The Fall of the Prodigal (8 page)

“You've got to tell him.”

Perched next to Nigel on one of the Chesterfield sofas in the lounge of the Raines Law Room, Verona nodded even as her heart protested.

Located between Fifth and Sixth Avenues on Seventeenth Street, the Raines Law Room boasted an unassuming door, which opened to a cozy nineteenth century–themed décor. With low music, it was the perfect place to relax and have a private conversation. Verona pressed the electric bell to summon the wait staff and ordered another Spyglass.

“You can't keep this from Michael.” Nigel sipped his stronger drink aptly bestowed with the name Arsenic and Lace.

“Stop pestering me,” she snapped. The waiter returned with her order and she took a huge gulp of the fancy cocktail. “I know what I have to do.”

“I know you think you're in love with him and you're in a race against your woman clock to settle down. You'd better come clean. If the truth comes out—no, when it does—if Michael learned you knew and didn't tell him, you can kiss your love affair good-bye.”

Woman clock?
Verona winced. “I'm sorry I called you.”

Nigel reached his hand to cover her own. “I'm not sorry you called. You're sorry I'm not telling you what you want to hear. And, since I'm spilling truths, you shouldn't have left Keith with Mindy. Your being there would've done more to help Michael's case than anything else.”

Verona knew stalking off from Keith had been totally unprofessional, but he couldn't drop news like Lauren being alive on her right before they interrogated someone. She had done everything but faint at his feet. Then, she had run off, leaving Keith to meet with Bill on his own. Curious to hear Nigel's opinion, Verona gazed at him and asked why.

“Because Mindy needed a woman's presence. Her mother died when she was a young child. She would've let you in. Keith doesn't stand a chance and no amount of prayers will help.”

Verona groaned. She hoped Nigel was wrong. As it turned out, the arrogant know-it-all was right. Nigel had just left the bar when she'd received Keith's phone call.

“Short of slamming the door in my face, Bill Laurelton was furious at my attempt to sabotage his daughter's case,” Keith informed her. “His words, not mine.”

“I'm sorry I bailed on you,” she apologized.

“I know I caught you off guard.” There was a pause on the line before Keith asked, “Are you going to tell Michael? I broke my word by telling you about Lauren.”

Verona paid her tab and walked outside the pub. “How can I keep this from him?”

“My plan is to encourage Lauren to make contact. I hope you'll give me time to convince Lauren to reach out to Michael. I'm actually trying to garner her as a character witness.”

“You can't be serious,” Verona shot back, while flagging down a cab. She put Keith on hold while she gave the driver her address. Then she continued her call. “You're going to use the reporter and Michael's former lover who assisted him in blasting television's most beloved pastor as a character witness?”

“I'm not television's beloved pastor,” he answered.

“What does Gina think of all this?” A thought occurred. “Does she know about Lauren?”

“Yes, she does, although I haven't told her about putting Lauren on the stand. But Gina will understand,” Keith said, before ending the call.

Verona envisioned a much different response. “What I wouldn't give to be a fly on the wall,” she mused. Since it was well into the evening, Verona made it home in no time. She paid and tipped the driver before rushing up to her suite. Her bladder protested from the three cocktails she'd had earlier that evening.

Verona had just exited her bathroom when her cell phone rang. She sent it to voicemail when she saw it was Michael calling yet again. She needed time to think before talking to him. If she told Michael about Lauren that would eliminate any chance she had with him. Verona needed Michael to be in love with her before she told the truth. However, as Nigel said, if Michael found out she had withheld such important information, he would never forgive her.

Love was too complicated. She moaned, meandering her way over to her sofa. How she wished she could've avoided this emotion. She was a reputable attorney before she had gone all mushy and falling for her boss. How predictable.

But, when Verona was in Michael's presence, she was anything but predictable. She was flustered, searching for words, and alive. More alive than she had been in years. No. She would wait. Goodness, she felt stuck in the middle of a romantic comedy. Except this was no laughing matter.

Verona didn't know how long she'd sat there until her mind registered someone was pounding on her door.

She looked through the peephole and sprung her door open when she saw Michael outside. “What are you doing here?”

Michael pushed his way inside her space. “Why aren't you answering my calls? I pay you good money to answer my calls.”

