Someday (Sawtooth Mountains Stories Book 2)

by Susan Fanetti

  Then she bolted into a stall and puked her morning coffee into the toilet.

  *****

  As a criminal defense attorney, most of Honor’s clients didn’t need to keep her on retainer, and she’d been wholly focused on the Judith Jones case for months, so she didn’t have any active cases. Her meeting with Daryl Hines lasted all of about twenty minutes—eighteen of which were devoted to evading his questions about clients who did keep her on retainer. The ones who were generally and habitually guilty but had every right to a robust defense nonetheless, and, usually, the means to pay for the most robust defense available.

  Those were the clients Honor had called first thing this morning, before she’d met with Silas. Most of them were not interested in taking the risk she proposed. They’d been disappointed to hear that she meant to leave the firm, but they wished her well and said they’d be staying put. Two had said they’d think about it. Only one—a woman who ran an extensive prostitution empire—had agreed to stay with Honor.

  That wasn’t much, but it was a start.

  After Daryl left, Honor had her administrative assistant—who also had decided to stay put—order her a sandwich from the café on the first floor, called down to the archives for some boxes, and got down to the business of packing up seven years of her working life.

  Her personal phone rang while she was sitting on the floor, sorting through her paper files, separating her personal work product from documents that the firm could claim. Crawling to her bag, she dug around for the noisy device. On the screen was a ridiculous photo of a brassy redhead with a wide-open, drunken grin, wearing glittery antennae and sunglasses with the words HAPPY NEW YEAR in lights over the lenses.

  Lizbet was the first friend Honor made in Boise, just a couple of weeks after she’d moved to the city and into a little studio apartment in the Owyhee building. Through her first friend, she’d found a whole crew of women who had each other’s back through all of life’s dangerous alleys and byways.

  Despite the churning morass in her belly and the way stress had begun to tap out a staccato rhythm behind her eyes, Honor grinned as she answered. “Yo, bitch.”

  “What’re you up to, ho?”

  “Oh, not much. Just quitting my job. How ‘bout you?”

  “What? You were just on television last night, being famous and victorious. Are you fucking with me right now?”

  “Nope. I’m packing boxes as we speak.”

  “You said nothing on Saturday night.”

  “I wasn’t quitting on Saturday. Now, I am.”

  “What happened? Did one of those crusty old fucks get handsy?”

  “No, nothing like that.”

  “Then what the fuck happened?”

  She looked up at her door, and the glass wall beside it. The door was closed, but the blinds were open. “Not here. I’m sitting in the office packing up, and I don’t want to go into detail. We can talk later.”

  “Yeah, like tonight. I was calling to see if you wanted to go to the art museum gala with me tonight, my plus one flaked, but fuck culture.”

  “Derek flaked?” Lizbet had been seeing Derek, an administrator at her university, for several weeks.

  “Yes. Bailed, more like. Entirely. Easy come, easy go. Don’t change the subject. We need to drink heavily and talk. I’ll muster the troops.”

  “Liz, no. I need to chill tonight and get my wits about me. I need a quiet night alone.” She had to get moving on this new plan immediately, and she had only a skeleton of an idea what she meant to do.

  “Bullshit you do! If you sit by yourself tonight, you’ll fret until you chew off your own leg. We’ll be by at eight. Dress up—I booked a limo for the gala, and we’re using it.”

  “Lizbet!”

  “Nope. Gotta go. See you at eight!” Per usual, she was gone before Honor could even say goodbye; Lizbet sucked at phone etiquette. But that manic chat had dropped Honor’s anxiety about fifty percent, and Liz was right. If she stayed home alone tonight, she’d end up a basket case. Honor could feel the panic gaining steam at the back of her head. The second she had time to let this all sink in, she’d drown. Getting the girl crew to circle the wagons would give her strength and focus. And drunkenness sounded particularly appealing just now.

  She set the phone on the floor at her side and got back to sorting and packing.

