”
“Answer yes or no.”
“No.”
Even though Holly knew the answer, she, along with the rest of the courtroom, followed the exchange in rapt silence.
“Not only did you not pay Ms. Hall, you let her understand that if she pressed you, she would not work in Dallas again.”
“Objection,” Joe announced.
“I did not!” Mrs. Fitzhugh’s chin began to tremble.
Adam ignored him. “Your exact words were: ‘Do that and you won’t work in Dallas again.’ Correct?”
“I don’t remember!”
“You are under oath.”
“I can’t . . .” Mrs. Fitzhugh sent a beseeching look to her brother.
“Words to that effect?”
“I—yes!” She covered her face with her hands.
Adam wasn’t finished. “What other firm could put together a first-rate and—by your own admission—the most successful ball ever in three weeks?”
Mrs. Fitzhugh didn’t answer. The judge motioned for her to, but Adam broke in. “She can’t answer because no other firm could have done it. Holly Hall did the impossible for charity, knowing she wouldn’t receive a penny for her labor and then got stuck with the bills because a greedy chairwoman knew she could get away with it.”
Adam strode toward Holly as Joe screamed in objection. Mrs. Fitzhugh and Holly wore identical stunned expressions.
Holly laid a hand on Adam’s arm. “Did you have to do that?”
Adam, the lawyer, answered her. “Shall I have the court reporter read back all the things she said about you?”
Holly shook her head.
“Hang in there, we’re nearly done.” Adam went to the exhibit table and got a copy of Holly’s invoice, holding it high over his head. “I want it entered into the record that my client made repeated attempts to resolve this conflict and was rebuffed. She generously offered to absorb costs she hadn’t expected to, putting herself in financial jeopardy. This trial is no more than blackmail.”
Adam strode back to sit with Holly as the courtroom erupted. The judge could no longer tolerate the noise from the reporters and declared a recess. When the trial resumed, half the press was gone.
Holly ran her fingers through her hair as she nervously watched the lawyers huddling around Joe Longoria.
“We’ve got ’em.” Adam regarded the men contemptuously. “The public is on your side now and these guys are exposed for the big bullies they are.”
“What’s going to happen?” Holly asked.
Adam shrugged. “If they’re smart, they’ll get out of this quick.”
Joe approached the judge. “Your honor, in light of recent developments and the explanation given by Ms. Hall’s attorney, we withdraw our suit.”
“Bernie,” the judge muttered, glaring at Mr. Steele and shaking his head in exasperation, “I can’t believe you called me back from vacation and pulled a stunt like this.” He banged his gavel as the remaining reporters shuffled out the doors or ran to Holly. The shouted questions blurred together; the camera lights momentarily blinded her. She clutched Adam’s arm until a microphone was thrust too close to her face and she released his arm to bat it away. The crowd separated them immediately.
Seeing that Holly was overwhelmed, Adam moved away, drawing half a dozen reporters with him.
In a few moments it was over. Holly dealt ably with the two remaining television crews as Mr. Steele approached Adam. “Reconsider that resignation, Adam?”
“Nope. I’ll be vacating the penthouse today.”
Mr. Steele shook his head as they walked toward the back of the now empty courtroom. “I knew having you with the firm was too good to last.”
“MRS. FITZHUGH dropped the suit.” Holly wearily set her purse on the kitchen counter and kicked off her pumps.
“I know.” Laurel nodded her head. “It’s been on the news.”
“I expected more of a reaction from you.” Holly looked at her sister in surprise.
“I have to talk to you about something. Bart King—with the film commission?—said my pictures have generated a lot of interest.”
Holly opened the refrigerator door. “Mr. King has a flair for understatement.” Seeing nothing cold to drink, Holly filled a glass with water and ice, collapsed into a chair at the table and waited for Laurel to continue.
“Holly, some casting directors have asked to see me.” She tilted her head defiantly and swallowed. “I’m leaving for Los Angeles.”
Nothing surprised Holly anymore. Laurel would have to find out for herself what kind of parts she’d be offered, if any. Holly opened her mouth to wish her well, but Laurel, apparently thinking she was going to get a lecture, cut her off.
“I don’t want to hear any more about Deck the Halls! I’m sick to death of Deck the Halls! What about my life? Ever since Mama and Daddy died, I’ve done what you thought was best. I’m two years older than you were when you had to start running this family.” Laurel stopped and took a deep breath. “I’m not going to spend any more of my life pandering to
your ego by helping you build your business. You want to throw away your money on society snobs, go ahead. I’m not working like a slave to help you do it.”
