Читать книгу Her Favourite Holiday Gift - Lynda Sandoval - Страница 8

“You do realize this is what you’ve always done, right?”

“Huh?”

Jack laughed as though he hadn’t a care. “Freak out about Colleen Delaney, then call me.”

Eric shook his head as he navigated a turn on the icy Chicago streets. “I’m not freaking out, Jack. Freaking out is what fifteen-year-old boys do at the first glimpse of bikini-clad cleavage on the Navy Pier every spring.”

“Case? Rested.”

“The woman gets under my skin, that’s all.”

“Interesting,” Jack mused.

“Not that kind of under my skin,” Eric lied, pulling into an empty curbside spot near The Chambers, a popular eatery with legal types and others who worked at the courthouse. He cut his engine. “I spoke to her for all of five minutes and I’m sure my blood pressure skyrocketed.” He wouldn’t tell his old friend exactly why. “She’s argumentative. Prickly. Annoying.”

“Which you hate.” Jack’s statement didn’t sound convincing.

“As a matter of fact, I do.”

“Is she still totally hot?” Jack asked, a smile threaded through his words.

Eric closed his eyes for a moment. Strength. He needed strength and lots of it. Yes, Colleen Delaney had never been hotter, but that didn’t help the situation. “Never mind. I need to go. The tables get snatched up this time of day.”

“You and Colleen have a nice lunch,” Jack drawled. “Give her a kiss from me.”

“I’m sure she’d appreciate hearing that from the man her client’s suing,” Eric said in a droll tone, before hanging up, more exasperated than when he’d called his old pal. Jack seemed determined to paint his relationship with Colleen in rosy tones, and Eric couldn’t put himself into that position again. Official verdict: love and marriage had warped Hanson’s brain. That’s the only explanation Eric could come up with.

A welcoming warmth enveloped him as he entered The Chambers. He inhaled the familiar aromas of coffee and grilled burgers and hot apple pie, and his mouth watered. Midday service was in full, bustling swing. He brushed snowflakes from the shoulders of his wool overcoat, stamped his feet on the mat.

“Just one?” asked the hostess, who’d swirled up in mid-busy, her movements compact and efficient. “Wanna sit at the counter?”

He smiled. “Actually, I’m meeting someone. Do you have a table? Preferably someplace quiet.”

“We don’t get much quiet at lunchtime as you know, but…” The petite blonde tapped her bottom lip with her index finger and scanned the dining room, which was filled with the tink-tink of fork against plate and a healthy serving of boisterous legal debate punctuated by laughter and movement. Stark contrast to the snow-quieted city outside the large windows. Eric was convinced that snow was God’s way of telling the human race to shut up and simply be.

A group of lawyers Eric vaguely recognized but couldn’t name stood up from a table in the back corner and began donning overcoats, gloves and wool scarves. The hostess turned back, her thumb aimed over her shoulder at the group of men. “I can have that table bussed for you if you don’t mind waiting a couple of minutes.”

“That’s fine. She hasn’t arrived yet anyway.”

“Great.” The hostess gave him a pert grin. “It’ll be clean and ready when your girlfriend gets here.”

Eric opened his mouth to correct the young woman’s misconception—why, he didn’t know—but she’d left as quickly and competently as she’d arrived.

Had the whole world gone soft on him?

Could a man and a woman not share a business meal without people thinking it was something more?

Then again, did it matter?

The ding of the entry bell announced another lunchtime arrival. Eric glanced over his shoulder just as the swoosh of the door brought in a gust of cold along with Colleen, her alabaster cheeks cottoncandy pink from the weather, raven hair flecked with fat, white snowflakes.

Their eyes met.

His heart stuttered.

She dropped her gaze.

He took a slow breath and resisted the urge to wick away the snowflake that had landed, shimmering and perfect, on her left cheekbone. He could make out the unique design of it, and against the backdrop of Colleen’s face, the effect staggered him. Swallowing past this unexpected, unwanted, unnerving visceral pull toward her, he said, “They’re cleaning a table.”

