“Does our firm represent Mr. Hranic as a criminal defendant?”
“In a sense.”
“Because you know Stuart won’t approve of it.”
“You see there, this is a good example of his inflexibility. Our firm is a perfect fit for criminal defense. Always has been. Criminal law is what we did for years, for Chrissakes. Nobody knows it better than us.”
“It’s the principle of the thing for him,” Katherine said. “But it sounds like you’ve already been dealing with this man.”
“We’ve been getting regular payments from Hranic’s sister for years. She has a different last name. And you’re right. Stu wouldn’t approve, so it’s billed through me.”
“Stu doesn’t know?”
“Strictly speaking, I’m not doing any criminal defense work for Hranic yet. He’s not charged with anything. He’s done his time. I’m just helping his sister with a civil issue—how to manage money for a brother with an addictive personality.”
“The money he stole.”
“Let’s be clear. Hranic owes money. But his sister is paying our bill.”
“She’s paying you off with the stolen funds she’s holding for him. Is that clear enough?”
Clay grinned. “It’s all in how you characterize it. She pays regularly from her personal checking account. The lump sum will be a cashier’s check.”
“You prosecuted Hranic. Isn’t this a conflict?”
“A client can waive a conflict. No one knew his case better than me, and I knew the money was still out there; his suicidal twenty-five-year-old bookkeeper certainly didn’t have it. When I went into private practice, I contacted him, and he quickly saw the wisdom of having me as an ally instead of an enemy. Sound familiar? Besides, he got a pretty sweet plea bargain.”
“You asked him for a share of the dirty money.”
“You’re still not saying it right. His sister pays our firm fees—nine hundred and ninety-five dollars a month—for my advice. It’s logged under estate planning. And, by the way, you’ve been accepting half of that money for the last five years. This month’s check probably paid for those brand-new thigh-high leather boots I see you wearing.”
Katherine blushed. “Do you like them?”
“They look right on you, and I’ll bet you’ve wanted them for a long time, haven’t you?”
“Maybe.”
“And now you’re getting what you wanted, correct?”
“You’re sure it’s not illegal to take money from a criminal? I mean, I don’t necessarily agree with Stuart’s ban on criminal defense, but I don’t want to do anything illegal.”
“Criminal defense lawyers get paid by criminals, Kate,” Clay said. Then he waited for the simplicity of his reasoning to sink in.
Katherine retreated behind her menu to think. He made her feel like a little girl; it was hard to argue with an attorney. But the real question was: Why did she want to argue? The handsome man sitting across from her was taking control and whisking her along for what was turning out to be a thrilling ride, just as she’d always wanted Stu to do.
CHAPTER 22
Katherine walked along the waterfront with her lips pursed. It had been three days, and for the first time she thought seriously about what she was going to tell her husband about the goings-on during his absence.
“Don’t overthink it,” Clay had advised.
She wondered how Stu was doing. She didn’t expect that he’d slain a deer and made himself venison steaks. More likely he was eating canned beans, and there were worse things than eating cheap beans. She just couldn’t think of any at the moment.
The harbor was busy, with boats drifting in and out in a slow, orderly fashion, as they’d done for centuries. Tall, triangular sails scraped the sky, pulling sleek craft out into the bay, while chugging diesel engines shoved their wider burdens through the waves. Whaling photos and memorabilia hung in store windows. She noticed none of it.
Things were happening that Stu wouldn’t be comfortable with, and she’d have to discuss them with him when he got back. She wasn’t looking forward to it—he had a way of arguing without arguing. He calmly pointed out fact after fact, each followed by Have you considered that? It was annoying, effective, and annoying because it was effective. But he would miss the big picture. The drab state of their life was all the proof she needed. Stu did all the little things right, and they still weren’t winning.
The beach house needed to be discussed. She wanted it so badly that she was furnishing it in her head. She had to find a way to get Stu on board and keep him from hoarding the Molson money. They’d talked about trading up before, and now they had the money. From that angle, she had a solid position.
Justifying the unexpected office expansion was Clay’s problem, though she would side with her husband’s partner on that, too. And Stu wouldn’t approve of Hranic’s sister as a proxy client. He wouldn’t condone using phony associates to get clients, either. These items were touchier, although Stu couldn’t complain about the results. Clay was already writing them hundred-thousand-dollar checks. He was moving forward. That was the difference between the two men. One was in motion; one was stagnant.
Then there was the little matter of the favor she’d done for Dugan. She winced. It sounded so bad out of context. But it wasn’t romance. He wasn’t going to fall in love with her; she could see it in his cat-that-ate-the-canary expression afterward. And she wasn’t leaving Stu. Technically, it wasn’t even mutual sex. Besides, it was working.
It didn’t need to come up, she decided. Stu wasn’t an overly jealous man, but he’d overanalyze it. The act was almost too simple for him to understand—Dugan wanted something and she had provided it. Period. Stu would drive himself nuts trying to make it more complicated than it was. Then he’d cope. He had before. He was reasonable and loyal that way. He’d forgive her. But why put him through it? There were more important things brewing. The house, for instance. A more pleasant thought. They needed to put together an offer as soon as he got back.
