by Hailey North
Chapter 16
Penelope dreamed she overslept for her breakfast meeting. Tossing and turning, she watched in dismay as Hubert Humphrey Klees, most senior of the firm’s senior partners, dressed her down in front of the entire wait staff of the Windsor Court’s Grill Room, including her mother, who burst into tears at her daughter’s downfall. The client, of course, had already stormed off, bouncing away on a version of Mrs. Merlin’s magick pole-vaulting stick.
She came to wakefulness with a start, pushing her hair from her face and breathing rapidly. Thank goodness it had only been a nightmare. Penelope prided herself on never oversleeping. Each morning when her alarm sounded, she rolled out of bed without dawdling.
Her alarm . . .
It hadn’t gone off.
Penelope grabbed her bedside clock. The digital numbers blinked rapidly. Sometime during the night, her power had failed.
She literally sprang from the bed to the dresser to check her watch. Staring at the dial, she clutched her tummy. She had fifteen minutes to make it to the Grill Room or the expression “dreams come true” would take on a whole new meaning for Penelope Sue Fields.
There’d be no time to pick up another copy of the Opinion Letter. She called a cab while she twisted her hair into a knot; jumped into her stockings and suit while reviewing the client’s profile in her mind; grabbed shoes, purse, and briefcase; and made it to the ground floor just as the cabbie blew the horn.
She arrived at the stroke of eight to find Hubert already settled at a window table with the patrician Fitzsimmons. The prospective client wore a flinty expression that looked as if it had the effusive Hubert unnerved. Everyone liked Hubert—his charm had won him as many clients as his sharp legal mind—but Fitzsimmons appeared to be a tough nut to crack.
Her heart sinking, Penelope followed the maître d’ across the lush carpet. Having dressed in such a rush, she felt a need to tug at her skirt, smooth her jacket, check to see whether she had on a pair of shoes that matched.
Resisting the temptation, she approached the table, hand extended to Clarke Fitzsimmons, president and majority shareholder of a company worth a quarter of a million in billable hours per year.
“Ms. Fields,” Hubert said, rising slightly and glancing at his watch.
She smiled. She must have overdone the expression, because Hubert blinked twice before he introduced her to Fitzsimmons. But it was Hubert who’d criticized her only last month, telling her she needed to loosen up a bit, not always approach a client meeting with her brief-case open and her calculator in hand. “Give ’em a good time,” he’d urged, practically ordering her to act more sociably.
Penelope knew how to handle herself when she dealt with law and facts and figures. But she didn’t play golf or tennis or understand the art of chitchat over cocktails. Even one drink sent her off into the giggles, a most inappropriate behavior for a lawyer seeking to impress a client.
So Penelope stuck to business.
She held out her hand to Clarke Fitzsimmons, the same wide smile appearing on her face. “Mr. Fitzsimmons, what an honor to finally meet you.”
Surprise flicked across his high-cheeked face. Frosty blue eyes, remarkably similar to the blue marble Mrs. Merlin had placed on last night’s altar, regarded her steadily. Then he half-rose from his seat and leaned over to pull out her chair.
“Thank you,” he said, settling back and lifting his menu.
Whew! Penelope risked a glance at Hubert, who’d taken to gnawing on the inside of his right cheek, a sure sign he knew they were in trouble with Fitzsimmons. He wanted to reel in this client badly. Hubert’s brother had recently been appointed to a federal judgeship. Firm gossip said the two had always been competitive and Penelope figured he wanted this coup to balance out his brother’s achievement.
Sensing the tension mounting, Penelope almost started chewing on her own cheek. Instead, she surprised herself by reaching over and touching Fitzsimmons on the fine wool covering his forearm. “I am simply dying to hear about your new yacht.”
Hubert blanched.
Fitzsimmons put down his menu. His face defrosted by about three degrees. “Oh, you know about Melodee?”