“Fine,” she said, unknotting a cornflower-blue cashmere scarf that matched her eyes and shrugging out of her tailored gray tweed coat. As she stuffed the scarf inside one coat sleeve, she added, “Parking’s a real joy around here,” in a wry tone.

“Just like always,” Eric said, utterly distracted by the snowflake melting on her perfect cheek. “Did you have to walk far?”

Her gaze, wary as ever, met his for one quick moment before darting away. She draped her coat over one arm and shrugged her handbag higher on her shoulder. “It wasn’t a problem.” Fully melted, the former snowflake trickled down her cheek like a teardrop. She brushed the moisture away, unaware of his fixation on it. “How about you?”

“What?” He pulled himself back into the conversation, if you could label their lame, superficial exchange as such. “Oh. No. I’m right out front.”

“Still have that legendary Nelson parking karma then.”

“Something like that,” he said, surprised that she’d remembered. For some reason, whenever he envisioned the perfect parking spot, it always appeared for him. It’d been that way since he’d gotten his license at sixteen, and a source of great envy and many conversations among his law-school classmates years ago.

But whatever. This small talk was the worst.

He’d never been a pro at it, and never with a woman like Colleen, who threw him so totally offkilter. He wanted to ask what happened between them. Wanted to know if their single night together had been as life-affirming for her.

He wanted to touch her.

None of that was going to happen, though, and they had to converse. He cleared his throat. “Do you eat here often?” Had he seriously just asked that? He resisted the urge to cringe. That ranked high on the dumbest questions ever asked list. Maybe he was just like those cleavage-obsessed teenage boys at the Navy Pier.

“Not really,” she said, seemingly unaware of his discomfort. “I live nearby.”

He nodded, unsure what to say about that. He lived nearby, too, but he ate here at least four times a week. Was it a male versus female thing, or was that sexist? He wondered if cooking was a hobby and she preferred to eat at home, or if she packed a lunch. He wondered how she lived her life. He wondered, simply wondered, about Colleen Delaney.

Clearly, she didn’t have much to add, and he didn’t know where to go in the conversation, now that they’d skipped from point uncomfortable to point awkward. Did he really want to take another leap to point excruciating? They waited, shoulder to shoulder, in pregnant silence until the elfin blonde bopped up and led them to their corner booth.

Safely behind menus on opposite sides of the table, Eric breathed more easily. He glanced up at Colleen. “How’s your mother?”

Colleen blinked, as if startled by the intimacy of the question or the fact that he’d give a rip in the first place. Something. “My mother?”

“Yeah. You know, she’s that woman who gave birth to you back in the day?”

Colleen ignored his quip. “She’s fine. Well, getting better finally.”

“Was she ill?” He set his menu aside, knowing he’d order the French Dip, like always. Perusing the menu at The Chambers was purely habit.

Colleen shook her head. “Not sick, really. She had a knee replacement. Injured it trying to surf with her last boyfriend,” she added, her tone acidic.

“That’s awesome.”

“If you say so. I moved her into my place to recover, and now we’re apparently permanent roommates.”

“Wow.” He thought about any member of his family moving into his serene, lovingly restored greystone Victorian, and one word came to mind—hives. “How’s that working out for you?”

Eyebrows raised, Colleen set her menu on the edge of the table as well. “I’m not sure. She drives me crazy half the time, rearranging my kitchen utensils, putting my clean laundry away in spots where I can’t find it, nagging me about working too hard.” She hiked one shoulder, and the tenor of her voice changed. “The other half, it’s nice to have her there, I suppose.”

“Welcome to the definition of family.”

A moment of silence descended. Colleen tugged at her cuffs, uncrossed and recrossed her legs, cleared her throat. Finally, she asked, “And your family?”

“Pretty much the same as the last time we talked.” Which had been…wow…a long time ago. “Mom and Dad still live out in Schaumburg and expect us all there promptly at six for Friday-night dinner, no excuses.”

She spared him a half-smirk. “Your least favorite night of the week still?”

He tilted his head to the side. “You remembered.”

Ignoring that, she asked, “And your brothers?”

