TRACE (The TRACE Series, #1) (4 page)

"I forgive you." I pull my hands to my chest. "We're even now, okay?"

His eyes settle on where my hands are clasped together. "No. It's not okay."

"It really is." I reach to scoop my silver clutch up from where I rested it on the bar earlier. "You said some things you regret, and I forgive you."

He turns towards the bartender and orders a whiskey sour. I breathe a sigh of relief when he doesn't assume that I'm joining him.

"Can I ask you a question, Vanessa?" He looks at me carefully. "Just one question and then I'll leave you alone for the night."

I lean against the bar, dangling my clutch in my hand. "What's the question?"

"Tell me exactly what I said to you. Give it to me straight from the hip." His eyes settle on my right hip, which is jutting out.

He has to be shitting me. This must be part of some twisted game he plays to assuage his own guilt over being an arrogant, chauvinistic asshole. I doubt like hell that he doesn't remember every single word he said to me last week in the ER.

I take in a deep breath before I blow it out slowly. I like a challenge. I never back down from one and right now, I want desperately to have the upper hand in this even though I know he still has the power to get me fired. "You know what you said, Garrett."

"I don't." His voice is deep and low. "I remember bits and pieces of that morning but everything is hazy."

"Do you remember anything I said to you?" I grab the side of the bar for added balance.

"I vaguely remember the word '
asshole
' coming out of those lips."

I feel my back bristle. He's a lawyer. He's schooled in how to lead people down a path towards their own demise.  If I confirm what he just said, I'm essentially guaranteeing myself a spot in the unemployment line.

"Vanessa." His index finger brushes fleetingly against my chin. "If you called me an asshole, I'd like to know why."

I glance briefly to where Rosalie is now pressed up against a man who just started working in the hospital pharmacy. If Garrett tells her what I said, there may be a flash of compassion within her, but she's as straight laced as they come. Rosalie is a by-the-book employee and she'd see to it that I was reprimanded.

"Ben told me you're the best nurse in the ER." His posture softens. "I agree with him. I would never do anything to jeopardize that."

I blink before I look directly into his eyes. "You wouldn't?"

"If you called me an asshole, Vanessa, there was a reason. Tell me why."

I shouldn't answer, but instead I lean forward so my face is hovering close to his. "You said something about my body."

He moves forward on the barstool.  "What did I say?"

My eyes dart from his lips to his eyes. "You said I have the best looking ass you've ever seen."

I don't flinch when I feel both his hands jump to my hips. "I said that to you?"

I nod slowly knowing I should pull back and break free.

"You do," he whispers into the heated air between us. "I haven't stopped thinking about it or you since that day."

I
wanted to kiss him and I don't know why. Wait. That's not entirely true. I wanted to kiss him because his lips were so close to mine and his hands were resting on my hips.  His breath was sweet and intoxicating and the firmness of his thighs pressing against the outside of my own legs made me feel weak.

I'd pulled free the moment Carla came over to the bar. When I'd left our apartment to come to the party, she'd had her head buried in a book. I'd tried to coax her into dressing up so we could have a fun night together, but she wanted no part of it. I'm not sure if I was more shocked to see her standing next to Garrett wearing one of my little black dresses, or if the way she was pressing her tits into his shoulder was more jarring. Either way, the moment his eyes left me for her, I'd excused myself and made a break for the ladies' room.

I scrub my hands over my face when I hear the door to the bathroom opening. I slide my fingers apart to glance in the mirror at Carla's reflection staring back at me.

"You look better in that dress than I do," I offer with a smile. "You should keep it."

"I might." She rests her hands on my shoulders. "I couldn't find anything to wear. You don't mind, do you?"

I don't. I like the fact that she feels comfortable enough to go through my closet. I've taken care of my mother for so many years, that most of the friendships I did have when I was younger have drifted into the ether. I'm not as close to Carla as I am to Zoe, but we're comfortable and building a bond every day.

"He's looking for you." She gestures towards the door with her chin. "What's that about?"