“Oh, yes.” She removed her hand from his sleeve, ever so slowly. “I adore boating. Don’t you, Hubert?” Penelope didn’t know where her words were coming from; her voice, all sugary and slow, didn’t even sound like her own.
Her secretary, bless her soul, had scoured the Internet for every fact she could find about Fitzsimmons and come up with the gem that he was crazy over yachting and had just slipped his latest man-sized toy into the waters off Hilton Head.
Hubert nodded.
Fitzsimmons launched into an animated description of the love of his life. Every so often Penelope nodded, swinging her knee gently under the table, leaning forward, looking entranced.
The waiter came by and Hubert waved him off.
Finally, Fitzsimmons wound down. Fingering his menu, he bestowed a slight smile on Penelope.
Hubert quit chewing on his cheek.
Tony didn’t have any cousins in the kitchen of the Grill Room. Even if he had, the keepers of New Orleans’ only five-star hotel wouldn’t have let him in, even at the employee entrance. He’d been up all night and the stubble on his cheeks gave him the air of someone who slept on the streets, rather than a man sworn to preserve and protect their safety.
He practically had slept on the streets last night. Hinson had been summoned to a rare inperson meeting with his boss, which is why Tony had dropped Penelope at the door of her building and raced off.
Exactly at midnight, Hinson had stepped from a cab in front of the Mid-City all night grocery and restaurant where his boss liked to conduct business.
It never failed to occur to Tony as he passed by the location that its similarity to Olano’s Seafood at the Lakefront was startling. He considered it one of the more poignant ironies of his life that several generations earlier, before any of his forebears had come to America, the trunk of his family tree had split. One branch had followed the path of corruption, the other had clung to the sweat and toil of the restaurant business.
And so it remained to this day.
Except for Tony, who pursued the fallen element with a vengeance even his own family didn’t understand.
Last evening he’d parked his car on a quiet side street, then made his way on foot to the surveillance van housed in a car repair shop across the street from the twenty-four-hour grocery.
The night owls of the neighborhood loitered in front of the store, many with bottles of beer dressed up in brown bag finery. The store stuck to the right side of the law, at least on the surface, careful to check ID to weed out any minors foolish enough to think they could buy a beer at this comer market.
Inside the van, Steve and Roy, two members of the hand-picked federal task force surveillance team, were tossing dice at the small work-table behind the front seats. Despite their casual attitudes, the two had earphones tight to their ears and Tony knew both were listening carefully. Recording equipment lining the sides of the cargo van whirred quietly.
Tony nodded at the men and picked up an earphone. All he heard at the moment was the sound of dishes clattering. He cocked a brow. “So what did I miss?”
One guy laughed. “A pretty good joke. It seems the old man personally picked out a wife for Hinson, some favor he promised an old friend in Chicago to look after his daughter bom on the wrong side of the bedspread.”
Tony tensed. Forcing a casualness he didn’t feel, he said, “Keeping it in the family, huh?”
“I guess. Not that the girl knows who her father is. Anyway, the joke is—” he slapped his knee then paused to cast the dice, “the real joke is Hinson’s asking what he did to be punished. Seems the girl’s colder than a nectar snowball.”
In one swift motion, Tony knocked the guy’s chair out from under him. The dice and cup clattered to the floor.
Both officers stared at Tony as if he’d gone nuts.
Which he had.
From the floor of the van the other officer said, rubbing his jaw, “I take it you’ve gotten to know the bride-to-be.”
Tony nodded, then offered the guy a hand up. “Sorry, Steve. No hard feelings, I hope.”
Steve shook his head and righted the chair. Staring curiously at Tony, he said slowly, “Even Boy Scouts who play with fire can get burned.”
The other officer pointed to his earphones. “Knock it off, guys. Take a listen to this.”
“All right, so I’ll marry her.” Hinson.
“I’ll dance at your wedding.” His boss.
“That’ll take her firm out of action. So when that’s done, for good service, what about an annulment?” Hinson, ending with a nervous chuckle.