“My youngest brother, Brian, settled down not too far from them. The other three are here in Chicago. Working, one-upping each other at every turn, the annoying norm.” He often wondered how he’d grown up to be so different from his ultracompetitive family. They could—and did—debate about everything from gold values to golf to global warming, with the single-minded goal of winning, no matter what. And when he didn’t want to debate, which was often? They goaded him. Like rabid dogs.

“Married?”

Eric assumed Colleen wasn’t asking about him. “Only Brian. He works with my dad at the store.”

“A sporting-goods store, right?”

“Yep.” He formed two L shapes with his hands and thumbs, as if framing the sign that had hung on the main drag in Schaumburg since he could remember. “Nelson Sports and Hunting. Still running strong.”

“Good for your dad.”

He watched Colleen tilt her head to the left, which always meant she was thinking, calculating.

“Now, wait. Isn’t Brian pretty young?”

“The ‘oops’ brother?” Eric nodded. “Yes, twentyone. And Melody—that’s Brian’s wife—is only twenty. She works as a receptionist at a small law firm in the city and she runs some idiotic gossip Web site on the side. Typical twenty-year-old.” He reconsidered his judgmental comment at the slight shocked widening of Colleen’s blue eyes. “I could’ve phrased that better. The idiotic site will be a good source of income, I guess, when the baby comes. Oh, they’re expecting, Brian and Melody. My mother’s losing her mind with happiness. A baby. Extended family. New Nelson generation and all that.”

“That’s…nice.”

“Yeah, all I can think of is Brian becoming a father the same year he’s legal to drink. Crazy.”

“That is…wow.” She sat back. “They’re young. Are they ready for parenthood?”

“Do they have a choice at this point?”

“True.”

The conversation felt so casual, it lulled Eric into a sense of normalcy. “It’s good to see you. You look great, Colleen. Really.”

Her eyes hardened and the thin line of connection between them snapped like a dried-out rubber band. “We need to talk about the case.”

Duly noted. No compliments. She never had been the kind of woman who liked to be admired for her considerable beauty, but come on. It wasn’t like a guy didn’t notice. He’d known about her pet peeve, of course, but what else did you say when you saw someone for the first time in years? So she looked great. Shoot him for pointing it out.

Just then, the harried waiter approached, plunked two glasses of water on the table. “Sorry for the wait,” he said, slightly out of breath. “What can I get for you?”

They placed their orders. Once the waiter had bustled off, Colleen seemed to have regained some of her flash and fire. “Honestly, how can you stand by and let Robby Axelrod work on another TakaHanson project?”

Eric took his time. He leaned back, stretching his arm along the back of the brown leather banquette. “How much do you know about Ned Jones?”

“What kind of question is that?” she rasped, color rising to angry spots on her cheeks. “He’s my client.”

“Right. Aware of that. And how much do you know about him?” The calm thing was getting easier by the moment.

Her lips flattened into a grim line. “I know he was unfairly, unethically terminated because he had dirt on your client.”

“If that’s all you know, you need to dig deeper.”

Her knuckles, wound together on the tabletop, whitened, and she went deadly still. “Are you honestly sitting here telling me how to do my job?”

He counted to ten silently. Why did everything with Colleen devolve into a fight? He started to remember why they were better apart, but strangely, he didn’t want to fall back into that pattern. “I’m trying to do you a favor, from one old friend to another.”

“My client—”

“Is not the bad guy,” Eric said gently. That snagged her attention. He waited until she’d closed her mouth, an indication she was listening. “At least, I don’t think he’s the brains behind anything. Gut feeling.”

“The man doesn’t have the brains to concoct a plot.”

Ah, so she did know a bit more about her client than she’d initially claimed. “That’s what I’m trying to tell you. I think he’s the pawn in a much bigger, uglier game.”

Confusion crinkled Colleen’s brow. She leaned in. “What exactly are you talking about, Eric?”

Eric wrapped his hands around the warm coffee mug the waiter had unobtrusively set before him as they spoke. “I don’t know. I’m not sure yet, but this whole thing stinks. You may simply want to win, which I can understand. But I want to do the right thing.”

“Of course.”

