Dad stood at the window, his hands behind his back, staring at the protesters. Their chants sounded faintly through the paneled walls and heavy draperies. Matt took several steps across the hand-knotted Persian rug before he realized Dad wasn’t alone. Brandon lounged in one of the oxblood leather Queen Anne side chairs, looking relaxed with one leg cocked up over the knee of the other.
What the hell?
“Sit,” Dad commanded with a backward wave at the second wing chair.
“Brandon, what brings you out this way?” Matt asked as he crossed the room toward the chairs. He stopped to shake Brandon’s hand.
Brandon, one of his oldest friends, gave him only fleeting eye contact. Matt shook off his concern and focused on the remnants of his fury. He took a seat, crossed his legs, and waited.
Dad finally turned away from the window with a long, exasperated sigh. He settled into the gigantic leather chair behind his desk and leaned forward. “Matthew, I have two words for you: Jerry Beyer.”
“Who?”
Dad rolled his eyes—an expression Matt had seen all his life. When Dad rolled his eyes like that it always meant that Matt had screwed up something that Dad regarded as inherently simple. “You’re kidding me, right?” Dad said. “What kind of idiot are you?”
Matt clamped his teeth together.
Dad turned toward Brandon. “Explain it to him.”
“Jerry Beyer is the CEO of GB Ventures, LLC,” Brandon said.
A few puzzle pieces fell into place. “Oh, okay. I get it. I imagine he’s not happy. So what?”
“Jerry is one of Heather’s biggest contributors,” Brandon said slowly, as if Matt were too stupid to understand. Heather was David’s sister. She also happened to represent Jefferson County in the United States House of Representatives. Last fall, Brandon had rejected a job here at LL&K to go to work on her Capitol Hill staff.
“Jerry is furious,” Brandon added. “He’s threatening to withdraw his support this fall unless David calls his mother-in-law off, which David has refused to do.”
“Maybe not taking money from GB Ventures’s CEO would be a good thing,” Matt said, meeting his friend’s stare. “Come on, Brandon. You don’t want Heather taken down because of the crap that’s going on here, do you?”
“Who says there’s any crap going on? The Jefferson County Chamber of Commerce named Jerry Beyer its man of the year last year precisely because of what he’s done to improve things. He’s single-handedly responsible for a lot of the growth we’ve seen the last couple of years.”
“Growth that has displaced people who have lived here for generations.”
“Come on. We’re talking about progress. We’re talking about growing the county’s tax base. We’re talking about jobs.”
Matt shook his head. “I’ll give you the tax base but not the jobs. The people being displaced are the ones who work for Uncle Jamie harvesting grapes and tending apple orchards. Or the people working for Willow at Eagle Hill Manor. Where are those people going to live when every house in Jefferson County costs half a million dollars? And besides that, it’s wrong for the county to help a single developer buy land at less than fair market value. That’s a distortion of the market.”
Dad slapped his hand down on his desk. “Enough! Matthew, I told you weeks ago that I wanted you to drop this issue. Why didn’t you?”
Matt stood up. “Because I cared about my client. The people living in Dogwood Estates have all lost their homes because of Jerry Beyer. And if Heather wants to associate herself with a guy like that, then so be it. But if that’s what she’s about, she isn’t going to get my vote in November.”
Dad stood up. “I don’t give a damn about your vote. It’s your loyalty that I question. I need to know that the people associated with this firm are being honest with me. You and Arwen Jacobs have broken that trust. You’ve given me no other choice but to fire the both of you.
“Get your stuff and leave the office immediately. Marie will escort you out of the building.”
Drinking alone at the Jaybird Café was a pathetic habit—one Courtney would try to break next week, or maybe the week after that, when her broken heart had mended. For now, the Jaybird’s exposed-brick walls and scuffed pine floors were like a second home. And the barstools were surprisingly comfortable, even in the afternoon.
She intended to anesthetize herself before Ryan Pierce showed up and gave her a lecture. She had just finished her first Manhattan when Arwen strode through the front door at 3:00 p.m., pale-faced and red-nosed.
Another wave of fury washed over Courtney. How dare Matt make Arwen cry? Courtney hopped down from the barstool and intercepted her friend. “Oh, honey, I told you not to tangle with that guy. He’s a total jerk. Come over to the bar, and I’ll buy you as many margaritas as you need. I’ve missed you.”
She wrapped Arwen in a big hug, willing to forgive her for kissing Matt because, really, Matt was to blame. How was someone like Arwen going to resist Matthew, especially with all his poetry and romance?
“And I forgive you for everything.”
Arwen pulled back. “What are you talking about?”
“Matt is responsible for everything. I—”
Arwen shook her head and turned her back as she stalked to the bar. “Oh, come on, Courtney. Don’t. You’ve got to stop judging people that way.”
“But…” Courtney’s voice faded out as she followed Arwen back to the bar.
“Where’s Rory?” Arwen asked Steve, the afternoon bartender.
Steve shrugged. “I don’t know. His shift doesn’t start until five thirty.”
Arwen checked her watch. “Damn.”
“Can I get you something to drink?” Steve asked Arwen.
Arwen drummed her fingers on the bar top for a long moment before she spoke. “Yeah, I guess. I’ll take a margarita, frozen, with salt.” Then she turned toward Courtney.
