Unbreakable (32 page)

Alex

Feeling as numb as Cory had claimed to be, I waited for the inspector from CPS to arrive and dutifully gave the tour. But without Cory there to sign off on the paperwork, the report was all but moot.

The inspector—a tired-looking woman of middle years—was polite but didn’t bother to hide her disappointment. “You don’t know how many of these I do. It’s too bad. Such a pretty room for a little girl.”

After, I could hardly stand to remain in the bungalow. I grabbed my purse and keys, and drove to my parents’ house in Beverly Hills. In the long, circular driveway, I texted Antoinette, telling her I wouldn’t make it lunch today at the Belvedere.

The response came, and it chilled my blood:
Phil was watching the Dodger game on Sat. Said he saw a redhead that looked just like u catch a foul & kiss a blond guy. ???

I stared at my phone. My fingers trembled as I typed.
You know I hate baseball.

It seemed like an eternity before the reply came.
Told Phil the same. Doing party prep? Can’t wait. See you Friday!

I slumped back in my seat, a small moan escaping me.
So thoughtless and selfish.
How many people had Antoinette told that little anecdote to, before me? What kind of gossip shitstorm awaited Drew at the party?

And god, the engagement party. And the dress fitting today. And the flowers were ordered, the venue booked, deposits paid even with the wedding months away, because the Gardener family was nothing if not efficient and prepared.

And Friday Drew and I would stand before friends and family and make an official announcement, as if our engagement hadn’t been a foregone conclusion for years.

I rested my head on the steering wheel, feeling storm-tossed and drowning, grabbing at anything that would make the yawning chasm of pain in my heart go away.

Maybe I let my attraction for Cory cloud my thinking. Maybe if I put on that wedding dress again I’ll feel all the feelings I should about marrying Drew.

It wasn’t much, but it was all I had. Either that, or sit in the car and cry until I drowned.
But I don’t cry. I never cry.

I greeted my surprised parents at their breakfast table, telling them I’d be staying there until Friday. “Is that all right?”

“Of course!” My father beamed. “You know you never have to ask.”

Mother frowned. “I still don’t see why you’re not at home with Drew. What statement is it making to live apart for two weeks? It makes no sense.”

Ralph sighed. “Marilyn…”

“I told you, Mother,” I said wearily. “We’ve been together for years. Being apart for a bit and then coming together at the party sort of legitimizes the whole silly business.”

Marilyn’s eyes widened. “
Silly business
?”

“Isn’t it silly? To throw a party to announce something that everyone already knows?”

“It’s not just the announcement, darling,” my mother said. “It’s a celebration of the news. The announcement is merely a formality, and quite a nice one, I think. Making a public declaration of your intentions…”

“Are you okay, honey?” my father asked. “You look a little under the weather.”

“I’m fine, Daddy. Just tired. I’m going to go up and rest a bit.” I started upstairs but stopped. “Oh, and how was Palm Springs?”

My mother pursed her lips. “Hot as a furnace. How your father played eighteen holes without keeling over from heatstroke is beyond me.”

Dad rolled his eyes good-naturedly. “I could have gone another eighteen.” He winked at me. “All right, maybe only nine.”

I didn’t smile back but jogged back to him and threw my arms around his neck. “You take care of yourself, Daddy. I don’t know what I’d do if something happened to you.”

Ralph laughed, surprised. “Why, thank you, sweetheart. But don’t worry about me. I’m fit as a fiddle.”

“And you’d better stay that way.” I kissed his cheek and then embraced my mother. “You too. I love you both, so much.”

I turned away, not knowing what had come over me. I needed sleep. A full eight, solid hours without a nightmare. Maybe my old bed would give it to me…

“Don’t forget, we have the fitting at two o’clock!” Mother called up after me as I started back up to my room.

I sighed. “I know.”

