Break Even Read online

  “As far as I know. Do you have a problem with that?”

  He grins. Cocky ass. “No. He just seems like he deserves worse … and you deserve better.”

  “There’s this line,” I start, motioning my finger between us. “You’re not allowed to cross it.”

  He laughs. “I wasn’t hitting on you. I can have any woman I want on any night that I want her. A married lawyer doesn’t even rank on that list.” I stare back down at the paperwork before he has the chance to see through me. A lawyer must not hit the top of Cole’s list lately either.

  “You can leave now,” I announce, not bothering to look up.

  “There’s one more thing.”

  “I’m listening.” I sigh.

  “There’s a club opening tonight. The guy who runs it went through something similar with the city. Thought it might be good for you two to talk.”

  I look back up, but it doesn’t last long. I can’t place it, but there’s something about the way he glares at me. I don’t like it. “Leave me his number, and I’ll get permission to talk to his attorney.”

  “Do you always stare blankly at your desk when you have paying clients in your office?” he asks, voice smokier than it had been.

  He dares me.

  I accept. For the first time, I stare long enough to actually see the color of his eyes—a blue so pale and vivid they remind me of a laser beam.

  “I do when they don’t have appointments.”

  Those laser eyes narrow in on me, scanning my entire body. “It’s a good thing you’re not my type.”

  “And why’s that?”

  He leans a little closer. “I won’t be tempted to fuck you. I’d hate to have to hire a new attorney.”

  My jaw drops. Beatrice picks this exact moment to come in with two piping hot cups of coffee. Her eyes lock on mine. If she doesn’t see how badly I want him out of here after all these years of working together, she hasn’t paid enough attention.

  “Mrs. Mason,” she says as she sets the cups down on my desk. “Your 9:30 appointment is waiting.”

  I smile. She’s good. “Thank you. Tell him I’ll be done in a couple minutes.”

  “Will do.” Her gaze catches mine one last time as she walks out the door. She winks. That woman is definitely banned from retiring. Ever.

  My attention shoots straight back to my client. “You’re crude.”

  “See, you already know everything there is to know about me.” His pink lips press to the black coffee cup. “By the way, I’m not leaving you his number. You’re coming with me tonight.”

  Oh, hell no!

  “I have plans.”

  “Cancel them.”

  I laugh out loud, spinning around in my chair. “My work is done in the office or the court room. Rules are rules, and I’m not bending them for you.”

  He scoots closer. I back up my chair.

  “I’ll pay double your regular hourly rate,” he chides.

  “I’m not a hooker, Mr. Holtz.” I’ve had other clients who have tested my patience—most of them do—but no one has ever come at me quite like this. I worked at a small firm right out of law school that took on petty criminals. The type of cases we could make a few bucks on without having to do much discovery. Some of the men would stare at me, especially if they’d been in lock up for more than a few days. River Holtz is different. Power and money sway.

  “Your husband told me you’re the best. I want the best, and I’m willing to pay for it,” he adds, softening his expression. His rebel-like good looks probably haven’t hurt either.

  I can practically hear Cole telling him that on the phone … hear his voice. It boils up some of the memories from this morning, but I quickly bury them.

  “My husband is a smart man.”

  “Prove it,” he says, obviously baiting me.

  Cole is going to hear about this tonight. He’s knocked me so far out of my comfort zone it’s not even funny.

  “Where and what time?”

  One side of his lips curl; he wins. “I’ll pick you up at ten.”

  “Ten?” I ask, almost falling out of my chair. Court starts at eight tomorrow.

  “That’s what I said. He’ll meet us at 10:30 after the opening festivities.” I pass him a piece of paper and a pen.

  “Write down the address. I’ll meet you there.”

  “I said I’d pick you up,” he says, refusing to take them from me.

  “And, I’m meeting you halfway. I’ll go to the club with you, but I’m driving myself. Take it or leave it.”

  Shaking his head, he grabs the pen. “He didn’t mention you were stubborn.”

