Unbreakable (2 page)

Alex

I tapped my fingers impatiently on the steering wheel, silently commanding the red light to change. My engagement ring captured the afternoon sunlight and sprayed it over the dash. I smiled, feeling some of the tension leave my face, but only for a moment. Don Knight’s words resounded in my head like bats in a cave, and I couldn’t sweep them out.

He had ruined my triumph. I had just nailed the most important case of my career—so far—and was fulfilling the legacy of my father, one of the greatest trial lawyers in Los Angeles, before he retired five years ago. Now I suddenly felt like the Princess and the Pea, lying high on a stack of the richest mattresses and still feeling a tiny little prick of a discomfort.

At twelve-thirty—fifteen minutes behind schedule—I guided my Mini onto Santa Monica Boulevard and screeched into the Belvedere’s parking lot. I briefly checked my reflection in the rearview; a stray strand of red hair had come loose.

Knight was just bitter that he’d lost, I reasoned. If I hadn’t had a strong case in the eyes of the law, we wouldn’t have gone to trial in the first place. Was I supposed to hold back? Would Usain Bolt run a race more slowly simply because his fellow racers weren’t as naturally fast? Of course not. This case was going to make an already wealthy man even richer, catapult L&D into the stratosphere of law firms, and make me a partner. But like I had told the jury, that was all window-dressing. Guilty is guilty, and if Hutchinson had had sturdier shelving for their heavy supplies, they wouldn’t have toppled onto Munro in the first place. The fact that he had been climbing said shelves—and partially drunk at ten in the morning—was beside the point.

I nodded to myself and tucked the stray lock of hair back into my severe twist. I had done nothing outside the bounds of the law. My father would be proud. With that thought bolstering me, I stepped smartly out the convertible, and handed the keys to the valet.

Before I could go in, my phone rang. I recognized my paralegal’s number.

“Abed, what’s up?”

“I tried to get the check for our expert on Folgate v. Robbs, but he only takes cashier’s checks and your name is on the account.”

I nodded. “He’s a paranoid, crazy bastard, but he’s going to destroy Robbs’ case with one
expert
sentence. I can get to the bank after I have lunch with the Posse.”

“Got it. Can I do anything else for you?”

Abed was my third arm and sometimes my second brain. I didn’t know what I’d do without him and fervently hoped I’d never have to find out.

“You can order lunch from Piknik,” I told him. “Take it out of petty.”

“Really?”

I laughed. “Don’t sound so surprised. You deserve a lot more than a free lunch.”

I could hear Abed’s grin. “Tell that to payroll.”

Inside the restaurant, I shared a nod of recognition with maitre’d, and breezed through the elegant olive and peach-hued dining room where the tinkling sounds of cutlery and glassware set a gentle undertone to quiet conversations. The Belvedere’s refined elegance was soothing after the hustle and bustle of Superior Court.

I reached the outdoor seating area—graceful pillars, green plants, and billowing silk above—and saw the Posse immediately. Four women sat a table for five, two dressed in expensive workout clothing, two in business attire. Designer bags sat beside their Nike Elite or Givenchy-clad feet.

“You’re late,” Antoinette Phillips commented, stirring a packet of sweetener into her iced tea with a silver spoon. The sunlight filtering from between the billows of the silk awning above made her hair shine like spun gold. “This is new.”

“Traffic.” I took the vacant, fifth chair at the round table and set my Fendi down beneath. “I hope you ordered my usual.”

“Of course.” Rashida Roundtree, in a cream-colored suit and red blouse, made a motion to a nearby waiter and indicated my arrival. She turned her sharp, dark eyes on me, smiling thinly. “What kept you? Did you become lost in the throes of passion with your fiancé?”

I took a long sip of ice water before answering. Lilah Tran sat across from me, wearing a pale green suit and plum-colored silky scarf. My best friend gave me a commiserating look.

“You know I came from work,” I answered Rashida, and mustered a coy smile. “The passion was this morning.”

“Sex on the kitchen floor?” Antoinette smirked. “So cliché.”

