A Thin Line (8 page)

"Right," Bailey says, grumbling. "No dice. If you won't get out, I'll force you out."

"Sounds like we're going to court, then?" I glance at Preston, who isn't sufficiently embarrassed by his client. How can he represent this scum?

Preston pushes back from the table and stands. "That's what it sounds like. We'll file in the morning. Should have a court date by early next week." He nods at Bailey, who stands and lumbers out of the conference room, Preston in tow.

I hear them going down the stairs and finally feel the freedom to exhale.  "I can't believe you want to stay there, Carlos. He's willing to let you out, free and clear."

"I know," he answers. "But like my wife says, if he does it to us, he'll do it to the next family. We'll move when our lease is up and not a minute sooner. We won't be forced to leave by his bigoted views of me and my family."

I gather my piles together and load them back into my bag. "This could take some time. Housing complaints fall far behind rapes, murders and kidnappings. We might not get to pre-trial for a month or so. Until then, avoid Bailey. He can't kick you out but you don’t want any trouble. Follow the lease to the letter. Don't speak to him. Don't let him get under your skin. Don't give him any ammunition that he can present in court that would sway the judge in his favor."

"Got it. And thank you."

"Thank me when I've won this case."
Because I might not
.

We stand and I lead him out of the conference room. We meet Preston at the steps. "So I'm going to head over to my office, if we're done here," I say to him.

"See you Sunday?"

I stop on the third step down and turn around. "Sunday. What's Sunday?"

"Check your email. Bridal Party Brunch at the McCord Manor."

I groan. "Alright. See you Sunday then."

"Want me to pick you up? It's on my way."

I start to snap at him that I could drive myself, thank you very much. Then I remember our agreement and try to craft a nice way to decline. Before I can do so, he says, "I'll be at your place at 10:30. Be ready, I don't like waiting."

At what point,
I wonder as I turn and stomp down the steps,
does he have to bite his tongue?

Sunday morning is beautiful, warm and sunny but not yet hot. I would love to do nothing more than skip down to the pool in a skimpy bathing suit with a trashy novel and lay around deepening my golden brown skin tone. I haven't done enough of that this summer.

Instead, I have to put on a dress and heels and flat iron my hair. I have to get in a car with Preston and ride over to Nate and Morgan's fancy million dollar home. I have to sit next to Preston at a table overflowing with delicacies and pretend that we're getting along and talk excitedly about this wedding for a few hours. Mostly I have to make Morgan believe that we're making this happen for them.

Promptly at 10:30, Preston's Benz turns into my apartment complex, so I head down to meet him at the bottom of the steps. Instead of stopping and waiting, he parks and comes around to the passenger side and opens the door with a flourish and a shit–eating grin.

"Hi," I say simply, and get in the car. He closes my door and jogs back around to the driver's side. As he slides back into the smooth leather seat, I notice his attire–dark jeans, a button down plaid shirt with the sleeves rolled up to the elbows and a gray tweed four button vest.  A high end Gucci watch catches a glint of sunlight as he turns the wheel and guides the car to the street.

"You always dress this nice for brunch?"

His eyes leave the road for a brief moment. "Do you?" he asks, his gaze roving the chest and thighs that my dress leaves bare.

It used to be Preston's favorite thing, while he drove, to reach over and tuck a hand between my thighs. He liked it when I wore dresses and sometimes I would have to hold his hand to keep it from wandering north. That memory makes me blush and I tug at the hem of my dress.

"Touché. I thought you might have been on your way from somewhere else."

"Where would I be on my way from?"

"Nowhere, Preston. Just drive."

"You seem overly concerned with my dating life. Who I'm sleeping with, whether I'm on my way home from a one night stand. Which I'm not, by the way. I slept alone, since you care."

"I don't."

"Could have fooled me."

"It's just that if you were going to swing by and pick me up and take me to brunch while you're on your way home from screwing what's-her-face with the stripper name, I think that's kind of shitty and disrespectful."

"Really?" Preston chuckles. "I think it's shitty and disrespectful that you assume I'd do that."

"Like you never have?"

Preston inhales deeply, then exhales so long and loud, it sounds like he's emptying his lungs. "This truce isn't going very well," he says eventually.

