Colleen.
He couldn’t get her out of his mind. He’d been searching for a plausible reason to contact her again, to talk to her, to simply be around her, and this provided the perfect vehicle. Looking for background information. Safe. Neutral.
Believable.
Closing the file folder, he buzzed Jennifer again.
She peeked in the door. “Ready for her? She’s a doll.”
“She is. And I am ready.” He smiled. “Thank you.”
Moments later, Esther Wellington, tea in hand, slipped through the door, her features luminous with hope. “Have you come to a decision, Mr. Nelson?”
He stood, gesturing toward the chair. “I have. Please, take a seat.”
Once they were settled, Eric steepled his fingers. “I think we have a solid case here.”
Esther released a whoosh of breath. “Thank goodness.”
“I’ll be happy to represent you and the others.”
Tears shone in Esther’s eyes, the teacup rattling on the saucer in her hands. “Oh, bless you. Bless you.”
Eric stood and eased the cup and saucer from Esther’s grip, placing them on the desk. He offered her a tissue, then sat and waited while she wiped her eyes and composed herself.
With a sniff, she asked, “Where do we start?”
He cleared his throat. “I noticed you consulted with the firm of McTierney, Wenzel, Scott and Framus. Can you tell me which attorney you spoke to and why he decided not to take the case?”
“Oh, she, actually. It was the lovely young woman.” Esther gazed off in the distance and fiddled with her pearls. “What was her name?”
Eric’s heart contracted. “Colleen? Colleen Delaney?”
“Yes! That’s her. What a dear.”
“Yet, she chose not to take the case?”
“She wanted to,” Esther said. “At least, it seemed as such.” She leaned in and lowered her tone, as if she and Eric were being watched. “I got the feeling the decision came from over her head, if you know what I mean.”
Eric nodded, careful to keep his expression neutral. “Well, Ms. Delaney is a wonderful attorney. I’m sure she did want to help you. But, in her stead, I will do everything in my power to win this case. I’m confident I can.”
“You’re a true hero, Mr. Nelson.”
“No, I’m just a lawyer. And please, call me Eric.” He winked. “Mr. Nelson makes me sound like my dad.”
Esther tittered behind her blue-veined hand as Eric pondered his run of luck. This pro bono case had fallen into his lap at exactly the right moment. He could put an unethical contractor in his place, help out a wonderful group of older folks, and have a legitimate excuse to get in touch with Colleen. Interesting. As he picked up the phone and dialed, he thought back to Jack’s words the day they’d found out Colleen was representing Ned Jones, and shook his head.
Maybe everything did happen for a reason.
Colleen pressed the replay button on her cell-phone voice mail again—for about the tenth time.
“Hey, Colleen, it’s me. Ah, Eric, that is. Nelson. Shoot, you probably knew that,” his voice muttered in a rush that made her smile. Every time. “Anyway, I need to speak with you about a case. Not the Jones case, something else. Call me. Anytime, okay? Here are my numbers.”
She had his home, cell and office numbers written on a notepad next to her bed, and she had his voice recorded. Why couldn’t she stop listening to it? That crazy little something about Eric made her heart twist and her brain go fuzzy. Always had, which was clear evidence why she needed to focus on how she was going to dig herself out of this Ned Jones debacle rather than call Eric back. They didn’t have any other cases in common. He probably wanted to fish a little, find out if she’d followed up on the Drake Thatcher angle yet and get a bead on her plans. She simply wasn’t ready to discuss it with opposing counsel even if he did happen to be Eric Nelson, the only guy she’d ever truly opened up to.
With a sigh, she pulled her attention away from Eric’s message and confronted the piles of paperwork completely covering her king-size bed. The Jones case files fanned out around her in some semblance of chaotic order. She’d gotten comfortable in yoga pants and a fleecy sweatshirt, pushed her hair off her face with a headband, and a fortifying glass of Chianti sat on the nightstand.
