Following Love (10 page)

“We wouldn't even have to be involved to garner reasonable suspicion,” another associate added, “our reputation…”

Another round of curses sounded.

“Let me get this straight. Seven lawyers in this room and no one saw that the tape recorder was still sitting there turned on and recording every word we said?” Gaylord asked. Blank stares looked around the room then back at him. “This is completely unacceptable, gentlemen.”

“Forget about the damn tape recorder, what are we going to do about Dena?”

“Pay her,” an associate said. Everyone turned to look in his direction. “Why not?”

Adel walked over slowly. “What is your name?”

“My name is Hollander. Craig Hollander, ma'am.”

“Mr. Hollander—Craig, get this straight. That is not an option, understand?” she said pointedly. He nodded.

“It might have to be,” Gaylord said. “We can't drag this on for much longer. If her attorney files with another arbitration…”

“We'll fight it, the same way we fought it the time before, and before that. Buy the arbitrators again. This goes all the way to the Supreme Court if necessary.”

“Exactly how much money are we talking about here?” an associate asked.

“Seven point three million dollars not including interest accrued for over four years.”

“I will not pay her,” Adel lashed out.

“That's not all, it's not all about the money,” Gaylord said. Adel whipped around fiercely and her eyes blazed hot. She made a statement without saying a word. “Adel, this firm has hundreds of unbillable man-hours invested in this, we need to cut our losses. Maybe it's time to walk away,” Gaylord offered humbly.

“No, something, some leverage, some deep dark secret, I don't care what it is, find it, create it, again I don't care or I'll close this place down and turn it into a parking lot.” She opened the side door and slammed out. Gaylord followed.

“Do you think she meant it?” an assistant whispered.

“What do you think?” the other assistant answered.

 

Adel eyed Forester's picture on her desk in her late husband's office, now unused. Nelson Graham had been a formidable attorney and he would never put up with this mess. “It seems that I misjudged her.”

Gaylord nodded. “Her commitment and passion in this matter is astounding.”

“I agree,” Adel said curiously.

“A mother's wrath protecting her young,” Gaylord added.

“Interesting, perhaps there's more to her claim than I anticipated.”

“What do you mean?” he asked.

“Get me a current photo of her child. I'd like to see this Dillon for myself.”

Gaylord nodded. “Good, it's time. We can end this as soon as possible.”

“This ends, everything does,” she pointed out.

“It won't come to that,” Gaylord said. “Thus far Dena only knows about the trust and the corporate insurance policies. As stated, that's merely seven million and change. She has no idea about the rest.”

“And she won't. I owe it to Nelson, Kirkland and Forester. She'll never get her hands on the trust fund, the Graham estate, the insurance policies, the seat on the board of Graham, Whitman & Morris or the company shares.”

“Worth conservatively over fifteen million dollars.” Gaylord shook his head and smiled. “You really have a set of brass ones.”

Adel returned his smile. “Funny, that's what Nelson always said.”

 

“That was a thing of beauty,” Dena said, raising her iced tea glass to toast. “To you.”

Lynn raised her glass. “To us. Round one scored. Hell zero, us one.” Lynn licked her finger and drew an imaginary one in the air. “I hope you grabbed that paper they handed out,” she said.

“I did,” Dena answered.

“Good,” she said. “Now, I need you to give me a dollar.”

Dena looked at her strangely. “A dollar, for what?” she asked as she reached into her wallet and pulled out a dollar bill.

Lynn took it. “Thanks. You just purchased a tape recorder with a very valuable cassette.” She reached into her big bag and pulled out the tape recorder and gave it to Dena. “Keep it safe. We might need it one day. Adel is not just gonna roll over and play dead and neither will her law firm.”

“That's a given,” Dena agreed, looking at the cassette.

“What's on it exactly?”

“I have no idea. But we're delving into criminal law and in this state I'm not allowed to know or possess certain things. A tape recording from an opponent's private conference is one of them. I suggest that you sell the recorder to someone else, but keep the cassette close.”