He's right. I'm instigating. When my guard is down, he goes in for the kill. If I stay alert–and bitchy, he doesn't have any reason to think I'm weak and ripe for an attack. I realize how crazy this sounds. But I
know
him.

For a few minutes, I hear nothing but the sound of the tires gripping the road and the luxury machine working as it was designed. Preston is dangerous when he's quiet, and he's very, very quiet. I wouldn't put it past him to quit this wedding again because I won't be nice to him.

"Okay. I apologize." And inside, I die a little. "It's hard to go from snapping at you to being nice to you."

"I know. For me too."

"But... we agreed. So. I'm trying."

"You are?" He takes a peek at me out of the corner of his eye. "Since when?"

"Since now, jackass."

"Your idea of nice needs more work. Say something pleasant."

"You first."

"Fine,” he says, after what feels like a lifetime of silence, but was really only a few seconds. “Your dress looks nice on you. Very sexy." He grins. "Happy?"

I'm trying not to blush. He sounds like he actually means what he said, and despite the fact that he bugs the shit out of me, I'm flattered.

"Thank you, "I say quietly.  "You look really nice."

"Thanks."

I heave a sigh like that was the most difficult thing I've ever had to do. Preston busts out laughing and doesn't stop until we pull up to the gates at Vizcaya.

Nate and Morgan's three story Spanish Mediterranean style home overlooks Sand Lake and sits on a pricy, exclusive piece of real estate. Five bedrooms, six bathrooms, formal and casual living and dining areas, a heated pool, three car garage and ample space to be anywhere in the house and feel deserted. When Nate travels for conferences, Morgan hates to be in the house alone, so I pack up a few days’ worth of clothing and move in.

Preston buzzes us in with his code and once we're inside the gates, it's a 30 second drive to the circular driveway. He parks behind a black Lexus that I recognize as Kent and Brandy's.  As I step out of the car, I see someone else has parked behind us and Jackie, who I haven't seen in weeks, climbs out of the passenger seat.

My jaw drops.

"Shut up," she mumbles through a smug grin as she waddles toward me, her early pregnancy belly creating the most adorable bump in her maxi dress. She fusses at me but she's glowing and grinning and I can see by the glint in her eye that she's overjoyed. I'm so happy for her I could bust.

Years ago, Jackie lost a baby and her doctors said it might be hard for her to get pregnant again. The stress of trying and failing destroyed a long relationship. Frankly, I was happy to see her ex fiancé, Bryan, gone but sad to see Jackie want a baby and not be able to have one.

When Matt came along, she fell for him so quickly that I was afraid for her, for her heart. I love it when I'm wrong. About other people, that is.

Matt steps out of the driver's side of their sedan looking a bit more like a chef than before. The sympathy weight that he’s gained looks good on him.

We make our way up the winding walk to the front door, which opens before we can get to it. Morgan waves us in, babbling about the menu. A few of our other friends are already inside, chatting over trays of finger food and holding champagne glasses filled with pale orange liquid. After that ride, I'm thankful for a drink, so I grab a mimosa and make my way around the table, plating a few things here and there… a mini quiche, some fruit and a few slices of bacon.

I choose a seat at the table, where people are slowly filtering in. Jackie sits next to me and immediately digs into her eggs, bacon and toast.

"I guess I figured out why I was gaining so much weight," she said between bites. "I didn't think it would ever happen again."

"How long have you known?"

"A few months. We didn't want to say anything until I was further along because of... you know."

I nod. "Of course. You knew before you got married?"

She grins. "That’s why we got married in Vegas.  I didn't want to be rolled down the aisle in a yard of white lace."

I laugh so hard I choke on a mouthful of quiche and reach for my mimosa to wash it down.  A glass of water appears to my right and Preston takes the seat next to me. I grab that instead and gulp it down, clearing my throat.  "Thanks," I say to him.

"Welcome," he says back, and attacks his overflowing plate with vigor and a concentration that is familiar.

Jackie elbows me, and when I ignore her, she pokes at me again. "Would you stop shoving your bony elbow into my arm?"

She leans in close so she can lower her voice. "Spill. You rode here with Preston. He's sitting next to you and you haven't clawed his eyes out yet. And he brought you water. Not because you were choking, but just because. Are you guys..."

