Balancing Act (The Santa Monica Trilogy Book 3)

by Blake, Jill

  Now those same friends had spouses, kids, a life outside of work—while Angie was still alone, racking up billable hours.

  Where was the balance she had someday envisioned having? Wasn’t that one of the reasons she’d left her old firm, so she could be her own boss, and have more control of both her time and the cases she chose to take on?

  If so, the grand experiment was turning out to be a grand flop. Maybe not for her partners, but certainly for her. While Cheryl and Naomi were off celebrating wedding anniversaries and enjoying babymoons, Angie was stuck covering the office.

  Sure, she was earning a reputation as a tough-talking, no-nonsense litigator. But that same reputation seemed to intimidate most men. In the echoing halls and dim back rooms of the downtown courthouse, she heard the whispers. Ball-buster. Bitch. All because she was female, and smart, and didn’t back down in a fight. Not to mention the fact that she probably earned more in a month than most men earned in a year.

  What was she supposed to do—pretend to be less than she was, just to stroke some man’s ego?

  No way. Not in this lifetime.

  She didn’t cook, she balked at the idea of picking up someone else’s dirty socks, and she damn well refused to play a subservient role under any circumstances.

  Still, it might be nice to have someone to come home to.

  An image of Zach Stewart popped into her head. She blinked, willing away the memory of his hot body and too-handsome-for-words face.

  Zach was absolutely not relationship material. Good for a one-night stand, maybe. But anything longer term? Forget it.

  Though it was true he didn’t intimidate easily. He was simply too arrogant.

  He was also too much of a player. Not to mention rude, annoying, and a piss-poor judge of character.

  If she had any doubt about that last bit, all she had to do was remember the first time they had met, at Eva and Roger’s wedding. Angie had been eighteen, about to finish high school. Zach had just graduated college.

  In retrospect, Angie acknowledged that back then she might not have been the world’s most scintillating conversationalist. And physically she’d been more an athlete than a prom queen. But Eva had seated them together at the reception. Zach could at least have tried to say something to her besides “Nice to meet you” and “Please pass the salt.”

  Worst of all, he’d escaped at the earliest opportunity to hook up with one of the bridesmaids. The bottled blonde with acrylic nails, spray-on tan, fake double-D’s, and zero discretion.

  Seriously, who did that? In the coat closet, of all places.

  Over the thirteen years since, she’d heard plenty of similar stories from mutual acquaintances, leading her to believe that Zach’s deplorable taste in women hadn’t changed.

  So even if Angie was interested—which she wasn’t—there was absolutely no way that she and Zach could end up together.

  Angie sighed, and with a final visual sweep of her office to make sure that all sensitive files were locked up, she turned out the lights and headed home.

  CHAPTER FOUR

  “Have the parties come to a settlement?”

  Angie forced herself to stop fidgeting. She’d spent enough time in judges’ chambers—both growing up, and as a litigator—to know that she had no reason to feel nervous. Especially over something as mundane as a scheduling conference.

  She opened her mouth to respond, but Zach beat her to it. “No, Your Honor.”

  She glanced across the two feet of carpet that separated her chair from a matching one occupied by Zach. In contrast to the last time she’d seen him, this afternoon he appeared calm, even relaxed. He’d unbuttoned his suit jacket when they sat down, and she couldn’t help but notice the way his pale blue shirt brought out the color of his eyes. He raised a brow at her scrutiny and she flushed.

  “All right then,” the judge said. “Let’s set some dates.”

  She barely registered the drone of his voice as he assigned deadlines for each phase of discovery. Not that it mattered. Everything would be put in writing anyway, and subject to change, if needed, as they drew closer to trial.

  When the judge rose, signaling an end to the meeting, Angie wasted little time scooping up her briefcase and heading for the door.

  “Wait up,” Zach called.

  She increased her pace, dodging around a slower-moving pack of jurors leaving a nearby courtroom. He caught up just as she reached the Grand Park exit.

  “I wanted to apologize for the other day,” he said, holding the door for her. “I don’t usually fly off the handle like that.”

  “Really?” She could remember plenty of times during their previous negotiations over Eva’s settlement when he’d gotten irate, and once he’d even stormed off in the middle of a particularly heated exchange, leaving his father to smooth the waters.

  “Let me make it up to you,” he said. “I’ll buy you lunch.”

  She ignored the little flutter in her belly, focusing instead on his presumptuousness. As if it hadn’t occurred to him that she might already have plans. Or—even more galling—that any woman would even consider turning him down.

  She kept her eyes focused on the flagstone path that cut through the park. “Sorry. I’m meeting someone.”

  “Oh.” He adjusted his stride to match hers. “What about dinner?”

  Her heel caught on an uneven crack in the pavement and she stumbled. A firm grip closed around her elbow. Her pulse skittered and she pulled away. “Thanks. But no.”

  “Not even an excuse? Just—no?”

  She took a deep breath and stopped. Around them, a faint breeze stirred through the trees. “Look, Zach. I don’t play games, and I don’t appreciate people who do. So let’s drop the ‘nice’ act, and just tell me what you want. Okay?”