“Sure,” Dena said, nodding, then she smiled and chuckled, shaking her head in amazement.

“What?” Lynn asked.

“You. You were awesome in there. You always had a flair for the dramatic, but you outdid yourself today. It looks like the old Lynn Brice is back and better than ever.”

“Took me long enough. I was just so scared. Scared to look forward, scared to look back, just plain scared,” she admitted.

“All things in time, right,” Dena said. They nodded in common understanding. “You know, I found that when my reality warped, getting back to the person I was, was damn near impossible, so I had to build a new me from where I was.”

“I learned that the hard way. I was too arrogant to change until I was forced to. But it's not where you start, it's where you end that matters, right?”

“To endings.” Dena toasted again.

“To beginnings.” Lynn clinked glasses.

“Looks like a celebration.”

Dena looked up, seeing Darius Hamilton standing by their table. His eyes locked on Lynn then back to her. “Darius, hi. What nice surprise,” Dena said.

“Hi, Dena, how are you?” he asked.

“Fine,” she said.

“Willamina mentioned this morning that you'd be out all day. I had no idea you'd be here in town. I hope everything is well.”

“It's getting there,” she said, smiling and nodding to Lynn.

“If there anything I can do to offer assistance?” he asked, shifting his gaze back to Lynn.

“No thanks, we have it under control. Darius, this is a friend of mine, Lynn Brice. Lynn this is my boss, Darius Hamilton.”

“Hello, Darius,” Lynn said, extending her hand. “A pleasure to meet you.”

“Indeed, likewise, a pleasure. May I offer you ladies a ride back?”

“No thanks,” Dena said. “I need to make a few stops before heading back.”

Lynn looked at her.

Darius turned his hopeful attention to Lynn. “And you, Ms. Brice?”

She returned his attention. “I live here in the city,” she said, “but thanks for the offer.

“You're quite welcome,” Darius said. “I come into the city quite often.”

“Really? Perhaps we'll meet again.” Lynn was flirting.

“That would be my pleasure,” he said with obvious delight. “I look forward to that.”

Lynn blushed and nodded. “As will I.”

“Well, you ladies have a good lunch. I'll see you back at the office tomorrow, Dena.”

She nodded as Darius smiled at Lynn again then left.

“Wow.” Lynn sizzled watching Darius walk away. “Is he yours?”

“No, he's my boss—one of them. There are three brothers. I work at Hamilton Development Corporation.”

“I've heard of them, nice, very, nice. I'm obviously doing something wrong opening my own office. I should have gone into corporate law.”

“No law, I'm the temporary administrative assistant.”

“You're an AA with a law degree?”

“My official title is executive office administrator to operations. It's easy and comfortable work. I like it so far.”

Lynn started laughing. “So that's why you've got this guilty pleasure smile on your face.”

“I'm sure I have no idea what you're talking about.”

“Please, girl, who do you think you're talking to? We didn't just fall off the turnip truck together yesterday. You and I have been dishing this for about ten years plus.”

“Please don't tell me it's been that long.”

“Yep, there about and then some, through thick and thin and a hell of a lot in between, so give,” she insisted.

“Okay. His name is Julian Hamilton, Darius' brother, and he's…” Dena paused, not finishing.

“Um, yummy. That fine, huh?”

“Oh, yeah, that, too. He's gorgeous, built, handsome, sexy, but that's not what I was going to say.”

“Hell, girl, what's left?” Lynn said.

Dena moved in closer. “Lynn, this is serious, you have got to promise never to repeat this, ever, to anyone, not even back to me.”

“Dena, I'm your legal representative. That means I get to rot in jail for life before I reveal attorney-client privilege, you know that, not to mention I'm your girl from way back when.”

Dena leaned in closer still. “Celibate.”

Lynn frowned and leaned in, nearly bumping heads with Dena. “Say again? I think I missed that.”

“I'm not saying it again, you heard me the first time,” Dena whispered. Lynn shook her head as Dena continued. “Go ahead, say it.”