In the past two hours, she’d scrawled six pages of notes about every angle of this case, and regardless of Ned Jones’s idiotic, shortsighted deal with Drake Thatcher, which he’d laid out for her in detail the other day on digital recording—a cash payoff and a guaranteed position with Thatcher’s company if Ned helped take Taka-Hanson down—she still thought she had a shot at winning this thing. It was all about the showdown in the courtroom, right? It may be trumped up, but Taka-Hanson could afford to take the hit.
Why not toss one over for the little guy?
He’d get his money and get out of her hair. She’d make partner as she’d always planned. One case. One time to focus on the spirit, rather than the letter, of the law. What could it hurt? Certainly Eric’s career and Taka-Hanson’s booming business would chug right along without a bump. This time, it really was Ned and she who needed the win.
Still, she felt unsettled, conflicted, tense. She wished she could talk to someone about it, but who? No way could she speak to anyone at her firm. To give them the impression that she didn’t have this under control would be a disaster. Megan? No. Megan would be horrified to think Colleen would even consider going forward with a “gray area” case. And Mom wouldn’t understand the finer points of finessing the law for the greater good either. She’d probably just chide Colleen for working too hard.
Which she had been.
But how else would Colleen ever reach her goals? No one was going to hand her a partnership, tied up in a bow.
Sighing, she rested her back against the sumptuous suede upholstered headboard, pulled her knees up to her chest, and sipped her wine.
The truth? She wanted to talk to Eric.
But she wanted him not to be opposing counsel.
Dilemma.
As things stood, she couldn’t risk exposing her plans to him. Couldn’t risk telling him what Jones had confessed. Couldn’t risk…herself. Eric was defending Taka-Hanson, for goodness’ sake, and as much as her heart said, “let your guard down,” her brain kept whispering, “stay smart.” Eric might seem sweet now, but she had to remember how much he disliked her in law school.
Well, at least…after that magical night.
He hadn’t disliked her at all until she’d cruelly shoved him aside. Her doing, all of it. She groaned. Her entire life felt like a maze of smoke and mirrors.
To hell with it. Maybe she just wanted to talk to Eric. Needed to. Was that so wrong? Attorney to attorney, person to person, old friend to old friend.
Former lover to former lover.
She didn’t have to discuss the Ned Jones debacle in order to hear Eric’s voice, right? He obviously needed a call back from her anyway, about some supposedly unrelated case. What the heck?
A deep yearning opened up inside her, like a day lily at the first break of sun. She hadn’t realized how utterly alone she’d felt in her career, in her whole life until Eric turned up again. Now that isolation was like molten soul magma, deep below the hard surface of her reality, bubbling closer and closer to the top.
Just call him.
She gulped a bit more liquid courage, unwilling to examine why she needed it, then dialed his home number with icy cold fingers. It rang three times before going to voice mail. Voice mail! After all that anticipation. Disappointment hung on her like a wet veil until it struck her.
Friday night.
Any self-respecting Nelson boy would be at the requisite family dinner, and even though Eric dreaded them, hated debating with his dad and brothers, she knew he’d never let his mom down. Frankly, as much as he bemoaned the mandatory Nelson events, Colleen had always envied him the loud, supposedly chaotic family get-togethers. She imagined bounti
ful holiday dinners filled with warmth and laughter, shared stories and games and challenges. She imagined driving home with her stomach full, ears buzzing in the silence after the cacophony, a smile on her face. She imagined belonging.
As the only child of a single mother, family held a completely different meaning for her. There were no debating brothers or sisters, no aunts, uncles, cousins. No grandparents. Not even a father. Holidays had been something to dread, loaded with stuffed-full silences, melancholy, the knowledge that her mother always wanted something more than just her.
She’d never been enough, in so many ways.
And, although they peacefully coexisted now, the nitrogen sting of those childhood memories had left a frozen spot on her soul.
But the Nelsons.
Ah, the Nelsons.
How different she imagined life was for them.
