by Raquel Belle
“Here we are, miss.” As if reading my thoughts, the taxi driver announces our arrival at the hotel. I’m staying in the historic center. The Old Boston Inn has been in operation since the 1800’s and is practically a piece of history itself. Large white columns can be found on either side of the entryway and an old bellman—who looks like he’s been there since the 1800’s himself—comes to help me with my bags as I clamber out of the cab.
It takes only minutes to check in and I’m quickly whisked up to my room. The benefits of a five-star hotel—no waiting, no fuss, no stress. And the room is, of course, gorgeous. My heels click across the polished hardwood floors as I survey the space. An enormous bedroom with a four-poster bed dotted with plush white linens takes up one-half of the suite. The other half has a large white couch and chair, and a roll-top mahogany desk sits at the window, overlooking the bustling pedestrian area below.
I walk over to the desk and clear off the fruit basket and welcome note sitting there, absentmindedly taking a bite out of an apple before sitting down and scrolling through my phone. I need to check the emails I missed during my brief time in the air. I’m technically supposed to be on vacation… My first vacation in almost ten years. Shit, has it really been that long? Before I can start stressing about this number—and what it says about my age—my phone rings.
It’s my assistant, Amy, calling to check in. I pay her well above the standard assistant’s salary and it’s exactly for reasons like this. She always goes the extra mile.
“Hi Amy, thanks for calling. The flight was fine.” I cut right to the chase.
“Great, Cara. I’m glad to hear it. And the upgrade to business class I arranged for you worked out as well?”
“It sure did, thank you. Any updates from the office?”
“Two new potential additions to the Santiam Pharmaceuticals case.”
“Great, please send them the preliminary paperwork and tell them I’ll follow up when I’m back. It looks like this is going to be our biggest class action lawsuit yet.”
“Already done. Yup, if you add these two it will bring the number of plaintiffs to seventeen.”
I grin. Amy never misses a beat. “Perfect. I’m all checked in at the hotel and good to go.”
“Is the room okay?”
“It’s perfect, Amy. Thanks for arranging all of this.”
“Of course. Just doing my job. Does it feel good to be home?”
“It’s sort of strange. I mean, this is technically home. But that feels long ago.”
“I guess you haven’t actually lived in Boston for quite awhile.”
“Yeah. I left for college in Cambridge when I was 18.”
“It must also be weird to be in a hotel,” Amy’s voice sounds sympathetic from the other end of the line.
“Sure. In the past when I visited, I would stay at the old family home in downtown Boston with my parents. But since they’ve sold it and moved to a smaller place in the suburbs…”
“You’re stuck in a hotel,” Amy finishes my sentence.
“Yep. I mean, it made sense. They didn’t need that big house anymore with me long gone and Laura also done with college and starting her own life. Anyway, the room is really gorgeous, Amy. I’ll be very comfortable here. Thank you.”
“We’re lucky we got you anything, to be honest! There’s so much going on in Boston right now, a lot of hotels were totally booked.”
“Well, it is wedding season.” I hope that Amy doesn’t detect the slight sigh in my voice.
“That reminds me, I put your name on some items from Laura’s wedding registry and they should be delivered directly to the venue, wrapped and ready to go.”
I breathe a sigh of relief. Amy truly is an angel. I’ve been so caught up in work, I forgot about Laura’s gift. I’d been searching for something special for weeks but nothing seemed to cut it…so I decided that registry gifts could be a placeholder till I found exactly what I’m looking for. I’m definitely not getting my maid of honor duties off to a good start.
“Thanks, Amy. You’re the best. Remind me of that when Christmas bonus season comes in.”
“You got it,” she says, her laughter tinkling through the phone. “Have fun, Cara. Relax. Everything is under control here.”
“I’ll try.”
I end the call with Amy’s cheery well wishes echoing through my head.