“I'm sorry,” Lynn said, still shaking her head.

“Go ahead. I know you have serious jokes.”

“Honey, that's nothing to joke about. When I say I'm sorry, I mean it.” She reached across and squeezed Dena's hand. “Poor baby, just your luck to find a man who's cut his own flow.”

“Well, it happens.”

“But you still work with him, right? You still see him regularly.” Dena nodded. “So, seduce him. March your butt right over to his house and seduce that man. Dress in a frilly low-cut, wrap dress with ankle-strap stiletto heels then let nature takes its course.”

Dena's mouth flew open in shock. “No, never. I respect his decision. I would never do something like that.”

“Are you sure?” Lynn asked.

“Positive, kind of.”

They laughed.

“Uh, uh, uh, two others like him,” Lynn said, looking toward the exit. “I still think I should have broadened my options.”

“I'd say that you already have—if you ask my opinion, he was seriously into you.”

“I wish.” Lynn sighed dreamingly. “Um, um, yummy.”

Dena chuckled at her friend's vernacular. “Let's order.”

R
estoring a 1968 Ford Shelby Mustang GT500 convertible to vintage condition seemed easier than it actually was. Powered by a 428 cubic-inch, eight-cylinder engine, the car was classic perfection if indeed he could get it to work. The body, once rusted and corroded in key places, had been replaced with vintage parts from all around the country. Finders, bumpers, cushioned seats, tires, and period rims were all either in place or ready to be.

Julian had been working on the project for the past six and a half months. He'd purchased a shell from a nearby dealer and via the Internet located everything he needed to refurbish the classic piece by piece. Painstaking patience was not his forte yet he trod along diligently.

He never professed to be a mechanic but the detailed focus of completing each step was well worth the time spent. It gave him time to think and time to assess his life. With the car as with his life he'd made mistakes, yes, but persistently rectified each in turn with planning and focus.

This week he continued focusing on the carburetor, a Holley 600 CFM capable of reaching over 250 horsepower. It wasn't that he actually wanted that much power under the hood but just in case he needed to go from 0 to 60 in seven seconds then drive 130 mph, he'd be ready.

Seeming easier at first, but to his surprise, the carburetor, a small gadget, was trickier than he'd expected and it had taken him three weeks of patient shredding labor to put it together and recalibrate per its specs. Six times he had put it together and all six times he had failed to pass the metered test. After his frustration finally ebbed he decided to choose a new direction.

Darius stopped by earlier with beer and a large pizza. They ate, sat and talked then went out into the garage. “Aren't you finished playing with that tinker toy yet? You know Freud would have said that it's just a two-ton pacifier.”

“Actually a bit less, it's a 3780-pound pacifier,” Julian said, looking at the complete chart of specs.

“Either way, it's a poor surrogate for the real thing.”

“And what might the real thing be?” Julian asked.

“Having a life,” Darius said.

“I have a life, a very fulfilling life.”

“You go to work and then come home and play with this thing. You don't have a social life.”

“I don't need a social life.”

“And women, you don't need women?”

“Exactly,” Julian stated proudly.

Darius shook his head, knowing better. He knew his brother would come around in time. Julian, the hopeful of the three, had experienced three consecutive disappointments, leaving him classically lovelorn. But it was only a matter of time before he snapped out of it.

“So where was Dena, I hadn't seen her all day,” Julian said casually when Darius refocused the flashlight for him.

“Oh, make up your mind,” Darius said with annoyance.

“What do you mean?”

“You wanted to get rid of her,” Darius said.

“You fired her?” Julian said, quickly stopping and turning to him in horror.

“I thought that's what you wanted. As a matter of fact you even had another job lined up for her. Make up your mind.”

“No, no, no, tell me you didn't.”

“You sat in my office not twenty-four hours ago and damn near demanded that Jordan and I get rid of her, now you've changed your mind. What happened between last night and this morning? Or don't I even need to ask.”

“We came to an understanding.”

“What kind of understanding?”

