A Case for Love (13 page)

Forbes glanced around, then returned his steel blue gaze to her. “Obviously there’s some miscommunication going on here. Why don’t we sit down, have lunch, and talk about your case?”

“Why would I want to talk to you about it?” She wished she’d sounded more authoritative and less like a howler monkey.

Forbes puffed up slightly. “Because I’m one of the top lawyers in this state, and I rarely lose. So no matter what your case is about, I can probably get you a desirable outcome.”

Cold suspicion doused the heat of her anger. “You’re going to stand there and act like you don’t even know what this is about?”

He held both hands up, palms out. “All I know is that my friend called and asked a favor of me.”

Could he be serious? Could he really not know why he was here? The chances were astronomical that of all substitute lawyers Russell LeBlanc could call, it would be the son of the people she wanted to sue. She dropped into her chair and frowned at Forbes as he lowered himself into the seat opposite her. She’d worry about giving herself frown lines later. Right now, she wanted to be sure he understood just how displeased his presence made her.

Forbes took a deep breath and gave her a look she could only describe as lawyerly. “Since we’re both here, why don’t you tell me what your case is regarding, and we’ll see what we can do about it.”

“You think you’re always going to get what you want, don’t you?” Alaine crossed her arms and continued to glare at him.

“When it comes to you? No.” He high-beamed a smile at her.

She had to look away, perturbed at the way his smile got to her every single time. Only now it reminded her of the way her skin had tingled at the touch of his hand to her back, of her hand clasped in his, of the light tang of his cologne when they’d danced Monday evening.

She steeled her will and looked at him again. The flirtatious expression faded from his eyes.

“Look, I can tell something is wrong, and apparently you need legal help with it. I promise you: Anything you tell me is strictly confidential, and there will be no personal bias in any advice or legal aid I render to you.”

She tapped her front teeth together. No personal bias, huh? She’d just see about that.

“Okay. But I’m holding you to your promise: No personal bias on your part.”

Curiosity bubbled in Forbes’s chest, but he kept his posture relaxed, his face neutral. “I wouldn’t have said it if I hadn’t meant it.” What kind of trouble could she possibly be in that would elicit this kind of anger—toward him? “So what can I help you with?”

“Let’s order first.” She nodded over his shoulder, and he turned to see the middle-aged woman who’d pointed him to Alaine’s table.

He grabbed up the cheap, plastic-covered menu. “I’ve never had Greek food before.” He flashed a smile at the hostess. “What do you recommend?”

“For a white boy like you, I’d start you off with
spanakopita
or
pastitsio.
”

“I’ll take the first one you said.” He handed her the menu.

“I’ll have
horiatiki salata
and
tiropeta,
and I’ll finish with baklava.”

For someone who’d eaten like a bird at the bachelors’ banquet, that sounded like an awful lot of food.

“I’ll be back with more iced tea.” The woman bustled off.

“So, do you come here often?”

Alaine quirked her head to the side, as if confused by his subject-changing tactic. “All the time. Ms. Voula and my mother are good friends.” Her expression closed again at the words
my mother.

Forbes cringed inwardly. So ... his suspicions had been on the right track. This did have something to do with Delacroix Gardens. “Your parents are here in Bonneterre?”

“They’re
here
in the Mills. Didn’t you know that? I know you’ve seen their business—Delacroix Gardens Florist and Nursery.”

Yep. He was right. No wonder she’d been rebuffing him since they’d met.

“Or you’ve at least heard of Delacroix Rentals—your cousin Anne does a lot of business with my brother Joe. Your sister used to, but for some reason that’s petered off in recent months. No need to wonder why.” The acidity in her tone could burn through steel.

He rocked back, shocked. “Wait—I thought you and Meredith were friends.”

“
Were
being the operative word. How can I be friends with someone when her parents—whom she works for—are trying to run my family out of their businesses and homes?”

And by extension, how could she go out on a date with the son of said parents? Her complete one-eighty attitude change since the night of the dinner now made sense. “You think my parents’ company is trying to put your parents out of business?”

She pressed her lips together, raised her eyebrows, and nodded. “And you only needed one guess.”

Once realization began to dawn, it burst immediately into fullness. “You mean this—you were going to be meeting with Russ to talk to him about ... what? Suing my parents?”

She shrugged as if going around suing people’s parents was something she did every day. “Their company, anyway.”

“For buying up foreclosed properties and revitalizing the area?” He couldn’t keep the shock out of his voice.

She snorted. “If that’s all they were doing—on properties that were
legally
foreclosed upon—then there wouldn’t be a problem. But there’s more than that going on. A lot more. As in, they’ve gotten another company that calls itself an ‘investment firm’ to come in, buy up loans from local banks, and call them in—and then when the mortgage holders can’t pay ten or twenty years’ worth of their mortgage in one lump sum, they receive foreclosure notices. Or even when the original bank had worked something out with the mortgage holder so they could get caught up with their payments when business picked up, those loans have been bought out and are now being foreclosed on. It’s not right, and I’m going to see that it’s stopped before a lot of good people end up losing everything they’ve worked their whole lives for.”