Tony clenched his fists. He’d been right about the law firm. With Penelope compromised, the firm would no doubt pull out of representation of the other side in the biggest legal battle the old man had fought to date. The client might even give in.
In a simpler world, Penelope only had to tell Hinson her heart wasn’t engaged and he’d go away, his tail between his legs. But this twist about her unknown father could have an unexpected impact on her decision.
“One more thing.” Hinson’s boss.
“Yes, sir.” Hinson, not having lost his manners completely.
“You lift one finger, even your pinkie, against this girl, and I’ll have your throat.”
Tony nodded, pleased to hear proof the old man wasn’t totally bad.
“I’ll take care of my needs elsewhere.” Hinson.
“Mmmmph.” Disapproval clear.
“You like what I did to that fool with those noisy tennis shoes?”
“You gotta talk like you have a big mouth all the time? They teach you that at Harvard?” The old man rumbled, then the conversation died out, replaced by the scraping of a fork on china.
Steve lowered his earphones. “Got him on assault, at a minimum.”
Tony nodded, pleased by Hinson’s slip, but saddened at the thought of Squeek bandaged and doped, lying in a crowded ward at the charity hospital, his wife at home, even further away from her dream of carrying Squeek’s child. He’d stopped in to see him, but Squeek hadn’t recognized him.
Tony had stayed in the van two more hours. Inside the store the men played chess. Nothing else of much interest had happened and Tony considered leaving the listening to Steve and Roy when Hinson called, “Check.”
The move must have boosted his chutzpah, because he asked in his silkiest voice, “So who is my future father-in-law?”
Tony and the other two men jerked to attention, Tony for personal as well as professional reasons.
“He doesn’t acknowledge her. To do that would be to break his wife’s heart.”
“But he keeps an eye out for her?”
Snake, Tony thought. Hinson was fishing to see what was in the deal for him.
“All I will say is she comes by her legal mind through her father. He’s Chicago’s best, and if ever I need advice and you’re not around, he’s the man I would call. So if you try hard, you’ll figure it out. But“—the old man’s voice shifted to that of a father warning his child—”when a man doesn’t want to be found, it’s better to leave him alone.”
“Hmmm.” Hinson.
“We’re your family here and we’ll be that for your wife, too. Bring her to dinner. The missus will teach her how to cook.”
“She knows. Fancy stuff, too.”
“Imagine that. Never met a lady lawyer who could cook. So count yourself lucky and quit whining into your wine about tying the knot.” A grunt of satisfaction sounded. “Would you look at that—just captured your queen.”
Tony glanced over at the two other guys. Steve and Roy were good men—honest, smart, considered incorruptible. That’s why they’d been assigned to this post and entrusted with the truth behind Tony’s staged dismissal from the force. He knew Roy better and instinctively trusted him in a way he didn’t Steve, but chalked that up to personality differences.
He sensed them studying him now, an added measure of alertness revealing their speculation. How far gone was Tony Olano over Penelope Sue Fields? Tony watched them watching him, cursing himself for losing his temper and knocking Steve to the ground, and wondering whether they’d guessed the identity of Penelope’s father from the clues the old man had given Hinson.
Chicago’s best. The man the boss would call.
Reginald Vincelli—had to be.
Steve and Roy exchanged glances. Roy said, “Better to let Hinson have her, Tony. There are millions of other fish in the sea.”
Tony shrugged. “Yeah, you’re right. Just swimming around waiting for me to hook ’em with my rod.”
The guys had laughed with him and the moment of tension passed.
To himself he had said, “But there’s only one Penelope Sue Fields.”
Now, loitering on the sidewalk just outside the Windsor Court’s driveway as Penelope appeared sandwiched between two suited types, he repeated that line to himself.
It made no sense, his fascination with this woman. Tony had tried to argue himself out of being interested, tried to deny the attraction. She said something to the silver-haired man and he gave her a pleased look.