#

At the Caroline Herrera boutique, I put on the stunning mermaid-style wedding dress I had chosen months ago: a simple, elegant silk gown made unique by sweeping ribbons of chiffon that draped elegantly around the bodice and waist, then billowed in soft layers below the knee. When we’d first chosen this dress, Mother had wanted something busier, with more lace, more beads, more train. But when I stepped out of the dressing room now, her eyes filled with tears she quickly blinked away.

“Yes, that will do. That is quite lovely, isn’t it?” She sniffed discreetly. “And of course, you’ll wear your hair up in an elegant twist…?”

“I’d rather wear it down.”

“Nonsense. With that red color, your hair will appear too wild for such a dress, isn’t that right, Annie?”

The consultant made a practiced, noncommittal reply that efficiently pleased Marilyn without insulting me.

“It’s my fault, my Irish blood,” Mother confided in Annie. “The red hair—oh, my dear!—you should have seen my mother. Lucky for me, the red skipped a generation.”

“You’ve gained a little bit of weight since last fitting,” Annie said, tugging at the back.

“Alexandra…” my mother warned.

“No, you look radiant,” Annie said. “Slender but with a little more curve to you. This sort of dress is made to enhance a figure like yours.”

I studied myself in the mirror while our consultant and my mother talked adjustments and then cooed over the dress—a stunning dress created by a legendary designer. Any bride would be over the moon to wear such a gorgeous gown.

And I felt nothing. Nothing at all.

#

While I changed back into my clothes, my cell rang. “Abed. What’s up?”

“You gotta get over here, quick,” my paralegal said, his voice low but full of breathy excitement. “Munro is
here
, pitching a fit, and the partners are in a panic. Lawson wanted me to call you, and while he didn’t use the word ‘beg’, I can read between the lines.”

“They want me over there now?”

“They want you over here
yesterday
. Lawson, Dooney & Gardener.
Guaranteed
.”

I bit my lip. This might be good. Another step toward the future I could predict. “I’m on my way.”

I hung up and told my mother they needed me at work.

“I’m
so
glad to hear it,” Marilyn said. “I never liked all this ‘leave of absence’ business. Made it seem as if you were expendable.”

I nearly informed her I was in a position to make partner, but for some reason I kept silent and drove my mother back home.

#

At Lawson & Dooney, I walked in with a peculiar mix of excitement and dread roiling in my gut. I wasn’t dressed particularly business-like: in dark blue jeans, emerald green sleeveless blouse, and flats. I’d left my hair down—I’d been leaving it down a lot lately—and had to admit my mother was right. It was a little bit wild, fiery red and thick and flowing to the middle of my back. It had gotten long while I wasn’t paying attention, as busy with work as I had been. I could have changed into a suit and tied my hair up in my usual twist, but they had kicked me out of my job for going on three weeks. I figured it couldn’t hurt to remind them—in front of Munro—of that fact.

Abed and Caitlin greeted me at the front entry in a rush, like groupies seeking autographs, talking in tandem as they walked and shoving papers into my hands.

“They’re in the main conference room,” Abed began. “I told them you were coming and they’ve stalled Munro with some expensive booze and beluga, but it’s tense. Really tense.”

Caitlin, my secretary, handed me a stack of papers. “Here’s what Christopher’s been doing on the case since you left. It’s not much—Mr. Munro’s been pretty uncooperative.”

Abed handed me another folder. “I’ve gathered status updates from the other attorneys who’ve been handling your other cases while you’ve been out and it’s not a pretty picture. None of your clients are happy the bosses gave you the leave.
None
.”

“Thanks, guys.” I said. We had arrived at the main conference room. “I’ll take it from here.”

Michael Dooney’s secretary looked ready to weep when she saw me approach. “Oh, thank God. They’re waiting for you.”

Armed with the paperwork from Abed and Caitlin, I inhaled deeply and stepped into the conference room.

Reginald Munro, clearly loosened a bit from the $70 per glass Scotch the partners had been plying him with, threw up his hands when he saw me.