“Can we please not speak of such private things at the lunch table?” Minnie Pitman beseeched, her delicate, birdlike hands clasped together. “It’s gauche.”

“Only to you,” Antoinette said. “Don’t tell me you still make poor Roger do it with the lights out?”

“You’re incorrigible.” Minnie bristled, smoothing down the front of her Athleta yoga blouse. “I just think it takes the romance out of it to kiss and tell.”

“Let me see the ring again.” Rashida leaned over from my left and inspected the square-cut solitaire. “Stunning.”

“Stunningly huge,” Lilah said with a laugh. “I was about to request we move to a more shaded table. I fear for my eyesight.”

I rolled my eyes. “It’s not that big…”

Rashida snorted, released my hand from her dusky one, which bore its own sparkling gems. “Impressive, but I’d think twice before wearing it out at night. I’m assuming Drew’s had it insured…”

Minnie rested her chin on her hand, a dreamy expression on her narrow features. “Tell me again how he proposed?”

“I’ll bet it was ever so romantic,” Antoinette said, sighing dramatically. “He got down on one knee, held out the pre-nup for you to sign, and a pen…”

Everyone laughed, including me, though Antoinette had no idea how close to truth she’d been. “We’ve been together for six years,” I said. “It wasn’t exactly a surprise or an event. It was just…”

“Meant to be,” Minnie said with a sigh.

“A good match,” Rashida said with sage nod of her head.

Inevitable,
I supplied silently and caught another gentle smile from Lilah. I answered with a smile of my own. It likely wasn’t easy for her to listen to all this marriage talk. My best friend had found her husband cheating with an intern and promptly divorced him, much to nearly everyone’s dismay. “They all think he deserved a second chance,” Lilah had told me then. “We’d been married for two months. Fifty-two days, to be exact, and I was supposed to let it go?” She’d shaken her long, silky black hair and dried her eyes. “I will not settle.”

I wondered why I recalled that particular conversation.
I’m not settling for Drew,
I thought now. My fiancé was handsome, kind, mild-tempered, and industrious. No woman in her right mind would consider a marriage proposal from him as anything but gift to be cherished. True, our relationship could use a little spark. A little fire…

“You-plus-Drew makes sense on every level,” Rashida said in that cool, practical manner of hers. “Last I read, EllisIntel is up fifteen more points since Drew handled that Mendón brouhaha.”

“Oh?” Minnie asked. “What’s that? I hadn’t heard…”

“It turns out that one of EllisIntel’s big investors was the novelist, Rafael Mendón,” I told her. “He came out of hiding so to speak, and dumped his stock like a bad habit.”

“Over two million dollars’ worth,” Rashida nodded knowingly.

“Yes, and it made the shareholders nervous since Mendón is something of a celebrity in the literary world. But Drew was able to smooth things over, drummed up some positive PR for the company to counteract the bad, and…” I shrugged. “All’s well that ends well.”

“And lucky for us,” Antoinette said. “Poor Paul. His ulcer was spewing fire for a week.” She wrinkled her nose and speared a beet from her salad. Her husband worked at EllisIntel as well, in the vast financial divisions of the sprawling company.

Rashida patted my hand. “It will escape no one’s notice over there how valuable Drew is to their bottom line.”

I waited as the server set a Cobb salad with a side of balsamic vinaigrette in front of me. “You’re right about that,” I said, with a swell of pride for my fiancé. “It’s looking more and more like he’ll be made chief counsel, if not this year, then the next.”

“Lawyers marrying lawyers,” Antoinette mused. “I wouldn’t be surprised if your firstborn popped out with a briefcase and a legal pad.”

“We’re not going to have kids,” I said when the tittering laughter died down. “We’ve decided. Drew doesn’t want any and I…agree.”

Minnie gasped. “Really? You don’t want a baby? What about Drew’s family legacy? Doesn’t he want an heir?”

“An heir?” Lilah scoffed, though her almond eyes met mine with concern. “Did we suddenly become characters in a Brontë novel and no one told me?”

