by Ines Saint
“Lunch? You can’t be serious.”
Josh came around his desk to stand in front of her. Her eyes sparked. His body heated up, further aggravating him. He was normally cool under fire. “Our agreement was we’d be friendly whenever we ran into each other, remember? But the moment you stepped through that door, shut it, and started yelling, you put my candidacy in danger. You owe me lunch. Now.”
“You put my career in danger.” Her anger slipped and her hurt and confusion showed through. It twisted his insides. “And you want to use me as some campaign prop.”
The look in her eyes stung even more than the accusation. He took another step forward. “Gracie, I would never do anything to hurt you and I would never use you. That’s not who I am, and I would have hoped that after everything we went through together, and after renewing our acquaintance last night, you’d know that. If you tell me what happened, I’ll do everything I can to help you. I have something to share, too. And I don’t want to use you as some prop. I’ve worked hard to earn the public’s trust, and you storming in here and yelling at me can hurt me. Let’s go to lunch and talk this out so we can help each other, okay?”
She looked lost for a moment, as if she didn’t know what to do or who to trust. In a way, she looked like the young girl who’d been wronged so long ago, and it took him back, making him feel uneasy about the attraction he’d felt minutes before.
“All right. Let’s talk about it over lunch,” she agreed on a reluctant sigh.
“Are you sure?” he asked, feeling now as if he’d bullied her into it.
“I’m sure. You’re right, Josh,” she said, meeting his eyes. And there she was, the woman again.
It took him a moment to clear his thoughts. “Do you mind telling me your plans for the building as we walk out?”
Gracie gave him a dampened version of her amused look, as if she knew he was only trying to get her to act normal, but she complied. When she warmed up to the subject matter and enthusiastically began pointing things out, it was his turn to be amused. When he opened the door to the building, she finished with, “The goal is to enhance everyone’s performance by basing the setting on your overall mission, but because there’s such a wide range of tasks and jobs, we’ll be involving employees, both individually and in units, and coming up with a simple set of rules to guide space policies.”
“Will you be interviewing everyone, then?” he asked, hoping his tone was more curious than questioning. In truth, he was wondering if the comments he’d read would lead to increased scrutiny and how it would affect her as she went about her job.
“Yes. But mostly in units. We’ll be sending out individual forms, though, so people understand your organization’s guiding principles, what type of input will be helpful, and why. We hope to take as many people’s thoughts and ideas into consideration as possible.”
They were about to enter the only diner near the courthouse when Judge Albert Marsh, of all people, walked out. Josh felt rather than saw Gracie freeze beside him. Albert Marsh was the judge who had overseen her case, and he was known for being tough, fair, and having an exceptional memory. “Josh,” Albert said, extending his hand and smiling. “I caught your press conference on TV and have been meaning to wish you good luck.” He turned to look at Gracie, then, as if expecting Josh to introduce his companion. In two beats, his eyes had widened in recognition. “Grace Piper,” he said with a hesitant smile. “I didn’t recognize you there for a moment. How have you been?” Again, he extended his hand, and if he thought there was anything odd about Josh and Gracie walking into a diner together, he hid it well.
Gracie shook his hand. “I’ve been well. I’m working on the new workspace design for the courts building, but I go by Grace Dearborn now. I’ll be interviewing you soon about your office space and you’ll probably see me in your courtroom as well. I need to observe workday settings while they’re in use to get a better idea of design needs, but I won’t be in your way. We know how to disappear.” She smiled, but she had sounded mechanical, as if she were reciting a practiced speech.
“I look forward to the interview, Grace. We’ll have to come up with a workaround for my courtroom, though, because it’s closed to the public. I’ll help you in any way I can.” Albert smiled at both of them and continued on his way. Most people considered the man to be unreadable, but after years of trying cases in front of him, Josh felt he had deciphered some of his expressions. It seemed to him that the good judge knew Gracie was uncomfortable and that’s why he’d left.
