“I always do,” Alistair said, strolling lazily toward his friend. “There’s a great place by the riverside… a Michelin star restaurant. It’s run by an Italian chef, a fellow by the name of Pietro, who’s known for hissignature sauces.”
He placed his hand on Brenton’s shoulder as they walked out of my office. As soon as my boss was out of sight, Alistair stuck his head back in the doorway, winked with a mischievous grin, then disappeared.
I looked down at my desk and noticed his business card. When had he done that? I flipped the card over and saw his scrawl on the back:coffee date?I glanced at my messed-up business card holder. He had taken one of my cards in exchange.
Card hostage? Okay, two can play that game.
Alistair
Later that evening
Vera Kathryn Richland.
Twenty-seven years old.
She was born on April 1, which made her an Aries, a passionate and independent trailblazer. Aries women were magnetic, fiery, and temperamental, reflected in their sexual prowess.Lord have mercy.Vera was a little fireball ready to explode, and I wanted her.
Her mother’s heritage was English-Portuguese. Her father, an American, died from cancer when she was five. The bloody disease didn’t differentiate rich from poor, or good from bad. Ah, here was a copy of her high school report card from her senior year. Nearly straight A’s, except for Christian education: a C. “Vera is a warm, enthusiastic, and delightful young lady,” her teacher wrote. “However, she has a slight tendency to be dramatic. Nonetheless, she excelled in public speaking and debating.”
Remind me never to get into an argument with Mona Lisa.
I took a sip of my whiskey and continued reading her file. It came to me this evening in a single envelope. Money talks, that’s all I’ll say. Her brother... interesting. Julian Carpenter Richland, a professor at Montville State University’s archaeology department.
Wait a minute...shit.
I closed the file and rubbed my forehead. Of all the bad luck in the world, this one just hit me. Julian was my ex-wife Saira’s lover. A hired lover. A gigolo. I wondered if Vera knew her brother’s secret. I sighed, leaned into my lounge chair, and downed the rest of my whiskey. I felt the rich blend of the single malt wash away my worries, then continued reading.
Her mother did a terrific job raising both kids alone and got them into excellent Catholic private schools through a scholarship program for low-income families. Kudos to single parents. Vera excelled in contracts in law school. Hmm, I needed a good in-house lawyer. I could offer her a job, or I could justask her out on a date. There wasn’t a problem I couldn’t fix, so I picked up the phone.
“Hello?” Vera’s voice, a blend of biting sweetness, responded at the other end.
Shit. I lost my vocal cords for a second, and it wasn’t from the whiskey.
“Hello? If this is a sick joke, you can hang up now.”
I cleared my throat and adjusted my collar. “Hello,” I managed to say.
“Hello? Who is this?”
“It’s Alistair.”
Silence infiltrated the air.
“You took one of my business cards. They’re for clients,” Vera snapped.
“Hmm, well, I could be a client. I’m gunning for full custody of my son,” I replied.
“Are you not happy with your lawyer?”
“I am happy. Brenton’s representing me as of today.”
“Is that why you had lunch together?”
“Among other things. Listen, look. Can we meet up for coffee or dinner?”
“When?”
“How about Friday after work?” I suggested, hoping it wasn’t too soon.