A month ago, Holly would have interrupted Laurel to argue, but the trial had taken all the fight out of her. She wasn’t angry; she regretted that Laurel had held these feelings in for so long. “I’ll miss you.”
A look of disbelief, followed by elation, flickered across Laurel’s face before it was smothered by concern. “The news reports were right, weren’t they, Holly? It’s over? We came out of it okay?”
“If you mean do we have to pay them any of our nonexistent money, no. Whether we ever work again remains to be seen.”
“I need to pack. Holly?”
“Take what you want, but be reasonable about it.” Holly sipped her water, wishing she had something stronger. Starting Deck the Halls again with just Ivy wasn’t going to be the same. Laurel had contributed more than Holly had given her credit for, and she made a mental note to tell her so before Laurel left. And to send her off with the biggest hug she’d ever had . . .
“I’m glad I caught the news on TV. Didn’t you think I’d want to know we’re off the hook?” Ivy leaned in the doorway.
“Ivy!” Holly lowered her stockinged feet from the kitchen chair and grimaced. “I’m sorry. So much happened, I forgot that you didn’t know.”
Ivy crossed her arms, but didn’t come into the kitchen. “It wouldn’t be the first time you forgot to tell me something important. Or is it that you think I’m too young to know these grown-up things?”
Holly very carefully lowered her glass to the table. “You’re right. I should have told you immediately, but I saw Laurel as soon as I stepped in the door and she chose that moment to tell me about all the horrible things I’ve done that might not have come out in the courtroom where I’ve spent the entire day.” Holly bit out the last words as she ran out of breath. She was close to tears.
“Adam turned out to be an old-fashioned hero, according to the news reports,” Ivy said mildly.
Holly sank back in her chair. “He was incredible.” It was disconcerting to discover she’d fallen in love with someone she didn’t even know.
Ivy walked toward the table. “This came by courier a little while ago.”
Holly reached for the envelope, but Ivy snatched it away. “Not yet. I opened it and it’s a check from the Winter Ball committee signed by Claudia Fitzhugh. I don’t know exactly how much of our expenses it covers, since you didn’t bother to tell me how much they were.”
“If you’ll give it to me, I’ll let you know.” Holly held out her hand, but Ivy shook her head.
“I want one-third of this.”
“Are you willing to take on one-third of our debt, too?” Holly regretted the words as soon as they were out.
Ivy hesitated, then handed Holly the envelope. Quickly doing some rough figuring, Holly said, “This will pay off everything but the silk, which we’ll keep, and after paying for that, we ought to have four thousand left over. Total cash assets. You want a third of that now, or plow it back into the business and get all your college money later?”
“Now. I’ve been talking with some of my friends who are at the University of Texas and they have room for a fourth roommate in their apartment. I’m going to Austin now to get a job and then I’ll enroll for summer school.”
“You want to go to UT?” Holly tried to hide her dismay. “I assumed—” She caught herself. “They have an excellent business school.”
“And journalism department, which is good since I plan to be a sports writer,” Ivy announced calmly.
“You’ve got it all planned.” Holly knew she had to reach deep within herself and show Ivy some enthusiasm. “I’ll miss you,” she said with sincerity. “And I wish you success. But I’m going to get lonely with both you and Laurel gone.”
“You won’t be lonely,” Ivy said, nodding toward the door behind Holly. “Laurel and I invited company.”
Holly turned and saw Adam. He opened the door and shoved two suitcases inside. “Any damsels in distress here?”
“I think the other two can take care of themselves,” Holly said, wondering about the luggage.
“Hi, Adam.” Ivy gave him a hug, whispered in his ear and discreetly left the kitchen.
“What do you mean you didn’t tell her?” Adam called after Ivy, as she scampered up the stairs.
“Tell me what?”
“I was on my way to a hotel, but Laurel and Ivy invited me to stay here.” Adam went to the refrigerator, shook his head and got a glass of water. He sat at the table with her. “When they said ‘we,’ I assumed it included you.”
“I’m sorry.” She should have remembered that he was leaving the penthouse.
“I’m not.” His blue eyes scorched her face.
Holly’s numbed senses began to stir, warmed by his look. “There’s certainly plenty of room. Laurel is off to California and Ivy is leaving for Austin.”