Forbes tried to process what she was saying. He was pretty sure he got it, but emotion had sped her words to the point where they nearly ran together. “So you’re saying that what you’ve seen is something you consider to be unfair or unethical business practices on the part of an investment firm that has come in and bought up the mortgages of property owners in Moreaux Mills.” He pulled his Waterford pen out of his inside jacket pocket, flipped open his leather portfolio, and started taking notes.

“Not just any investment firm. A company called Mackenzie and Son. I just discovered the name today so I haven’t had time to do any research; however, I think I’ll find that once I start digging into their past business dealings, I’m going to learn that they do this all over the country.”

A cold dread settled in Forbes’s stomach. “Do what?”

Alaine flapped her hands in an irritated manner. “Swoop in when a developer is trying to force a few people out of an area the developer wants to tear down and rebuild as something else. Force them out by shady business deals and questionable accounting and making them feel like there’s nothing else they can do but accept a price for their property that’s not only much lower than the property’s really worth, but definitely not enough for those people to be able to start over somewhere else.”

The way her eyes flashed with passion for her topic mesmerized Forbes to the point where he almost forgot what she was talking about. He looked down at the legal pad. The last line he’d written was a scrawl of gibberish. He angled it toward him against the edge of the table so she couldn’t see it.

“It’s my understanding that the city council decided on fair market value for the homes and businesses in the Mills. Are you saying that they’re now being offered a buyout package that’s lower than the official assessments?”

She cocked her head again and looked at him as if a rosebush had just sprouted from his nose. “The city council. The
city council?
The city council voted on the property values. The city council that is chaired by Tess Folse—partner emeritus of Folse, Maier, Landreneau, and Guidry, Attorneys at Law. The law firm that—oh, let me think—boasts as its most lucrative client Boudreaux-Guidry Enterprises, the same company that wants to buy up all of the property in Moreaux Mills dirt cheap, plow it under, and then build a planned condo community that they can turn around and sell for fifty times what they originally paid for the property. That city council? No conflict of interest there.”

Forbes shifted in his seat and couldn’t look up from the legal pad. That was the way development companies worked. Buy low; tear down; rebuild; sell high. But the way Alaine described it shed a new, somewhat seedy light on the whole process. And it tainted Forbes by association—with not just his parents’ corporation but the law firm as well.

No wonder she hated him. But Mom and Dad wouldn’t be involved in something so underhanded. They loved Bonneterre and all its diverse and unique neighborhoods. And they were huge supporters of local enterprise.

This had to be coming from Mackenzie and Son. Evelyn’s voice rang in his head.
“Out with the old and dilapidated, in with the new and luxurious.”

He took a deep breath and looked up, letting the air out in a controlled stream. “Alaine, I promise you that if there is something like this going on, my parents don’t know anything about it. They’re the most ethical people I know.”

A slight raise of her brows and flattening of her mouth indicated her disbelief.

Before he could say more, the restaurant owner returned with their food. She set a Greek salad and something that looked like cheese melted between layers of pastry before Alaine, and something similar to her second dish in front of Forbes—except it also had green stuff between the layers of pastry.

“What is this?” He tried to keep his voice light.

“Spanakopita—phyllo layered with feta, spinach, and herbs.”

Should have asked before he ordered. He hated spinach. On principle. Anything that got slimy and stringy when exposed to hot water wasn’t worth eating. But he couldn’t very well send it back now. “Oh. Okay. Thanks.”

Across the table, Alaine ate the olives from her salad first, not raising her gaze from her food. Forbes cut off a small corner of one of the three triangular pieces of spanikopita and lifted it to his mouth, trying not to breathe in through his nose as he did so.

The flaky, buttery phyllo pastry melted on his tongue. The creamy saltiness of the cheese coated his mouth, and the spinach ... what spinach? Mixed with whatever herbs were in it, the spinach was unobtrusive. He’d have to get Major to come out here and tell him exactly what was in it—and see if he could re-create it.

He followed Alaine’s lead and didn’t speak while they ate. He tried to pace himself so he didn’t finish before she did—and just as he scraped up the last few crumbs and drippings of green-flecked cheese, the woman Alaine had referred to as Ms. Voula reappeared with a plate of baklava—with two forks. Alaine pushed her half-finished salad and cheese pastry aside and picked up one of the forks from the dessert plate. She used it to wave at the other.

“Have one.” She cut into one of the sticky-looking pastries.

He’d always heard of this dish but had never tried it. “What’s in it?”