The waterfront restaurant was nestled between a women’s apparel shop that sold nautical clothing and an exchange for used marine equipment. Katherine pushed the door open and stepped inside.
Its interior was dimly lit with paper lanterns. There were no chairs. Instead patterned couches of different shapes were arranged around wagon-wheel-shaped coffee tables. Upscale customers sat or reclined in suits and skirts, casually taking bites of food from large communal trays. No one was in a hurry. There was no rush on the part of the staff, which dressed all in black and circulated with appetizers apparently available to all. Not a place for a quick lunch.
A young woman with her raven hair pulled back in a tight bun greeted Katherine with cool detachment.
“Reservation?”
“I’m not sure. I’m meeting someone.”
“Okaaay…” Bun Hair gave her a shallow smile. “Is it possible this someone you are meeting has a reservation?”
Katherine’s hackles rose, and she parried Bun Hair’s smirk with an oversugared smile of her own. “Sorry. It might be under Hanstedt. First name is Margery. Perhaps you know her?”
The woman’s face transformed, her aloof expression twisting into a cross between forced warmth and fear. “Yes, of course. Welcome. I’ll seat you now.”
She led Katherine toward the rear of the restaurant, making hurried small talk as though they were old friends. She selected a table near the window, apart from the rest. Semiprivate, which was good, considering the conversation Katherine intended to have.
“Would you like some wine?”
“I shouldn’t.”
“It’s complimentary. And quite good.”
Katherine shrugged her assent, and Bun Hair fled to fetch it.
When Margery entered, it was as though the First Lady had walked in. Conversations fell to a low buzz. Customers and staff alike glanced at her and then away. The braver among them waved. She nodded in return, then held her coat in the air until Bun Ha
ir spirited it away. She didn’t miss a step as a handsome young waiter put a glass of wine in her hand, and she walked straight to Katherine’s table. She arrived and stood over the couch.
“Welcome to Stationbreak.”
Katherine stood to greet her with one of her society hugs—friendly but formal, a light squeeze to imply familiarity and trust, but not too needy.
Margery was decked out in what Holly Plynth called “slut gear”—a black miniskirt, leather boots with heels, and a white see-through blouse with a push-up bra which served up her substantial knockers for customers to admire. She looked like a walking dessert cart without the guilt.
“Did my hostess, Sondra, greet you politely?”
“Are you working right now?”
“I own three small businesses. I’m always working.”
Bun Hair’s horrified look had been amusing, but it wasn’t punishment enough, Katherine decided. She’d put in her own time serving people when she was young, and now it was her turn to be served well. “She could take it up a notch.”
Margery nodded, making a mental note of it, and slid in next to Katherine instead of on the opposite couch.
“You look great,” Margery said, observing their unwritten rule of starting all meetings with mutual compliments.
“You too. I wish I had your calves.”
“So how’s Stuey holding up in Alaska?”
“Don’t know. No cell phone.”
“Right.”
“I suppose he’s fending for himself.”
“Or eating beans.”
Just then a waiter slid a tray of barbequed clams dripping with garlic butter in front of them and a cup of white sauce with bits of red bell pepper. Margery stabbed a clam with a tiny appetizer fork and dredged the sauce bowl with it.
“How are Robert and Amy?” Katherine asked. Margery’s children were nine and eleven.
“Adorable, busy, and expensive. Private elementary school is like practicing to pay for college. I also have a tedious play, poetry reading, or holiday concert to go to monthly. And the parent association wants a donation for every fund-raiser. I do it, but I make sure our name goes on all their flyers. It’s good PR at least. But I don’t want to bore you with mommy chatter. Let’s talk about something interesting.”
“Chatter is okay. I asked.”
“Then I don’t want to bore myself. This is big-girl time for me.” She sipped her wine. “So, you called this little two-person soiree. What did you want to talk about?”
“Business and sex.”
“My, my. This is going to be an interesting lunch. Do go on.”
“I get the impression you’re good at both, and I’d like to mine your expertise.”
“Start digging. I’ll tell you when to stop.”
“All of the sudden, things are going well for me. Quite well.”
“In business or sex?”
“Business. Maybe both. I’ll get to that. But business first. Now, this is still confidential. And there’s a non-disclosure clause, so I’m not supposed to be talking about it at all. But you know the big case I’ve been talking about.…”
“Molson. I know.”
“Right. Well, it settled.”
“How much?”
“A lot.”
Margery twirled her hand in the air, egging her on.
Katherine looked around, then whispered. “One-point-five million to us, after the split.”
Margery nodded, impressed. “Fill your 401K. Save a third for taxes.”
“You sound like Stu.”
“I doubt it, but if I do, he’s right.”
“He hasn’t told me yet.”
“Really? That’s odd. Then how do you know?”
“Clay.”
“Interesting.”
“Yeah. Clay is ramping up the business.”
“Smart. Leverage success.”
“I know. But Stu doesn’t.”
“Doesn’t what?”
“Know that Clay is expanding, remodeling the firm, hiring employees.”
“All in a week? While Stuey’s away?”
“Yeah, and Clay’s asking for my help.”
