by Kathryn Shay
She saw Judge Branson roll her lips inward. To keep from laughing. Hayley didn’t expect to get no bail, but she’d ask for an exorbitant amount and an ankle bracelet.
At end of the arraignment, she got both. A great day for the good guys.
* * *
Paul got back to the office around five, wound up tight after a long day of charges and bail hearings. His shoulders were heavy and his stride slow. What he needed was a massage. The low rumble of voices from the first year’s cubicles drifted over to him as he made his way down a corridor.
Paul had heard Hayley did indeed beat the pants off Cramer, and he made a point to walk by the man’s office.
And heard Cramer say, “Fuck it, Edward. Casella’s a cunt. No wonder Covington couldn’t handle her.”
Paul halted quickly. The use of the epithet offended him on an ordinary day. To hear it applied to Hayley made him see red. Despite the presumptuousness of what he was about to do, he crossed to the entrance of the junior partner’s office. “Did I hear my name invoked?”
Edward sighed. “Come in, Paul. Apparently, John’s having problems with ADA Casella.”
“I’m offended by the crass language you used to describe her, John.”
Cramer bolted out of his chair and circled his desk. His eyes were flaming “Now wait just a minute. I’m a partner in this firm. I can use whatever language I want on the premises. You’re fired, Covington. Pack up your things.”
The outer room went silent.
“You can’t fire me. It’s in my contract with the firm that only Mr. Cook can do that.”
“Is that true, Edward?”
“Yes.”
“Why?”
“I had my reasons.”
Cramer banged his fist on the desk’s surface. “This is outrageous! I want a meeting called with you, me and Shelby to discuss this.”
Edward straightened his shoulders and stepped closer to Cramer. “For the record, John, I don’t ever want to hear that kind of language on these premises again. It offends me, too.”
“I—”
“And Paul, you need to change your tone. The title John holds commands respect. Now, you can leave us alone.”
Cramer’s mouth dropped. “That’s all you’re going to do to him?”
“It is. Paul?”
Though he didn’t want to, Paul resisted the urge to continue and walked away from the door. Halfway to his own office, he calmed enough to wonder what the hell was he thinking to challenge a partner like that?
He was afraid he knew the answer. Damn it, Hayley Casella was still turning him into a maniac. He had to get her out of his head.
* * *
Hayley sat at a desk in the corner of the living room, sorting through the mail. Finn’s plane was late and she was anxious to see him. The modern grandfather clock ticked in the hallway, and the fridge turned on. Otherwise, the house was still.
The assortment of letters, manilla envelopes, flyers and a couple of pieces which were labeled, Invitation, were among the stuff Finn received. She made a separate pile for him and drew the rest closer. She was halfway through reading her own mail when she heard the key in the door.
Standing, she rushed to the foyer. “Finn!” She threw herself at him. He let go of the handle of his suitcase and hugged her. “This is quite a welcome.”
Stepping back, she said, “I missed you.”
His face was lined, his clothes wrinkled and his hair messy.
He tipped her chin. “Something’s wrong.”
“Not wrong.” She shrugged. “But bothering me. I’ll fill you in later. I got dinner from Luigi’s and it’s warming in the oven. Would you like to eat, or get settled?”
“Neither. I need a drink. Before we even left LA, the plane was delayed on the runway for two hours to have some maintenance done.”
“Go sit. I’ll fix us both something.”
Leaving his things in the foyer, Finn walked into the living room behind her. Hayley went to the sideboard and he made himself comfortable on one of the teal leather couches she’d bought when they redid the interior.
“Wine or hard stuff?”
“Hard stuff.”
At a bar in the corner, she poured them both some Irish whiskey with a cube of ice. Then she dropped next to her brother on the couch. “So, how was the bookfair?”
“Interesting. On the advice of my manager, I bought quite a few rare books for the shop. A couple of first edition novels, some signed ones that came out later and even a children’s book.”
“Sounds great.” Sipping her drink, she stared at him over the rim. “Did you see your favorite author?”
His eyes were amused. “I did.”
“How is she?”
“Still married. But we…got together.”
Hayley made sure she never criticized Finn for his life choices. All of that was his business. He returned the favor. “Is she coming to New York?”
“Not until the spring. But I booked some others for events in the fall.”
His shop, as he called it, was one of the most popular independent bookstores in Manhattan. Named after Finn’s favorite writer, Fitzgerald’s had become a huge success. One reason was his ability to attract first-rate authors for signings and presentations. Another was the rare book collection which had a huge online presence. Some innovative activities completed his offerings. Finn was excellent at his chosen profession. “There were a lot of Independently Published authors there. I was glad to see it.”
“Why?”
“They’re more interesting and many times their books are, too. They don’t kowtow to publishers.”
She cocked her head. “How do you sell ebooks off line?”
“First, a lot of authors bring print-on-demand copies to a signing for patrons to buy. Authors also create bar codes to give out to purchase online.”
“Remember that time I dated an author? He complained about his publisher all the time.”
