The Christmas List (4 page)

He passed the front desk and walked down the corridor to
where his secretary, Linda Nash, sat at the entrance to his corner office.

The Kier building was plain by design—a work space built for function not frills. “A picture on the wall doesn't make me money,” Kier was fond of saying. What decor existed—a few plants and wall hangings—had been put there years earlier by his wife, Sara. Even though it was past Thanksgiving, the office was conspicuously devoid of holiday dressing. Kier didn't believe in wasting money on seasonal frivolities and made it a point to belittle those who did.

As he approached his office, Linda looked up from her computer. “Good morning, Mr. Kier.” She was in her late thirties, slender with long, dishwater blond hair that she wore pulled back in a low ponytail.

“Is the meeting still on?”

“Everyone's waiting for you in the conference room.”

Kier took off his coat and laid it on Linda's desk. “My ex-wife and her lawyer are in the conference room and you call it a ‘good' morning?”

“I'm sorry, Mr. Kier.” She hung his coat on a coat rack near his office door.

“When's my next meeting?”

“At ten o'clock. Mr. Vance Allen with Scott Homes.”

“Allen,” he repeated. “Well, don't talk to him. I want him on edge. And get me my coffee.”

“Would you like it in the conference room?”

“No, I don't expect to be in there that long.”

He turned and walked away.

“Yes sir,” she said softly.

Kier walked down the hall to his conference room. The long polished table of bird's-eye maple could seat twelve, but that morning it had only three occupants: two lawyers and his wife. Kier's lawyer, Lincoln Archibald, was a barrel-chested man with a full head of thick black hair that spilled over into bushy Elvis-style sideburns. His sideburns had once been even longer, until Kier, not one to hide his opinions, asked Lincoln if he wore the things on a bet or if he was trying to frighten children. The next time Kier saw him the sideburns had been trimmed.

Sara had her back to the entry, as did her lawyer, Steve Pair, who was Sara's nephew and fresh from law school. Kier wasn't fond of Sara's sister, Beth, and held her son in the same low regard.

Kier slumped down in the seat next to Lincoln, quietly groaning to let everyone know what an annoyance he considered the meeting. Only then did he look at his wife. Sara wore a silk scarf around her head beneath a red, sharp-rimmed cloche. Even though they'd been separated for nearly a year she still wore the simple, quarter-karat ring with which he'd wed her on her left hand. She was always well put together, and even though she looked pale her lashless eyes were still piercing. Kier turned away from her gaze. He felt—had always felt—that she could look right through him.

“Sara,” he said shortly, nodding.

“Hello, Jim.”

“You don't look so well.”

“I'm fine.” It was obvious that she wasn't. She was sickly pale and had obviously lost weight since the last time Kier had seen her, three weeks earlier. “We missed you on Thanksgiving.”

“I was out of town. It was a last-minute thing.”

“Jimmy was here. You could have met his fiancée.”

“Like I said, I was out of town.”

“Shall we get started?” Steve asked.

Kier turned and faced the young lawyer. “What do you call a criminal lawyer?” Kier asked.

“Excuse me?”

“I said, what do you call a criminal lawyer?”

Steve looked at Kier with annoyance. “I don't know. What do you call a criminal lawyer?”

“A redundancy.”

Steve just shook his head. “Okay, with that out of the way, we'll begin. Against my counsel, my client, Mrs. Kier, has generously agreed to accept all of your terms, except for two. She would like to keep the piano. It has sentimental value. Also, there's not enough money for Jimmy's education.”

Kier's grin vanished. “Jimmy can work his way through school like I did. And what does he need college for anyway? He just wants to paint his little pictures.”

“Mr. Kier, we both know my client—”

“Your
client
? Are you stupid? She's your aunt. Her name is Sara.”

Sara looked apologetically at Steve, then back at Kier. “Please, Jim, let's keep this civil.”

Kier settled back, crossing his arms and glancing down at his watch. “Fine. Let's get this over with.”

Steve started again. “I have advised my . . . Sara to either get the money for Jimmy's education or we're going back for business assets.”

Kier glared at the young man. Lincoln leaned over and whispered into his ear. “Take it.”

The truth was Kier neither wanted the piano nor really cared about the price of Jimmy's tuition. He was a negotiator and the first rule of any negotiation is to ask for things you don't care about in case you need to bargain for something of real value.

He exhaled loudly. “All right. It's his life. Why should I care how he wastes it?”