“Well, hell’s bells, gentlemen! Who finally came to their senses and called this angel of mercy down from heaven to save your sorry butts?” He chuckled, threw back the rest of his drink and got to his feet. “Ms. Gardener.”

“Mr. Munro. Good to see you again,” I said, the lie slipping like butter off my tongue. I greeted my bosses coolly, hardly glancing at Dooney but sparing Jon Lawson a brief smile. Then I turned back to my client. “How are things?”

That was for Mr. Dooney. I knew perfectly well that Munro would now regale me—and him—with another earful of what they’d been getting all week.

And I was right. Munro ranted for a solid five minutes, peppering his complaints with sloppy laughter, sips of Scotch, and messy bites of table crackers smeared with caviar while I listened intently, my attention focused solely on him, nodding my head and clucking my dismay in all the right places.

“Yes, I can understand you’re upset,” I said when he paused to take a breath—and another drink. “Christopher Upton is a first-rate attorney, but there are challenges associated with taking over a case mid-way.”

Munro snorted. “First-rate? Is that the PC for ‘total blithering incompetent’?” He tossed back a final swig and gathered his jacket. His driver—a huge, bald man in a dark suit who’d been standing in the corner like a statue—helped him into it.

“She’s here, so my job is done. Now it’s time for
all
of you to do your jobs and get my case back on track. The mistrial was bad, but Ms. Gardener should have been given a chance to make it up to me. Instead you saddled me with that Upton boy.”

He gave me a parting glance that made me think of an eel, and said, “I forgive you. You’re re-hired. Just don’t go and get yourself held hostage at the beauty parlor or something next.” He laughed and bowed mockingly. “Lady. Gentlemen.”

No one replied, and when he was gone, it was as if a noxious vapor had been vented out. I slowly turned and faced the partners. Dooney sat at the conference table, Lawson paced about, as per his usual.

“I’m not going to beat around the bush,” Mr. Dooney began sternly, clearing his throat. “What do you want? Full partnership?”

“It’s yours, Alex,” Jon said, “but not solely for Munro. I’d be proud to have you as a partner, for your acumen and professionalism on
every
case.”

I didn’t doubt he meant it, but the timing of his compliment was convenient.

Dooney rested his elbows on the conference table, tapped his fingers on his chin. “We can hash out the details of the partnership with the accountants, and will put together a package I think you will find more than adequate. In the meantime, we’ll need you to get back on Munro
today
. There’s a great deal to catch up on. I expect it will take no insubstantial amount of time on your part, but I have complete faith in your abilities.”

“That’s quite a different message than the one I received several weeks ago,” I said coolly. “I can’t help but wonder at the change of heart.”

Dooney pursed his lips. “Don’t be coy, Ms. Gardener. It’s uncouth for the winner to gloat. A simple, ‘check and mate’ will suffice.”

Jon cleared his throat. “I do hope you’ll consider our position. The package we’re prepared to present you will more than make up for any…misunderstandings that were made regarding your leave of absence and will surely dispel any doubt about our faith in you.”

He means a separation agreement that will make it very worth their while to keep me. The mother of all golden parachutes.
I took a steadying breath without letting on that I had. “I appreciate that, Mr. Lawson.”

“Very good,” Mr. Dooney said, rising. “I see that Mr. Majeed has provided you with the materials needed to resume Munro. I don’t need to warn you that it will take many late nights and weekends to catch up. I don’t know the extent of Mr. Upton’s progress—hindered, no doubt, by our client—but I presume it wasn’t much. So.” He extended his bony hand to me. “Are we in accord?”

Nights and weekends. Seventy-hour workweeks, and no time for anything else. No visits with family, no swap meets, no baseballs games…

My cool surety fell away at the sudden rush of pain that swept across my heart. I didn’t take Mr. Dooney’s hand. Mine trembled too badly. “I…uh, it’s a very generous offer, but I need time to consider it. If you could have the actual package put together, I’d appreciate it very much.”