Josh tried to engage Gracie in conversation once again, but failed. When they sat down, the silence continued.
Gracie knew Josh was trying to make her feel at ease, but she needed a few minutes to compose herself after seeing Judge Marsh. He’d been kind to her nine years ago and he’d been kind to her now by not pressing her for conversation. He must have perceived her discomfort. She was now glad she’d run into him; it would be easier to interview him when the time came if she didn’t have to explain her presence. She vowed to thank him and fill him in on all the good things in her life when that moment came.
She looked over at Josh, then. Now that they were out of the building, she wasn’t sure what to expect. She had done her best to explain her job to Josh on the way out, knowing he only wanted her to focus on walking and talking, not because he shared her enthusiasm.
“Aren’t you going to look at the menu?” he asked.
She didn’t want to be rude, but all she could think about was getting down to business. “It’s the same menu they had nine years ago and I already know what I want. While we wait, I’d like you to please explain to me why you called my boss.”
Josh leaned forward. “You need to tell me what, exactly, you’re talking about, Gracie. Just the facts. No accusations. Please.”
His words took Gracie back. It wasn’t the first time he’d gently led the way by asking her to start at the beginning and then asking the right questions. It gave her pause. That had been the status quo of their old relationship. It had been necessary then, but it no longer was. And she didn’t want to go back. Forward motion or nothing. She looked at him squarely. “Someone identifying himself as Josh Goodwin called my boss, Diane Vail, to ask her questions about how Midwest Workplace Design got the contract for the courts building and why I specifically was assigned. They were citing a possible conflict of interest.”
Josh looked shocked. She hadn’t thought it was possible. “I didn’t call your boss, Gracie,” he said, holding her eyes. “All I can tell you is that I wouldn’t do that and hope my past actions and behavior toward you would lead you to trust that I’m telling you the truth.”
It was exactly the right thing to say; now that the initial shock was past, Gracie was finding she believed him precisely because of his past actions and behavior. But it brought up a new, complicated question. “Then who . . . ?”
Someone walked in and said hi to Josh, and Josh greeted him back. Gracie looked around and stifled a small sigh. He was right; a friendly lunch had been necessary after she’d stormed into his office, but it also wasn’t the place to discuss private matters. “This isn’t the time or place,” Gracie said, looking at him again. “We’re both fighting for our futures here, and it looks like someone is trying to sabotage mine. I won’t do the same to you.”
“They used my name when they called your boss, Gracie. They’ve already involved me. And there’s something else you should know, but as you said, this isn’t the time or place.” He leaned back.
Gracie wanted to press him on that, but something told her she needed to get through her day before anything else was dumped on her. Already it was enough that she was sitting in a public place with Josh. It made her uncomfortable. They were once lawyer and client, man and teenage girl. She was a woman now, no longer his client, but they shared a history.
“Awkward?” he asked with a gentle smile.
Gracie nodded. Distractions were what she needed. A constant, steady stream of distra
ctions. “Tell me about the time your car blew up,” she blurted out.
Josh’s smile widened at that, and her body tingled, making her shift in her seat. After years of feeling asexual, this was the man who made long-dormant ashes flame to life? She sighed. It was clearly a psychological manifestation of something deeper.
“My car blew up. A Camaro that brightened my days.” He shrugged and his spark-inducing smile deepened. “Obviously I wasn’t in it.”
“Obviously.” Her lips tugged at the corners, mimicking his smile. “What I’d like to know is who blew it up.”
“The Mafia.”
Her eyes widened. “Dayton has a Mafia?”
Josh sobered. “Trust me, Gracie, you don’t want to know.”
Gracie studied him. Too many times since she’d been back, she’d found herself looking inward to calm anxiety, but that came at the risk of becoming self-absorbed. There was a world around her. Looking at Josh, she wondered at all the cases he’d tried throughout the years, the terrible, sad injustices he must’ve witnessed. It made her feel insignificant in a good way. Humbled, she asked, “How do you do it? You must hear and see so much. . . .”
