Hidden Hearts (14 page)

“So when do we wrap this up?” he asked abruptly.

“Well, we’re still verifying the handwriting, and Ms. Battle has lived in the farmhouse her entire life. Did you ever meet her?”

He shrugged.
“Maybe.
You know how it is with parents. They drag you everywhere when you’re a kid.”

“Did you ever read the Chloe
books?”

He cracked a smile. “I’ve got ’em all.
First editions, too.”

She nearly sighed before she said, “You know Ms. Battle wrote them.”

She hoped she’d jostled his compassion, but he merely speared another hunk of waffle and chewed on it. Once he finished he looked at her intently. “That’s not our problem. This is business, Ms. Carlson. I’m sure she has plenty of money, and I’m more than happy to pay her for the upgrades she’s made to the land. But it’s prime real estate. Claiming it is good business. Now I know you’re young, but Blanca says that you’ll do what needs to be done to please your client. Is that a fair assessment of your abilities and character as a lawyer?”

She swallowed hard, pressing her breakfast back down her throat before she said, “Absolutely. But just so you’re aware, Ms. Battle’s attorney has mentioned taking her case to the media. I’m not sure that would be a good idea.”

He nodded. “You’re right. It wouldn’t.” Then he winked. “And your job is to make sure that doesn’t happen.” He leaned over his waffle and added, “It’s no accident that I hired the most ruthless law firm in town. You have my permission to do whatever needs to be done to get that property.”

“I understand,” she mumbled.

He laughed a belly laugh and turned the conversation to mundane topics like the Phoenix Suns and the immigration problem and she feigned interest. He finished his meal quickly, gave a wave and reminded her not to bill him for the time since she’d called the meeting. After he stopped at several tables and introduced himself as the owner, he nodded to the manager, strolled out and got into his Lexus.

She needed the bathroom. She headed down a corridor filled with framed black-and-white photographs, a visual history of Jacob and Della Rubenstein’s life. She slowed to look. Several of them showed the Rubensteins standing outside their newest diner on the day it opened. They were a handsome couple, and both wore beaming smiles in every picture. Some of the photos included a young Seth and Ira standing in front of their parents, looking appropriately obedient.

She spotted two photos of the
Farmhouse Pies
sign, which she guessed originally sat on the side of a dirt road. While one of the pictures was solely of the sign, another showed a man and a woman standing on opposite ends of it. She easily recognized Jacob Rubenstein on the left, but she had no idea who the stunning blonde was on the right.

She turned to study the other wall and stopped suddenly in front of Jacob and Della Rubenstein’s formal wedding picture, which was taken on the front porch steps of Viv’s farmhouse. Her gaze strayed to the pictures next to it. In one photo, the bride and groom were sandwiched between a handsome black man and the stunning blonde, and in another, two young girls—one black and one white—had joined the four adults. She leaned forward, staring at the little white girl—almost certain she was looking into the eyes of a young Vivian Battle.

The handwriting request remained on the edge of her desk for the entire morning. Periodically she’d drop a file or a stack of papers on top of it, rationalizing that if it kept disappearing she wouldn’t remember it. She knew that after she tossed it into the mailbag, the ever-efficient business department would process it quickly. 

The receptionist paged her. “There’s a woman here to see you. Alicia Dennis? She says it’s very personal.”

She could hear the disdain in the receptionist’s voice. Personal
anything
was frowned upon in the workplace. And she couldn’t understand why Alicia would be here.

“Send her back, please.”

Ding!

She adjusted her skirt, hoping she didn’t have lipstick on her teeth. Alicia appeared wearing a deep emerald-green blouse and a gray A-line skirt that clung to her buttocks and thighs perfectly.

“Well, I’m glad you still check me out.”

She knew her face was red as she motioned for her to sit. “What are you doing here?”

She shrugged. “I was in the neighborhood and I thought I’d drop by and see if you wanted to go to lunch.”

“That’s nice but I can’t today. Too much work.”

Blanca popped in the doorway. “Don’t forget that we need to review the Holsten trust at four, and where are we with Rubenstein?”

“It’s coming,” she said.

Blanca nodded suspiciously at Alicia. “What are you doing here?”

 She held up a hand.
“Strictly personal.
I was inviting CC to lunch, which she declined in favor of work.”

Blanca glowered at CC. “Good because her rewritten report needs a third try.”

Before she could apologize for her poor effort, Alicia interjected. “Writing was never her strength in law school but she was fabulous in oral argument.”

Blanca missed the wink that punctuated her sentence and asked, “You went to law school together?”

“Uh-huh.”

Her eyes never left CC. “And where do you work?”

“I work for Alma Santiago.”

“And are
you
a good writer?”

She shifted in her seat. “I think so, I—”

“Are you happy there?”

“For the moment.”

CC imagined a hedge—as tall as the one that bordered Viv’s pool—surrounding her and separating her from the conversation. Blanca and Alicia openly sized each other up before Blanca offered a single nod and walked out.

“Thanks a lot,” CC hissed.

Alicia shook her head.
“For what?
I was just answering her questions.”

“No, she was offering you my job and you practically took it.”

“Honey, you are so paranoid,” she sighed. “She’s just pissed at you because of the report.
Big deal.”

“It
is
a big deal. I’m only allowed so many mistakes. You know how it goes.”