If I had a reply to that question I might be tempted to answer it, but I'm not about to. Garrett Ryan is everything I don't need in my life right now. The man exudes intensity and if I'm going to jump into anything with any man it needs to be uncomplicated. 

"We were talking about when he was in the ER."

"No you weren't." She pulls playfully on a few strands of my hair. "I know what I saw."

I know what I felt and I don't want to give it any merit. "You saw the two of us talking about what happened in the ER."

"No." She twists me around quickly by the shoulders. "I saw two people who were about to go at it on the bar."

"That's not going to happen. He's not my type."

"Not your type?" Her hands fall to her sides. "That man is every woman's type. Seriously, Vanessa? Who wouldn't want to be fucked by that?"

"Me," I try to say convincingly. "He's an arrogant lawyer, Carla. He uses women. I'm not into that."

"What he does for a living isn't relevant." She waves her hands in the air. "Who the hell cares if he uses you for sex?"

"I care," I point out.

"You're looking at this all wrong." Her voice softens. "You could be using him right now. You fuck him, you thank him and you walk away."

"It's never that easy. I guarantee you that Garrett Ryan is more complicated than that."

"You'll never know unless you try." She brushes past me to look at herself in the mirror. "I just know what I saw when I walked in the pub. The man wants you and you want him whether you want to admit it or not."

***

"Y
ou want me to, don't you?" He eyes me.  "I'm a lawyer. You can trust me."

I shove my hand against his strong shoulder. "I told you that I can take a taxi from here. I know my way around the city."

His chest heaves with a sigh. "Vanessa, it's late. I'd feel better knowing that you got to your apartment safe and sound."

This gallant act is endearing, if not over-the-top. I'd tried to slide past his gaze when I left the ladies' room. I was hopeful that he would have set his sights on someone new by then, but he spotted me in an instant and before I had one foot out of the door of the pub, he was right behind him.

"I will get there safe and sound." I inch towards the street. "I've been taking taxis in this city for years. I'll be fine."

"Indulge me." His voice is thick and heavy. "I'll get in the taxi with you. I'll watch you walk to your building and I'll be on my way."

"There's no need." I wave my hand in the air at two approaching cabs. They both fly by without slowing at all. "I can handle it. You should stay here. The night is young."

"I'm on my way home too." He glances at his smartphone screen. "I have a full day in court tomorrow."

"What kind of lawyer are you?" I ask out of curiosity. I don't know the intricacies of the legal system but I do know that it takes a certain type of man to take on that role. "I'm just wondering."

"I'm a probate attorney." He dips his hands into the front pockets of his grey pants. "I handle estate law."

I arch a brow. "That's not what I thought."

"What did you think?" He leans slightly forward.

"I'm not sure," I answer honestly. "I hadn't given it that much thought."

"You can come by the courthouse tomorrow and see me in action." He licks his bottom lip. "I'll be on my best behavior for you."

"I can't." I glance at the street again, wishing a taxi would magically appear. "I'm going to Maine tomorrow."

"Maine?" His mouth curves into a smile. "What's in Maine?"

I heave a sigh of relief as a taxi rounds the corner and stops in front of the pub. I dart to the street just as a man and a woman slide out of the back seat. "Answers," I call back to Garrett as I duck inside the car. "Maine has all the answers I need."

"C
an you repeat that?" I lean forward so my elbows are resting on the desk. The motion isn't just so I can get closer to her; it's also for stability. I can't believe what she just said to me.

"I'm sorry, Ms. Meyer." She pulls her glasses to the tip of her nose as she looks at the screen of her laptop. "We don't have a record of your birth in our system."

I scratch the back of my head. "Can you check again? Just this one last time, please?"

Turning her head quickly, she types something into the keyboard of her laptop before she lowers her glasses and sets them on the desk in front of her. "There wasn't a child adopted who was born the same day as you. In fact, there wasn't a baby girl born within a week of you who was placed up for adoption. Just two boys."

"My mother told me that she was at the hospital when I was born." I drum my fingers on her desk. "She talked about the nurses and how they handed me to her right after I was born."

"Perhaps she was mistaken about the state?"