They shook hands. For once Penelope didn’t have her blouse buttoned all the way to her chin. He squinted, surprised that he couldn’t even see the top of her blouse today.
Her lips curved into the most appealing smile and her cheeks were rosier than usual this morning, her eyes shining. Tony checked out the two men from head to toe but couldn’t see anything so special about them that they’d make Penelope look so happy.
Perhaps it had been his kiss.
He sure wanted to think so.
“Move along there, no loitering,” a pimply-faced man in a hotel uniform called to Tony from the bricked drive. Tony ignored him, waiting to see whether Penelope left on her own.
A Cadillac pulled up, driven by a chauffeur. The man opened the passenger door for Mr. Silverhead.
The valet delivered the next car, which the other man claimed. Penelope got into the passenger seat and the two drove off.
“If you don’t leave, I’ll call the police.”
Very funny. Tony shrugged and ambled off.
Like it or not, he had a telephone call to make.
“I have to give it to you, Penelope, you had Fitzsimmons eating out of your hand.” Hubert spoke more warmly than he ever had to her. He also looked at her more closely from his seat behind the wheel.
Penelope glowed from his praise.
“I like your new style.” He winked, then said in a more serious tone, “I don’t know what you’ve come up with on his tax situation, but I trust you to solve it. Now that he’s signing with us, you’re going to be one very busy lady lawyer.”
At one time in her career, Penelope might have corrected Hubert, asking him to delete lady in front of lawyer. But today she simply smiled and said, “I like to be busy.” Some leopards never changed their spots; as long as she got the credit and the work, she’d overlook his old-fashioned ways.
But what did he mean about her new look? She wore the same type of outfit every day, the conservative uniform that suited her so well. She shrugged off the comment and listened as Hubert added, “We were certainly fortunate to steal you away from Pierce, Turner.”
Her Chicago firm. Something niggled at the back of her mind as she recalled David commenting on the legal recruiting firm. “How did you locate me, Hubert?”
His brow wrinkled. “Well, that’s an odd thing. We’d pretty much settled on another lawyer when Greif”—who was one of the “of counsel” lawyers rarely seen in the office—“called and said we ought to talk to you through this recruiting firm. Said not to call you directly.”
“That’s odd. I certainly wasn’t looking for a new job.”
Hubert chuckled and pulled into the Oil Building garage. “Then I guess we just got lucky.”
They were riding in the express elevator, the same car where Penelope had first laid eyes on Tony, when Penelope asked, “Is Greif friends with David Hinson?”
Hubert made a sound of disgust. “Hinson? I should hope not. How do you know that snake?”
She blanched but said casually enough, “I met him several weeks ago at a pretrial conference.”
“Well, I hope your relationship doesn’t go beyond meet and greet. You’re not”—he looked at her with fatherly concern—“considering getting involved with him, are you?”
Penelope thought of the giant-sized engagement ring she had to return. “No,” she said faintly.
“Good. It would be quite sticky for our firm if you were to see much of him.”
“Oh?”
“He’s opposing counsel for the XYZ Shipping case.”
Penelope’s eyes widened. She knew that case was worth millions to the firm. She’d done some tangential work on it, all tax-related, and Hubert had already indicated she would be getting more involved.
Feeling weighted in complications, no longer buoyed by her successful wooing of Clarke Fitzsimmons, Penelope excused herself and trudged into her office.
She’d thought there was something odd about Hinson knowing details about her recruitment she’d never mentioned. She turned that kernel over in her mind, only to be interrupted by her secretary, who whisked in behind her and shut the door.
“Look at you,” she said.
“What?” Penelope tried never to be cross with Jewel, but sometimes her assistant’s good spirits rubbed her the wrong way.
“A new look usually means a new man.”
“What new look?” First Hubert had said that, and now Jewel. Penelope settled her briefcase and purse. As far as the new man, last night’s kiss had given her hope, but the way Tony had rushed off had plummeted those hopes almost immediately.
At least they were to have dinner tonight.