“Do you want me to help you? I could write it.”

“No, you can’t.” She glanced at the report sitting on her desk, next to the handwriting request that she still hadn’t filed and started to cry. “I’m sorry I got angry.”

Alicia took her hand. “What’s wrong?”

Ding!

She glanced at CC’s phone and noticed the alert.
“Phoenix-Connect?
Not exactly the best service for meeting quality women.” Then she teased, “Have you had any dates?”

CC grabbed the phone and shoved it in her desk. “That’s none of your business.” She picked up the handwriting analysis to change the subject. “I’m totally bummed about this case. Our client wants to take away this beautiful house where an old lady has lived for almost her entire life. Once this handwriting analysis comes back it’s all over.”

Alicia tapped her chin thoughtfully. She plucked the paper from her hand and pulled an interoffice envelope from the stack CC kept on her credenza. She placed it inside and dropped it into CC’s outgoing mail tray.

“But you didn’t write anything on it,” she said.

 Alicia frowned. “Oh, my, that’s right.
Silly me.”
She picked it up and grabbed a pen. “Now, where was this going again… tax department, right?” she scribbled before dropping it into the mail tray. “You junior attorneys are just so overworked. And if I remember correctly from my internship days, the tax department is the worst. They get so much mail that by the time they figure out who to send this back to, I expect a week will have passed.”

CC stared in disbelief and nearly pulled it from
the outbox
until Alicia said, “Let it go, CC. Just say thank you.”

CC looked into her beautiful eyes, remembering why she’d fallen in love. Sometimes she’d so appreciated her bent morality. “Thank you. I don’t know if that’ll change anything, but at least it buys me a little time to figure something out.”

 Alicia smiled. “I’m hoping it bought me a little time too.”

****

In the spirit of quid pro quo, CC asked Alicia to attend the Arizona Bar Foundation’s annual charity ball with her that Saturday. She’d purchased her expensive tickets, which all junior associates were expected to buy regardless of its effect on their monthly budget, but she’d decided not to attend. When Alicia learned she had tickets, she prodded her to go.

“It’ll be fun,” she said.

She disagreed, desiring to spend her Saturday night at home with her new sketchbook. Meeting Viv had inspired her, and she wanted to reacquaint herself with her love of art, regardless of how untalented she was. So, after slaving away in the cavernous offices of Hartford and Burns with the other junior attorneys bent on making a good impression, she’d stopped at the art store and spent the afternoon at home dabbling—with abysmal results.

When she looked at the clock, she gasped. Alicia would arrive in ninety minutes and she hadn’t thought about what she should wear. She rifled through her closet, realizing she didn’t own anything that would work for a semiformal affair. She pictured Alicia in an expensive silk dress with three-inch pumps and knew she couldn’t compare. Her clothes were for work or relaxation with only a few date outfits in between, and she didn’t think any of them was stylish enough.

She flopped onto her futon and buried her head in her hands. She was a failure swimming in debt. The student loans from law school were killing her, and when she thought of the fifteen-year payment plan she’d agreed to, she felt like throwing up.

“Don’t think of it that way, dear,” her mother had advised. “It’s an investment in your future.”

She pulled herself up, determined to parse together an outfit from the clothes she owned. She found a pair of silk black harem pants from an old Halloween costume and a deep plum camisole that went great with her hair and eyes. In the back of the closet behind the coats, she came across a black velvet vest that Alicia had left behind, and although it was a size too large, it still looked acceptable. She threw on some pumps just as the doorbell rang. What she’d created struck her as slutty, but if Alicia didn’t like it, then she could go alone.

Alicia was indeed dressed to kill in a washed-out black jersey dress with a very short skirt that seemed to wrap around her torso. The hem barely covered her thighs and CC knew every man in the place would stare at her long legs, imagining what lay an inch above the fabric. She herself certainly was.

“I like your outfit,” Alicia said, waltzing into her tiny apartment. She caressed the vest and asked playfully, “Where have I seen this before?”

She wandered into the bedroom as if she still lived there. She dropped onto the futon, her arms stretched behind her seductively. “I do miss this room,” she said.

“We could skip the ball,” CC offered.

She laughed and patted the mattress. “Come here. I need to see how those pants work.”

She reluctantly sat next to her, feeling like a mouse about to be eaten by a python. But Alicia remained in a supine position, staring at her. The jasmine perfume announced its presence and smothered her overpowering female scent that lingered underneath the dress.

“You keep staring at my legs,” she observed. “Is my skirt too short or too
long
? I actually debated taking it up another half inch. What do you think?”

“Then it would be a belt.”

Alicia sat up threw back her head, laughing, exposing her creamy neck and the silver chain that rested against her bronze skin. “God, I miss your wit.”

It was too tempting. She pressed her lips into the gorgeous flesh and Alicia responded by undoing her pants.

“Let’s stay here,” CC whispered.

“We can’t.”

“We can,” she insisted, placing Alicia’s hand on her breast.

All she wanted was her. She’d forgive everything that happened if Alicia would succumb to her charms and let her win. They fondled and kissed for another minute, their passion a seemingly powerful persuader—until she tried to push Alicia down.

“No, no. We can’t, babe,” she protested. “Not right now. I have to make a bid at the auction. I really need to go.”