Steve glanced at Sara, then turned back to Lincoln. “Very well, then there's nothing more to discuss. I'll have the new language added to the agreement and the documents over to you by Monday.”

Kier stood. “Just get it over with. I want this mistake behind me.”

Sara looked down, trying to hide her hurt. Kier felt foolish and tried to diffuse the awkwardness. “So, Steve-o. What do you call a thousand lawyers at the bottom of the ocean.”

“A good start,” Steve said tersely, collecting papers and putting them into his attaché case.

“You learn that in law school?”

“Among other things.”

“At least it wasn't a total waste,” Kier said beneath his breath.

Sara stood and walked over to Kier. She held out her hand. “Goodbye, Jim.” Kier felt embarrassed for his comment. “I didn't mean that.”

“Oh?” she said, “Then what did you mean?”

Kier looked at her blankly, at a loss for words.

Suddenly Sara fell backward. Kier lunged to grab her but Steve caught her from behind.

“Here,” Kier said, pushing a chair forward. “Sit her down.”

Steve helped her into the chair.

“I'm sorry,” Sara said. “I'm just a little weak.”

“Are you going to be all right?” Kier asked.

She looked up at him. “I'm not your problem anymore.”

Kier turned away. “I've got a meeting.” He walked out the door and back to his office.

Linda looked up as he approached. “That was quick.”

“It was an eternity. Where's Allen?”

“Mr. Allen isn't here yet. I put his file on your desk next to your coffee. And Miss Steele called. Shall I get her on the phone?”

“Yes. And Sara's not feeling well. Get her a Coke or something.” He walked into his office and shut the door behind him.

Kier's phone buzzed as he sank into his chair. He pushed the speaker button. “Hey baby, what's up?”

A deep voice answered, “It's me, baby. Lincoln.”

“Where are you?”

“I'm walking to my car. Look, I say we don't sign the papers.”

“We just got everything we wanted.”

“Yes, but you're still giving up the house, your IRAs, and the Waterford investment account. I say we just put this on ice.”

“Why the sudden change of heart?”

“I hadn't seen Sara for a while. If we hold off long enough, as the surviving partner you'll end up with everything.”

“You're a hard man, Lincoln.”

“From you, I'll take that as a compliment.”

Linda beeped in. “Miss Steele's on the line.”

“I've got to go.”

“You know I'm right,” Lincoln said.

“You're a heartless mercenary.”

“That's why you hired me. Let me know.”

“ 'Bye.” He pushed another button. “Hey baby.”

“Hi big guy. Guess what I'm wearing?”

“I have no idea.”

“Close your eyes.”

“And?”

“Are they closed?”

“Yes,” he lied.

“Okay, now imagine me in very,
very
tiny pieces of string and fabric some scandalous fashion designer called a bikini. Inch per inch this thing is more expensive than Manhattan real estate. I think we should fly to Boca Raton for the weekend and try it out.”

“Boca's too far.”

“Did I mention I bought a new bikini?”

“Our trip to Cancún set me back a week at work. I'm still paying for it.”

“And wasn't I worth it? All work and no play makes Jimmy a dull boy.”

“All play and no work makes Jimmy a
poor
boy.”

“It would take a lot of play to do that.”

“How about something closer?”

“How close?”

“Something that doesn't require an airport.”

“I was prepared for that. Plan B, Park City. I know a quaint little bed-and-breakfast with in-room hot tubs. Can you get off a little early?”

“I could cancel a meeting. What time are you thinking?”

“Around five.”

Linda beeped in again. “Mr. Allen is here.”

“Five? Okay. I'll cancel my meeting. I've got to go. I'll transfer you to Linda; she can make the reservations.”

“If you must.”

“What does that mean?”

“I hate talking to her. She's so . . . boring. And I don't think she likes me.”

“I didn't hire her because she's entertaining and it doesn't matter if she likes you. I'll see you at lunch.”

“Ciao, baby.”

With Vance Allen waiting outside his office, Kier walked around his desk and moved the chairs a little further back. He was always mindful of taking the psychological advantage. When he first moved in, he had a carpenter cut nearly two inches off the legs of his guest chairs as well as an additional half inch off the front so the occupant was not only forced to look up to him but always felt a little off balance. On one occasion, when negotiating a multimillion-dollar real estate purchase, he had slipped Dramamine into his client's coffee to make him drowsy. To Kier, all was fair in business.