Josh tilted his head to the side and tried to read the woman in front of him. Most people wanted to know why, not how. But Gracie was different. It was right there in the way she was looking at him, her gaze both penetrating and honest. It pulled him in one moment and made him feel hesitant the next. He shrugged. “I’m suited to it.”
Gracie nodded slowly and her gaze clouded over, as if she were considering words. “Strong-willed, principled, and with a deep sense of what’s right and wrong and the levels in between.” Her eyes cleared again. They had never left his face. “You are suited to it.”
“Stop. You’re making me blush,” he said in dry tones, mostly to make her smile.
Her eyes flitted down to a napkin on the table. She picked it up and began fiddling with it. Now that she wasn’t looking up at him, he felt free to study her and was struck, in a frightening way, by how utterly soft and pretty she looked. Frightening because his heart had done something it hadn’t done outside the courtroom in years. It had skipped a beat. He’d forgotten hearts could do that. He swallowed and looked away, not sure how he felt about how he felt. It wasn’t just the way she looked. It was that he was drawn to her thoughts and feelings. She had depth, strength, vulnerability, humor, and intelligence. And in the space of a few days, he’d been subjected to them all. How often did that happen?
Thankfully, the server came by to take their order. When he left, Gracie looked up again, their eyes met, and his heart did it again. “Tell me about the Dayton Mafia. I do want to know.”
Well, nothing was bound to make his heart heavier than that, and a heavy heart could hardly skip, could it? “They weren’t your traditional Mafia. It’s what they called themselves. They were a group dedicated to getting kids ten and up hooked on heroin.”
Her eyes saddened. “Heroin addiction—it’s the worst. A person can become addicted in as little as three days and withdrawal from it is the nastiest of all.”
Something about her simple, earnest statement made him feel understood. Maybe it was her gentle, knowing voice. Gracie and her sisters had been around addicts through their Al-Anon meetings, he knew. Her world had never been a perfect bubble.
The way his had been.
As if sensing his need for a change in topic, she said, “I can see why you’d want to buy the old judge’s English manor. It looks like it was made for a happy ending, I think.”
“Tell that to Clyde Cupcake.”
She laughed. This time his heart raced. He told himself it was because he liked seeing her happy.
But soon her smiles and laughter would disappear. She needed to know what was going on. He thought about telling her then, so she wouldn’t hear it from someone else, but logic told him it wasn’t likely she’d hear anything yet. They were merely online comments on the bottom of two of many articles. It was more likely he’d ruin the rest of her day by telling her now. The project was important to her. The bigger risk would be ruining her day. “Speaking of Clyde, I called and made an appointment to see the judge’s house tonight at seven. Will you be home at around eight? It would be a good time to talk.”
She hesitated. “I also have an . . . appointment tonight. With Grandma Sherry. Maybe we can meet on the stoop in front of my apartment at about eight thirty?”
He grinned at that. “An appointment? With your grandmother?”
Gracie’s eyes narrowed. “I’d explain, but I don’t want to get myself all worked up again.”
“Uh-oh. What did she do this time?”
Chapter 6
Gracie stopped short when she got to the café. It was dimly lit from within, but she could make out a big screen set up in the middle of the floor facing the back wall. Underneath the screen were five pairs of feet. It was seven o’clock. Clearly she’d be meeting with more than just Grandma Sherry.
She stood across the street from the café and wavered between coming up with a headache or facing whatever was in store. But as she watched Hope’s heels pace to and fro in front of the screen, her heart took over. This was about the plan Paige and Hope had been talking about. They’d obviously put thought and effort into it and Gracie couldn’t ignore that, no matter how hard her heart was plummeting at the idea of being subjected to all their ideas on flirting so soon. Her beef with her grandmother’s interference would have to wait.