  “He didn’t tell me you were so difficult,” I hit back. He passes me back the pad of paper. The address is familiar, but it’s at least a half hour from my house.

  Tomorrow is going to suck.

  “Don’t be late,” he says as he stands. “Or you’ll see how difficult I can be.”

  “Goodbye, Mr. Holtz. I have a client waiting.”

  “Don’t you need me to sign some sort of a contract or something?”

  I force a smile, crossing my arms over my chest. “Let’s see how tonight goes. I get to pick my clients the same way you get to pick your lawyer.”

  His thumb runs along his lower lip, drawing my attention. “This is going to be interesting.”

  “Yes, it is,” I answer back, opening the door for him. If that isn’t enough of a hint, I don’t know what is.

  He reaches his hand out before crossing the threshold. I take it, reluctantly. He uses his strength to draw me in close—on the edge of too close. “Wear something nice,” he whispers, his warm breath hitting my cheek.

  Speechless, I watch him walk out the door, still feeling where his fingers touched mine. I wonder if he noticed the waiting room is empty. I wonder if he felt my eyes on him the whole way out. I wonder a lot of things about River Holtz.

  “Beatrice!” I shout from the doorway.

  “Coming!” she yells back. Her smile falls when she sees my face. If stress were a spring trend, I’d be wearing it like Gisele.

  “I need you to gather everything you can on Mr. Holtz. Everything.”

  “Anything else?” she asks.

  “Yeah, can you call Robyn and tell her I’m not going to make girls’ night?”

  She reaches forward as if she wants to take my temperature. Wine is my religion. “Is everything okay?”

  “I’ve been better,” I say honestly. “Do you know when Cole’s plane lands?”

  “He booked his own flight. Should I try calling him?”

  Shaking my head, I reply, “No, he’s only been gone a couple of hours. He’s probably in the air. I’ll try him before lunch.”

  “Good idea.”

  As she walks away, I stand in the same spot, watching her but not really seeing her. Life has never been this lonely. To an outsider, I have it all—the job, the husband, and the house—but inside I’m nearly empty. Hell, I’ve been running on these fumes for over a year.

  I can’t go on much longer … not like this.

  COLE DIDN’T ANSWER BEFORE I left for my lunch meeting. He didn’t answer after lunch either. So I asked Beatrice to try the top of every hour so I could work on my arguments for tomorrow’s hearing. It’s been three hours. This isn’t abnormal for us; there are lots of days he’s out of town that I never hear from him. He used to … he used to call me every night before bed and during the day as he could. It’s just another way we’ve changed.

  “Maybe he landed late and had to rush off to his meeting,” Beatrice says when she brings in what must be my eighth cup of coffee today.

  “What time did his calendar say the meeting was supposed to end?” I ask again.

  “Three. They’re one hour behind so he should be about done. He has another at four, though.” I nod, pulling out my cell phone as she closes the door.

  Marley: I need you to call me.

  Ten minutes go by with no reply. And not a single word is added
to the argument I’ve been working on all afternoon either.

  Marley: I’m going clubbing with River Holtz tonight.

  Only ten seconds pass and my phone rings. “Hello,” I answer, trying not to sound like the very pissed off wife that I am. I can’t think of one single day—case or no case—that I haven’t had a chance to pick up the phone for a few minutes.

  “Why the hell are you going to a club with him?”

  “Research,” I answer back.

  “At a club?”

  “Yes. Apparently, the owner recently had the building rezoned so we’re going to chat.”

  “And you have to ‘chat’ in a club?”

  “What else would you like me to do, Cole? You’re gone. I’m here.”

  “Is this why you’ve been calling me all afternoon? Do you need my permission, or do you need me to get you out of it? I won’t give you the benefit of the first, but I will call the bastard and tell him he can find a new attorney.”

  “It’s not a big deal,” I lie, tapping my eraser against the desk. I nearly forgot the reason I wanted to speak to him in the first place. “Do you have anything on him besides what’s in the file? It’s pretty thin, and I need more.”

