“Bullshit!” he spat. “You kept it a secret that you were working there, and you—”
“I never kept anything a secret,” she said. “I just started, and the reason you didn’t know is because it’s none of your damn business.”
“The partner who got this account was never given your name as being on the account. If he had, he would have told me.”
“Remember,” she said, “my name isn’t Haas anymore.”
“He knows who the fuck you are, Billie.”
“You don’t have to work on the case,” she said. “Your practice has plenty of lawyers who—”
“You know I do FTC cases!”
She had to smile at his arrogance. “Porter, I don’t keep up with your career or anything you do.”
His expression said he was clearly unable to believe that she wasn’t still obsessed with every aspect of his life, as he was with hers. “I don’t want to hear any more of your lies. Just tell me what you’re up to.”
“If you think everything I’m saying is a lie, Porter, then why would you believe me when I tell you what, in your words, I’m ‘up to’?”
His eyes squinted as he seethed in anger at her. “You’ve gotten too big for your britches.”
“Excuse me?” she asked, her blood beginning to boil.
“You know—”
“Wait!” She held her hand up to stop him. Her voice got very loud. “Scratch that! I don’t want clarification of what you mean by that insulting comment. You’re an asshole, Porter, and I want you to leave.”
“You’ve had a few victories,” he continued, ignoring her. “I let my guard down with you, and you fucked with me.”
“Oh, poor baby,” she said. “The only time I ever went at you was because you went at me first and endlessly.”
“You better not mess with me,” Porter warned, pointing his finger at her. “Whatever you thought you were going to do by hiring my firm, get it out of your mind. Fuck with me, Billie, and you’ll regret it.”
With that, he turned and walked away, leaving Billie at the door. She could feel herself breathing fast and hard as she realized he’d just threatened her . . . again. How many times had he done that since she’d filed for divorce?
There was nothing about him that resembled the man she had fallen in love with. So, why did he still have the power to upset her so much? Billie could still feel her heart racing as she reached her floor. Once again, he would jump in and out of her life and leave her to recover. She wanted to be angry at him, but she could only be angry at herself for letting him get to her after all of this time.
Her mood was only lightened somewhat at the sight of flowers at her doorstep. She reached down to pick them up and grabbed the attached postcard. She read the words out loud: “ ‘Looking forward to Wednesday night. Michael.’ ”
She smiled a little bit more, thinking about Michael and hoping that things would go well on their upcoming date. It almost allowed her to forget about Porter and all of the trouble he was likely going to cause her.
For once, in all of their clandestine meetings, Erica had gotten there first. When Jonah showed up in the corner booth at the small Mexican restaurant in Alexandria, Virginia, she felt a certain sense of satisfaction in that. For the first time, she had called this meeting. It made her feel like she was somewhat in control, which was extremely hard to do in the presence of a man like Jonah Nolan.
Still, as he sat across from her and greeted her firmly, but kindly, she was already feeling like a little girl. He was just so intimidating.
“This place is . . .” Jonah looked around and sighed. “Actually, I wanted to say something nice, but it’s a shithole. Do you actually eat here?”
“The food is authentic and cheap,” Erica said. “The people here are nice. Your sort doesn’t come here.”
“Can we dispense with the class warfare?” he asked. “I’ve offered to set you up in a better lifestyle. You’ve declined every time.”
“So stop offering,” she said.
“I’ll stop offering to give you money if you stop throwing in my face the fact that I have a lot of it.”
“Deal,” she said. “I just picked the place because you weren’t likely to run into anyone you knew here. I know how important your secrecy is to you.”
“Well, the security detail standing a few feet away from me at all times kind of defeats the point.”
He pointed to the two men against the wall, whom everyone in the tiny restaurant was staring at.
“No more secret meetings,” he said. “I won’t have that option, but I’m sincerely hoping that the reason you called me here will mean we won’t have to meet in secret anymore.”
“Rule number one,” she said, trying her best to look stone-faced. She didn’t frown or smile, just stared right into his intense eyes. “You don’t get involved in my personal life.”
He looked annoyed. “Anytime I’ve gotten involved in your personal life, it was for your own good. I warned you about Terr—”
“Don’t ever say his name to me,” she ordered. “Never again. If you do, this is done.”
“Don’t threaten me,” he ordered. “And I’m not to blame for his actions.”
“You are to blame for yours,” she said. “And they kind of go together, wouldn’t you say?”
“No, I wouldn’t.” He paused. “Any more rules?”
“If you’re not willing to treat me like your daughter in public, don’t ever expect me to treat you like my father in private. It won’t happen.”
His expression made it clear he wasn’t happy with that statement, but he seemed to brush it off quickly. “That seems fair. I know this situation isn’t easy on you, and I don’t deserve any better than what you’re willing to give me. But I do care for you, Erica.”
Erica stuck to her resolve. This was when he usually got to her. He was good at this, making her believe he was getting emotional, that there was a softer side to him. Trusting this always backfired; she had to remind herself of that. She could never really believe anything he said.