  By two o’clock, she had all the boxes she meant to take packed, and she was debating the pros and cons of doing a circuit of goodbyes. Pros: there were people here she liked very much and would miss a lot, who deserved an honest moment of farewell. Cons: if she stayed much longer, security would escort her out. If she left before three, she could call up a Facilities guy to cart her boxes to the garage, and leave without a scene.

  Without a scene. She could get together with anyone she wanted after she’d made a clean getaway.

  As she picked up her desk phone to call down to Facilities, there was a knock on her door. She couldn’t see who was out there, and her nerves flared and made her heart palpitate again. “Yeah, come in,” she called, setting the handset back on the base.

  It was Debbie, the paralegal with whom she’d worked most closely for the past four years. At Bellamy White, attorneys had only an assistant assigned directly to them. Otherwise, they pulled staff from pools. But they could request particular people, if they were free. Honor had requested Debbie every chance she got. They thought alike. Debbie could anticipate the direction Honor would take a case and have what she needed ready before Honor realized she needed it, or right after.

  She should have been an attorney in her own right, but she had test anxiety and had failed the bar three times.

  “Hey, come on in.”

  Debbie came in and closed the door. “You look like you’re all packed up.”

  “Yeah. I was just calling down to get somebody to cart this to my car. What’s up?”

  Debbie hovered near the door, her arms crossed. She didn’t answer.

  “Deb?”

  “Sorry. You just … you didn’t call me. I was sitting on the toilet and overheard Jill say you were leaving today.”

  “I’m sorry. I wasn’t expecting everything to happen this fast, and if I’m not out by three, Silas is having security escort me out. I don’t want that scene, so I’m just trying to get the hell out.”

  “What are you going to do?”

  “Open my own office, I think. Do things my way.”

  Again, Debbie stood there, arms crossed, and said nothing. Again, Honor gave her a little push. “Deb?”

  “Do you want help? You’ll need somebody to run the office, right?”

  “What are you saying?”

  “I’m saying if you’d like help, ask.”

  “You’d leave here and come with me?”

  “Yes. That’s what I’m saying.”

  “Debbie, I don’t even have office space yet. I haven’t done any paperwork or anything at all. I don’t know what I can afford, or if I can afford anything. At this point, my entire plan is ‘open my own office and pray I don’t fall on my face.’ You have a kid to feed. He probably likes to sleep under a roof, too.”

  “I’m perfectly aware of my responsibilities. I’m not going to do anything that’ll hurt Jed. But I’m saying, get the paperwork done and have an office space, figure out what you can afford, and call me. If you want me, and I can keep food in my kid’s mouth and a roof over his head, I’m with you.”

  For the first time in these massively stressful two days, Honor was near tears. She dug her fingernails into her palm and held them off, focusing on the pain in her hand until she thought she could speak steadily. “Thank you, Debbie. I don’t know what to say.”

  “Don’t say anything. Just call me when you’re ready. We’ll build up something real and powerful, and make Silas eat his fucking Stetson.”

  *****

  A Facilities guy came up with a dolly and rolled Honor’s sad little stack of three banker’s boxes and a potted philodendron away,
and then she was alone in a room that had become a generic office. It always had been, really. She’d had this space, with a window and a partial view, for two years—they’d given her an exterior office instead of a partnership, like consolation prize—but she’d never put any effort into decorating it, because she’d had designs on an office upstairs, on the partners’ floor. Settling in here would have been settling in general.

  Now, standing in the middle of a room that had nothing of hers at all, not even her work, she understood the full truth of what she’d finally worked her way to realizing last night, talking with her father: Bellamy, White and Cohn would never have been the place where she could settle. They’d recruited her, yes. They knew her worth. Every day, every case, she proved her worth. But they didn’t value her. Because she was a woman. They simply couldn’t imagine, even at this late date in history, a woman devoting her life to her work—or, more likely, they didn’t trust a woman who devoted her life to her work.

  That was it, wasn’t it? These old bastards thought there was something wrong with her because she wouldn’t prefer to be a wife and mother.