Verona's emotions swirled out of control. “I'm sick and tired of you talking about how much you pay me. You don't own me, because I'm earning every dime; no, make that every penny.”

“For what I'm paying you, I should own you.” He gave a light chuckle.

She inhaled. Her fingers itched to connect with Michael's cheekbone at his insulting words. Suddenly, she wondered,
why am I taking this abuse? This isn't love.
“I quit,” she said.

He cracked up. “Quit clowning around, Tiger. We make a great team.”

Verona had shocked herself at her proclamation, but she straightened her spine. “I do. I quit.” She had come too far to allow any man to make her into a mockery. She was not going to allow anyone to wipe the floor with her.

Michael clenched his jaw. They faced off like two bulls in a pen. Neither backing down.

Then he blinked.

She sighed. “Get out. I'm done.”

He blinked, again.

“Are you hard of hearing?” she said. Verona swung away from him to grab her bag. She emptied the contents on the floor. Spotting his car keys, key card, and checkbook, she snatched the items before jumping to her feet. Then she swooped toward him and all but threw them at him.

Michael blinked. “Take that back.”

She folded her arms. “I won't. I quit.”

Two powerful arms snaked around her waist and pulled her so close her nose touched his chin. “Take that back,” he demanded.

Verona rocked her neck and pushed against his arms. A futile attempt, of course. She raised her voice. “I quit! I quit! I—”

Emitting a guttural snarl, Michael grabbed her head and crushed his lips to hers.

Babies. Babies. Babies. They were everywhere. Out in droves. Or so it seemed at the Source Mall. Dr. Darryl Whitehead, Verona's gynecologist, had an office in Westbury, Long Island. After the news she had received, she sought retail therapy nearby in Neiman Marcus and Saks Fifth Avenue.

Verona had found the cutest outfit to wear to Bible Study on Wednesday. Several bags filled her hands. Her heart, however, remained void.

She could not have children.

Verona mulled over the news as she dragged her way to her car. “I can't believe it,” she breathed. She pressed the key to open the trunk. Without care, she tossed the bags in.

Verona slid into her seat and put on her seatbelt. Then she sat there. Blinking. Thinking.

A mom pushed her stroller past her car. A couple walked by with their children. She sat trancelike. Blinking. Thinking.

Dr. Whitehead was certain of his diagnosis. But she knew he was wrong. It was not that she could not have children. Rather, she could not have any
more
children.

She had given birth before. Verona had a child. A son.

A son her parents made her give away. “Is that why you're doing this to me, Lord?” she fisted her hands. Tears dimmed her eyes. “Is this some sort of sick poetic justice?” Verona yelled. “I was young. I fought as hard as I could to keep him.”

She gagged, feeling nauseous. Cupping her mouth, she opened her car door and heaved. Nothing came up.

Verona slammed her door and pulled down the visor. Her eyes widened at her tear-smudged face. She reached inside her purse and pulled out her makeup bag. She quickly repaired her face removing all sign of her turmoil.

She plumped her lips and gave herself the final once-over. It took effort, but she started her vehicle and began the trek to MJW Conglomerate. She had a board meeting. Leonard would present the specs on how the company was doing in light of Michael's resignation.

All the way there, Verona gripped the wheel. When she arrived, she shook her hair. “Show time.” Gone was the dejected woman. In her place was a woman of confidence. Plastering a smile on her face, Verona entered the building. She made her way to the top floor.

What is he doing here?
Verona's first thought upon seeing her soon-to-be ex-boss. She patted her purse. She had her two weeks' notice typed and signed.

Her next thought was how Michael looked unaffected by the kiss they had shared two nights before. He had swept her away and her body sang. Then he had pulled away and faced her with a sardonic grin.

Verona sniffed. She hated how pliant she had been in his arms.

She made her way to her usual spot then changed her mind. She wrinkled her nose. It was odd not seeing Michael at the head. Leonard now occupied his chair. Michael crooked his head toward her in greeting.

Patti was droning on. He gestured the universal sign for yakking. She bent her head to hide her smile not wanting to give him the impression all was well between the two of them. Then she pulled up a chair and sat beside Michael. No use letting others wonder if things had soured between them.