  Zach studied her for a moment, as if she were some strange life form he’d never encountered before. “Being on opposite sides of a case doesn’t mean we can’t be friends.”

  She blinked. “I’m on hidden camera, aren’t I?”

  “Come on, Angie, cut me a break. I’ve already apologized.”

  “You must think I’m an idiot.” She resumed walking.

  He followed her past the fountain and up a flight of stone steps that brought them back to street level. “Actually, you’re one of the smartest women I know. Why does it surprise you that I’d want to be friends?”

  “Seriously? Since when have you ever been just friends with a woman?”

  His grin said it all.

  She shook her head and started across the street as soon as the light turned green. “Don’t you have somewhere you need to be?”

  He ignored the not-so-subtle hint. “I’m friends with your sister Eva.”

  “Your father is friends with Eva. You just tag along for the food.” And the sex. Eva’s bridesmaid wasn’t the only woman he’d picked up over the years at the various functions Eva had hosted. Not that Angie was keeping track.

  He had the audacity to laugh. “Speaking of food, where are we headed?”

  “I’m going to Kendall’s. I don’t know where you’re headed.”

  “Kendall’s sounds good.”

  “You’re not planning to horn in on my date, are you?”

  “I didn’t know you were seeing someone.”

  His casual remark stung. Especially in light of how empty her personal life was of late, and her own creeping dissatisfaction with the status quo.

  But that was none of Zach’s business.

  As they approached the restaurant’s bright red awning, she saw Quinn already there, sitting at one of the outdoor tables, perusing the menu. He glanced up and smiled. Behind her, she felt Zach stiffening.

  “He’s your date?” he growled in her ear.

  Angie blinked at the hostility in his tone. Before she had a chance to respond, the hostess intercepted them. “Table for two?”

  “Actually, I’m over there,” Angie nodded toward Quinn, who had risen to greet her.

  Zach caugh
t her hand before she could move away. “Not too late to change your mind about lunch.”

  “Give it a rest, Zach.” She pulled her tingling fingers from his grasp. “And try to stay on task, okay? I sent you interrogatories this morning. Deadline’s in thirty days.”

  ~

  “So what was that all about?” Quinn asked once they had ordered.

  She smoothed a napkin over her lap. “New case I’m working on. Zach Stewart is counsel for the defense. You know him?”

  “We’ve met a few times. Networking mixers, CLE events, fundraisers. One of our junior partners plays racquetball with him. Remember Mike Napolitano?”

  “He made partner? No way! He used to tell whichever woman was in the room to be a sweetheart and fetch him some coffee.” She narrowed her eyes. “He could never remember my name. Or the fact that I was a fellow lawyer and not his personal gopher.”

  “Angie, I hate to break it to you, but that had nothing to do with coffee. He just liked looking at your ass—um, assets.”

  “It’s a wonder he didn’t get slapped with a sexual harassment suit.”

  Quinn shifted his gaze to the leafy border separating the restaurant’s outdoor seating from the street.

  Angie bit her lip. Damn. She forgot sometimes that despite the comfortable rapport she and Quinn had developed, some issues were still conversational land-mines.

  “I’m sorry.” She reached across the table for his hand. “I thought we were past this. The woman recanted her story and took another job. Everything turned out for the best.”

  In retrospect, maybe. But at the time, it had been rough going. To have the man she was sleeping with accused of improper advances by another associate was bad enough. But the worst was what came after. A flurry of gossip, a series of closed-door meetings with the managing partners, and then an official memo regarding new company policy. Relationships between co-workers—formerly frowned upon—were now strictly prohibited. Quinn was forced to choose. When he hesitated, Angie made the choice for him.

  Quinn sighed and turned his palm up to meet hers. “It just seems like such a waste. You didn’t have to leave the firm.”

  “Yes, I did. I wasn’t happy there. I was thinking of leaving anyway. What happened with the partners simply expedited the process.”

  “We could have worked things out.”

  “I don’t think so.” She withdrew her fingers to the safety of her lap. “Besides, I’m happy where I am now.”

  “Are you?” He studied her closed expression. “Don’t you ever wonder what life would have been like if you’d stayed?”

  “I can imagine,” she said. “I’d be miserable slaving away for the old boys’ firm on the off-chance that maybe, someday, if the stars aligned and one of the senior partners kicked the bucket, I might get rewarded with an equity partnership position.”

  “I think you underestimate your abilities.”

  “No, but I’m a realist. I wouldn’t want to spend my entire career knocking my head against a glass ceiling that you and I both know still exists.”

  The waiter’s arrival forestalled Quinn’s response. After the food was served and their water glasses refilled, Quinn picked up the conversation again.

  “What about us?”

  “Oh, please,” Angie said, stabbing a piece of grilled chicken with her fork. “You would have gotten bored sleeping with the same woman night after night. Admit it. You love having the freedom to sample a little of this, a little of that, and you rarely go back for seconds.”

  He stared at her. “Wow. You do have a low opinion of men.”

  “Not all,” she said. “My dad’s a good guy. And my brother cleaned up pretty well too.”

  “That’s it? No one else?”