“I told her about my celibacy.”

“And she was all right with it?” Darius questioned.

“Yes, we decided that we can keep our emotional and physical attraction at bay. But I guess it doesn't matter now since she's gone.”

“So, do you want her or not?”

“Yes, I want her.” Julian finally relented.

Darius nodded and smiled victoriously. “Now was that so difficult to say?”

“What are you talking about?”

“Willamina told me that Dena needed a personal day to clear up some legal business.”

Julian glared at his brother. He wasn't amused.

“Funny you should mention Dena, though. I ran into her this afternoon in town. She was having lunch with a friend of hers.”

“Male friend? Julian looked up, interested.

“Female friend,” Darius corrected, deciding not to torture his brother further.

“Lunch, huh?” Julian said, turning his attention back to his carburetor. Darius nodded. “Interesting.”

“Very interesting. Her name is Lynn Brice.”

Julian looked up, seeing his brother smile that smile that always meant trouble. Ever since they were younger they each fit into very distinct categories. Darius was the brains, he thought of the schemes. Jordan, the youngest, was the lookout and he, Julian, executed the plan.

Julian hunkered down over the carburetor plans. He reviewed each detail slowly. Nodding at each step, he was sure that he'd gotten it this time. He picked up the metered instrument and attached it to the carburetor, connecting several wires. He unraveled a cord and prepared to plug a metal rod into a cylinder.

“Maybe I'd better stand back,” Darius said.

Julian looked him. “Funny. Very funny.”

“I know I've asked this a million times,” Darius said, picking up several sheets of paper with specifications on them, “but do you have any idea what you're doing?”

“Not a clue, that's what makes it so much fun.” He plugged the rod into the hole. Darius came closer and peered over his shoulder. They both watched the thin red arrow slowly turn to point into a green zone.

“Is that it?” Darius asked.

Julian smiled. “Yep, that's it.”

“You did it?” Darius asked.

“I did it.”

Slow, easy chuckles broke to joyous laughter as Darius congratulated Julian on his accomplishment. Jordan drove up mid-excitement. He got out and walked over to where his brothers were laughing. “What's so funny?” he asked.

“I did it,” Julian said happily while wiping his hands on a cloth.

“Well it's about time,” Jordan said approvingly. “I knew that little rant of yours wouldn't last. Dena's a nice lady. Good for you both.” Then to Darius he held his hand out. “Pay up.”

“That's not what he's talking about,” Darius said.

Jordan looked at Julian questioningly. He held up the carburetor and the meter. Jordan shook his head, obviously disappointed. “This affectation of yours is getting a bit tiring, isn't it?”

“On the contrary, I'm enjoying myself,” Julian said, then walked over to the car's open hood and placed the carburetor into the chamber. He maneuvered several other mechanical pieces to attain a precise fit. Nodding his approval, he stepped back.

Both Darius and Jordan walked over and glanced down at his achievement. The spit shine of the engine cavity was no doubt very impressive. “Admit it, not a bad evening's distraction, is it?” Julian said as he looked at Jordan and Darius smugly.

“Compared let's say with spending a romantic evening with Dena. Are you sure?” Jordan asked. “In my opinion, not even close.”

Darius chuckled, seeing Julian's reaction. “Point and counterpoint,” he said, refereeing.

“Will we be discussing Dena Graham all evening?” Julian asked. “I'm just asking.”

“Probably,” Jordan said, then continued, “I figure she's still mourning to some extent.”

“No, I don't think so. She's been hurt, but not still in mourning,” Darius added.

“Her husband died, of course she's hurt,” Jordan said.

“No, I think there's more to it than that. It's like she's living half a life, like she's hiding half herself away for some reason. She's built a safety wall around herself,” Darius said.

“Curious,” Jordan pointed out. “I wonder what he was like, her husband, I mean.”

They both looked at Julian as he faked disinterest. He continued beneath the hood tinkering and adjusting nothing in particular having long since lost interest in the car. He listened and formed his own conclusions.