Colleen would score points for calling Eric at his parents’ house. It would give him an excuse to step away from the fracas and discuss business in some quiet room apart from the others. Why she yearned to score points with Eric Nelson wasn’t something she wanted to examine at the moment.
With another gulp of wine, she dialed his cell phone quickly, before her bravado fled. The moment she heard the ringing, her breathing shallowed. She laid a palm against her solar plexus and pressed.
Why? Why did he have this effect on her?
Why couldn’t she just leave it alone?
Because of one crazy-wonderful night a zillion years ago that had resulted in heartbreak and estrangement, sadness and regret? She’d been impervious to every other guy before and since. Every guy except…him.
“Nelson,” he answered, all business despite it being a Friday night.
Colleen fought the urge to giggle. Had to be the wine; she was not a giggler. “Eric? It’s Colleen. I’m sorry to call you so late—”
“Oh, hey! No, it’s perfect timing, trust me. Hang on.” His words were muffled as he spoke to—she assumed—his family. She imagined a fire crackling in the hearth, warm brandy, soft music. Or a ball game, replete with bowls of popcorn and cold beer. All of it sounded wonderful.
Moments passed, then he said, “Okay, I’m here.”
Somehow, just hearing his voice eased her omnipresent tension. It had been that way since the first time they’d met at school. She realized, again, how many personality traits he had in common with Megan. “You’re at dinner, aren’t you?”
“Yes, but we’re finished eating. You couldn’t have picked a better time to call. My brothers were launching into a debate on the merits and/or shortcomings of—get this—the World Poker Tour, of all god-awful things.”
She laughed. “Your brothers sound like a lot of fun.”
“It doesn’t surprise me that you’d think so. I bet you could give them a run for their money.”
“Probably.” Colleen didn’t want Eric’s brothers. She wanted him. “Anyway, I got your message. Something about a case?” She stretched her legs out on her paper-strewn bed, ignoring the crinkling and the yellow highlighter pen poking her in the thigh.
“Yes.”
She could hear him settling in, too, and wondered where he was in the house. A crazy part of her wanted to ask. She’d never been to his parents’ house, but she still had a picture in her mind.
“Do you remember a sweet older lady by the name of Esther Wellington?” Eric asked.
Colleen’s attention spiked. She’d wanted to handle that case so badly, but the partners said no, much to her dismay. It had taken a pair of strappy Manolo stilettos to soothe her anger that time, and, boy, would Framus and the gang have ammo to use against her alleged suitability if they knew that. “Of course. Why do you ask?”
“I’m representing her and the group. I know you worked on the case for a bit.”
She detected zero judgment in his words. “I tried to.”
“Shot down?”
Her self-protective gates rose automatically. “It wasn’t right for the firm at the time.” God, she sounded like one of their robots. She should’ve just said yes, the old boys’ club shot her down.
“I understand,” Eric said, mildly, not pressing her any further, which she appreciated. “Any chance you’d have some time to give me the lowdown on the contractor? I really want to do right by Esther.”
Colleen squeezed her eyes closed and tried to ignore the slamming wash of affection for Eric. She should have known he’d help the seniors, regardless of what might be “right” for his firm at the time. Eric Nelson was just that kind of guy, and she envied him both the guts and the freedom. When had she become so blinded? Such a puppet? She swallowed back any bit of softness that might come through in her tone. “What do you want to know?”
“Any and every little thing that might help me knock the bastard down hard,” Eric said. “A contractor who’d take advantage of a sweetheart like Esther?”
“I know,” she said, through clenched teeth.
“You agree?”
“Wholeheartedly.”
“Great. So you don’t have any problems helping me?”
“Anything you need, Eric. Just…do me a favor.”
“Name it.”
“Don’t call me at my firm about it, okay?”
“What, did Framus bug your phone line? I wouldn’t put it past the guy.”
She felt like a teenager busting curfew, which pissed her off. How humiliating to have to admit it. But she never knew when someone would be snooping on her at the office. She had a zero level of comfort there. “We’re on opposing sides of the Jones case, that’s all. I don’t want to give any indication of impropriety whatsoever. So just call me at home.”