“I hope I can make you at least proud of what I can—”
“So, when do I start?” she asked, interrupting him.
He nodded as if he understood her meaning. “You remember Alex? He’ll contact you soon and get you started. There is a bit of administrative and background stuff to get through, so be patient. You’ll be up and running in no time. We’re having a party next—”
“Let’s talk about Sherise,” Erica said.
A frown immediately darkened his face. “We’ve already discussed that. There isn’t any more to say. As long as Sherise keeps her mouth shut, she doesn’t have anything to worry about.”
“Is she in danger?” Erica asked.
He frowned, looking confused. “Why would you ask me that?”
“You seem certain this won’t come out,” Erica said. “I just don’t see how you can be so certain, unless you plan on making certain it—”
“That’s nothing for you to be worried about,” Jonah said. “That’s not a part of my campaign you’ll be—”
“Anything involving my best friend is something for me to be worried about!”
“Keep your voice down,” he ordered calmly, leaning in. “Is there something about Sherise you need to tell me?”
“I wouldn’t tell you anything about her,” Erica said.
“That’s fine,” he said. “I don’t need you to.”
His tone was definitive; Erica knew exactly what he meant. All of this time, she had been worried about how he was protecting himself and Sherise from anyone finding out. She hadn’t thought about how he might decide to protect himself from Sherise. Jonah found out anything he wanted to know, did anything he wanted. This could be good for Sherise, meaning she was safe from anyone finding out about the two of them because Jonah would see that no one would. Or, this could be bad for Sherise, meaning if she was the only real threat to anyone finding out about them, Jonah would make sure she wasn
’t a threat anymore. That was what Erica was afraid of most.
Billie was somewhat grateful that her first date with Michael was a weeknight. She didn’t have to fuss over herself because she didn’t have the time to go home and get dressed up. She wore a sharp ruby-red Jones New York suit, coupled with a sleeveless silk button-down black blouse. The skirt was a little shorter than her usual skirts. Being petite, she needed all of the help she could get to appear to have longer legs than she did. Her Lanvin bow-toe patent leather pumps helped in that area too.
The smile on Michael’s face as she reached the table, situated in the center of the room at Palena on Connecticut Avenue, probably matched the smile on hers as she watched him stand for her. Here was a man who would offer her his seat on the train, send her flowers in anticipation of a first date, and now this. When was the last time that happened?
“Aren’t you a gentleman,” she said as she approached. She beamed the most gracious smile at him.
“It’s how my mama raised me.” He waited for her to sit down before taking his seat again. “You look great.”
“In this?” she asked, laughing. “Just work wear.”
“I feel silly,” he said. “I actually tried to get all gussied up and I don’t look anywhere near as good as you with no effort.”
No effort. She had to laugh at that. Also, he was wrong about not looking good. He looked great in a sharp black pin-striped suit, paired with a sky blue shirt and silky black tie.
“You’re right on time too,” he said. “I love that in a woman.”
“It isn’t polite to make a man wait,” she said, tilting her head to the side in a flirtatious manner. “Well, at least not too long.”
He smiled approvingly, only looking away from her as the waiter approached their table. The server placed a basket of warm bread and a small tin of butter at the center. After asking her what her tastes were, Michael ordered the wine for them.
“Before you came to D.C., you lived in the South, didn’t you?” she asked.
“How could you tell?”
“You have the perfect manners of a Southern gentleman,” she said, “but you also have an accent. One that I haven’t detected since that day on the train.”
“So you caught that?” he asked.
“Why don’t you speak it all the time?” she asked. “Or am I being too personal?”
Michael waited for the waiter to bring their drinks and asked him for a few more minutes to decide. He nodded and left.
“No,” he finally answered. “I was brought up in southern Georgia. Went to Morehouse. I’m a Southern boy at heart.”
“Nothing wrong with that,” she said. “Nothing at all.”
He shrugged. “Well, when I moved to D.C., I noticed my Southern accent got a few side eyes. They’re pretty elitist up here, you know.”
“Tell me about it.”
“So,” he said, pausing to take a sip of wine, “I decided it was best to . . . reserve the accent for more personal situations, let’s say.”
“Don’t I count for personal?” she asked. “This is a private dinner, right? We aren’t working.”
“Of course,” he agreed. “It’s just sometimes I’m so used to speaking carefully, it becomes the way I speak. Glad to know I can let go of all that with you.”
“I think it’s charming.” She felt her face get flushed at the pleasing response he gave to her compliment. “Speaking of elitist D.C. folks, why would you come to D.C. in the first place? Most people I know from Atlanta never leave.”
“The A-T-L is great and it’ll always be home. I might even consider moving back there when I retire. Honestly, I would have never left if it wasn’t for . . . well, you know.”
“Let me guess,” Billie said, deducing from that somewhat shy smile on his face. “A woman? Yes, it was a woman. Ah, you moved away from home for love.”
“I thought it was love at least.” He reached for the bread, offering it to her.
