All I Want for Christmas Is You (26 page)

The heaviness of her mother's statement hit Cara hard. Especially in light of the feelings she'd been having of late. Forcing the thoughts away, she tossed out the usual response she used when her mother started this line of conversation.

“That's why I’m not getting married. In case you hadn't heard, barefoot and pregnant went out long ago, Ma. Women have careers now.”

“That may be so, but look me. I was so thrilled when you were born, I never once regretted leaving my catering business behind.”

“My point exactly.”

Ruthie scowled and snatched the card back, holding it to her chest as if it were the only hold she had on getting any future grandchildren. “We'll see about that. I may just get to see your father walk you down the aisle before I die after all.”

Cara cocked her head to one side and blinked hard, trying her best to gather up her control. “I haven't heard from Devin in over fifteen years! I doubt he even remembers me.”

Even as she said the words, she knew it wasn't true. She and Devin had been inseparable. Warmth spread from the center of her chest outward just thinking of their friendship. It had been a long time since she'd thought about Devin.

Ruthie gasped. “Don’t be ridiculous! Devin would never forget you. If I know Devin, he’ll keep his word. He’ll honor this marriage contract,” Ruthie continued, as if she were in her own world. “You must have some feelings for him or you wouldn’t have kept his card all this time.”

“I didn't even know it was there.”

“We'll see.”

The way her mother clutched the card, fanning herself from mid-day August heat, Cara knew this was only the beginning. These next three weeks were going to be the longest weeks of her entire life.

Devin Michaels strode through the full glass door of his lavish downtown office in the heart of Manhattan, success evident from his steady gait.

“Congratulations, Mr. Michaels,” the receptionist at the front desk said with a gleaming smile.

“Thank you, Lucy.” He walked by the woman without so much as a nod of his head, ignoring the overt physical appraisal she made of him in his expensive suit as he paced down the corridor, leather briefcase in his hand. Despite his court win this morning, his mood was growing fouler by the moment. If will alone could kill the bitter taste his profession left in his mouth, he'd have done it long ago. But the past few months of trying hadn't managed that feat.

“Way to go, Devin.” Kurt Langdon, an associate partner, slapped him on the back, then shook his hand, squeezing it with competitive zeal. “They said it couldn't be won, but then again, you always prove them wrong. Victory is sweet, eh ol’ boy?”

Devin glared at Kurt's hand on his shoulder until it was removed. He'd become used to the other lawyers in the office wanting to befriend him for the sole sake of furthering their own interests within Wallingford, Collins, and McCaid. Kurt's transparency made him nauseous. In fact, all of the vultures working in this firm were circling the dead flesh, waiting for their chance to have their name stand aside the big boys.

Devin had made it his purpose to ensure his name alone would stand out before the rest. That’s the way it had always been, and what he’d worked so hard for all these years. He didn't know when it had started, but lately he wondered why he ever thought that was worth fighting for.

Kurt cleared his throat. “We're toasting the big win in the conference room in fifteen.”

Devin nodded, and then ventured toward his office door, hoping to find a quiet moment before he'd have to pretend to actually be happy he'd won a case where the guilty won.

“Congratulations, Mr. Michaels,” Brenda said softly. His administrative assistant's soft brown eyes twinkled admiration up at him and forced him to smile for the first time that day. They reminded him of warm cinnamon brown eyes that used to smile at him in his youth. Years stood in the way of those memories. Funny how, ever since Brenda started working for him three months ago, those memories kept creeping back into the recesses of his mind.

Brenda shuffled some papers on her desk and stacked them into a neat pile, which she cradled in the crook of her arm. She was green out of business school, and although he had balked at the idea of taking on an assistant so inexperienced, she was quickly shaping up to be an asset to him. His reputation for being an arrogant barracuda was one that made it a difficult position to fill. Brenda’s determination to keep up with him was something he admired.

He smiled his gratitude. “Thank you, Brenda.”

She quickly grabbed her daily planner and steno pad, adding to the stack and followed on his heels through the double oak doors of his office. “You have a lunch meeting at noon with the senior partners. Mr. Ryan of Ryan Enterprises at two fifteen. Logan Hayward confirmed your squash game at three. You have a meeting with your Real Estate agent at four thirty to finalize the sale on your Co-op.” She took a deep breath before continuing, her pause causing him to lift his head to look at her for the first time. “Dinner with Cheyenne at--”

“Cancel dinner,” he cut in, remembering he'd forgotten to take care of that loose end himself. Cheyenne Lewis, his companion for the last six weeks when time permitted during his grueling schedule, had overstayed her welcome in his life. She was beginning to get too clingy. “Send her flowers--I think she likes lilies--and tell her...” he thought a minute and shook his head. “I'm sure you'll think of something, but don't make any promises.”

“Yes, Mr. Michaels,” Brenda said, jotting the note in her steno. “Today's mail is on your desk as well as your phone messages. Ruth Cavarlho was insistent-”

Devin snapped his head up, his pulse quickening. “Who called?” He sucked in a deep breath as if the wind had been knocked out of him after hearing the name. When he saw his young assistant’s startled expression, he realized his surprise was evident in the way he’d barked at her.

“Ruth Cavarlho,” she repeated, darting her gaze from his face to her steno, her hand still poised in place for the next instruction. Then back again.

It wasn’t like him to unravel in front of anyone. He’d be damned if he’d start today.

