by Scott, S. L.
Tealey’s heart of gold shines through her plea. And I want to help her. I’d do anything to help Tealey, but it’s not as simple as she thinks. “I hear what you’re saying, but it’s—”
“I need you, Rad. She needs you, and I need to do whatever I can to help her. I know this is a big ask. And . . .” Giving her time, she swallows, and then adds, “Her kids deserve a chance at a better life.”
Shifting in my chair, I study the frown shaping her lips in a way they should never be and the sadness darkening her irises. Blowing out a breath, I look away and run my hand through my hair when my chest tightens. I remind myself to maintain a neutral expression and remain professional. “I hear what you’re saying, but it’s complicated to force a divorce on someone who doesn’t want it. It can be a lengthy and emotionally drawn-out process. I’m assuming he won’t sign anything if she gave it to him, correct?”
“She spent the night in the hospital when she once mentioned it.”
Rage strikes like lightning. “Fuck.”
“I know.” She sighs through the defeat coating her tone.
Stay professional. Shuffling papers around on my desk, I distract myself from looking at her. I won’t be able to handle the tears wavering on the edge of her lids if they fall. Seeing a woman cry is my weakness. My mom . . . I remember her tears too well. Tealey crying? No. I can’t have that either. “Is there a restraining order in place?”
“She filed, but it was denied.”
I should really have Ashley in here taking notes, but this is personal, so I pull a legal pad from my drawer and jot a few things down. “It shouldn’t have been denied if there’s a paper trail documenting the abuse.” I look back up. “He’s—”
“He’s awful, Rad.”
With our eyes locked on each other, I sense the words—fear, danger, and concern—she harbors inside but won’t say. “I’ll help her.” I nod before setting the pen down before me and twisting it between my fingertips. “I take a handful of pro bono cases a year when I can. It’s all I have time for lately. I’ll take this one but on one condition.”
“Anything.”
“Get rid of her current legal aid. Whoever was assigned to her case is doing a shit job. I’m not interested in schooling someone on how to win a case. I’m interested in helping your client.”
Tealey’s shoulders ease as a small smile appears. “Thank you.”
“I haven’t done anything yet.”
“You’ve done more than you realize. You’ve given me hope.” She moves to her bag, pulls out a file, and sets it on the desk. “I brought this with me. I can get an e-copy for you if you prefer.”
“I hate sounding like, well, an attorney since we’re friends, but I have to keep things legal. I’ll send over a contract. She’ll need to sign it to retain me.”
Worry creases the corners of her eyes. “Free of charge, right?”
“Yes.”
Relief colors her expression with bright eyes, and a hint of that pink in her cheeks kisses her skin. Why does she have to be so fucking beautiful? “Thank you, Rad. What can I do for you in return?”
“Nothing. It’s fine,” I reply, glancing down. “Really, it’s no big deal.” I’d never require a favor in return, especially not from her, but my mind goes to the gutter because yeah . . . I’m an asshole. A few good deeds can’t change that fact.
She adjusts the strap of her bag over her head and settles it on her hip. “You’re busy, and I’ve already taken up too much of your time. I need to get back to work before I’m late, and let’s face it, I’ve already made this awkward by asking for a favor I can’t return. I’m going to take the win and get out of your hair.”
Our eyes connect one last time before she opens the door. Barely filling half the doorway, she says, “It was . . .”
I nod. “It was.”
Smiles are exchanged before she turns and runs right into a Pepto-pink suit. “Marlow? Hey? Hi.”
Just what I didn’t need today. A groan rumbles through me.
“Helllooo.” The most boisterous and vain of our group, Marlow Marché arrives like she’s late for a red-carpet event. She may annoy me sometimes, but there’s also something strangely charming and captivating about her that draws people in. I just wish she wasn’t making a show of things in my office. Marlow asks, “What are you doing here, Tealey?”
“I stopped by to visit Rad.”