Eric gut-checked sharing this information, and felt fine with it. He blew out a breath.

“Are you familiar with a real-estate tycoon by the name of Drake Thatcher?”

She spread her arms. “Should I be?”

He huffed. “Yes. You should. He’s Taka-Hanson’s biggest competitor, dirty as Tony Soprano. He’ll do anything to take down my clients.” He paused, scrutinizing her. “Up to and including paying your client to toss out false accusations.”

Her throat moved in a tight swallow, but she maintained her cool. “You have proof of that?”

“No.” He ran his fingers through his hair.

“Then why are you wasting my time with unsubstantiated theories?”

“Because an innocent man shouldn’t have his livelihood destroyed for no good reason. TakaHanson shouldn’t take a major financial blow on the basis of a lie. As ambitious as you are, even you have to agree with that.”

He could see her annoyance building in the way the muscles worked in her delicate jawline. Tense silence stretched taut between them, but he held his ground.

She aimed a finger at him. “Listen, Nelson, I’ve been practicing law as long as you have. This kind of ploy—”

“Here we go,” said the waiter, in an oblivious singsong tone. “Be careful now. The plates are hot.”

Colleen pinched the bridge of her nose between her fingers while the waiter presented each, but her hard gaze never left Eric’s face.

“Can I get you anything else?”

“No. Thank you,” Eric replied.

After the waiter had left without so much as an acknowledgment from Colleen, she started to sputter again, but Eric held up his palm. “Look, there’s no ploy. I don’t operate that way. But don’t take my word for it. Research me. Dig up everything you can about the way I practice.”

“I will. And I’ll prove you wrong about Jones.”

“Think about this logically. You’re the opposing counsel, Colleen, and aside from that, we don’t exactly have an uncheckered past, you and I.”

“You always did have a knack for putting things mildly.”

“I’m speaking truthfully. If I didn’t have respect for you as an old friend, a colleague, and from everything I’ve read, a damned sharp attorney, I’d keep my theories to myself until I had enough to annihilate you and Ned Jones in the courtroom. Which I would.” He paused, letting that sink in. “Lucky for you, that’s not how I practice law.”

“So you’re doing me a favor?”

“No. I’m—” He lowered his chin, measured his words. “I’m not about the show, I’m about the truth, and I think we’re missing parts of the truth in this case. You can ignore what I’m telling you and let the cards fall, or you can look into it. I don’t care.” He took a languid bite of his sandwich and shrugged while he chewed. After swallowing, he added, “But I know you’re one step from partner at that firm of yours, though God only knows why you’d want to work with that pack of old-school drones.”

Colleen’s mouth dropped open, but she quickly closed it. Her reaction told him she thought they were old-school drones, too, which made him wonder why she wanted to build a career there. An imponderable for another day.

“That’s not going to happen if you miss something major like, say, an extortion plot in which your client is a player,” he said. “I promise you that.”

“God, Eric, you sound like you’re writing a cheesy legal thriller.”

“Maybe so, but I think I’m onto something.” He shrugged. “Frankly, I’d love to see you make partner at your firm. Framus would bust a vein.”

Whoa, had she almost smiled there?

She still hadn’t touched her burger. Instead, she stared at him with incredulity overlayed by a film of worry she couldn’t quite hide, then huffed out a nonlaugh. “So you’re telling me I have no case in order to save my career? How chivalrous of you. Don’t take me for an idiot.”

Eric didn’t react. He didn’t engage. He didn’t want their every interaction to end this way. “I take you for a lot of things, but idiot isn’t one of them,” he said, even-toned. Suspicion crossed her expression, but he’d just let her wonder about the subtext of his statement. “This one’s on you. I’ve shared what I suspect.”

“And what am I supposed to do with it? Take your word? Drop the case on the basis of an unproven theory? I don’t think so.”

“Colleen,” he said smoothly, measuring his words. “Your burger’s getting cold. Eat your lunch. Then research me. Research Drake Thatcher and any possible connection he may have to your client. Research Robby Axelrod’s clean work record. That’s what I’ll be doing, and that’s what you should do, too. For your own sake.”