  She was right not to sue. In their minds, suing wouldn’t prove her case. That would simply be her seeking the help of a higher authority, an authority men like Silas perceived as inherently male. No, what she had to do was dominate them. She had to build her practice like she’d built her life here: from scratch, her own way.

  And then dominate the fuck out of them. In court, in the media, everywhere. She had to build something that knocked Bellamy White out of the penthouse.

  Best she get started, then.

  She set the firm’s cellphone on top of the firm’s laptop. From her key ring, she took the small ring that held the keys to the file room, the elevator, and this office and set them beside the phone. She set her keycard, which gave her access to the building itself on top of the phone. Then she closed up her bags and hooked them over her shoulder.

  When she strode from the office that never had been hers, every person on the floor stopped what they were doing and watched as she walked to the elevators, a smile on her face and fire in her heart.

  She made it to the garage before she had to puke again.

  Chapter Three

  Why was she going out? She didn’t have time for this. Tonight she should be making lists and calls, researching online, reworking her personal budget, creating a work budget, and a finding-work budget, and doing everything she could to stay on top of this completely ridiculous thing she’d done so it wouldn’t destroy her.

  What she should absolutely not be doing? Blaring Swedish feminist folk music while she stood in the bathroom in a gold sequin and spandex mini-dress and did her best smoky eye, waiting to get picked up in a limo for a night on the town with the girls. Nights on the town were for people who had jobs.

  But it was too late to cancel—not that Lizbet had given her any kind of a choice. Not that Liz ever gave anybody any kind of a choice. Cow in a china shop, she was.

  Finishing her makeup with a kiss of gold highlight over her coral lip gloss, Honor tidied her bathroom counter and fluffed her hair before she went back to her bedroom closet to grab her strappy gold shoes and the little gold wristlet that matched her dress. Honor’s wardrobe could accommodate just about any event; hopefully she’d guessed right about the plans for the evening. Lizbet had said to dress up, but she hadn’t indicated where she meant to drag the crew. But she’d also mentioned heavy drinking, so it was safe to assume they’d be clubbing, and not attending the BAM gala as Liz’s plus-three.

  This dress would not work at the art museum. At all.

  An adherent to the ‘fake it till you make it’ school of social interaction, Honor had gone all out in her choice of ensemble, notwithstanding the fact that clubbing was far down the list of things she was in the mood for. Chunky Monkey, Kleenex, and Netflix was at the top. But if she tried to bail now, she’d have three women barging into her apartment to ‘rescue’ her. Instead, she’d make herself the life of the party.

  She slipped on her Jimmy Choos and did a once-over in her cheval mirror, making sure the dress was where it should be, then went to take her essentials—phone, billfold, house key, lip balm—from her work handbag and force them to fit into the wristlet.

  Her phone rang as she was playing a game of purse Tetris: Lizbet calling at two minutes past eight o’clock. She was a punctual little social drill sergeant. Honor turned off the music and answered.

  “Hey, I’m just about ready.”

  “Good!” her friend chirped. “We are down here with the bubbly bubbling, and you have got to meet Tyler.”

  “Tyler?”

  “Tyler! Our delectably dreamy driver! This is going to be a great night! Should I send him up for you? I’ll send him up for you. Oh, Tyler!”

  The position of life of the party had already been filled. Lizbet had a lifetime appointment.

  “No! Liz! Down, girl! I’m on my way right now.” Honor closed her wristlet and quickly considered and discarded the idea of bringing a coat. It was mid-April, and she’d likely be chilly, but she was from Wisconsin. She could handle the cold, and dealing with a jacket at the clubs was a pain in the ass.

  As she set the alarm and locked all her locks, it occurred to her that she hadn’t thought about her work since Lizbet had called, and already she felt a bit more energized.

  Maybe a night out on the town, ignoring her troubles, was exactly what she needed. Clear her head before she sorted things out.