  He sighs. “You’re not really going to do this, are you?”

  “Why shouldn’t I?”

  “Jesus, Marley, if this is to get back at me for—”

  “It’s not. I’m over it,” I interject. Two lies in less than a minute. Karma is really going to bite me in the ass for this one. “Do you have any more on him or not?”

  I practically hear him scoffing through the phone. “I don’t. It was a last minute thing, and I didn’t have much time to research before I left.”

  “I’ll make it work,” I say, standing from my chair to peer out the window. The view is the only reason I chose this office. It’s the tallest building for a few blocks, granting me a glimpse of the ocean in the distance. I focus on the crystal blue when I need time to clear the fog that I always seem to find myself in.

  “Don’t be mad, babe. I hate doing this to you—the fact that I can’t be there for you.” Job first, Marley second. That’s how it always is.

  “I’m not mad. Mr. Holtz is high maintenance. It caught me off guard, that’s all.”

  “If you want to drop him, then drop him. We don’t need his money.”

  My fingertips trace a careful line above my brow. He’s right; we certainly don’t need River’s money, but just as much as he infuriates me, he tests me. My days are generally filled with lawsuits filed against big businesses because of failed drugs, broken contracts, or ownership disagreements. My clients are usually boring, suited—obscure, really.

  River Holtz might be the change I need—a challenge.

  “I can handle it, so I’m taking it,” I finally answer, even though I know I might regret it later.

  “Fine. But call me if you need anything, all right? I have another meeting, then I’m having dinner with the board, but I’ll do my best to answer.” He says a lot of things he doesn’t mean these days, and it’s really starting to piss me off.

  “I should get going. I have to finish my arguments for tomorrow before I can leave the office tonight.”

  “If things get bad, just leave. Okay? You don’t have to prove yourself to anyone.”

  “You don’t have to worry about me,” I say, my eyes rolling at the comment.

  “But I do.” His voice is somehow softer. I want to replay it over and over again so I can listen to it when the constant doubt creeps back in. More than anything, I want to believe it.

  “Will you call me tomorrow between meetings?” I ask, feeling tears prick my eyes. I need him more than I like to think.

  “You know I will. What time do you think your hearing will be over?”

  “Shouldn’t go much past lunch.”

  “I still don’t like that you’re going with him tonight,” he admits.

  “And I really don’t like that you’re gone, and that I have to deal with this myself,” I shoot back.

  “I’ll make it up to you. I promise. I’ll take you somewhere this weekend.” We go away most weekends, and it’s wonderful. But everything is routine again by Monday, and it’s as if the time we spent together was only a distant memory.

  “Love you,” I say, needing to put an end to this. We could go around in circles for hours and end up back in the same place.

  “Love you, too.” The phone clicks. My head spins so fast sometimes. I love him. I truly, deeply love him, but sometimes I have to search forever to remember how I fell in the first place. And what that even feels like anymore. He’s here, and our life is good, or at least I do a good job convincing myself that it’s good. I just don’t want this to be as good as it gets for us.

  The first day I met him on campus, I’d locked my keys in my car along with my cell phone, and he walked up to me with an amused grin on his face. His boy next door looks set me at ease—thick brown hair, deep blue eyes and perfectly full lips. It was only a few weeks into law school, and I was pretty sure I’d just failed my first major exam. It was a day from hell, but somehow he saved me.

  Love—or even a relationship—was the absolute last on my priority list. One date turned to two, and we stuck through it with each other all through law school. He made me laugh and that charm relieved all of my stress. It forced me to remember there was more to life than law books.

  He proposed a couple years after I took my first professional legal position. We married eighteen months later and both spent the next year being groomed to take over his father’s firm. The years since have had their ups and downs.

  And now, we’re in the deepest hole we’ve ever been. I won’t give up as long as I feel there’s a way out of the routine. I’d climb until my fingers bled if it meant I’d still have him.