“If he’s doing all that, he’s been planning this for a while.”
Katherine blinked. “Maybe so. But we’ve never had the capital. Now we do. And he thinks Stu will hold us back.”
“Will he?”
Katherine rolled a clam around in her mouth, stalling. “Yes,” she said finally. “Dammit, I feel like I’m betraying him.”
“By helping his firm? No. You’re doing him a favor. Small business is tough, and not everyone has the killer instinct. Stu doesn’t. Clay does. It’s not so different from a high school dance; you can wait all night for just the right moment, or you can get out there as soon as the music starts. Who do you think gets the dates?”
“I know. But it’s complicated.”
“No, it’s not. Just ask yourself three simple questions: What do you want? How do you get it? Can you do that?”
“I think I know what I want.”
“Do you need to be on Team Clay to get it?”
“I think so.”
“Can you do that?”
“So far. But Stu’s not here.”
“I see. Well, in my expert opinion you can handle Stuey. When he gets home, you talk to him. Have some balls if he doesn’t. Make him successful whether he wants it or not.”
“Oh God, exactly! That’s what I’ve been trying to do for years. And that’s what Clay says too.”
“Speaking of Clay, let’s get to the sex.”
Katherine’s heart raced. She was well aware that Margery had hit on him at the party, and she felt a flash of something—annoyance, possibly anger. “You didn’t…”
“No. But I did meet with him yesterday.”
“Really?”
“He talked to me at Stu’s party. I told him I was extremely busy, but I gave him my phone number. I made him call me. There’s a trick you can use. He got in touch the day after to set up the meeting.”
“That’s strange. He was supposed to be going to Alaska.”
“Well, I’m glad that didn’t happen, because I had this little cropped jacket I was dying to try out, and I looked damn good.”
“I don’t think he’s right for you,” Katherine said abruptly. “I mean, even if you weren’t married and could fool around. He’s a bit intense.”
“Which I find hot. Sadly, he wants me for my business. He must have another woman stashed away somewhere. Perhaps you know?”
“I don’t think he does. He’s concentrating on work right now. I’m even helping him get clients, if you can believe that. Did he talk to you about representing the restaurants?”
“Yes. I assume that’s why you wanted to meet too.…”
“No. I mean, sure, we would love to represent you. But I just wanted advice.”
“It’s okay. I can compartmentalize. If you want to talk shop, I can put you in the business column for a few minutes. I have to warn you, though, it’s dangerous to do business or sleep with your friends. If it ends badly, you risk losing the friendship.”
“I’ll leave it to Clay, then.”
“The business or the sex part?” Margery grinned mischievously.
“That’s what I wanted to ask you about. You know how you joke about fooling around sometimes? Actually, a lot of the time. I was wondering: Do you really do it?”
Margery sat back, studying Katherine, debating. Katherine had punched through the small-talk-’n’-gossip wall. Margery decided it was time for another dipped clam, and she took her time eating it. “That’s very personal,” she said finally. “I don’t want to be the subject of rumors.”
“We’re friends. And we’re not in business yet. Or sleeping together. Plus, I told you about the confidential settlement.”
“Are you asking for advice because you’re fooling around?”
Katherine bit her lip. Margery was direct, and smart. She was making Katheri
ne offer something incriminating before she spilled anything herself. “I came to you because I think I can trust you.”
“I guess that tells me what I need to know. Is it Clay? I got a tension vibe when I mentioned his name.”
“No. Nobody you associate with. And it’s not going to be an ongoing thing. I just…”
“Impulsive?”
“Not particularly.”
“Interesting. Go on.”
“I wanted something. I saw how to get it. And, surprisingly, even to myself, I did it.”
“Don’t be surprised. Sex is fun. Or, at least it should be. If you get something tangible out of it, all the better.”
“Do you enjoy doing ‘favors’ for a man?”
“If by ‘favor,’ you mean an oral arrangement, I think it can be a chore or a pleasure, or a bit of both. It’s all in one’s attitude.”
And one can change her attitude, Katherine thought. “It wasn’t full-on sex.”
“Understood. Any details? C’mon, share at least a little of the fun.”
Katherine giggled and couldn’t help feeling a bit like a schoolgirl. At her age, it was a good feeling. “Huge balls,” she whispered.
Margery joined her with a conspiratorial chuckle. “Really? Are we talking olives? Dried dates? Or a pair of kiwi? Maybe brown with a little fuzz…”
“Such imagery.”
“It’s the restaurateur in me. I relate to food.”
“In that case, I’d say more like whole walnuts.”
“Well, that is fun.”
“But he wants to meet again, and I think he’ll expect more next time. How would you handle it?”
“You already got what you want?”
“Yes.”
“Do you want more?”
“Not from him.”
“Then you’re done. Cut it off, tell Stu, and move on.”
Katherine furrowed her brow. “Tell Stu?”
“Of course. If he finds out some other way, it’ll irreparably damage your marriage.”
“If I tell him, it’ll damage my marriage.”
“You didn’t actually have sex, but if you hide what you did do and he finds out, he’ll never believe you didn’t. He’ll think you’re minimizing. Get it?”
Impasse Page 14
