Peter sighs again, this time without as much gusto, because he knows Leary is right. “Fine. I’ll report he didn’t show,” Peter says as he grabs his briefcase and heads toward the door. “If you’ll copy me with your motion for sanctions, Miss Michaels?”
Leary nods her head and starts packing up all of the materials she had just so painstakingly laid out. I know she’s pissed, but I also know she’s hurt. She’s put so much energy into this case, has so much emotion tied up in it, I know she was relishing being able to lay it all out to us, hoping beyond hope that maybe it could get resolved today and prevent her client from going through a lengthy and painful trial.
Peter leaves, giving me a nod of his head, and the door shuts behind him.
“Leary . . . I’m sorry—”
“Don’t,” she hisses at me, her venomous gaze slicing and burning through me. “Don’t say a fucking word.”
Yeah, that won’t do.
“Leary . . . I had no clue he wasn’t going to show up,” I tell her gently but firmly.
“You expect me to believe that?”
“I do,” I say simply.
“You know,” she says, an edge of hysteria in her voice as she slams items into her briefcase, “I actually do believe that. I guess what I can’t wrap my head around is how you can work for someone with so little soul as to not see the merits of this case. Not see how badly your client has fucked up Jenna’s life. Who doesn’t even have the decency to show up and tell me to my face they won’t offer a dime.”
My heart twists over the anger-laced pain in her voice. But I’m also angered, because she can’t blame me for my line of work. She knew it about me from the start. “If I’m such a terrible person for who I’m working for, then why are you with me, Leary? Why do you let me inside your body? Why do you even let me inside your world?”
She lowers her face and shakes her head. Her voice is whisper-soft and sad. “I don’t know. I really just don’t know.”
My gut feels hollow. I’m losing her, and I didn’t expect it would happen so fast. “Listen, let’s go out and get an early dinner and talk about this. These things happen in cases, and you can’t take it so personally.”
“But I do,” she says, her eyes raising to mine again. “I do take it personally, and that will never change about me.”
“Then explain it to me,” I coax her. “Let’s go get a drink, something to eat. You can tell me why this is so important to you. I’ll listen and I’ll understand.”
She stares at me a moment, indecision in her eyes. Then I watch as her spine stiffens and she picks up the last of her materials, putting them in her briefcase and snapping it shut. “I can’t. I have plans.”
“With who?” I grit out.
“Ford. We’re going to dinner.”
Rage flushes through me, white-hot and blinding. “You have plans with Ford?”
“Not yet,” she says as she walks toward the door. “But I will in about fifteen minutes.”
I grab her arm as she brushes by me. She looks at me in defiance.
“Are you doing this to punish me?” I ask menacingly.
She smirks at me, and while I’ve always loved Leary’s honesty, I can’t say I love it now when she says, “Yes. That’s exactly what I’m doing.”
My hand falls away from her. “That’s the way of it, then?”
Her chin raises up and her eyes are frosty. “That’s the way of it.”
“So be it,” I tell her, a deadly calm overtaking me.
Grabbing my briefcase, I open the door and walk out. I don’t give her a backward glance.
CHAPTER 15
LEARY
Ford’s car pulls up to the curb in front of my house. I stare at him through the living-room window as he gets out and walks up the sidewalk. Moving toward the door, I open it before he can knock.
“Thanks for coming over,” I say softly, stepping back so he can enter.
“Of course I was going to come over,” he says with a worried look on his face.
I wasn’t sure he’d come. Not with him ignoring me for the past few weeks. I was surprised when he picked up my phone call as I sat behind my desk, trying to stop the frantic beating of my heart.
I was still pissed and hurt over what happened, but I was also scared. Reeve’s last words had a finality to them, and after I took a moment to process, I realized that I think he was saying good-bye to me.
When Ford answered the phone, my voice instantly cracked and I barely managed to get out, “Hey, Ford.”
“What’s wrong?” he immediately responded, knowing that I rarely get emotional about anything.
“Oh, nothing,” I said, my voice quavering.
“Leary, what’s wrong?” he repeated, his voice strong and unrelenting.
“I need . . . um . . . I just really need to talk to you. I need a friend,” I said, and had to bite the inside of my cheek to stop from crying.
“I’m at a hearing in Vance County. I can be at your house in about two hours,” he said, and just like that, my friend was back.
And now he’s here in my house.
Clasping my hands together, I chew on my bottom lip while Ford looks at me with eagle eyes. I open my mouth, not sure what to say. How do I pour my heart out when I haven’t even been willing to admit my heart is involved with Reeve?
Ford’s gaze turns sympathetic. He opens his arms and says gruffly, “Come here.”
And I do.
I walk right into his embrace, lay my head on his chest, and give a heaving sigh. His arms wrap around me, solidly and with care and comfort only. He presses his lips on top of my head and says, “It’s going to be okay. Let me just hug you a minute, then you can tell me all about your problems with Reeve.”
I give a tiny laugh, a little on the maniacal side, and squeeze him around his ribs. “Deal.”
Finally I pull away and pat him on the chest. Looking up into his handsome face, I say, “Come on. I picked up some fruit and cheeses at Fresh Market. We can crack a bottle of wine, and you can listen to me pour my heart out.”
I lead Ford into the living room, where I have the food and wine laid out. He takes a seat on one end of my couch, and I sit on my love seat, curling my feet up under me. Pointing at the spread, I urge him, “Go on and eat.”
“Aren’t you going to?” he asks as he leans forward to grab a cracker and cheese.
“In a bit,” I say, because right now, my stomach is churning too hard to handle food.
Ford pops the cracker in his mouth and leans forward to pour some wine while he chews. He pours two glasses and raises from the couch slightly to hand me a glass.
“So, is this weird?” I ask him as he sits back down and takes a handful of grapes.
“What?” he asks with a grin. “Talking to your ex-lover about your current lover?”
“Well, yeah, that’s pretty much what I was going for.”
“Not weird,” he says with a smile. “We’re friends, Leary. That’s always been first.”