“We’re both too focused on our careers,” I said. “We work hard and want to spend our vacations enjoying the time off, not chasing kids around.”

“Except that you don’t take vacations,” Lilah began but Minnie cut her off with another shocked gasp.

“Darling, that’s what
nannies
are for!” Minnie cried. “I can’t imagine life without little Roger Jr! And we’re hoping to give him a sister soon.” Now it was her turn to pat my hand. “Give it a year or so. You’ll change your mind.”

Rashida looked to me. “Are you going to keep your bungalow in Santa Monica? I would. If for nothing else, it would make a perfect rental property.”

“Yes,” I said. “I’m keeping it, but not to rent. Actually, I brought up with Drew the idea of selling it. As a gesture of commitment. A combining of forces, if you will.”

“And?”

“And Drew told me to keep it,” I said, not looking at Lilah. “For me. As a getaway for sorts. So that I might have time alone if I wanted it.”

“Good lord, that man is a saint,” Antoinette declared. “I must have him talk Paul into buying me my own bungalow. For
alone time
.”

“Good for him,” Rashida told me. “He recognizes you for the strong, independent woman you are.”

Minnie wrinkled her nose. “Seems a bit unromantic to me.”

“I second that,” Lilah muttered. The look she leveled at me promised that we’d be discussing this later.

I squared my shoulders. “Well, I’m glad he talked me out of it. I bought it myself and he reminded me how proud I was to do so. I don’t want to give it up just because I’m getting married, and don’t think I should.”

“Of course not,” Rashida said. “And should you find yourself in trying marital times—which you will—having a place to escape to is a luxury.”

“And precisely why it’s unromantic,” Minnie said, frowning.

I glanced at Lilah, ready to defend myself from the two-pronged attack when Antoinette waved her hand.

“Heirs and real estate aside. Engagements beget engagement
parties
.” She raised one perfectly arched brow at me. “Have you decided on a date? A venue?”

“Yes to both.” I said, thankful for the change of subject. I rummaged in my bag and produced a stack of invitations. “They go out today, but I may as well give you yours.”

“Paper!” Minnie exclaimed. “I’m so glad you didn’t send one of those tacky email things. These are so much classier.”

“But less practical.” Rashida scanned her. “Private dining room at Craft? Very nice.”

“Century City?” Antoinette sighed. “If I must. And in five weeks? That’s not a lot of time.”

“The next available reservation wasn’t until December.”

“No wonder! Craft is beyond superb,” Minnie cooed. “Roger took me to dinner there last month. Oh, Alex, this is just lovely. I can’t wait.”

“Thank you, Min,” I said. “We’re not inviting a horde of people. Family, close friends, Jon and Mr. Dooney from my office, and a couple of others from Drew’s office. And it has to be soon. With the wedding in five months, there’s not a lot time to spare.”

“How on earth you think you can plan a wedding in five months and still work the three hundred hours a week that you do is beyond me.” Antoinette fished a card out of her bag. “Call Patricia. She’s a miracle-worker. She did mine and Paul’s wedding and we only had eighteen months to plan.”

I waved the card away. “My mother has already hired someone. Aside from a few appointments and fittings, my schedule will remain blissfully unaffected.” I smiled and forked a piece of hard-boiled egg from my salad.

Antoinette’s normally unruffled expression turned to one of shock. “You’re letting your mother plan the wedding? Everything?”

“Of course not. I’ll be making the major decisions. Mother is just going to put it all into place.”

Antoinette sat back in her chair. “Still. I can’t imagine turning something as important as my wedding over to my mother.”

Me neither,
I thought but it would only shock them to know how little I thought of the wedding. It loomed in my mind much the same was my engagement party did: as an expensive announcement of something inevitable. The butterflies and sparks I’d always imagined I’d have when I was a girl were absent. Truthfully, I worried more about how the whole affair would disrupt my work schedule. I know Drew felt that way. And the honeymoon…Any minute now, the Posse was going to turn this interrogation that direction and that was the last thing I wanted.