Have fun. I peer out the window. Below me, tourists are bustling around, guide books in hand. In the distance, I can catch just a glimpse of the boats rolling in and out of Boston Harbor. It all looks the same as it used to, maybe a bit cleaner—freshened up to accommodate the city’s growing tourism business. And right now, in late July, it’s wedding season so business is booming. Wedding season…
Get your nails done before the wedding, I remind myself, thinking of Grace’s perfectly manicured hands from Friday night. My fingernails are a mess. Cuticles torn and the light pink nail polish chipped. I’ll deal with it later. I rummage through my suitcase, looking for a fresh dress to wear. I’m starving and want to get outside into the sunny July day and scope out of some of Boston’s famous seafood.
I left Boston at eighteen to head to Harvard for undergrad. I was just a kid then. Now, I’m thirty-one, running my own boutique law firm in Manhattan. Conley Law. One day it will be Conley & Partners. For now, though, I can handle the workload myself—with Amy’s administrative help of course. Conley Law is one of the best-recognized boutique firms in the city. I’m happy for my career success but I also know something is missing. And I feel like I’m running out of time when it comes to filling that missing piece of the puzzle. I can’t believe I’m in my thirties. I stride from the window to the mirror and survey myself as if I have a giant time stamp on my forehead. What’s my expiration date? I take my blonde hair out of the tight bun at the nape of my neck—my standard work style—and shake it out over my shoulders. It almost comes down to my nipples. I’m overdue for a haircut as well as a manicure it seems.
I turn to the side, surveying my boobs. I’ve always had a nice standard B-cup but I swear gravity is already taking a toll. I cup a hand over either boob and lift them up gently—this was twenty. I let go and they drop ever so slightly—this is thirty. Christ, what the hell will they look like in another ten years? Or after I have kids? Well, that’s not a concern yet. I shake my head as I slip off my pencil skirt and unbutton my blouse. This look screams business way too much for my purposes in Boston. I need to let go and loosen up. Here, I don’t have to be Attorney Conley. My mind drifts back briefly to the growing pile of paperwork on my desk in New York. That Santiam Pharma case is going to be huge…
Stop it, Cara. I shake myself. This is not what this trip is about. I’m here to help Laura prepare for her wedding. Today is July 20. On Sunday, August 4, in just a little over two weeks, I will stand by my baby sister’s side as she exchanges vows with her fiancé, Jared. Not that she’s a baby anymore. Laura is twenty-one. She graduated from Boston College and now runs her own interior design business—she’s an adult. I get that. But still…she’ll always be my baby sister. It will be good to see her…and our parents. They’ll be here next weekend to help with the final wedding preparations. Until then, it’s just us sisters.
I grab a light summer dress out of my bag, slip it over my head, and step back to take a peek in the mirror. That’s better. I look more relaxed. I feel more relaxed. My business wear was stifling in the heat. I fluff up my hair again and examine the roots with slight concern. I’ll have to ask Amy to make an appointment at the salon for a touch-up. My naturally bright blonde hair always struck me as un-serious and I purposely add low lights to it to tone it down. The last thing you want when you’re in the courtroom is to give anyone a reason to think of you as dumb. Or a bimbo. That “Legally Blonde” movie was cute and all but realistic? Not so much.
Finally, I’m all set. I take a last look in the mirror as I slip on a pair of sandals. The only heels I want to wear on this trip are the ones I’ll
wear for the actual wedding day. It’s time to give myself and my feet a break. I carefully place the red-bottomed heels I arrived in at the bottom of my suitcase. I won’t need them for the next couple weeks.
I slip my phone and a book—“Eat, Pray, Love”—into my bag. Even though I know I’ll be busy helping Laura with all kinds of odds and ends in the weeks to come, I’m determined to treat this trip as a vacation. A much-deserved vacation, I remind myself. Reading for pleasure isn’t something I usually have time for but I’ve been eyeing this book for years and I’m determined to finally read it. Amy recommended it when I caught her crying over it on her lunch break one day. She says it’s a love story written by a strong and independent woman and assured me it’s “not too cheesy.” Let’s see.
