They’re probably all missionary-type guys anyway—boring.
“Well, well, well, look who’s darkened our doorstep.”
I stand up and slip my phone into my coat pocket. “Good to see you, Walker. Do you have a moment?”
He looks me up and down, and I’d swear his eyes become hooded, but I know better. He likes his women so thin they look like they’d break in half. I’ve got child-bearing hips, breasts that are more than a handful and have pointed down since I was twelve, not to mention wild, curly, blond hair that has a mind of its own.
“Of course.” He looks over his shoulder. “Geoffrey, may we step into the parlor for a few moments?”
“Of course, sir.”
Walker opens his arms, and I step three paces into a room I hadn’t noticed. “Thank you.”
The room smells like old cigar smoke, and two leather chairs are turned toward a billiard table. Walker points to the chairs.
“No, thank you. I only want to ask a favor.” I push my hands into my pockets and bite the inside of my cheek. I hate this man, but I need to control myself.
“You are always asking for favors,” he says slowly.
I shrug. “Your little minions are always gunning for my clients, who we both know are your future donors.”
“What do you need?”
“Assistant US Attorney Miguel Garcia to step back from Elena Tuskan.”
“Her stockholders are furious with her.” Walker knows precisely why I’m here.
“That’s the only reason they’re selling off this morning,” I explain. “She’s the major stockholder and can take the financial hit.”
Walker steps toward me, and I don’t realize I’m backing up until the billiard table hits my thighs. “Why are you the only one who seems to get favors from me?” He’s so close his breath warms my neck.
It takes me a moment to collect myself. “Because I did you a favor and put your dick in my mouth.” I wince internally. That’s a bit of a low blow. If I’m honest, he broke my heart, and the favors are all payback.
Walker smiles. “That’s true. Why are Elena and her head of manufacturing fighting on Chirp?”
“Because he broke up with her, and her feelings are hurt.” I glance down at his long fingers and remember what he’s done to me with them. I clear my throat. “She’ll take a hit financially, but she’s stressed. Everything will be back to normal in a few days.”
“And if they aren’t?”
“Then she’ll be without money, and no one will fund her again since she’s too emotional.”
He takes a few steps around the table and picks up one of the balls. “You know, you’ll owe me—again.”
I nod and purse my lips, waiting for the day I’m the one he calls to cover his ass when he fucks up.
He rolls the ball around in his hand and then sends it across the table. “I will call in that favor one of these days.”
“I’d expect nothing less.”
He stares at me, and if it was anyone else, I’d swear he was thinking about my lips on his dick again. But he made it clear when we were fifteen that there would never be a repeat, and he always keeps his word.
“I’ll talk to Mr. Garcia.”
“Thank you.” I turn to leave, and he reaches around me to open the door.
“One of these days I’m going to make you pay up,” he reminds me.
“My checkbook will be ready.”
My phone rings that evening, and I roll my eyes. It’s almost eight thirty, but I have a few more hours of work before I can go home and start all over again tomorrow. Elena has been a mess all day. Sometimes I’m part lawyer, part therapist for her. I also have another client dealing with an ex who bugged his phone and harassed him and his wife. I have a small list of clients, but when it rains, it always pours, and these days I’m drinking from a firehose.
I reach for the phone, and the caller ID tells me it’s my mother. If I don’t answer, I know she’ll keep calling.
“Hello, Mamma.” I run my hands through my hair. It only makes the curls frizz, but it’s a habit.
“Sweetheart, are you coming on Saturday to my party?” my mother asks in her rich Italian accent.
“Yes, Mamma. I told you I’d be there.” She’s going to call every day to make sure. That’s probably three more calls.
“I think you should wear that pretty pink dress that brings out the pink in your cheeks.”
I’m not sure it fits right now. I haven’t been good about working out recently, and I order takeout three meals a day.
I roll my eyes. “Mamma, that’s a summer dress. I’ll be cold.”
“Nonsense. You have beautiful shoulders. It’s a great dress.”
It has a full skirt and makes my waist look tiny, but my boobs fall out of the top. My mother is up to something. Someone is coming to the party, and she’s playing matchmaker.
“Mamma? Who have you invited to the party?”
“Family. Friends. You know, the usual suspects.”
She’s trying to brush it off, but I know she’s up to something. For all I know, it could be her gynecologist. She does that.
“Why do I think you’re forgetting someone?”
“I promise you, there’s no set-up going on. Just come and look gorgeous.”
“I may have a date. Can I bring a plus one?” I don’t, but this will temper her expectations.
“Of course, but warn him that your brothers will put him
