by E. J. Noyes
There was enough stress and annoyance and not-easy in my conflict-ridden life, and the prospect of an easy friendship was incredibly appealing. There was also something else about her that I couldn’t quite pin down. Something…more. My brain was too tired and wine-fogged to properly mull over what exactly more was.
I readied for bed quickly and made myself drink a few glasses of water before sliding naked between cold satin sheets and pulling the duvet up over my head. My eyes fell closed and as I drifted, snippets of conversation from the evening looped lazily around my head. It had been a good night.
I fiddled with the strap of my handbag, the words sticking when all I wanted to do was force them out. After swallowing a little of my doubt, I managed a soft, “I’d date you.”
“Would you now?” Brooke’s eyebrows slowly rose, her mouth lifting into an amused smile. Arms crossed over her breasts, she tapped her chin thoughtfully. “Well, you know, part of dating is kissing.”
“I know. I want that.”
“Hmm. Really? You want…this?” When I didn’t answer, she leaned closer, giving me time to move away. For the tiniest fraction of a second I considered doing just that, pulling back and telling her that I really wanted to kiss her but I’d never been interested in girls. But I said nothing.
Her lips met mine, warm and soft and tasting faintly of wine and strawberries. She opened her mouth and ever so softly stroked her tongue along my lower lip before pressing inside. Her tongue wasn’t a forceful intrusion, rather a gentle question and I answered immediately. The kiss was unhurried, languorous yet at the same time frantic and needy.
Brooke kissed the edge of my mouth, my jaw, my neck, as I held on to her lest I fall to the pavement. “Come home with me,” she whispered in my ear before her lips found my neck again. “I want you naked underneath me,” she murmured against my skin.
Someone down the street slammed their car door.
And I woke up. My heart thudded with the shock of being pulled from a dream, and the contents of said dream. “What the fuck?” I mumbled to myself. Well, that was surprising.
I drew in a few deep breaths to settle myself, and once the thudding of my heart eased, a new sensation took over. Excitement. My skin hummed from the dream-kiss, a pleasant warmth spreading through my body. I inhaled quickly, let it out slowly. It was just a dream. Dreams don’t mean anything. Do they? I mean, of course I’d had dreams about making out with women before. Celebrities, sportswomen and the like but never someone I actually knew. A tingling feeling settled at the base of my neck which I dismissed as the after effects of being dragged sharply and reluctantly from such a dream.
And maybe, just maybe, the feeling was a little bit of excitement or confusion because I wasn’t at all bothered by the dream. From the short time we’d spent together, it was easy to see that Brooke and I could be a good match…except for one glaring detail. She was a woman, and I’d never dated a woman. Never thought about dating a woman.
I sat up, pushed my hair out of my eyes and tried to focus on something other than my drink-dry mouth. First things first, get rid of the dry horrors. I stumbled from bed and to my bathroom where I cupped my hands under the stream and bent to swallow the water. When I straightened, I noted the eyeliner and mascara I hadn’t managed to fully wash off in my drunk-ish haze had smeared. Add that to the bed head and water dripping down my chin, well…
Mhmm, looking so hot right now, Jana. Ugh. Even if you weren’t totally deluded and confused, why the hell would Brooke want you when you’re a total wreck who can barely make it past the third date with anyone? Get your ass back to bed and sleep off this wine and whatever it’s doing to your brain.
* * *
Monday morning, by the time I’d gone through my usual dumping of stuff and heading back down to the lobby, Brooke was waiting for our regular coffee date. Jesus, no, we’ve already been through this—it’s not a damned date. I tried to act like I hadn’t had, and enjoyed, a kissing dream about her. But with brain and body still humming from the memory, I felt more than a little unbalanced when she strode up to me. Did she always walk like that, with that subtle hip swing? Or was I only just noticing it now because of…that dream thing.
Brooke stepped in beside me, smiling like she’d just received some fabulous news. “Hey, happy Monday!”
“Mm. I think our definitions of happy are a bit different.”
She laughed. “Rough weekend?”
