Maya was going to have to wake the past.
CHAPTER TWO
SAM
New York, 2012
SAMHUTCHERSONCLOSEDthe last document on his screen, pushed himself backward in his chair and stretched his long legs out on the desk before him. He leaned back and closed his eyes for a moment. He had been in meetings, dealing with environmentalists and oil companies, all day. It was good work, but now he needed the gym. The familiar buzz of his cell phone zapped his moment of Zen. Paige.
“Hi, sweetheart. I was just thinking about you.” A yawn escaped him as he sat up and smiled into the phone.
Paige giggled at the other end. “Liar. You were thinking of a way to sneak out to the gym.”
Sam laughed. “Busted.”
“I have an appointment to look at linens for the tables. And I found an Indian chef who specializes in Indian fusion cuisine. I think your mom will love him.” She paused. “I don’t suppose you want to tag along?” Her smirk came through the phone.
“Not if I can help it. How about I take my beautiful fiancée to dinner instead, after I skip the linen thing?”
“Youaregoing to show up at the wedding, aren’t you?” Paige teased.
“Two hundred forty more days. The only question is, how will I wait that long?” Sam smiled as he envisioned his fiancée twirling a well-worried segment of her red hair. “It’s just that you have such an eye for linens and dishes and flowers. It seems a shame to mar all that with my lawyerly opinion.”
“Spoken like a true man of the law. Speaking of which—” her tone became serious “—how about that info from the environmental group?”
Sam ran a hand through his hair, dark curls thoroughly dislodged, and sighed. “Compelling. Now we’ll have hard evidence against the gas company. They won’t be happy.” He tried to disguise his eagerness, but to no avail. He was pumped. “This could be the break I need, Paige. I’ll finally have a chance to do some good here at the firm.”
“Sam, I love that you’re trying to help people, but let’s not lose track of the big picture. Make sure you win. That’ll put you where you need to be.” She paused. “Ethan Felton sure as hell is going to try to beat you.”
The edge in her voice was usually paired with an eye roll. Probably better he couldn’t see it. “He can try. But he won’t win.” His sense of satisfaction from a job well-done today quickly faded. “Helping people, Paige, is a good thing. Itcanget you elected.”
“Yes, yes. Fine.” She sounded detached and seemed to have lost interest in the conversation. “I’ll take you up on that dinner, so go. Enjoy the gym.”
“Yeah, okay.” He closed his eyes against the creep of agitation.
“Love you.”
“Love you, too.”
He hung up and stared at his screen saver. Maybe she was right—nice guys don’t always get elected. And he did need that congressional seat.
Sam’s mother, Hema, had introduced him to Paige three years ago at a fund-raiser held in the art gallery Paige owned. Sam’s father, John, had seemed to like Paige, and despite the fact that his mother was the one making the introductions, Sam had been quite taken with Paige. And that hadn’t happened in a long time.
Paige was as intelligent and ambitious as any woman he’d ever known, and since they’d been together, she had been his partner in every way—she always made sure he saw the big picture and didn’t stray from his goal, which was ultimately a seat in Congress and beyond.
Without conscious thought, Sam pulled a well-worn coin from his pocket that he always carried, and flipped it in the air. It landed with a small thud in the palm of his hand as it always did, the weight of it a comfort. Paige was right: maybe he should look out for his own interests more. He returned the coin to his pocket.
His phone buzzed again.Dad. Sam answered, a smile on his face. “Hey, Dad.”
His father’s smile came right through the phone. “Hey, Sammy. I need a favor.”
“Sure. What do you need?”
“I went to that nursing home today to do a few house calls—and something’s not right there. I’m thinking neglect—and maybe some of the employees are stealing. Is there something you can do about that—legally?”
Sam inhaled as if taking in patience from the very air around him. He fielded at least one of these kinds of requests from his father every couple months. “Dad, I’m not that kind of lawyer—I’ve told you.”
“Yes, but these people have nobody looking out for their interests. Their families are too busy, and no one really notices—”