Suddenly, Michael straightened. Keen eyes zoomed in on her face before he stood and yanked her hand. Verona had no choice but to comply. It was either that or risk having her arm pulled out of its socket.

Once outside, Michael asked, “Why were you crying?”

She touched her cheeks.
So much for a good cover
-
up.
“I went to the doctor. Heard some difficult news. Female stuff.” She hoped her short answers would shut him up.

No such luck. “What kind of female stuff?”

Verona gave him a look.
Do you really want to know?
her eyes said. He repeated the question.

“I may not be able to have children,” she whispered, clutching her stomach protectively.

“Is that all?” Michael asked. “I was thinking it was ovarian cancer or something. That's nothing.”

Nothing. He dared to dismiss her feelings as nothing!

Michael must have seen her face because he took a cautionary step back. “I know it's something but it's not life-threatening. When you decide you're ready to have children, I'll ensure you get the best fertility experts.”

“I can't believe you're so calm. You of all people should know how I'm feeling.” She referred to his infertility.

Michael squared his shoulders. “That's why I know what I'm talking about.” He had a faraway look in his eyes. “Believe me, if you're meant to have children, you'll have them. I know that firsthand.”

Verona nodded. She was too emotional to continue this debate. If she had her wits about her, she would have picked up on the way Michael had said “firsthand” and questioned him a little bit further.

Instead, she opened her purse, which she had grabbed to take with her, and pulled out the resignation letter. With a flourish, she handed it to him.

Michael tore open the sealed envelope. His eyes scanned the letter. Verona tilted her chin higher awaiting his response. Ever so calmly, he ripped the letter in half and placed the contents in her hands.

 

 

“You may be a pastor, but you're a cheat and a thief,” Natalie accused. Her choice of words was harsh but true.

Bishop Combs hung his head. Keith stared at Natalie. “This is what you call going easy on him?” his eyes said.

His assistant shrugged. “What!” her eyes said.

“Bishop, before me and God, please confess,” Keith urged.

The bishop's bottom lip trembled. He raised troubled eyes to Keith in the face. “I meant to return it. It was only a loan.”

“Only a loan?” Natalie held out her hand. “Well, let's have it. I take check, money order, cash, or credit card.”

The bishop sat ramrod straight. His chin lifted in the air. “I'm an elder. You have no right to speak to me with such impertinence.”

Keith spoke up. “Let me speak with the bishop alone.”

He had invited Natalie into the meeting for her to present the spreadsheets, which she had done. She outlined the discrepancies. Then she called the bishop a cheat and a thief.

Natalie opened her mouth to protest but Keith gave her a warning look. “Whatever you say, boss,” she said, stuffing her belongings forcefully into her briefcase, slamming the books closed, and doing anything else to make her displeasure known.

“Deacon Broderson isn't known for discretion,” she said. “He will tell his wife and she's a gossip. It's only a matter of—”

“Natalie?” Keith cut her off. He gestured toward the door.

“Make sure he signs those papers.” She stomped out the room.

Natalie referenced the requisition papers Keith had prepared. In essence it was a legal payment plan.

Bishop Combs hunched over. “What am I going to do? When the board gets wind of this . . .”

“It's not the board you should be worried about,” Keith admonished. “It's God. What does He think? It's the federal government. Trust me when I tell you, the truth comes out.”

The bishop groaned. “I ran into trouble with the mortgage and some other business investments. Suzette needed things, a new car, new wardrobe. I planned on returning it,” Bishop Combs mumbled. “I invested the money in the hopes of making a big return, but that flopped. I'm in over my head. I'm sorry. I'm sorry.” He repeated his apology several times.

Keith tapped the papers. “This is an agreement stating you will repay the foundation in three installments.”

The bishop nodded. His hands trembled as he signed the form. Shame-faced, he said to Keith, “Please don't hold this against me, or God.”

“I don't see this as a reflection against God. Others might. They will add you to the list of hypocritical ministers out there. But not me. You helped counsel me but you're human. I didn't build my foundation on you. Whatever you've done won't shake my foundation or my faith.”

“Good. Good.”

“It will shake others, though,” Keith said. “You did wrong. But, I'm glad you're making amends.”