  A pair of dark blue eyes flashed across her mind. Nope, definitely not him.

  At least Quinn had attempted a long-term relationship. They’d stayed together for several months after Angie left the firm. But the stress of hustling for clients and overseeing all the business aspects that she’d never had to worry about before took a toll. Broken dates, phone calls she kept forgetting to return, and arguments over priorities eventually led to a mutual decision to go their separate ways.

  As far as Angie was concerned, she’d done Quinn a favor by cutting him loose. In the three years since, they’d managed to salvage their friendship. And these days, she looked forward to the rare occasions when they could coordinate schedules and get together.

  “I guess your silence speaks for itself,” Quinn said, attacking his steak.

  “Wait. I just thought of another good guy.” She paused and smiled. “My brother-in-law Max.”

  Quinn shook his head. “I can’t tell if you mean to be insulting, Angie, but I hope you’re not holding out for a diplomat of the year award.”

  “Why?” She filched a French fry from his plate and chewed with renewed appetite. “Did I forget someone?”

  CHAPTER FIVE

  Zach debated for most of the afternoon before picking up the phone.

  He nearly hung up twice. The first time, when he realized it was the receptionist who answered the line. The second time, while waiting for his call to be transferred.

  Angie finally picked up, voice a bit breathless. “Hello. Angela MacDowell.”

  He felt a stirring below the waist, along with an irrational spurt of jealousy at the thought of what—or who—might have caused Angie to sound out of breath.

  That made his tone harsher than he intended. “Are you aware that Fitzpatrick has a reputation?”

  She didn’t miss a beat. “Of course. Quinn is the best securities fraud attorney this side of the Rockies. Did you need someone to represent you?”

  “I meant with women.”

  “Ah. Well, he does have that whole Cary Grant debonair thing going for him. And the chin cleft. Mustn’t forget the chin cleft.”

  Zach clenched his teeth. If Angie wanted to make a joke of the rumors about Fitzpatrick seeing as much action as any male star in the industry—and that included both Hollywood and its seedier step-sister in the San Fernando Valley—that was her business.

  “As long as you know what you’re getting into,” he said.

  She ignored the warning. “Was there something else you wanted to discuss?”

  He drew a momentary blank.

  “Hello, Zach? Are you still there?”

  “Yeah.” He cleared his throat. “Did you get the paperwork I sent?”

  “Reading through it as we speak.”

  “I’d like to get this wrapped up as soon as possible.”

  “You signed off on the schedule this morning,” she said. “Same as I did.”

  “I know. But I think it would benefit us both to work toward a quick settlement.”

  “As long as my client gets what she’s asking for, I’m with you.”

  “Give me something I can work with, Angie. Something that doesn’t delay construction indefinitely.”

  “Bottom line?”

  Finally they were getting somewhere. “I’m listening.”

  “The city’s land use plan specifies that infill projects meet certain targets in terms of commercial versus residential use. I believe the ratio’s sixty percent commercial to forty percent residential.” She paused, and he could hear the rustling of paper on the other end. “Your project has only twenty-nine percent slated for residential use.”

  “Come on, Angie, you know the LUCE plan covers aggregate development. The numbers you’re quoting apply to the sum total of construction going on in Santa Monica, not just our project. There’s got to be at least sixty, seventy projects in various phases of development around town. Some of them are mixed-use like ours, but a lot are entirely residential or purely commercial. I bet you none of those projects would meet your criteria if considered individually. If you look at the big picture, though, all the new construction and renovation, I’m sure it comes pretty damn close to your sixty/forty split.”

  “You don’t know that for a
fact. Besides, the S&L project will be one of the biggest in terms of square footage, so even if the status quo fits LUCE guidelines, your project is big enough to skew the overall numbers. You need to do the calculations more carefully as part of your Environmental Impact Review—using concrete figures, not approximations, of what construction is already going on or slated to begin in the near future.”

  “I thought that was the city’s job. There’s a whole department in charge of planning and community development.”

  Her husky laughter had him shifting in his seat. “Seriously, Zach, you want S&L to break ground before the ice caps melt and Santa Monica gets washed into the sea? Then you’d better not wait for the city to do its job. Take care of this particular task yourself.”

  She was right, of course. Tectonic plates moved faster than some of the local bureaucracies.

  Instead of dwelling on that depressing reality, Zach asked the one question that had been bothering him all along. “What’s your client’s interest in all this?”

  “Well, obviously she cares about preserving the city’s unique identity and quality of life. She’s lived here thirty-two years, Zach. It’s important to her that the neighborhood remain green and walkable, with as little disruption to existing community services as possible.”

  Oh, sure. Wasn’t that why everyone sued?

  He managed a bland tone. “That’s important to us, too.”

  “Good. Then you won’t mind revisiting the traffic issue. A project this big is bound to create problems with congestion and parking.”

  “We addressed that in the EIR—”

  “Actually, you didn’t. All those traffic reports and projections that the Department of Transportation commissioned? You wrote, and I quote: the incremental increases in traffic generated by the proposed project would not significantly impact any of the study intersections, street segments, or transit services based on the significance criteria identified.”