Adam grinned. “Good for them.”
“Are you on your way back to Boston?” Holly brought her glass to her lips, trying to fool Adam into thinking it was a casual question.
Adam waited until she set the glass down again, smiling a smile that told her he wasn’t fooled at all. “Everything I want is here.”
Holly clenched her glass, suddenly nervous. “What about—” she hesitated—“your work?”
Adam watched her with growing amusement. “I’m starting my own firm as I should have done in the first place. Got any space for rent?”
“Here?” Holly’s lips curved in a slow smile. “I like that idea. Maybe rent some of the bedrooms to others who—”
“No!” Adam stated firmly. “I’ll rent whatever you don’t use as storage.”
Holly sobered. “I don’t know if I’ll continue Deck the Halls.” She swirled the ice in her glass. “I built it for Laurel and Ivy, you know.”
“And for you.”
Holly frowned. “They think I’m some kind of slave driver.”
“Well, you are.”
Holly turned hurt eyes toward him. “I had to be.”
Adam smiled gently. “Had. You kept your family together until they could take care of themselves.” He stood and offered her a hand, leading her to the family room off the kitchen.
Ivy had left the television on, and Adam turned it off before they were bombarded with more news flashes. He settled Holly on the sofa and drew her next to him. “The fight’s over, Holly. You won. It’s time they were on their own.”
“I know.” Holly leaned her head on Adam’s shoulder. She pulled the check from her pocket. “From Mrs. Fitzhugh.”
“It’s a little short.”
Holly shook her head. “The difference is about what the silk is worth. That woman doesn’t miss much.”
“You see? You’ve got all that silk. You’ll have to keep Deck the Halls going,” Adam teased gently.
In her mind, Holly replayed bits of the courtroom scene, contrasting that Adam with the familiar one who sat with his arm draped around her. “I don’t know you at all, do I?” she finally burst out in a voice filled with self-derision.
Adam tilted her chin with his fingers. “Holly, look at me.” Holly did and caught her breath at the expression on his face. “Yes, you do. I’m hardly Adam-the-Barracuda at all anymore. I don’t like him very much. You know the real me. No one else ever did.”
“I’m sorry you had to do that today—”
“No.” Adam shook his head. “It’s the best thing that could have happened. Not only did I get you off the hook, I’ve, uh, proven myself on the Texas battlefield. I shouldn’t have to do it again. That day you told me I should take the case—you were right, but for the wrong reasons.”
“A nice change from being wrong for t
he right reasons.”
“Like trying to sacrifice everything you’d worked for to save my partnership at Swinehart, Cathardy and Steele.” His eyes filled with tenderness.
“Lot of good it did,” Holly mumbled.
Adam tilted her chin again. “Yes, it did,” he said before his lips descended to meet hers.
The sweetness of his kiss flowed through her, washing away all the hurt and bitterness. “But loving you is right for all the right reasons,” Holly whispered against his mouth.
“Definitely.” Adam drew her closer. “I love you, Holly,” he said, in a voice raw with emotion. “And I’ve wanted you for so long, but after what you’ve been through today—”
“Adam,” she said, her voice huskier than usual, “please take advantage of me.”
He laughed and kissed her forehead. “All right—will you marry me?”
“Yes,” Holly replied immediately.
Adam’s look of pleased surprise was followed by one of such blazing joy that Holly felt her throat tighten. He pulled her to him. “And maybe we could fill some of these bedrooms with little Marklands?” Adam searched her face as he asked.
Holly grinned. “During the off-season, of course.”
“Of course,” Adam agreed as he kissed her again, stopping abruptly with a stricken look on his face. “What’s nine months from now?”
Holly began to laugh. “Christmas!”
(Please continue reading for more information about Heather MacAllister)
About the Author
USA Today bestselling author Heather MacAllister is a former music teacher who married her high school sweetheart on the 4th of July, so is it any surprise that their two sons turned out to be a couple of firecrackers? Her nearly fifty romances have been translated into 26 languages and published in dozens of countries. She’s won the Romance Writers of America Golden Heart® Award, several Romantic Times BOOK Reviews awards, and is a three-time RWA RITA® finalist. When she’s not writing stories that make her readers laugh, Heather collects vintage costume jewelry, loves fireworks displays and sons who answer their mother’s texts. You can visit her online at http://www.HeatherMacAllister.com, follow her on:
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