  *****

  Tyler was, in fact, delectably dreamy. In his early twenties, with a sleek, dark blond ponytail, he filled out his simple black suit admirably. His smile as he opened the limo door was just exactly the proper amount of drolly flirtatious to elicit an answering smile from Honor.

  “Hi, Tyler,” she said as she eased by the open door.

  “Good evening, Ms. Babinot,” he replied, with a subtle dip of a bow. Oh, this guy was well prepared.

  As Callie scooted over and Honor sat beside her, she looked up at the handsome driver. “I feel I should apologize now for anything that happens this evening.”

  “I’ve seen it all, Ms. Babinot. There’s nothing you can do to ruffle my feathers.”

  “He keeps saying that!” Lizbet declared from her seat at the side of the expansive limousine. “Challenge accepted, handsome! Challenge accepted!”

  Chuckling, Tyler closed the door.

  Callie shoved a glass of champagne at Honor. “Drink! You’ve got catching up to do!”

  Honor took a sip—oh, it was really dry. Too much of this was an express ticket to living death in the morning. She sipped lightly and glanced around at her best friends: Callie, at her side, wearing a tight black dress made mostly of straps and hope. Emily, sitting next to the little bar, wearing palazzo pants and a shimmery silk blazer in cobalt blue. And Lizbet, her curly red hair blown straight and sleek, wearing a wildly fanciful pink tulle dress in a style Honor recognized at once as Betsey Johnson.

  She was right: nightclub, not art museum.

  Callie nudged Honor’s elbow. “Drink up, babycakes! We’re on the second bottle already!”

  “Guys, we’re not celebrating, right? Why so manic?” But she took another sip. One thing worse than a nasty hangover? Being the only sober person at the party.

  “We absolutely are celebrating!” Lizbet insisted, shifting seats so she was right in front of Honor. “We are celebrating your freedom from that stodgy old place and your new adventure.” She grabbed the open champagne bottle and topped off everyone’s glass, then lifted hers up. “To the most honorable Honor Babinot and her great big balls!”

  “Hear, hear!” said Callie, grinning maniacally at Honor.

  “To Honor!” said Emily, whose grin was also far too big.

  Oh, they were having a ‘make Honor feel like she hadn’t made a huge mistake and ruined her life’ party. Oh.

  Honor took a big swallow of the bitter bubbly. She really needed to be drunk to d
eal with the night.

  *****

  “We’re not usually like this,” Honor insisted as Tyler the Delectably Dreamy Driver stepped off the elevator with her. “We’re professional women. Callie is a surgeon. A ner-newo-news—a brain surgeon. Emily does media things for the mayor. Liz is a art history professor—wait.” Honor squinted at the door before her. “That’s not my door. My door is green. Where’s my door?”

  “What’s your apartment number?” He sounded amused. They’d been amusing him all night.

  Honor thought about that for a second. “Um, 15?” That was right. “15A, yep. That’s 5B. Why are we on 5?”

  “Because you pushed the button for the fifth floor. Let’s go back to the elevator.”

  He led her back, and pushed the button himself. It wouldn’t go to her floor without her keycard, and it took her a second to remember that. Finally, she did, and worked the card out of her stupid wristlet to slide it into its magic slot.

  As the car rose, Honor looked over at the young driver with the sexy ponytail. “You’re very good looking, you know that?”

  His mouth turned up on one side. That was sexy, too. “Thank you. You’re very beautiful.”

  “Aww, you’re sweet! Did we ruffle your feathers tonight?”

  “No, ma’am.” He turned and looked right at her. “Not yet.”

  Honor squinted at him. “Are you flirting right now?”

  He didn’t look away, but that smile slid farther up his cheek. “Until I drop you off at your door, I’m on duty, so I’m not flirting right now.”

  Oh, he was flirting. She was pretty durn drunk, but she could tell that was flirting. Dreamy Tyler with the broad shoulders was flirting with her.

  She flipped her hair a little and stood up straight. The car chimed and the doors opened, and they stepped out into her entry.