“Well, once I’d gotten over Friday’s wine, it wasn’t so bad, but I was definitely reminded that I’m getting too old for long drinking sessions. Sunday, I met Sabs and Bec for lunch in the city, did some housework to get ready for my cleaner to come this week, spent some quality time with Grey’s Anatomy. The usual.” Oh hey, and by the way you’re a fabulous kisser.
“Ah, so just stuck in a regular Monday funk.”
“Something like that. You ready to get—” Kissy. Shut up, brain. “Coffee?”
“Am I ever.” She indicated that I should go ahead, but paused when a tall, silver-haired gentleman strode over from the elevators, a briefcase in one hand and an umbrella in the other.
He acknowledged me with a glance and a polite smile but zeroed his attention to Brooke. “I have a meeting with my lawyer. I’ll be back in a few hours. Can you make sure you have that initial plan for the Henley project finished by the time I get back, and I need you to talk to Kim about her vacation time.”
I noticed a change in Brooke as he spoke with her. She’d withdrawn, shoulders slumped as though she was trying to involute. She nodded, and agreed with a quick, “Mhmm, yes, of course.” She then gestured to me. “Dad, this is Jana Fleischer. Jana, this is my father, Richard Donnelly.”
I shuffled my handbag into the crook of my left elbow and offered my right hand. “Hello, Mr. Donnelly, it’s a pleasure to meet you.”
“Fleischer…familiar name,” he mused, taking my hand for an ultra-firm shake. “You must have worked with Oliver Kendrick before he passed away?”
“Yes, I did. He was my mentor.”
“Hmm.” His stare was measured, almost shrewd, as if he knew something I didn’t. “Is Will Weston still a partner?”
“Yes he is. It’s just the two of us now.”
“Oliver handled my divorce a good, oh it must be…close to twenty years ago now.” At my apparent confusion he chuckled. “I’ve been in this building a very long time. Oliver was a great guy, even if he charged me through the nose the way you all do.”
Ah yes, the money-grubbing attorney fallacy. Of course it wasn’t a complete fallacy—some of my contemporaries really were avaricious shitheads. But I worked my ass off for every minute I billed my clients and gave them every ounce of my skill and compassion. I flashed Richard my best smile. “Well, you know, we need to make sure we can keep up our bi-monthly vacations to Europe and add to our stable of luxury cars every three months. Not to mention keep the kids in private schools, pay an au pair for every one of them, and consume caviar and champagne at every meal.”
Richard stared at me for a few seconds, his expression so blank that I had a twinge of panic. Maybe I’d gone a little too far. Great, now I’d offended Brooke’s dad and she was going to ditch me as her almost-friend.
But his mouth split into a smile a moment before a deep belly laugh burst forth. “A lawyer with a sense of humor—will wonders never cease.”
Graciously, I inclined my head. “I try.”
Brooke laughed softly. Phew.
“Well, if I ever happen to get divorced again, I know who I’ll want on my side.” He leaned in. “Of course, that’d mean I’d have to marry again and honestly, the first one nearly killed me.” He patted Brooke’s shoulder. “I’ll see you back in the office. Also, our meeting on Thursday at three, you haven’t confirmed it.”
“I’ll be there,” she said quietly.
“Good.” Then he continued across the lobby floor and out the door, after throwing me an absent, “Pleasure meeting you, Ms. Fleischer.”
Brooke watched him leave, the muscles in her jaw bunching. Then she straightened up, visibly squared her shoulders and smiled. Or pretended to. The lines around her eyes made it clear the smile was forced. I was about to ask if she was okay, when she curled her fingers around my wrist and pulled me along with her. “I’d kill for coffee, let’s go.”
* * *
The rest of my week was a typical blur of court appearances, client and staff meetings, explaining how it all worked to Belinda and generally trying to do ten things at once, interspersed with meeting Brooke every morning for coffee, and dinner with Sabs and Bec on Wednesday. Six thirty p.m. came and went on Thursday, and I was still at my desk working through a pre-nup when my phone vibrated with a message. Though I’d muted my phone, seeing Brooke’s name had me reaching for it.