“What’s all this?” she asked when she stepped inside, trying hard to make the ominous foreboding she felt sound like amused curiosity.
Hope’s eyes brightened. “Lock the door and sit,” she said, pointing a long black stick first to the door and then to a chair.
“Okey doke.” Gracie locked the door, sat down, and scraped the chair that had been reserved for her back a few feet so only Hope could see her face. A second later four other chairs were scraped back so they were parallel with hers. She drew in a breath and held it.
“Ready?” Hope asked.
“Ready,” she squeezed out.
“Here is how this interactive presentation will work,” Hope began. “I’ll give a brief intro to each slide and then the audience will share their input.” She hit a button and a slide titled “Good Gracie” came up on the screen. Hope narrated, “There was once a truly good, kindhearted, smart, and goofy girl named Gracie whom we all adored. She understood that her mom was very sick and that her two sisters had taken over household duties. One sister cooked and shopped for groceries while the other handled the finances. All three sisters worked part-time and cleaned. In short, they were a team.”
Hope clicked again and a slide with before-and-after pictures of the trailer where they grew up appeared on the screen. It had been years since she’d seen it. Gracie sat back, staring at it. Originally, it had been beige and brown, but Grandma Sherry had helped her paint it as a surprise for her mother and sisters. It had been Gracie’s idea, and Grandma Sherry had been thrilled to buy paint and supplies and help out. The after picture showed a crisp and clean white-and-sea-green-striped exterior, with the cheery yellow curtains Gracie had made in home ec visible from the outside.
Her breathing became shallow and her heart ached, but it was more nostalgia than pain. Seeing it brought back melancholy but loving memories. Hope clicked again and a picture of the inside of the trailer appeared. Gracie tilted her head and studied it. It was so much prettier than she remembered, with white furniture, blue-green accents, and yellow accessories.
Paige got up and took over narrating duties, though Hope was reluctant to give up the pointer. “Gracie was young, but she soon learned the best way for her to help out was by being the most well-behaved, least-troublesome girl she could be, and by using her talents to turn their dingy trailer into a home.” Paige clicked through a few slides. Gracie watched as a collection of report cards, honor roll certificates, art and science fair awards, and an exposé on a small workplace design she’d
won an award for roll on and off the screen.
Then, a newspaper clipping about the trial came up. Gracie looked down. Why were they bringing up the trial? How could they do that to her? Grandma Sherry took her hand and squeezed it hard before lifting Gracie’s chin and forcing her to look at her. “Gracie was and is kindhearted, brave, and hardworking, and she has never done anything to make her grandmother or anyone who loves her feel anything other than joy to have her in their lives.”
Gracie’s breathing became labored and a few tears rolled. Hope cleared her throat. “Next,” she said, and Gracie swallowed past the lump in her throat, glad for the excuse to look away from her grandmother’s kind eyes. And her emotions were either out of control or they had planned their presentation well, because the next slide made her laugh. It was a picture of Paige, Gracie, Hope, and their mom, all lying in bed, wearing red pajamas featuring brown monkeys. Grandma Sherry had bought her a sewing machine and materials and that was the first thing she’d ever made. Grandma Sherry had a pair, too, but she’d been the one to take the picture. Upon closer inspection, she could see her mom’s cheeks were sunken and her eyes were red-rimmed, as if she’d already been drinking, but she also looked happy.
Ruby turned to her. “A girl who always knows just what everyone needs. A girl who makes people smile.” Gracie’s laughter died as she took that in. It was a happy picture, and Ruby was telling her she’d been a big part of that moment’s happiness. It was something to think about.
The next slide was a picture of Gracie when she’d been sixteen. Her blue hair was in a long side braid and she was wearing a cute floral skirt, a dress shirt under a sweater vest, and high tops. She covered an unexpected smile. God, she’d been such a color-obsessed dork. Rosa stood up and looked at her. “And, in her own quiet way, Gracie was unafraid to be herself. I always admired that in her.”