“Nice color.” I put my hands behind my back.
“Yeah.” He scratched his neck. “I guess Baker had it done to surprise me.”
“Guess so.” I strolled toward him, pretending to examine the work. “Looks like it needs another coat. I’ll see if I can find the paint and finish it up for you.”
“Uh, sure.”
“Have you decided what you want to do with the floors?”
He glanced down. “Get rid of this nasty shit.”
“That’s a given.”
“I haven’t thought much about this room. It’s the least important.”
I nodded. “I’m going to get to it.”
I was almost to the door when he spoke. “We missed you last night.”
My brother hadn’t meant that as a dig. Hadn’t meant for it to hurt. The genuineness was written all over his face. But it was painful. Because I’d missed more time with my family.
What was there to say to that?
Once I had my paint supplies set up, I dug in my purse for my phone. Instead of it, I found two sleeves of crackers and a bottle of ginger ale dotted with beads of sweat.
I swayed into the desk.
My hands trembled as I opened the crackers and fished a few out. He couldn’t do this. He couldn’t be nice to me when I was so awful.
I sipped on the ginger ale and found my phone. I typed out a thank you text. Erased it. Typed another version of it. Erased that.
How’s Blake?
What I finally settled on was inadequate.
We’re fine.
I swallowed thickly. We’re. Something about that made my chest feel funny.
Thought you might be in the emergency room :)
Did you just send me a smiley face?
Nope.
Make a joke?
I don’t know that word.
You’re doing it again.
Thanks.
You’re welcome.
I closed the app before I said something else ridiculous like have a good day or miss you or what if I sent a kissy face emoji? This kindness thing felt like it was a little contagious. I didn’t want it, yet I couldn’t let it go.
“I don’t know anything about the office being painted.” Baker’s insistent voice floated in from the reception area.
“I love the surprise, Easy. That color is perfect.”
I smiled smugly to myself. It was beautiful.
“Grease Monkey, I’m telling you. I don’t know anything about it.”
“Trouble in paradise already?”
I froze. What is he doing here? And where is my little boy?
“She won’t take credit for painting my office.”
“If you did it, why not?” Patrick asked easily, and I snickered.
“Because I didn’t do it,” she insisted.
“Let’s see what she didn’t do.”
I tossed the empty ginger ale bottle and half gone sleeve of crackers into my purse and turned to see Blake in Patrick’s arms.
“I was just about to text you,” I said, holding up my phone.
“Little dude wanted to see his mom.”
I held out my arms for him and peppered his face with kisses.
“It’s beautiful,” Baker gushed as she walked around the office.
“Marlow put on a second coat.” Was that a hint of pride in my brother’s voice?
They examined the room, still arguing about whether or not Baker had anything to do with it. I secretly smiled to myself. Maybe I’d done something right.
Patrick pressed his front to my back, lips against my ear. “You didn’t need me to tell you what to do at all, Wicked. You were already showing them.”
Chapter Twenty-Two
Patrick
Marlow tucked her arm in mine as I pushed the stroller down the sidewalk.
“You up for something to eat?”
“Yes. Mexican. The biggest bowl of queso dip we can get. And fajitas. No. Tacos. You get one and I’ll get the other,” she said in rapid fire.
“But I only eat burritos.”
She stopped walking. I grinned at her.
“You’re an ass.”
Halfway through the first basket of chips, Gerard called.
“I need to take this,” I said as I slid out of the booth.
“More for me.” She popped a cheese coated chip in her mouth.
“That man is here again.” My assistant spoke low in in the phone. “He isn’t interested in the list of attorneys you provided.”
“What’s he doing?”
“Sitting in the lobby,” Gerard hissed. “I informed him you were out for the day, but he said he’d wait.”
“Fuck.” I loosened my tie.
“Shall I phone the authorities?”
I pinched the bridge of my nose. “No. Put him on the phone.”
“I don’t believe that’s a wise decision.”
“I didn’t ask.”
In a moment, a rushed sounding voice came over the line. “Mr. Whitley. Thank you for speaking with me.”
“Sir, as I told you the other day, I’m not taking on new clients. My assistant has the list of other options for you. Any of them will do a good job.”
“No. You have to help him. Time is running out.”
“Then I suggest you contact one of them immediately.”
“Please.” His voice broke.
I ripped my tie out from my collar. “I can’t. Please leave my office before my assistance is forced to call the police.”
I hung up and texted Gerard.
I want to know if he leaves
“Case gone bad?”
Marlow had demolished the bowl of chips and was already working on another. It was good to see her appetite back.
I stuck my tie in my pocket and sank back into the booth. “Damn I Wish I Was Your Lover” by Sophie B. Hawkins began to play. It was an odd song to hear in a Mexican restaurant, but apt. Marlow didn’t seem aware of anything other than the food.
“This guy keeps sitting in my office all day. He insists I’m the only one who can help him.”
“Are you?”
“Where’d the guacamole come from?”
She fed Blake something that looked like pureed pumpkin or carrot. He sucked it down like it was the best thing he’d ever had.
“I saw some delivered to another table. It looked good, so I ordered some.”
I shoveled the dip on a chip. “No. I’ve tried to refer him to other lawyers. Ones better than I am.”
She looked at me incredulously. “Did I just hear correctly? I thought the Patrick Whitley was the best attorney who ever existed?”
“I might have claimed that title a time or two.”
“Million. Two million times.”
“Your brother is jealous because he isn’t as good