“Fair enough.”
She rattled off her number. “And you already have my cell number. Either of those is fine.”
“Done. Any other rules?” he said playfully.
“Actually, yes. We agree not to discuss the Jones case while working on the Wellington case.” They’d be talking about the Jones case soon enough from opposite sides of the courtroom. She didn’t want to talk about the upcoming hearing.
“Okay.”
“And we meet on neutral territory.”
He laughed softly. “We’re not exactly meeting for a gang rumble, Coll. Don’t tell me you’ve started watching West Side Story obsessively again.”
He remembered her favorite movie from law school, which made her tummy flop. “Oh, be quiet. You love the movie, too,” she said, in a wine-induced teasing tone.
“I did have fun watching it with you,” he said, in a level, unreadable tone.
What did that mean?
“I’m just trying to keep things professional, circumstances being what they are,” she said. “If you’re okay with those terms—”
“I’m okay with any terms as long as we help Esther Wellington. So you’ve got yourself a deal, Delaney.”
“Okay.” She exhaled as quietly as possible. “Good. Great. When do you want to meet?”
“The sooner the better.”
Her heart bounced and twirled, like a dancer. “I have time tomorrow. Early afternoon? Late morning?”
“Late morning works for me. Where?”
It had to be somewhere safe, a place where she’d be certain none of her colleagues would spot them. “Where do you live?”
“You want to come to my place?” he asked, sounding slightly astonished.
“N-no,” she stammered. “I didn’t mean that—”
“It’s fine if you do.”
“No. I’m in the Gold Coast. Somewhere near both of us is fine.”
“Well, I’m in Lincoln Park. Near DePaul U.”
Perfect. Close enough to her penthouse to make it as easy as possible for them. She pondered feasible locations. Where would McTierney, Framus and the crowd never show up? It came to her in a flash. “I don’t know about you, but I’m sick to death of this cold. How about the Lincoln Park Conservatory? The Orchid House?” They kept the Orchid House at a steamy eighty degrees
year-round, which sounded like heaven to her. Even more heavenly with Eric by her side.
“I can meet you there at…how about ten? If you have time afterward, we can grab lunch at the Bourgeois Pig Cafe. Ever been there?”
“I haven’t. Great name, though.”
“Great food, too. You’ll love the place,” he said. “I have to admit, I’m a bit of a regular.”
“Eric Nelson, a regular Bourgeois pig. I like that. I think I’ll tuck that away for use in the future.” She sipped her wine. “So I take it you don’t cook?”
A beat passed.
“Hold up. Are we actually having a cordial conversation?” he drawled.
She rolled her eyes, but truth be told, she enjoyed the slightly flirtatious nature of their banter. “Yes, I believe we are.”
“Wow. Hang on. Gotta mark this day in my Palm Pilot.”
She groaned. “Let it go. Okay?”
“Fine, fine. No, I’m not much of a cook, to answer your question.”
“Typical guy.”
“Hey, now. That was sexist. Do you cook?”
She toyed with lying, but laughed instead. “Okay, got me there. Not really.”
He scoffed. “Typical attorney is more like it.”
“You may be right. This time.” Colleen felt a shift, a balance of power between the two of them, a release. But that brass ring of partnership was never far from her mind or her grasp. Maybe if she helped Eric with the Wellington defense, she could justify in her mind going forward with the Jones case, despite what she knew. The average jury would automatically show sympathy to her client, knowing he faced the formidable power of an international corporation. She could finesse this thing to a win.
But could she live with the lie? With knowing she’d put her own career goals ahead of Axelrod’s?
A pang of guilt vibrated through her, but she swallowed to still it. She crunched a fist full of silk comforter in one hand. “Seriously, I hope you fry that contractor’s ass, Eric. I really do.”
“With your insight, I’m sure I can.” His tone lowered into something silky and intimate that touched her deep inside, warmed the cold places and made her feel somehow more whole. “We always did make a good team, you know.”
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