“He’s dangerous.”
“I know this. We’ve gone over this. Trina is the one who needs security, not me. I have cameras and intercoms all over my house. My office is secure. I’m good.” Lori quickly changed the subject. “Trina deposited money in the account.”
“What?”
“The amount that Fedor was due to pay when they divorced.”
“She didn’t have to do that,” Sam said.
Lori shrugged. “Technically, we did our job.”
“That’s not how I feel.”
“Me either. It feels like blood money.”
“Neither one of us pulled any triggers.”
“I still think we should have known Fedor wasn’t stable.” How many times had Lori kicked herself about that fact?
Sam topped off their glasses of wine. “Let’s just hold on to it for now, pay for her security . . . whatever she needs. If we get through the year without any more from her father-in-law, we’ll donate the rest to suicide awareness or something like that.”
“I like that idea.”
“How is it working out with Avery in your building?”
“I never see her. She’s been in Texas more than in LA. She and Trina really hit it off.”
“I’m thankful for that. I missed the drama at Wentworth’s fundraiser. Gabi said it wasn’t comfortable.”
“We need to do an intervention with Shannon . . . or find her a date.” Lori spent the next thirty minutes and the rest of the bottle of wine discussing the possibility of creating an actual elite dating service.
“You’re suggesting we screen potential suitors as closely as we screen temporary spouses?”
“Anything less and we’re nothing more than an online dating app. And when marriages end, like with Shannon, we offer unlimited dating service. Make sure they have a man on their arm for events like she had last month.”
“Fake dating?”
“Or the real thing. We’d have more clients. We’d need more staff . . . none of which would know the truth about Alliance.”
“I like this idea, Lori.”
“I do, too. Maybe it’s because I’m getting my sexy on with Reed, but I hate to think of anyone without someone to play with.”
Sam sat back, her unruly red hair blowing in her face with the wind off the ocean. “How are things with Reed?”
“They’re really good. Almost too good.”
“Why do you say that?”
“When was the last time too good lasted for me?”
“When was the last time anything lasted for you? I was starting to think of you as the one-night stand lawyer.”
“It’s expected when you’re a divorce attorney.”
“Says you. I’m glad it’s working out.”
“Me too.”
Sam’s housekeeper came outside. “Is Ms. Cumberland staying for dinner?”
Lori shook her head. “No. I’ve gotta get going.”
“You sure?” Sam asked.
“Hot date.”
Lori stood and gathered the papers off the table.
“I’m going to have a small dinner party next week. Can I count on you bringing Reed?”
Lori calculated how many people in her personal life had met Reed and decided the risk was worth it. Besides, he’d already met Sam.
“Let me know the date and time, and I’ll ask him.”
She swung her purse over her shoulder. “Oh, hey . . . did you or Gabi get ahold of Susan Wilson?”
Sam hesitated.
“The woman who approached me at Wentworth’s fundraiser.”
“Ah, yeah . . . Gabi is working on that.”
“Perfect.” She kissed Sam’s cheek. “We’ll talk later.”
Lori needed a night out of the city. She’d hinted that she wanted to see where Reed lived. That wasn’t going to happen.
Not yet.
If ever.
The pit he was sinking in just kept getting deeper. There wasn’t a way to walk away.
Not that he wanted to.
Every time he looked in the mirror, he cringed. His mother wouldn’t be proud, his sisters would probably disown him.
The hardest part was going to be the fall. The moment Lori realized why he was in her life, and the look she’d have on her face . . .
So here he was, putting off the inevitable. Every day was a search to find out how to dig himself out of the hole he’d fallen in.
Hell, he’d kick his own ass if he could.
It was times like this he wished he was Catholic so he could walk into a confessional and scrub all the sin away.
He ran a hand through his hair, grabbed his duffel bag, and stormed out the door. The drive to her condo normally focused him.
Not today.
He texted her from the turnaround. I’m here.
Running a little late. Five minutes.
He took a minute for himself before putting the Jeep into park. He waved at the doorman. “Just picking Lori up.”
The guy waved him on.