Marlow laughs, the sound echoing around the office. “Are you two having a party without me?” She nudges Tealey with an elbow and another giggle. “Meeting in the middle of the day is how rumors get started.”
“No need for gossip,” Tealey responds and then shrugs. “I just needed to talk to Rad.” Glancing at me, she smiles softly. “Thanks again. Call me later, Marlow.”
“I will,” Marlow says, nipping our friend’s heel with the door as she exits. “Bye, Teals.” As soon as the door is closed, Marlow leans against the back of it, her eyes piercing me from across the room. “When did the two of you get so chummy?” she asks, an insinuation embedded in the question.
I’d like to ask her why she’s here, but I already know. A visit from Marlow only means one thing: she wants something. “We’re friends,” I reply casually. Why do I feel like we were doing something wrong?
“Yeah, but not usually outside of Jackson, Cammie, Cade, and me.”
“It’s no big deal. She just wanted to talk about some stuff.”
She sags in relief and then pushes off the door. “Phew, I’m so glad she told you. That secret was killing me.”
Even though I’ve known her as long as Tealey, I’ve never understood how those two became best friends with their night and day personalities. She struts toward me like she’s walking a Paris runway, and I watch the whirlwind of a woman as her emotions twist around her, ready to usurp me into her drama, and I brace myself. “Told me what?”
“That she needs help.”
It’s not like Tealey to share individual cases with the group. Today with me makes sense since she needed help, but I’m surprised she’d tell the others. “Yes, we discussed the situation.”
Marlow perches on the chair across from me. “Good. I was afraid I would have to get involved, and I just don’t have time. I have appointments at the art gallery today.”
“You don’t have time to help a friend?” Taking the file Tealey left with me, I open it. “Your best friend, I might add.”
“How could I possibly help? Have her sleep on the couch for months on end? I offered her money, but you know Tealey. She has a saint’s heart.”
Why would Tealey be sleeping on her couch? “Wait, what?”
She looks at me like I’m dense. “Tealey’s moving to Texas,” she says as if I have comprehension problems. Maybe I do.
Tealey.
Texas?
What the hell is she talking about?
2
Rad
“What do you mean? Tealey is moving to Texas?”
“She was, but you stepped in to help her. Thank God. I don’t know how I’d survive this city without her.”
The sound of the pounding in my chest reaches my ears. “Slow down, back up, and say that again.”
“I. Don’t. Know. How. I’d. Survive—”
“Not that part,” I snap, my irritation getting the better of me. “Before that.”
“Tealey moving to Texas?”
I nod. “What do you mean she’s moving?”
“What do you mean what do I mean?” She swirls her hand in the air like we’re playing a game of charades. “It’s when you load a car or truck full of your belongings—”
“Not funny.”
I shake my head in disbelief that Tealey would move away and not tell me. She was just here. Why wouldn’t she say something?
“Are you okay, Rad?”
“Yeah. Just confused. She was just here and didn’t say—”
“I wasn’t supposed to either, but since she told you, it’s fair game to discuss.” Sh
e pauses and blinks. “Wait, she didn’t say what?”
The pit of my stomach grows heavier, and I swallow. “She didn’t tell me she was moving.”
Jolting her neck back, she shakes her head. “What do you mean?”
“It’s when you don’t reveal—”
“Ha-ha.”
I shift, the chair squeaking in protest. Why does it sting that she didn’t tell me—especially when she had the opportunity? My mind races. Does she need help, or is something else going on? Is she moving for work? Is this move set in stone? Is that why she wanted to make sure Misty’s case was being handled by someone she trusts? Because she won’t be here to see it through?
“I wasn’t supposed to say anything, but since you know . . .” Marlow flops into the chair, concern etched on her face. Despite Marlow’s dramatics, she’s caring at her core. She says, “You need to convince her to stay.” No shit.
“How?”
“I can’t share too much—” She sits forward. “Talk to her one-on-one and see what you can get out of her. I don’t know why she’s keeping it a secret from everyone. She didn’t even tell Cammie. She can’t leave us. Is there even an us without her?”