“I was happy to see you ditch him.”
“He was a nice guy except he bitched all the time.”
“That he did.”
“How’d the store get along without you?”
“I called every day. Millie had good sales numbers when I was away and was excited about the rare books I snagged.” He rolled his eyes. “She didn’t do anything crazy while I was away.”
Hayley chuckled. “You two! Sometimes I can’t believe the stories you tell me about your fights.”
“We don’t fight. We have disagreements.” He leaned over and squeezed her arm. “What’s bothering you tonight?”
“Who. Paul Covington.”
“You told me on the phone your bosses banned you from arguing cases together.” He laughed. “Like little kids in the playground who are told they can’t play with each other.”
“All that’s true. And it wasn’t funny when we got put in jail. Which started the whole thing.” The rest of the story tumbled out. At the end, Hayley felt even worse.
Finn took a gulp of his drink when she finished. “Wow! I didn’t expect that.”
“Neither did I.”
“Do you want to cut ties with him?”
“I don’t have a choice, for the sake of my job. Manhattan’s a big place but the legal profession is a world of its own.”
“If you’re sure, then I’m sorry this is the situation.”
“Do you agree with us, that we have to stop seeing each other?”
“I’d need time to think about it.” Finn was very deliberate in making decisions or giving advice, and always weighed situations to find the pros and cons. To some people he seemed shy, but he wasn’t.
She stood. “I’ll get dinner ready while you settle in. We can talk about this again, later. Or never.”
He grasped her by the hand. “By the way, I missed you too, Sis.”
“I’m glad you’re back.”
Chapter 4
* * *
“You look lovely,” Finn said as he and Hayley exited
the limo they’d hired for the evening. A second one had left earlier with his staff in it.
“Thank you.” Hayley hoped she did look good. She’d been depressed for most of the week, but then, surprisingly she came out of her funk over Paul by Friday. So, she bought a new Louis Vuitton dress, with a simple white bodice, curved into her waist and then draped to the floor. The material was overlaid with randomly placed gold sequins. The back consisted of five triangles made of straps to her waist. Gold sling-backs completed the outfit. She’d curled her hair and brushed it back from her face.
Finn had been busy making up for his absence from the store and she hadn’t seen much of him. So, they shared what happened during the week on the ride down Madison Avenue. When they arrived at The Central Park Ballroom, the place was lit up for the two hundred people invited to the Literacy for Life Gala. LFL was a charitable organization which supplied books for underprivileged kids and schools in Manhattan.
“Did you have a part in planning this?” she asked as they exited the car and took a few steps up to the front doors.
“No, my store manager did, though.” Finn sat on the board of the literacy foundation and because of that, several of his employees were involved in getting tonight off the ground.
Hayley smiled when they reached the entrance to the ballroom. They waited in line but she got a peek inside. “This is lovely, Finn.” The ceilings were draped with pink and white swathes of gossamer, and a dozen, white-gold chandeliers with innumerable bulbs hung from it. The same material seemed to float down the walls to the ground. Twenty tables were equally spaced and each sat ten guests. The scents of expensive perfumes and colognes swirled in the air.
A soft rock band had started playing and a few couples took some spins on the floor.
“Who’ll be here?” she asked.
“Lawyers, judges, community leaders and people in the book industry.” He winked. “Anson Summers is coming.”
Her face lit. “My favorite author.” Hayley liked political suspense, and had been reading Summers’ work for years. She liked his fast-action plots, with a sprinkling of romance. “Why didn’t you tell me he’d be here?”
“I wanted to surprise you. I can arrange a dance for you two.”
Finn was cute when he wanted to be. And classy or withdrawn if it was his mood. Tonight, he was classy and teasing in his black tux, traditional bow tie, and white shirt.
“I’m sure I could maneuver a dance with him if I wanted that.”
“You probably will. He’s sitting at our table.”
“Well, that makes my day.”
Finn presented the white-gloved valet with his invitation.
“I appreciate you bringing me as your plus-one, but you could have taken a girlfriend.”
He ignored her comment. “Drink first?” he asked.
“White wine, thanks.” They crossed to the horseshoe bar and Finn sidled in to get them wine. On occasion, when they were out together, she insisted she be the one to buck the bar crowds. However, he didn’t let her do that very much. In many ways, he was an old-fashioned guy. Or one who’d listened to his mother’s teaching about manners and decorum.
Standing back behind the patrons, and out of the way for liquor seekers, Hayley looked around. People dressed in formal attire tonight and even that cheered her up. She was on the mend, all right.
Until a group of guests parted and she caught sight of Paul.
He stood with a dark-haired woman, who wore a red, knock-out dress, and peered up at him adoringly. Hayley gripped the edge of the high table next to her but couldn’t tear her gaze from the couple. The woman touched his shoulder and he leaned in. She said something in his ear, making him throw his head back with his wonderful, masculine laughter.
“Here you go…Hayley what’s wrong?” Finn set the drinks down. “You’re deathly pale.”
“I—I—” She blinked hard. “Paul’s here.”
