My heart might as well have jumped straight out of my body, it’s pounding so fast. I’m debating what to do when Tanner’s face flashes on the screen. At least I can answer his call.
“Hey, Tanner,” I answer with fake enthusiasm. “Just a heads-up, my phone’s about to die.”
“That’s all you have to say?”
“What do you mean?”
Exasperated, he sighs. “I’ve been trying to call you for a few days.”
I open and shut my mouth, realizing Tanner most likely doesn’t know about the car accident, and I’d like to keep it that way.
“Sorry,” I apologize. “As you can imagine, I’ve had a lot going on. Holden’s pissed at me. Did you tell him who I was with on my birthday?”
“Of course not,” he says smoothly. “You know I have your back.” He adds, “When are you leaving for . . .”
I bite my lip. “Tomorrow.”
“How did Holden take it?”
“He’s convinced I’m having multiple affairs.”
“I wonder why.”
“No clue.” I play dumb. “Before my phone dies, I need your help. I have, or had, a client named Nico Marcona. High-profile divorce with a few mil in assets. I’ve got bank records and offshore accounts to incriminate his wife, Christine. She’s a real bitch, a total nightmare. She’s been blackmailing him.”
Tanner plays straight into my hands. I can hear him practically salivating over the phone. He loves money as much as I love liquor. I almost feel sorry for the weasel. He’s only human, and I shouldn’t hold his own demons against him.
But I promptly reconsider.
When you try and fuck up my livelihood and marriage, this scrappy midwestern girl will become the Wicked Witch of the West and shove a flying broom handle up your darkest crevice.
“Leslie has all the account information and an overwhelming paper trail.”
Tanner goes for lackadaisical. “You find a good PI to do the grunt work?”
“You know I use our guy, Chuck,” I say. “Out of curiosity, do you know which attorney is representing Nico now?”
Dead air follows, and I presume my phone has finally died. Fitting it would be in the middle of an important question.
“You there? Tanner?”
“Still here.”
“Did anyone tell Nico what happened to me?”
“No, course not. Bad for business.” Tanner probes. “You didn’t tell him where you were going, did you?”
“No!” I sigh. “I’m not allowed to contact any of my previous clients.”
“Then I’d follow that directive, Sib. Go to rehab. Stop squandering your talent on useless men.”
Before I can respond, my phone goes black.
Dammit.
After plugging the phone into a charger, I go into the bathroom and take a long, hot shower, steaming up the mirror, bawling my eyes out where no one can hear me.
Holden changed my pass code, and now I can’t see my messages or who said what. I’m resentful I’m being punished when he’s the one who missed an important milestone a few weeks ago: my thirty-fourth birthday passed without so much as a happy-birthday emoji.
That would be the day Holden didn’t check his social media, I think caustically.
It just so happened that Nico was my last appointment of the day, and Leslie stepped inside my office to say goodbye for the evening and to wish me one last happy birthday. “I can’t wait until tomorrow to hear what Holden planned as a surprise.”
“Thanks.” I forced a terse smile out, but Nico’s intuitive, and it didn’t go unheeded, at least not by him. I dumbly smiled when he asked about my evening plans. I tried unsuccessfully not to show Nico my disappointment or the tears I was holding back.
“Your husband must be planning one hell of a surprise party.”
I couldn’t keep the disappointment from my voice. “Then I hope you’re invited, because he hasn’t mentioned my birthday.”
“No!”
“Yes,” I said sulkily.
“You mean regarding your plans tonight?” He frowned. “You don’t mean he forgot your actual birthday?”
“No,” I stammered. “I mean, yes.” I leaned back in my chair as if I couldn’t care less. I’m a tough attorney, not a blubbering Barbie. “At least, he hasn’t acknowledged it. Who knows—maybe he will later.”
“Did he tell you to be home at a certain time?”
“No.” I glanced at my watch. “He has a class to teach tonight.”
With a grimace, Nico said, “There’s no way I’m letting you spend your birthday alone.”
“It’s fine, Nico,” I objected. “I can go out with one of my girlfriends. They assumed I was busy tonight, so we scheduled something this weekend.”
But he wouldn’t let me off the hook, intent on celebrating with me. I told him it was a bad idea, but he wanted to know why. “We’re friends, right? Friends celebrate their birthdays together.”
“But it’s not appropriate.” I tried to dissuade him. “You’re a current client.”
He narrowed his eyes at me, and I withered under his disapproving glance. “Today is important, and we’re going to make it one for the books,” he promised.
I didn’t ask him to clarify his statement because I didn’t want to go down that rabbit hole.
Was I attracted to him?
No doubt.
It took Nico a couple tries to convince me to have a drink with him, which I think thrilled him because he likes an actual chase, not a sure thing.
After he left my office and I spent thirty minutes freshening up my makeup and persuading my reflection I wasn’t doing anything wrong or immoral, I met him at a dark speakeasy.
We sat in a dark leather booth, where we started on opposite sides, trading stories of our past and present.
To break the ice, we did a round of shots.
The liquor flowed, and so did the conversation. It’s easy to talk to Nico, not stilted like it is with Holden, who never pays attention. He listens but doesn’t hear me.
Another round of shots went down smooth.
Somehow, we ended up seated on the same side—I’m uncertain who suggested it first—and, by then, reasonably inebriated.
And then . . .
Lost in a trance, I don’t hear the knock on the bathroom door. Suddenly, I’m brought back to the present when another sharp tap interrupts my thoughts.
I’m sitting on the tiled bench in the walk-in shower