  Resting my forehead against the window, I gently pound my knuckles against the glass. I should have yelled at him when I had the chance, because I wouldn’t be feeling this screwed up inside if I let him shoulder some of the burden of our fucked up relationship. I don’t think he feels it, or if he does, he doesn’t show it. Sometimes, I wonder if maybe I’m the one who has changed. Blame is a hard thing to cast when you can’t recall when things started to go so wrong.

  The door clicks shut, startling me. Beatrice waits until I turn around to say anything. “Is there anything else I can get you before I take off?” she asks hesitantly.

  My husband.

  A baby.

  Love.

  “No. No. Go ahead and get out of here. I just need to wrap this up, and then I need to get the hell out of here too.”

  She narrows her eyes on me. “Are you sure you don’t need any help?”

  “Yes! Now, get out of here before Joe calls and asks where his supper is,” I laugh, waving her off.

  “Okay. Have a good night, Marley.”

  Glancing up, I notice it’s almost six. If I’m out of here by seven, I’ll make it home by 7:30, giving myself plenty of time to eat and get ready for my late night meeting … my anything but typical business meeting with the mysterious River Holtz.

  Seven o’clock turned into eight. Dinner turned into a yogurt and a handful of almonds.

  By nine, I’m standing in front of my mirror adding a few waves to my long, straight blonde hair. My make-up from this morning held up, but I brush on a darker shadow to give my hazel eyes a smoky look and apply a darker shade of lip-gloss. Finding something to wear is a little more difficult. Cole and I attend business dinners often so I have a collection of cocktail dresses; they’re just not what you’d probably see in a club.

  I eye the dress I wore when Cole and I went to Turks and Caicos last winter. It’s a thin, skin-hugging material—deep, silky purple. The sleeves hit just above my elbow, the back is open and the seam touches mid-thigh. Nothing I would usually consider wearing to a business meeting, but this one is different. It’s not every day I hold meetings at a nightclub.

  I slip it on and fi
nish the look off with a thick gold bracelet that loosely slides up to the middle of my forearm, and my four-inch gold heels.

  I imagine Cole standing at the bottom of the stairs as I walk down. I imagine him drinking in every inch of my body with lust-filled eyes. I imagine us never leaving, making love on the stairs. I imagine exactly what we used to be—when I felt like I was everything to him just as he is to me. I’d give up this house and all our success to go back to us. Instead, I push the thoughts away.

  The ups.

  The downs.

  They’d overwhelm even the strongest of souls.

  It’s almost ten by the time I finally get out of the house. From our short meeting earlier, I gather Mr. Holtz won’t take well to me being late, so I break some speed limits on my way, hoping for clear traffic.

  My stomach somersaults at the thought of having to see him again, especially in his territory … on his terms. This isn’t going to be as easy as kicking him out of my office when I tire of his antics. I roll up to the valet at 10:20 and hand off my keys.

  A man at least a foot taller than I am stands at the front door with a clipboard in hand. “Name?” he asks, not bothering to look me in the eye.

  “Marley Mason. I’m a guest of River Holtz.”

  The clipboard lowers, and his eyes scan the length of my body.

  “You sure are,” he remarks, shaking his head. “Through the door and take a right. You’ll see a lit spiral staircase. Once you get up there, you should be able to find him in the group.”

  “Thanks,” I say, nervously squeezing my clutch. What the hell was I thinking?

  The music pumps loudly through the speakers as I enter, and the lights flashing from above briefly illuminate the faces of those in the packed club.

  I pull my eyes from the décor and head to the glowing gold stairs. The nerves I feel with each step cause my heart to beat a little faster. I’m in awe when I walk into what must be the VIP section; the floors glow an electric blue and large gold bulbs hang from the ceiling at different lengths. Rich brown leather chairs and couches fill the space, as do gorgeous women wearing even less than I am. Men are few and far between, but the ones I see are wearing their money. I can’t remember the last time I felt so out of place.