I leave the room and make my way out of the hotel. Finally, I step out into the sweltering heat, immediately resolving to head towards the Seaport District where I’ll get some fresh air coming off the Atlantic. The warm summer air washes over me, slightly piercing through the delicate silky dress, the cream-colored fabric rustles softly against me. I lower my sunglasses over my eyes and stroll along the row of townhouses. It’s a gorgeous day.
My reverie is interrupted by the clank and buzz of a construction site. At the far end of the pedestrian street, a major project is underway. It looks like a new hotel is being built—some modern monstrosity that will tower over the charming old buildings here. I shake my head as I take in the scene. There’s already three levels of steel framework and men in hardhats at the top, clearly planning to continue the build upwards. An enormous crane towers above the scene.
I shake my head with slight annoyance. At least my hotel is far enough up the street that I won’t be waking up to this noise every morning. I continue walking in search of a more relaxing spot. Maybe I can find a place to sit outside and enjoy a crisp glass of white wine and some cold oysters… I’m already drooling at the thought of the picture-perfect feast I’ve painted in my head when my thoughts are interrupted. I’m almost past the construction site when someone shouts at me from behind.
“Hey, sweetheart, yea! YOU! Goil, you with the sweet ass, don’t look so serious, huh?”
Involuntarily, I turn towards the gruff man’s voice, my ears caught by the Boston accent I haven’t heard in so long. After years of New York living, I think I’ve lost mine—the girls tell me otherwise though.
“Hey, there we go, awww honey, c’mon gimmie a smile, aite? It’s too nice a day to be lookin’ so serious, pretty goil like you! Gimmie a smile, huh?”
This wannabe Prince Charming is working on the construction. Well, he’s not working. He seems to just be hanging out, sitting on some rubble, soaking up the sun and enjoying the scene he’s creating. He’s wearing an old t-shirt with holes and ripped jeans. His giant beer belly is straining out over his belt and his weather-beaten face has a goofy smile plastered on it…it grows even bigger when he sees me looking at him.
“Ah, look at her, she’s checkin youse out Paulie, think she likes ya.” His work buddies are laughing and clapping him on the back, pleased that I’ve bothered to turn and look in their direction. If I had more sense, I’d just ignore them and keep walking but…well…that’s not my style.
“I can smile whenever I damn well please and I sure as hell am not interested in putting on a fucking smile for you.”
“Feck, she’s a feisty one! Paulie, watch out, that one’ll tear ya’ balls right off.”
“You bet I fucking will.” I advance towards them.
The original instigator, the guy they’re calling Paulie, is undeterred. “With that face and that body, I’d let ya, honey!” The men erupt in hearty guffaws.
Fucking hell. I’m now standing almost directly in front of them. Only a few feet and the line of orange caution tape marking off the construction site separates us and I’m internally starting to regret jumping into this ridiculous battle—but now that I’ve started it, I’m determined to finish it. The curse of being a lawyer: You always have to be right and you always have to win.
“Don’t you have a job to be doing instead of harassing women on the street?” I ask pointedly, looking right at the one they’re calling Paulie. He shoots me a big grin and opens his mouth to shoot back some smart remark when—
“You’re absolutely right, miss. These boys do have some work to be doing. Get to it, guys! This building isn’t going to put itself up.” Out of the shadows steps a man, taller than the rest. Wearing jeans, work boots, and a white workman’s tank, he’s covered in sweat and dirt from head to foot. But I can’t help notice the muscles in his arms and the huge, bulky shoulders towering above me.
He towers above the other men, too, who seem to actually listen to what he says—I assume because he could crush any of them in a heartbeat. “Aite big guy, just havin’ a little fun on the lunch break,” the one called Paulie tells the hulking newcomer.
“Well, lunch is over. Get back to it.”
The crowd of men, giggling like schoolgirls, scurries off. They seem harmless and silly now that they’ve been checked by this man…this giant. Who is this guy? I tear my gaze away from his glistening biceps and crane my head back to stare into his face. He’s looking down at me, his dark-blue eyes curious.
“I’m sorry about that. They won’t do any harm. Guys like Paulie… Let’s just say they’re all talk and no action.” He grins, self-confidence oozing out of him. He has a sort of Hemsworth-brothers look to him. I mean, like a Hemsworth brother who hasn’t showered in a week maybe.