A wave to the desk, a smile to the security guard, and he was in the elevator.
He knocked twice before Danny answered. “Hey, Reed. She’s getting ready.”
The keys in his hand dangled on his thumb. “Thanks.” He smiled, looked around the room.
“We won’t be back tonight,” Reed informed him.
“Yeah, Lori told me.”
Reed nodded. What was taking her so long?
“Want something to drink?”
“I’m good.” He wasn’t good, he was anxious, edgy.
“Danny?” Lori walked into the room wearing jeans and a snug T-shirt.
Hot . . . she was so fucking hot. Had he ever seen her in denim? He didn’t think so.
“Hey.” She snuck up on him while his brain was processing her ass in jeans and kissed him quickly. “I could have met you downstairs.”
“That wasn’t how I was raised.”
She walked back toward her room. “Just need to grab my bag.”
Did those hips swing as she walked away?
Damn, he was in trouble.
Danny slapped his arm. “Hey, that’s my sister.”
Reed turned toward him, arms at his side. “You might as well deck me now.”
Lori’s brother burst out laughing.
“No, really.”
The laughter grew until Lori walked back into the room. “Did I miss something?”
Danny grabbed his sister’s suitcase, shoved it in Reed’s hand. “Go, kids. Have a good time . . . and remember”—he waved a hand in the air between the two of them—“use those condoms. Safe sex is the only sex to have.”
Lori walked out the door first.
Before Danny shut the door, Reed turned. “Seriously, dude. One free punch, anytime.”
Instead of a fist, Danny slammed the door in his face; laughter followed them down the hall.
The hotel was on the coast in Santa Barbara, just a couple of hours north. The longer they drove, the more the muscles in her back started to relax. “I love the city,” she said out of nowhere. “But I need to escape it a couple times a month or I go crazy.”
“Have you ever considered moving?”
Had she? Not really. “It fits my lifestyle right now.”
“Santa Monica is a little of both. Just city enough, with an ocean to calm your nerves when you need to just look at nothing.”
“So why Santa Barbara? Why not just take me to your place?”
“I’m a slob.”
“You are not.”
“I am. Never make my bed, don’t have a maid.”
Okay, she did have a maid service. But in her defense, she was almost never home, and when she was, the last thing she wanted to do was push a vacuum.
“My bathroom is never a mess after you leave, and you don’t leave the seat up.”
“My mother and sisters drilled that in.”
“Good for them. Danny is awful.”
Reed glanced at her, returned his eyes to the road up the coast. “I’m glad he stuck around.”
“He’s annoying.”
“You love it.”
“I’m tolerating it. He needs to move on soon or we’re going to be at each other’s throats. I don’t like being in the position of judging his lifestyle.”
“Then don’t.”
“If he wasn’t living with me, I wouldn’t. But when you’re faced with a dreamer, day in and day out, when you’ve somehow been delivered the practical gene, it’s not possible.”
“Your brother is a good guy.”
“I couldn’t agree more. He wouldn’t hurt a flea if he knew it was in pain. He opens doors for women, says thank you to the waiter . . . and tells old women how beautiful they are.”
“Sounds perfect.” Reed’s voice held a slight edge.
“He isn’t employed, Reed, a nonstarter. His idea of the future is whether he can afford the tacos at the local shack or the one-buck menu at McDonald’s. It was cute in college, which, by the way, he has been to and graduated with a freakin’ degree in engineering. But no, that was a way to get through school. I swear he grew up in the wrong era. Should have been a hippie in the sixties.”
“Does he do drugs?”
“A little pot, I think. Not that often. At least not since he’s been in LA.”
Reed bobbed his head as he changed lanes to get around a slow-moving car. “I get it. You’re good for him.”
“How so?”
“Look at you. Successful, driven, you have your life together . . . friends to anchor you. Keep showing him that happiness and he might want it for himself.”
She hadn’t thought about it that way. “He does seem a little different this time.”
“This time?”
“He shows up every couple of years for a few weeks . . . flitters in the guest room, on the couch . . . then leaves with a note saying he’ll see me for turkey. Not this time.”