All valid points. “Why would she tell me the reason she’s leaving if she won’t tell you?”
“Oh, she told me.” She flips her hair behind her shoulder. “I just wasn't really listening. I mean, how was I supposed to when the perfect pale-pink Birkin crossed in front of my eyes while we were at the bistro on 5th?”
Frustration creeps up my spine. “You weren’t listening? Your best friend was telling you—forget it.” Why am I not surprised that Marlow wasn't listening when her friend was talking? I know. We all know. Unless it’s about Marlow, she’s oblivious.
“She said something about a week.”
“So talk to her again and get the details this time.”
“Then she’ll know I wasn’t listening, and as you know, I’ve been accused of being a bad listener before. Not by her because she’s too nice to say that, but by others.”
Fucking hell. I take a deep breath to try to keep my cool. Me coming at Marlow in anger won’t fix the situation or cure her narcissism. “This is ridiculous. You know that, right?”
“Ridiculous is losing my best friend when we have a chance to stop that from happening. Will you talk to her? Yes or no?”
Of course, I’d be happy to . . . if I thought she wanted my help. But instead of asking for it, she asked me to help someone else. But that was typical of Tealey.
Clenching my jaw, I tick through her visit. I was listening, offered to help her case, and participated in the conversation, which is more than she can say for Marlow. Yet she told her.
Still, despite my frustration, no way can I watch her move across the damn country. No. Fuck that. “You know I will.”
“Great! I think the sooner, the better.”
“She'll be home tonight?”
“Yes. Cammie and I were supposed to go over and help her pack, but it sounds like she has it handled.”
“All right. I’ll stop by and check on her.” I glance at the file. “I need to drop something by her place anyway.”
“Good. Now let’s talk about me because I need to get going.”
Clicking on my schedule, I double-check the appointment time for my next client, hoping to avoid her drama. “What is it? I’m swamped today.”
Her hand lands on my file, her manicured nails tapping the papers. “I need a favor. An itsy, teeny, tiny favor.”
“No.”
She pouts. “I haven’t even asked yet. You’re in such a mood today.”
“I’m in a mood every day, so if you’ll excuse me.” Despite her tailored pink suit, she relaxes in the chair like the indulged daddy’s girl she is, apparently making herself at home.
“I thought you had to get going?” Marlow doesn’t take hints very well, but let’s pray she does today.
I need time to debrief the last few minutes before I walk into my next meeting. Usually, my post-Tealey ritual is to commit everything about her to memory.
Her pink-colored lips. An insight gleaned from our conversation. But today? Today, I’ll be trying to make sense of this moving mess.
“Radcliffe?” Marlow snaps her fingers, pulling me back to reality
“What?”
She sweeps her long hair off to one shoulder and then leans in. “I need a favor.”
Rolling my hand in the air, I encourage her to get to the point. “What is it?”
As if I have nothing better to do this afternoon, she opens a compact and eyes her brows, taking her time. Annoyance flickers in her eyes as she smooths a finger over it. “There.”
“I have a meeting with a client soon, sooo . . .”
A smile rolls into place. “My dad is in town, and he wants us to join him for dinner tomorrow night.”
“What’s the catch?”
My desk phone rings. “Yes, Ashleigh?”
“Your next appointment is here,” my assistant says.
“I’ll be right there.” I hang up and stand, reaching for my jacket hooked on the wall. I mentally calculate how long this meeting will run and how soon I can get to Tealey’s for answers. “I need to go.”
Marlow takes her bag and slips it to the crook of her elbow as she walks toward the door. “So that’s a yes?”
“Sure. Fine.” Just fucking go.
“Thank you, Rad. I can always count on you.” She taps her Rolex before opening the door. “I have to run. My personal shopper is waiting. I’m already fifteen minutes late, so I’ll text you the details. Ciao, darling.”