The evening pretty much continued to run along the same lines. Julian worked on his car and his brothers pitched in joking about his love life or lack thereof. Thankfully for Julian they left fairly early, leaving him in peace with his thoughts, which were troubling enough without his brothers' assistance.

It was late when Julian decided to call it a night. After a quick cleanup in the mudroom, he passed through the kitchen, grabbed a bottle of water and continued through. His house, a large, farm-styled, split-level rambler was the perfect home for him. Large and roomy. With housekeeper assistance, he kept it immaculate and comfortable.

He grabbed a quick shower and chilled out, expecting nothing more than to watch the late news then fall asleep. In complete serenity he went to his bedroom and stepped out onto the overhung deck. The stilled night whispered gently as he sat in his lounger and relaxed for the first time that day. Hours later the news came and went and Julian was still awake, sitting on the deck. Jordan's joking comments stayed with him.

Dena had been on his mind and he knew for a fact that easing his thoughts and his body was going to take a while. Their last conversation and her willing acceptance of his celibacy was unexpected, yet appealing. He smiled in the darkness. She amazed him. He chuckled, and Dillon was a joy. His jewel-like effervescence for life was addictive. He laughed openly. His cell phone rang. Without thinking or checking the number he grabbed it and answered. He immediately regretted it.

“Julian,” the ultrafeminine voice cooed. He didn't answer. “Julian, I know you're there. Talk to me.”

“I have nothing to say to you,” he responded.

“Fine, then I'll talk. I miss you.”

“Stephanie, this is moot, you made you choice years ago, calling me is senseless.”

“Actually it's not. Jamie left us. We broke up. I found out that he was using me and our son.”

“I'm sorry to hear that,” he said, increasingly coolly.

“Aren't you going to ask about him?”

Julian paused. He was in the wrong state of mind to deal with this. “How is your son?”

Her voice was quiet. “He's fine, he asks about you all the time. He wants to see you.”

“He doesn't remember me. He was only two when you walked out.”

“But he does, he really remembers you, I swear,” she vowed earnestly. “May we come see you sometime?”

“No, that's not possible.”

“Julian, don't penalize our child for my mistake. I left because I wanted the best life for our son and his father promised me that he would be there for us. He lied.”

“That's not my problem now, Stephanie.”

“You can't just ignore us. We're in your life.”

“No, you're not. You left, remember? Five years ago you walked away with a friend without looking back. You're not in my life, I question if you ever were.”

“How can you say that? We loved each other fiercely.”

He didn't respond, realizing for the first time that his relationship with her was all a farce. She played a waiting game until a better offer came along. He, Dr. Jamison Gray, did and she walked. Now that they were over, she wanted back in. “Did we? I'm not so sure.”

“Julian, I was wrong, okay, I said it, I admit it. Please, I just want to see you, our son wants to see you.” He didn't respond. “Julian.” Her voice was gruffer.

“We talked. Goodbye, Stephanie.” He hung up.

Sleep never did come after that.

 

Dena arrived back to her aunt's house later than she expected. It had been a long day and she was exhausted. After her lunch with Lynn she'd stopped at the bank to change an account then she'd gone home for the first time in weeks.

Walking into her house was strange. Musty, hot and stale, the closed house was unwelcoming and unfamiliar. She felt like a stranger in a place she once belonged.

The house was a five-bedroom, four-bath modernized Tudor with high ceilings and large stained-glass windows. It was the quintessential family home. Surrounded by an acre of manicured landscaping it was going to be their home forever.

Although it was Forester's choice, and she often suspected with his mother's strong influence, she'd grown to love the house as much as he had. Purchased in full before it was even completed, each and every detail was lovingly chosen by her since Forester yielded to her taste and decisions. She'd made it a welcoming home and a place to grow old.

Now she walked through like a stranger, devoid of emotion, feeling no loss and no passion.

The melancholy of the memories here often drained her, but not today. Today she felt strong and in control. She immediately busied herself, gathering, boxing and finally discarding.