Since the charity event at the Marriott, he’s been completely absent from my life. This bothers me, because while I don’t miss the sexual intimacy we’ve shared from time to time, I miss his friendship and wisdom.
Resolved to put this out on the table with Ford, I start to pick up my phone to buzz his office when Midge responds to my e-mail.
Be glad to handle reporter. Come talk to me first, though. Bring me up to speed on the case. I feel like drinking a whiskey and I don’t like drinking alone.
My heart starts racing.
I’ve been summoned. I’m being granted entrance into the reclusive Midge Payne’s inner domain. I hate whiskey, but I’ll gladly drink one with her just to spend some time in her presence.
I snicker to myself over the dramatics of my thoughts. It’s true, I don’t see Midge a lot, as she truly does hole herself up in her office. But we have sat down for some meetings on occasion over the years. But just because I don’t have many face-to-faces with her doesn’t mean we don’t communicate. I talk to her several times a week through e-mail or on the phone, and over the years we’ve developed an easy personal and professional relationship.
My call to Ford forgotten, I shoot Midge back a quick e-mail that I’m on my way. Because I immediately get up from my desk and start across the Pit toward her office, I’m betting that I might actually beat my e-mail there.
Her secretary looks up as I approach, giving me a warm smile. “You can go right in, Leary. She’s expecting you.”
“Thank you, Danielle,” I say while smoothing down my dress and straightening the scarf around my neck.
Deep breath in, slow breath out, and I open the door to Midge’s office.
“Leary,” she says as I walk in. “You’re looking stunning as ever.”
I appreciate that sentiment from Midge, but she’s the one who looks stunning. Her hair is sleek and shiny, her makeup flawless, and she’s rocking a pair of tan skinny jeans, over-the-knee black boots with four-inch heels, and an off-the-shoulder black sweater.
Midge is standing at the minibar that is recessed into her bookshelves. When she turns my way, she has two tumblers of neat whiskey in her hand. I have no clue what the brand is—never asked the one other time I drank one with her, when I got my partnership. She keeps her liquors in beautiful Waterford decanters, and only she is privy to what’s actually in those bottles. Knowing Midge, it’s expensive stuff.
“Let’s sit on the couch,” Midge says as she hands me the heavy highball glass. The cuts in the crystal make the dark-amber liquid inside shimmer.
Midge sits on one end of a plush cream-colored couch, and I sit on the other. I lean on my hip and cross my legs. Midge merely pulls one of her legs up under her and slings her free hand over the back of the couch.
“So, how have you been doing, kiddo?” she asks.
This is what I love about Midge. I hardly ever see her, but it’s like that doesn’t matter. When she talks to me, it’s with absolute interest and obvious concern. She might not socialize with her minions, but I know without a doubt she cares deeply for all of us.
“I’m good,” I tell her truthfully. “Jenna’s case is coming along well. Our experts are going to shred theirs, and Dr. Summerland is a douche. The jury’s going to hate him.”
She nods and takes a sip of her drink. “Send me over a very short summary of our theory of negligence and the opinions that bolster it. Then I’ll call that reporter back.”
“I’ll send it before I leave for the day.”
“Now, what about Jenna? How is she going to do on the stand?” Midge asks.
“She’s nervous but she’ll be fine. I think the jury is going to empathize with her.”
“Will they forgive her for being a dancer?” Midge asks wisely.
“Yeah, she’s got good reason to do it. Her kid and all. She’s clean, no drugs or alcohol. No criminal record. Just a hardworking mom who took an unconventional job to support an autistic child.”
Midge nods and rubs her thumb over the edge of her glass. “Any potential problems?”
“Not so far,” I tell her. “The insurance adjuster is a jackass. Doubt they’ll offer anything at mediation, so this is probably going to go all the way.”
Leaning over, Midge gives me a pat on my knee. When she sits back, she shoots me a confident smile. “I’m not worried. You have this one in the bag.”
God, I hope so.
I haven’t been able to even think about the possibility of losing. The actual thought of letting Jenna down is too terrifying to give credence.
“Now that business is out of the way, tell me, how are you doing personally?” Midge asks.
Taking a sip of my whiskey, valiantly able to not grimace, I give her a smile. “I’m good.”
“Got a man in your life?” she asks me point-blank, and I have to contain the surprise on my face. Midge has never shown any interest in my personal life before. Does she know about Reeve?
“Why do you ask?” I say carefully, then take another sip of the whiskey for fortification.
“Why do you ask why I ask?” she asks with a mischievous grin. She scoots a little closer to me on the couch and gives me a hopeful look. “What are you hiding from me, Leary Michaels?”
What the hell is going on here? She has to know about Reeve to be pushing me like this.
I decide to show the moxie that Midge insisted I find within myself all those years ago. Narrowing my eyes at her, I ask pointedly, “Okay, what’s going on here? Why the interest in my love life?”
Midge blinks at me in surprise, and then her face bursts into a smile. She scoots closer to me on the couch and slaps at my arm. “Okay, fine. You got me. I’m dying to know about you and Ford.”
“Me and Ford?” I ask stupidly.
“Yes. There’s something between you two. I’ve known it for years. I mean, hell, why do you think I assigned him as your mentor? I knew he’d teach you to be a brilliant litigator and an even better seductress.”
Sometimes this woman is too frightening in her foresight.
I go ahead and decide to be honest, since there’s no reason to lie. “He’s done both well, Midge. But there’s nothing between us other than friendship.”
The smile drops from her face, and her brow furrows in confusion as her gaze drops to her lap. “I don’t understand. I talked to Ford the other day, and I just thought . . .”
“What did Ford say to make you think something was there?” I ask carefully, because I can’t imagine him ever saying something to Midge about our relationship—or lack thereof right now.
“Nothing, really. Maybe I misunderstood,” she says distractedly.
“Misunderstood what?” I prompt.
“It’s just, we were talking the other day on the phone, and I asked him about the charity event, and he said he went with you. I’ve known Ford a lot longer than you and had no qualms asking him if there was something going on. He quickly denied it. So quickly, in fact, I was sure he was hiding something. I just assumed, but I guess I was wrong.”
“You’re wrong,” I assure her. “Ford and I have had . . . um . . . relations in the past, but it was a no-strings involvement. It’s truly a good friendship.”
At least I hope it’s still a friendship. I have no clue, because he won’t sit down two minutes with me so I can find out.
“Oh, well,” she says with another bright smile. “You’re still too young and ambitious to get tied down, anyway.”
Normally, I would agree with that statement from Midge, but for the first time in my adult life, I actually long to be tied to someone like Reeve. We’re so perfectly matched in so many ways that I find myself yearning for his company, both in and out of the bedroom. This is a complete about-face in my philosophy on life and love.