“I know that,” I tell him shortly. “I could have handled him myself.”
“Sure, I have no doubt about that. I heard you taking him to task.” His smile grows even bigger—his flashing white teeth seem to be the cleanest thing about him. Dust has settled in the crinkles at the corners of his eyes and in the hint of stubble on his cheeks and chin. He pulls his hand out of his workman’s glove as he’s talking and extends it towards me confidently. “I’m Jason. Excuse the dirt.”
“I have no problem with a bit of dust,” I tell him, pointedly making eye contact as I shake his hand, with my small hand disappearing completely in his firm grip. For a moment I’m self-conscious about my chipped nails and then I come to my senses. Compared to this guy, I have nothing to worry about.
“Sure, you don’t seem like the type of girl who minds getting down and dirty when it’s necessary. Pretty scrappy, standing up to some construction guys like that.”
“Well, thanks for your help anyway,” I tell him honestly. I am actually relieved that he stepped in…although I hope he can’t see that sentiment on my face.
“It was a pleasure. You know, I don’t mind playing ‘white knight’ every once in awhile.” He gives me a wink and his grin expands, the laugh lines crinkling at the corners of his eyes even more. I can’t help wondering what he looks like when he’s free of dirt and grime and my mind momentarily flashes to an image of him in the shower… Stop it, Cara. I snap myself back to the present moment.
“Oh, is that your whole shtick then?” I can’t help but respond to that smile of his, inviting me to flirt. “You set up Paulie and the boys there to hassle some helpless, innocent woman and then you get to swoop in and play hero?”
He throws back his head and laughs, his white teeth shining out against his dark tan. The muscles in his arms even twitch, flexing ever so slightly when he laughs. He recovers himself. “Look, you don’t seem helpless or innocent to me, but I have to admit, this scenario might have worked out for me…”
“Might have?”
“I mean, it would if you agreed to let me take you out.” He puts up his arms in a mock defensive attitude. “Just as an apology, of course, for the trouble that was caused to you today. It’s the least I can do.”
I eye him skeptically. His sweat-soaked shirt is clinging to him, making the definition of his pecs perfectly clear. You’re supposed to be here to help Laura, I remind myself. But I’m not even seeing Laura until tomorrow—Monday. I hav
e today all to myself. And this is supposed to be a vacation. A little bit of pleasure…
“So is my devious plan working or not?” Jason’s joking words interrupt my swirling thoughts. He’s removed his hardhat and is running his hand coolly through a sweaty mop of dark hair. He raises an eyebrow inquisitively.
“I’m thinking about it.”
“That’s a lot of thinking for one simple question.”
“Just considering every angle. Typical lawyer’s habit.”
“You’re a lawyer?” His eyebrows shoot up. “So you must love a good argument,” he smiles, adding, “Paulie had no idea what he was getting himself into.”
“That’s just a stereotype. Not all lawyers love to argue. And arguing a case is very different from an actual—”
His big laugh interrupts me. “You’re arguing right now, Miss Attorney.”
“Oh.” I smile, suddenly feeling self-conscious. He’s so…sure of himself. Usually I am too but I’m out of my element here. And I’m slightly thrown by his lack of a Boston accent. He’s not from around here… I think briefly of Mr. Perfect who sat next to me on the airplane this morning and how he combed his hair at the end of his flight. I don’t want Mr. Perfect. I want whatever this towering giant in front of me is, this dirty Hemsworth brother who is brazenly hitting on me without a single thought of the sweat and dust he’s enveloped in. I mean, maybe not forever but just for a night…
“You never told me your name, Miss Attorney.” His deep voice cuts into my thoughts.
“Cara.” I gulp the word out, feeling idiotic. I had been so busy drooling over his muscular arms and perfectly etched jawline when we shook hands, I didn’t even respond properly when he introduced himself.
“Well, Cara, tell me, is my devious plan going to work or not? Can I take you out? Or do you want to stand on the street with me and argue about it?”