“That'll be all, Brenda,” he said, straightening his spine and pushing strength into his voice as he spoke. A pen on his desk suddenly became his anchor and he gripped it between the pads of this fingers until Brenda nodded.

“Yes, Mr. Michaels.” She turned and walked to the wide oak double doors and added, “They're toasting in-”

“Fifteen.” He pushed up his suit jacket sleeve and glanced at the gleaming gold watch on his wrist. “Ten minutes. Call me. And get Ruthie Cavarlho on the phone for me, please.”

The heavy door echoed in his head as it was closed. He sunk deep into his thick leather arm chair behind his desk and swung the seat around. Rubbing at his jaw, he stared out the window at the hustle and bustle of people below. Everything seemed so small. So very small.

For a man who'd made it his purpose in life to remain frozen, void of emotion, he was thawing fast. To feel anything at all would mean death in the snake pit of a career he'd willingly entered. It amazed him that the mere mention of a name, the thought of Cara could still trigger a deep emotional response to their friendship. The years somehow hadn't managed to wash that away.

He leaned forward in his seat and rested his chin on his steepled fingers. The Manhattan skyline had always been a source of inspiration. It was his dream. But lately, he’d been far too unsettled about the career that had always driven him hard. Instead thrilling in the victory of a court case like this morning’s win, his mind eagerly sought out memories of those easy summer days with Cara.

He remembered it well. It was the summer before his father passed away. Carl Michaels had taken ill earlier that spring, told to get his affairs in order and spend time with his family. The elder Michaels had never been willing to take time for anything other than activities he suspected would further his business interest. When they'd received the news his condition was terminal, the family rented the same beach house on the coast of Westport, Massachusetts they’d always spent summers, hoping to capture years of what they missed in what little time they had left. Before that summer, Devin didn't even know his father, and when they finally had a chance to connect, he was losing him.

A bittersweet grin tugged at his lips. Although they were polar opposites in the looks department, he was a lot like his father.

Cara had been more than a friend. She'd been his rock, the one thing that he could always count on to keep him stable while the earth beneath him crumbled. When he first saw her, he was instantly attracted to her cinnamon brown eyes and chestnut curls. The coral string bikini she wore wasn't half bad, either, he recalled, thinking of her walking along the shore collecting shells, flaunting assets she hadn’t yet discovered a man found so desirable.

But it was the friendship that bound them together. It hadn't taken long for her laughter to embrace him and, eventually, they’d become inseparable.

Devin chuckled at the irony. He'd built his reputation being a hard as nails, cut throat, defense attorney. Respected and admired by his peers, he was feared by his opponent. In one fell swoop, seventeen year old memories flooded him and brought him to his knees like a spineless jellyfish.

The buzzer on his telephone sounded and Devin swung around in his chair to answer the page from Brenda.

“Mrs. Cavarlho on line one,” she announced.

His heart raced as his pushed the blinking yellow light on the phone panel. Ruthie Cavarlho. Everything he remembered about her spoke of love and warmth.

“Devin, dear. It's so good to hear your voice,” Ruthie said brightly.

“It's been a long time. I hope everything is well with you.” And Cara. Tell me everything about Cara, he said inwardly. Look at him! He was shaking in his shoes like an eighteen year old boy pumped full of testosterone. If only the vultures outside his office door could see this...

“Yes. How's your mother doing, dear? It’s been a few years since I’ve seen her. She doesn’t come to Westport anymore.” Ruthie continued her small talk and filled Devin in on the family's plans to move to Florida within the month.

“I'm sure Harold is happy to be retiring.” With a brisk motion, he slicked back his hair in frustration, waiting for her to be the one to mention Cara's name. A hot fire burned in his gut as he waited, anticipating the news that she was married, maybe with children, living happily ever after in the arms of another man.

But no, what was he thinking? That wasn’t Cara at all. The Cara of his memory was a carbon copy of himself, driven in her quest for success. She’d chanted over and over again how she’d never marry. But that was a long time ago...

“Did you receive Cara's card in the mail, yet?” Ruthie said, mentioning her daughter for the first time.

He quickly rummaged through the stack of mail on his desk, tossing each letter aside until he found the thick violet enveloped. “I’m just reading it now.” He tore the seal and pulled the cards--yes there were two, he noticed--and began to read the first.

Happy Birthday, Dev!

It's pay up time!

Love, Cara

Confused, he glimpsed the second card, finding it vaguely familiar, and laughed out loud when he finished reading the back. Lord, it felt great to laugh. “I can't believe she kept this!” A strange feeling tugged at his heart that she’d kept a keepsake of him.

“Well, you know, Devin, she always had a thing for you,” Ruthie confided as if it was a known fact among them all.

“How is she doing?”

“Fine.”

He paused a second, a tinge of disappointment settling in his gut with her lack of elaboration.

“Good.”

There was a slight pause before she continued. “She's staying at home until Labor Day, helping her father and me with the move and all. We're having a bit of a bash for her thirty-fifth birthday. We'd love to have you. Are you available?”

The inflection in her voice rose as to emphasize her double meaning. Same ol' Ruthie.

It wasn't until faced with the possibility of seeing Cara again that Devin realized he'd give anything to see her. He punched up his schedule on the computer and immediately groaned at entries flooding each and every day for the next month. “Things don't look good, Ruthie. I'm not sure I can get away.”

“Oh, but...what about the wedding?” she gasped.