Hey, sorry for the late notice—would you happen to be free tonight?
I am. Or will be once I’m done in the office.
Still working close to 7? That’s heinous. Mind if I drop by when you’re done?
Course not. I’m pretty much finished. Give me half an hour to wind up, get home and shower etc.
I’m still in my office too. I’ll be up there in 5 minutes. If that’s okay?
It’s okay. Also, didn’t you just tell me working late was heinous? Front office door’s unlocked.
There was no reply and I set my phone aside to save my work and close down my laptop. After a few minutes I heard the main door open and rushed out of my office to greet Brooke. “Why hello, Working Hypocrite.”
She raised both hands. “You got me.” Though her tone was light, her expression most certainly was not. “Sorry, I didn’t mean to intrude on your after-hours stuff, I just didn’t feel like sitting in the office by myself staring at cost estimates anymore and thought you might be free.”
“You’re not intruding at all. Come on through.” I led her into my office and indicated a seat.
But she didn’t sit, just stood with hands balled into soft fists by her sides. She seemed quiet, wan and vacant, yet at the same time coiled and edgy like she was about to cry or yell. She glanced around, peering out the door. “You know, I didn’t realize until my dad mentioned it that there were only two of you up here. I always got the feeling you guys were a cadre of attorneys stalking around saving the world.”
“Nope, just the two of us and a small team of excellent offsiders. The Kendrick in the firm’s name is a bit sneaky. Ollie was a bit of a bigwig in D.C. family law circles and his estate stipulated we were allowed to keep his name attached to the firm, because he wanted people to remember him. Having Kendrick helps us but honestly, I just like feeling like he’s still around by having his name close to mine. He really was a good guy.”
“Must be why he chose you to join his firm then.” Brooke cleared her throat, rubbed her eyes.
“You okay?”
Brooke shrugged. “Yes, no.” She pointed behind me. “Do you have any booze in that nice antique credenza? Television shows always have lawyers with a stash of booze and cigars in their office. Is that real or has TV lied to me again?”
I backed toward the credenza—a gift from Oma and Opa when I made partner of the firm. “Geez, what do you take me for? Some kind of boozy, shady, under-the-table-deal attorney?” I asked as I deftly opened a door and pressed the switch that made a panel slide out. My favorite, though admittedly rarely used panel. The panel that held a Waterford Crystal decanter half-full of eighteen-year-old Glenlivet and a set of matching glasses given to me by my maternal grandparents when I passed my bar exam.
“Right now, I take you for an angel,” she breathed. “Bless you.”
I bowed, pouring her a half-inch and leaving the decanter out so she could administer more as necessary. Then I reached into the bottom drawer of my desk and dropped a handful of Hershey’s Kisses on the desk in front of her.
Brooke’s shoulders sagged. “Oh God, I could marry you, you fucking saint.” Her stare moved between the scotch and the chocolate. Chocolate won, and she plucked up a Kiss, fumbling with the wrapper. She’d barely chewed and swallowed before she raised the glass and drained the liquid in a long swallow, shuddering when she was done. “Sorry, that was really rude.” She sniffed hard and blinked, her eyes watering.
The more I watched her, the easier it became to see her watering eyes weren’t from chugging hard liquor, but because she was crying.
“Hey,” I said quietly. “Seriously, are you all right?”
“Yep, I’m all right.” She sniffed again, the empty glass shaking in her hand.
“Brooke…” I stepped close, took the glass from her and set it on the desk. Then without thinking, I enfolded her in a hug.
Brooke’s arms came around me instantly, she buried her face in my shoulder and the watering eyes quickly turned into full-blown, body-shaking crying. Around hiccupping sobs, she choked out, “Sorry, I lied. Not really all right.”
I held her as she cried, rubbing her back. There was nothing I could say, all I could do was soothe her with my hug and gentle sweeps of my hand between her shoulder blades. Brooke’s face remained pressed to my shoulder, fingers clutching my blouse tightly at the small of my back. I had no idea why she was upset, but I did know that holding her and comforting her felt so good. I tightened my hold on her, gently massaged the back of her neck.