She shook her head. “No, but thank you. How romantic. Did you follow her here, or did you come here with her?”
“I came here with her.” He focused on the bread, seeming a little embarrassed to be sharing this information. “I was very passionate about her, but it turned out all of her passion was for activism. She came here to change the world and didn’t really have any time for much else.”
“You’re not the activist type?” she asked, pleased that his Southern accent was coming out, more and more, with each sentence. She found it sexy.
“Not like her. I love being a part of my community. I volunteer at DC Central Kitchen, I mentor for The Making of a Man, and I give free résumé and job interview–skills training at the Brentwood men’s center.”
Could this man get any better? Billie asked herself. Handsome, successful, perfect manners, and committed to giving back. Her heart picked up the pace.
The waiter returned; and after sharing the specials, they agreed on their meal. After he left, Michael got right back to the conversation.
“I saw your résumé,” he said. “As part of what I do for the company.”
“You were likely looking for reasons to tell them not to hire me.” She gave him a sly smile.
“I won’t admit to that,” he said. “What I noticed was that you like to volunteer a lot too. You made quite a reputation as a crusader during your short stint as a public defender. I take it the money was the big drawback.”
Billie took a deep breath and cleared her throat. Now was as good a time as any to tell the truth. “Divorce can sometimes change circumstances.”
“You’re divorced?” he asked, his left eyebrow rose in curiosity.
“Yes,” she answered. “For almost two years.”
“Well,” he offered, without missing a step, “that must be some damn fool to let you go.”
She was pleased with his reaction and felt a little weight come off her shoulders. That was done and he had reacted in the best scenario she could have imagined.
“He wouldn’t, by any chance . . .” Michael paused, seeming a bit hesitant to continue. “Do you keep in touch with him?”
“Do we have kids is what, I think, you’re asking?”
“No, I just . . . Well, it’s none of my business.”
“Don’t worry.” Billie’s tone was as nonchalant as she could manage. “We had no children together, but he had a daughter before we met. He isn’t really a part of my life anymore.”
“ ‘Really’ is an interesting word use.”
“He happens to be a lawyer at one of the firms I’ll be working with at Agencis.”
“That could be awkward.”
“I’ve got it under control,” she lied.
After her encounter with Porter two days ago, she was even less confident than before, but what choice did she have but to deal with it? She was a big girl, and big girls just deal with it.
“I hope you’re good at stress relievers,” he said. “You’ll need it working with your ex. Do you do kickboxing?”
“No, I’m more of a jogger.”
“I’m not talking about exercise,” he said. “I mean just plain good ole stress-relief fun.”
“I’ve never done it,” she said.
“We’ll go kickboxing.” He sat back confidently in his seat. “On our next date.”
“Getting ahead of ourselves,” she said, even though she was already planning their next several dates in her head.
“You have to try it.” He looked into her eyes with an intensity that grabbed at her.
“I have to?” she asked, mesmerized by his gaze.
“Kickboxing will transform you, Billie. Not only is it a massive stress reliever, but also the power that you feel.... It courses through your veins. It takes you over and you just feel like . . . It’s a passionate, sensual feeling.”
Billie felt a little breathless for a few moments. She was only torn from his gaze when their appetizers came. She was grateful for the distraction.
“Sounds a lit
tle intense to me.” She focused on her bowl of lobster bisque, not wanting to get caught up in those eyes of his again.
“It is,” he said, “and also addictive. Once you try it, it’ll become your favorite hobby, replacing whatever it is you like to do now. What is that, by the way?”
Billie tried to think and was a little surprised that nothing easily came to mind. “Well, I like spending time with my girlfriends more than anything.”
“But what do you do by yourself?” he asked. “You know, not with or for someone else, but just for you.”
“Um . . .” She was starting to feel embarrassed after a few seconds of not being able to come up with anything. “I guess . . . I used to love to paint.”
“ ‘Used to’? Why don’t you do it anymore?”
This perfect evening was starting to get a little uncomfortable for her. She could tell he was enjoying this, intent on her admitting that she had no real hobbies.
“I don’t have a lot of time,” she said, “but I used to love it. I was awful at it, though.”
“That doesn’t matter,” he said. “If you enjoyed it, then you were great at it. Although I’d like to see one of your paintings, before taking your word for it. I imagine you’re a lot better at everything than you give yourself credit for, Billie.”
This boy is too much, she told herself. “Too much” usually meant “too good to be true.” She urged herself to be cautious; but as the night continued, all Billie could do was find herself liking him more and more. He was funny and curious, two characteristics she loved. His laugh was infectious and he seemed to know right where the line between being suggestive and inappropriate stood and stayed on the edge.
Billie felt silly when she discussed her concern about their working relationship. By the time she’d mentioned it, it no longer seemed like much of a big deal to her. Michael reinforced that fact with his own belief that there was nothing there to worry about. He seemed determined to wipe away any doubt she had about the two of them pursuing something, but it wasn’t much necessary. Before the desserts even came, Billie couldn’t wait until the next time she’d get to see him again.
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