"Don't even go there, Jackie." I can see the disappointment in her eyes. I'd love to make it disappear but it's not happening. "You'll find out what's up in a minute, but... we agreed to be nice to each other for a little while."

Jackie starts to ask another question but is interrupted by a loud
tingtingting.
Nate is at the head of the table, tapping a knife against his glass. When the room is quiet, he sets the glass down and clasps his hands together. He can barely contain his smile.

"Morg and I want to thank you all for coming, especially on short notice. It's a beautiful day and we hope you'll hang out and enjoy it with us. First, we have a small announcement."

Morgan stands, her grin matching Nate's. They have always been too damn cute.

"As some of you know, Nate and I have decided to get married... finally!" She stops while everyone laughs, since that has been the most asked question of their relationship. "And," she continues, "We want to share this event with our closest friends, those of you who have been around for a long time and have seen us through some good and some bad years. We're announcing today that we'll be treating everyone at this table to seven days and six nights on St. Lucia!” She pauses for the interruption of applause and low murmurs.

“You'll only be responsible for your airfare. The resort is all inclusive, so you won't have to worry about a thing from the moment you land until you get back on the plane. Nate and I will get married on the island, you'll all be in our wedding party, and the entire affair is being planned by... Angie and Preston!"

Morgan waves at us, encouraging us to stand. We awkwardly rise and smile through the laughter and sarcastic commentary.

"So the theme of the wedding is Death Match?"

"WWE, Wedding Wrestling Entertainment!"

"You picked the two people who don't get along to plan your wedding in a foreign country. One of them isn't coming back alive."

I should have been prepared for the reaction, but I'm not. I'm embarrassed that when people think of me and Preston, they expect a spectacle. They practically bet on who will win every round. I hate what we've become over the two decades that have passed and I know it's just as much my fault as it is Preston's.

Right there at that table, I hold on to my resolve that this wedding will be a success if it
kills
me. And it might.

Hours later, as the sun is dipping past the horizon, throwing shadows through pink haze, Preston is driving me back to my apartment.

"You're too quiet."

Surprised, I glance over at him. He's wearing wraparound shades and squinting into the bright sunset. "Enjoy it. It doesn't happen often."

He smiles, silently laughing. “You've been quiet all day. You alright?"

"I'm okay. Just thinking."

"About?"

"Stuff, okay? Just... thinking about things. I do that, you know. Think."

"I wasn't trying to insult you, Angie. Just asking."

"And I was just answering."

Now Preston's too quiet. "Okay, I was thinking about how everyone at that table was surprised that we're planning this wedding. And they expect it to be a hot mess. I really want to prove them all wrong. But I'm not sure I'm going to be able to do that."

Preston nods, his bottom lip tucked between his teeth. "Yup. Was thinking the same thing."

I stare at him for a moment before I ask, "Really?"

"They're our friends, but... today felt like it was us against them." He glances at me and I barely catch his eyes through the dark lenses before he turns his attention back to the road. "We're going to get this done. Without a doubt. But I really want to blow people away."

"Yeah."

I'm amazed that not only do we agree on something, but he understands how I feel and feels the same. In few days, we have come so far. We are nowhere near falling in love again, but not wanting to kill each other seems like a great compromise.

Preston guides the car into the parking lot of my complex and smoothly pulls into a space next to the stairs that lead to my apartment. I release the seatbelt and pop the door latch.

"Thanks for picking me up."

"No problem," he says, as I climb out. Then he leans across the seat and says, "Hey... I still think we ought to combine the Bachelor and Bachelorette parties. It'd be the easiest way to do both, and the same people are going to be at both."

"I had no plans on attending Nate's Bachelor party."

He rolls his eyes. "You know what I mean."

"I'll think about it. We'll talk about it when you call me."

"When should I call you?"

I smile. "You're an attractive, virile young man. If you don't know when's a good time to call a girl, you're not as popular as you think you are."

I push the door closed before he can respond and bound up the stairs to my apartment. When I reach the door, I turn and notice the car is still there, idling.

I unlock the door and slip inside, then peek through the curtains from the living room window that overlooks the complex entrance. I wait there until I see Preston pull out and turn left, heading toward his house.

I'm touched that he waited until I was inside to leave. And I'm confused that it even matters to me.