Brooke drew in a few ragged breaths, shuddering as she pulled back and disengaged from our embrace. She wiped her palms under her eyes. “I’m sorry, I just didn’t know who else to talk to. I didn’t mean to unleash on you like that.”
“Not at all. I’m always here if you need me.” I reached for the tissues. “Do you want to talk about it?”
She shrugged, looking so utterly defeated and helpless that I wanted to gather her in my arms again. She tossed the used tissue into my wastebasket. “Just the most predictable story on the planet. I fucking hate my job. I feel sick every morning thinking about having to come in here and to work. It’s stressful as hell and I don’t want to be designing malls and apartment buildings, but my dad just doesn’t get it. And the kicker is he wants to retire and me to take over, and I just can’t find the guts to tell him no. I don’t want to be a fucking property developer and I don’t want to run the company. That’s what that meeting today was about. Me stepping up and taking over.” She pressed her hands to her diaphragm, drew in a few slow breaths. “I just feel so stuck and suffocated, and I don’t know what to do.”
“Oh, Brooke. I’m so sorry, sweetheart. That must be incredibly hard.” What else could I offer her? I had no solution, no magic wand. But…I did have myself. “Do you want to come home with me, I’ll make us some dinner and drive you back to your place after. I don’t want you to be alone. I mean, unless you want to be alone of course.”
Brooke stared into the empty tumbler. “No, I don’t think I want to be alone.” She poured a second, smaller measure then pressed the stopper back into the decanter. Instead of chugging this time, she took a smaller sip of scotch and exhaled. After a long, taut moment she looked up, her eyes telegraphing her emotion, and what seemed like desperation that my offer of company was a genuine one. “If you don’t mind.”
“Of course I don’t mind.” Relieved that she seemed to have relaxed, if only a fraction, I began to pack up. “Give me a few minutes to close up shop here.”
Her eyes brimmed with fresh tears. “Thanks. You’re a really good friend, Jana.”
Chapter Eleven
Brooke declined my offer of another alcoholic drink, declaring with a wry smile that she’d probably get even more weepy and mopey. So I left her with a glass of water and instructions to make herself at home while I changed into my favorite threadbare jeans and an old Army PT shirt of Sabine’s I’d borrowed after staying there for an all-night movie session. Brooke had moved to the other side of the living room to study my photos and the few paintings on the walls.
I stood behind her and noticed right away that she’d shrunk a few inches and was now just
taller than me. She’d also rolled up the sleeves on her button-up blouse to her elbows, this show of comfort and relaxation in my home pleasing me more than I’d have thought something so simple could. I spotted her heels standing side by side next to my couch and a sudden thought hit me. “Have you worn those heels you lent me since I returned them?”
Brooke stared down at her toes, which curled against my plush cream carpet. A familiar flush rose to her cheeks and neck and her reply was hasty. “Oh, no. I kind of just put the bag into the closet and forgot about them. I have plenty of black heels so I haven’t really missed them.”
“Pity, they’re incredibly comfortable.”
“That they are.” Brooke cleared her throat, turning slightly away. She pointed to a photo of Sabine and me, doubling astride Errol, her first pony. “You and Sabine?”
“Mhmm. I think she’s about ten there, so I’d be seven.”
Brooke leaned closer to the pictures, looking between that photo and a more recent one of me and Sabs. “Goodness you two look alike.”
“Thanks. She’s the smarter and better-looking sibling, or so she’ll tell you any chance she gets.”
Brooke side-eyed me. “I’m not sure about that. Do you still ride?”
Incredibly aware of her proximity and the offhanded compliment she’d just given me, I had to work at not sounding like a squeaky excited teen when I answered, “No, not for about fifteen years I guess. We both sold our horses a few years into college.” I picked up the picture, studying the image of Sabs and me on Errol. She sat in front, utterly straight and looking fearless while I sat behind her, as close as I could with my arms around her waist and my cheek against her back. “Honestly, I only took it up because Sabine did. She used to compete in English riding and was really good, but I always preferred just bumming around on the trails and doing a little jumping here and there.”