“Um...” Alaine lifted the top layer of phyllo. “Walnuts, cinnamon, sugar, probably other spices. Oh, and honey over the top.”

That, he could do. He cut into the small square on his side of the plate. The warm, spicy, sweet smell of it made his mouth water. And when he bit into it...

Baklava was his new favorite dessert—even if it did make his teeth hurt from the combination of honey on the outside and sugar on the inside. Even though the piece was small, he couldn’t finish the whole thing, already feeling like he’d need to add a few hours’ running tomorrow just to work off his entrée.

He waited until Alaine put her fork down and ordered coffee before broaching the subject of this meeting again—and prayed her anger had abated. “I know it’s going to be hard for you to believe me, because in your mind I’m part of the problem, but I want to help you find a solution. I’m certain that with a little digging and possibly bringing together the information from all parties involved, we can discover where the breakdown in communication has happened and get it straightened out.” He rested his hands flat on the table. “I’d like to take your case.”

She shook her head. “I don’t want you as our lawyer. No one would ever trust that you’re truly working for us and not to get the best outcome for your parents’ company.”

Alaine wished she could recall the words as soon as they left her mouth. She couldn’t remember everything she’d said to him in the past forty-five minutes, but that last one had been uncalled for—and intentionally hurtful.

And he’d obviously never had someone tell him to his face that he was untrustworthy. Though he’d worn an emotionless mask since she’d started berating him for something he might not have any part in, his too-handsome-for-her-peace-of-mind face now expressed betrayal, disbelief, and a profound pain.

“I’m sorry. What I mean to say is that we need to find a lawyer who doesn’t have a personal vested interest in the opposing side of the issue. Who isn’t going to be torn or influenced by emotional—and familial—involvement with the defendants. From my preliminary conversations with a few business owners, we’re ready to take this all the way—a big, public court case, which, even if we lose, could cause irreparable damage to Boudreaux-Guidry Enterprises’ reputation in Bonneterre.”

Forbes nodded, stared at the flower in the center of the table for a few seconds, then raised guarded, gray blue eyes to hers once more. “You keep saying
we,
but I know for a fact you don’t live in the district. And you don’t work here, either. So other than being related to people who are affected by this, what’s your involvement in it?”

“My involvement?” She tried not to let him see how his question flustered her.

“Yes. Plaintiffs in a case like this need to be those who are directly affected by the wrongs they’re accusing the defendant of. I understand that as a reporter, you have an interest in the public side of it—in arguing the case in the court of public opinion. But do you truly have a stake in the case, or are you just the public face of it to bring more attention and quicker action?”

Her conversation with her parents replayed in her head. She’d made a promise. “No, I’m not the ‘public face,’ as you put it. I’m the ... liaison. Think of me as the agent for the actual plaintiffs. I’ll get all the pertinent information, and then I’ll gather everyone together and share it with them.” She nodded for emphasis.

His right brow quirked slightly. “You realize that if this does go to court, I—your lawyer will take over that role? Are you going to be okay with turning everything over to me—him?”

“Or her. Yes, if I feel that person is trustworthy and isn’t out to appease his parents.” She clamped her lips shut. She was behaving just like Meg Ryan in
You’ve Got Mail
—unable to stop herself from piling up the hurtful remarks.

Of course, Meg Ryan and Tom Hanks ended up together at the end of that movie.

No. She couldn’t think that way—not about Forbes Guidry, no matter how handsome he was and how her insides melted like a chocolate bar left in the car in August whenever she was around him.

“Have you spoken with any other lawyers about this case?” Forbes reached for his leather portfolio and pen.

She thought about the list in her steno pad of all the crossed-out lawyer names. “I tried.”

“What did they have to say about it?”

She might as well give him the truth. “As soon as I mentioned Boudreaux-Guidry Enterprises, they pretty much hung up on me.”

“So Russ LeBlanc was your last hope?”

Chewing the inside of her bottom lip, she nodded. “Yes, but I hadn’t told him whom the case was against.” She regarded Forbes for a long moment. Not a single dark hair out of place. Thick, perfectly groomed eyebrows. Long, dark lashes framing eyes that sometimes looked blue and sometimes dark gray. And no reason to distrust him other than the fact he was one of the best-looking men she’d ever encountered. “Do you really think you’d be able to be objective about this?”

Forbes pushed his plate aside and folded his hands atop his pad on the table. “I have to be honest and say that I don’t believe my parents are involved in any wrongdoing. But you’ve definitely raised some questions about the legalities of things that are going on in the Mills. If you can trust me enough to act on your—well, the plaintiffs’—behalf, then I can promise you that any legal advice I give will be as objective as I possibly can be. Though you may have a hard time believing it, I hold personal and professional integrity at the highest level—not just for me, but for everyone I work with as well as every member of my family. If I discover anything that isn’t completely aboveboard, I’ll do whatever it takes to make it right.”