“Damn it. I hadn’t thought of that possibility. Where?”
“About twenty feet straight to the right.”
He pivoted his body. “With the CEO of Harper Publishing.”
“Who?”
“The woman with the man you’re pointing out.”
She had to clear her throat. “I wonder if that was his hot date last Friday.”
“What do you mean?”
“When we were threatened with contempt, he said he hoped we didn’t have to stay in jail overnight because he had a hot date.”
“Hmm. She’s older than he is.”
“Seriously? Then, she’s just your type.” Finn did like older women, and Hayley teased him about it occasionally.
“Oh, honey, they’re walking toward us.”
Pulling herself together, she turned a sweet smile on the two when they arrived. Paul returned it, though stiffly. “Hello, Hayley.” He looked to Finn and his gaze darkened. “I’m Paul Covington.”
“Finn Casella.”
“You’re her brother.” They shook hands.
When he looked back at her, his eyes burned as he scanned her dress. “You’re stunning tonight, Hayley.”
“So are you.” Idiot! “And you Ms. Harper.”
“Sorry,” Paul said flustered. “This is Patricia Harper. CEO of…”
“Of Harper Publishing.” Finn finished his sentence.
“Do we know each other?” Harper asked.
Hayley said, “Finn owns Fitzgerald’s.”
“My favorite independent bookstore. I frequent it often.”
“Thank you.”
Discretely, Finn edged between Hayley and Harper, and they began to talk business. “Tell me what you like best about it.”
Paul moved in closer to her. “How are you?” he asked solicitously.
“I had a rocky start to the week. But I was better by the end of it.”
“So did I.”
She angled her head over his shoulder. “Yes, I can see.”
“You messed with my head, woman.” He moved in even closer. “I’m not sure I’ll ever get over you.”
She swallowed hard. “I feel the same way.”
After a notably long interval, his date said, “Darling, they’re asking us to be seated now.” Harper’s voice wasn’t so friendly now.
He grasped his date by the elbow. “Nice to meet you, Finn.”
Finn nodded. “You, too.”
When they walked a distance away, her brother moved to the table. “I tried to give you two some space for a few minutes. But by the looks of you, this whole thing wasn’t a good idea.”
“We need to avoid all contact, I guess.”
“Do you want to leave?”
She squeezed his arm. “And miss a dance with Anson Summers? No way. Let’s go sit.”
* * *
Paul endured the speeches.
He ate the filet and lobster, which could have been toasted cheese, for all he appreciated it.
And he made lively, scintillating conversation with the book people and their dates at Harper’s table. He’d known her for the year he’d been back, and accompanied her to events like this on occasion.
But his thoughts were stuck on Hayley. He hoped she was having an easier time after seeing him than he was after seeing her. Maybe the surprise of her presence poleaxed him. As soon as the dinners were cleared, dancing began.
Unfortunately, he caught sight of someone leading Hayley out to the dance floor.
“Anson Summers is here,” Harper commented. “I’ll bet your friend’s brother got him to come.”
“I’ve read his work.” So had Hayley. He was her favorite author. And right now, the long-time bachelor was smiling down at her, and seemed to be regaling her with something entertaining—probably his work.
Paul stood abruptly, excused himself and headed to the men’s room. Instead of going there, he walked around a bit, then down a corridor, intending to go back to the ballroom through the side door.
The sound of firecrackers blasted all around him. Firecrackers
outside? Cars backfiring? Wait, no, the noise was coming from the side entrance to the ballroom.
And it wasn’t firecrackers.
It was bullets.
He stopped in his tracks about twenty feet away from the doorway where the two security lay on the floor.
A man in a hoody stood halfway in, halfway out of the room.
Holding an assault rifle, he shot it at the ceiling. Inside, people screamed.
The streetfighter who stood up to the bullying in high school surfaced in Paul. He covered the distance to the gunman in a sprint and tackled him from behind.
The gun flew up, let off a few more shots, then clattered to the ground. By then, several servers had joined Paul, some on top of him, to keep the attacker down.
Adrenaline pumped through his veins as the gunman swore at him and he pressed the guy’s head into the floor. The wait for police or more security took an eternity, but finally, a swat team rumbled in.
After an interminable length of time, the pile-up got lighter and lighter until Paul was the only one holding the gunman down. He sat back as officers cuffed the guy quickly. Eventually, some people helped Paul stand and the team yanked up the perpetrator and led him outside. Other police entered the ballroom.
Things shifted back into focus and Paul heard crying from inside. Then he heard loud shouts and calls from one guest to another. He was desperate to see if Hayley was hurt, or even just scared. But he was jostled out of the way as attendees rushed the entrance trying to exit the ballroom. When more police officers stopped everybody at the exits, Paul managed to step inside and to the left.
One cop had waded through the crowd in the ballroom up to the bandstand and took the microphone. “I’m Police Detective Perry Simons. Everyone needs to sit down so we can see who requires medical attention.”
“Like hell.”
“I’m getting out of here.”