It's a ludicrous question meant to placate me. "I was born and raised in Maine. There's no question about that."

"The only thing I can suggest is that you speak to your mother and tell her what I've told you." She opens the top drawer of her desk to pull out a small, white rectangular card. "This is my number. I handle all the records. Ask your mother to call me if she has any questions."

I want to tell her that the card will never reach my mother's hands. The woman is stuck in a prison of her own mind. If she were lucid, I'd be on the phone to her right now, asking what's going on. "My mother isn't available," I say to avoid the pity that is expected after I tell a person that my mother is ill. "Do you have any suggestions for my next step?"

"Does your mother have family?"

"I have an aunt," I tell her. "She lives here in Augusta."

"Talk to her." She closes her desk drawer with a thud. "Sometimes people are holding onto details they don't even realize are relevant."

***

"Y
our aunt stuck to the same story your mother gave you?" Zoe holds a paint sample card up to the wall. We're in the nursery that has yet to be transformed. Right now it's a blank canvas.

"Are you going with that shade of blue?" I nod towards the light blue card in her hand.

"I don't want to." She lets it drop from her fingers down to the hardwood floor. "I want Beck to paint this room. I want every inch of the walls to be colored with watercolors."

It's a beautiful idea. "I think that's amazing. It's really special, Zoe."

"It would be if I could tear him away from his studio to do it." I can hear the exasperation in her voice. "I'm worried that we'll run out of time to decorate and the baby will have to sleep in this plain room."

I'm not a baby, but I'd welcome the chance to sleep in this room. It's larger than any bedroom I've ever had and it has floor-to-ceiling windows with a view of Central Park. "The baby will love the room regardless of what it looks like."

"You're right." She bends down to pick up the sample card, cradling her hand under her belly. "Let's talk about your aunt."

"Technically she's not my aunt," I correct her cautiously. "She lived in the apartment next to ours when I was growing up and I called her Aunt Nora."

"She knew your mom before you were born though, right?" She twirls her finger around a red ribbon hanging from the front of her maternity top. "She would have been around during the adoption?"

"I can't remember a time when she wasn't a part of our family," I hesitate because since my mother has digressed into the Alzheimer's, Nora has stopped coming to Brooklyn to visit her. "She was always around when I was growing up."

"What did she say when you asked about the adoption?"

It should be a cut and dry answer, but it's not. When I'd stopped by Aunt Nora's apartment yesterday to ask about my adoption, she'd become uncomfortable quickly. She went from welcoming me with open arms into her kitchen to telling me that she had an appointment with her hair stylist.

"Did she know why there's no record of it?"

I half-shrug my shoulder. "She said that she can't remember all the small details but she remembers what a beautiful baby I was."

Zoe sighs softly as she leans back in the rocking chair she's sitting in. I take in the sight of her, so peaceful and content with what life is about to offer her. She's going to be a mother soon. I'm going to watch her holding her beautiful, newborn son in her arms. I already know that it's going to be a bittersweet moment for me.

"I'm not sure what my next step should be." I squeeze my hands together. I've been thinking about it since I boarded my flight back to New York this morning. It's not just that I feel as though I've hit an impasse. It's much more than that. I never questioned the scattered and disjointed facts about my adoption that my mother did share with me. I always imagined that her impatience and reluctance to talk about my birth parents was based on her need to hold me close to her. Now, after visiting Maine and learning that my adoption records don't exist, I feel more lost than I ever have before.

"Maybe you need to talk to a lawyer," she suggests. "You don't happen to know one, do you?"

"I
can't tell you how glad I am that you called me, Vanessa." His eyes blaze across the table at me. "I've been hoping to get that call for months."

I've been hoping to avoid the call for months. I had two choices when I realized that I needed to follow Zoe's advice and consult a lawyer about my adoption. I could confide in Garrett, but going to him with something so personal feels illogical given the fact that I don't even know him, or I could meet with Curtis, an entertainment lawyer I had sex with once when I was lonely and I was enamored with reruns of a courtroom drama. I realized in the middle of his missionary, jack hammering, fucking technique that not everything they say on television about lawyers is true.