Like a hurricane, she whips in here, destroys any plans I might have had, and races back out. I should protest, rushing to firmer ground to stand on, but she’s gone, leaving me just enough time to check my schedule. As if I didn’t have enough Marchés for the day . . . Speak of the devil.
I walk out, and Ashleigh flanks my side, handing me a file. She gives me the rundown at the pace of our fast walk. “Robert Marché. Movie producer with credits for three of the biggest films in the past five years. Net worth $350 million. Homes in Sun Valley, Los Angeles, Cabo San Lucas. A condo in Miami, and apartments in Manhattan and Paris. One daughter. Grown. Twen—”
“Twenty-eight,” I fill in, “Robert Marché is Marlow’s father.”
With wide eyes, she asks, “Marlow, who just left Marlow?”
“The very one.”
“Oh. Wow. Does she know he’s getting a divorce?”
“After the conversation we just had, I’m thinking she doesn’t.”
Gripping a small laptop to her chest, she takes a deep breath just as we round the corner. “This should be interesting.”
Maybe that’s why he invited all of us to dinner tomorrow. He’s going to tell her but wants her surrounded by her friends for support. That makes sense. And more so, maybe being surrounded by friends will remind Tealey this is where she belongs. We’re basically a dysfunctional family, but we’re family. “My thoughts exactly.” I stop abruptly and lower my voice. “She can’t find out from us. If she comes by for any reason, make sure we keep this under wraps.”
“Yes, sir.”
I’ve told her a million times, but I tell her again, “It makes me feel like my dad when you call me sir.”
Ashleigh laughs but quickly quietens as a few eyes rise above the edges of the cubicles. “Unless the senior partners are around. It’s just a hard habit to break. Anyway, I’m hoping you’ll take me with you to the top when you make partner, and that means calling you sir, sir.”
“You’re my secret weapon. I’m not going anywhere without you.” I push through the conference room door. “Mr. Marché, it’s been too long.”
Bob is a big man. From his shoulders to his hands, he loves to intimidate others with his large build. “Rad, you’re always welcome to get some sunshine in California.” Patting my arm, he almost knocks me to the side with his hearty hits, but I stand my ground because he’s
never intimidated me. “Palm trees. Beautiful women. Blue skies and the ocean. You need to come out for a visit.”
“I do. But you’re here now. Marlow mentioned you were visiting, but I assumed for pleasure.” He’s gone completely gray since I last saw him with white taking over the hair around his ears. Too tan to be a New Yorker, he fits right in with the Hollywood elite.
I refer to my right-hand woman. “This is Ashleigh Walters, my assistant.”
“Hello,” he says, a smile tugging at the corners of his mouth. Glancing at me, he lifts a brow. “I was hoping to speak to you alone.”
Ashleigh doesn’t need to be asked to leave but waits for me to confirm before exiting. I nod. “It’s fine.”
“I’ll be at my desk if you need anything.”
“Thank you.” When the door closes, and we sit, I look across the table at him. “It’s always good to see you, but I’ll admit this comes as a surprise. Usually, when someone sits across from me during business hours on a Tuesday, it’s to discuss divorce proceedings.”
“Yes,” he replies, his chunky fingers drumming the glass-top table. “I want to part ways with my current wife.” Of course you fucking do.
“I’m sorry to hear that.”
“We both know it’s coming and long overdue.” With a clip to his tone, he picks the lint off his sweater.
“So, you’re here for legal advisement?”
“I want you as my lawyer.”
“You have a team of attorneys for every aspect of your life.” His last divorce attorney is probably still on retainer. “Do you mind if I ask why you want to work with me?”
“I like you. Marlow likes you. I’ve heard good things about your career, and I think this divorce is going to be a battle.” Lowering his voice, he adds, “I want to keep things in the family.” He clicks his tongue and winks.
I’ve known the man for years, but only through his occasional visits to his daughter. I’m thinking family is a bit of a stretch. “As much as I’m flattered, I think it would be wise to have an attorney in Los Angeles handle the case. California law is different—”
“Nothing you can’t handle.”
