by Abby Gaines
It was an ideal opportunity to leave, but she was still trying to fathom what was going on.
“Don’t get up,” Hugh ordered, the same way Travis would have. He shook Megan’s hand. His silver-gray hair and weathered countenance didn’t detract in the least from his good looks. Quite the opposite—it was clear Travis would still be a very handsome man when he reached his fifties. As Hugh hitched his jeans and sat down, he attracted glances from several “mature” female patrons.
Like Travis, Hugh seemed unaware of the admiration. Yet after he’d hooked his cane over the back of his chair and pushed up the sleeves of his plaid shirt, he unconsciously rubbed his gold wedding band, as if to say, I’m taken. What had Travis said? My wife will have a loyal and faithful husband.
Why was she thinking about that now? Megan could only attribute it to the confusion he’d thrown her into.
“You’re early, Dad.” Travis glanced at his watch. “I wasn’t expecting you this soon.”
“So I see.” His father grinned at Megan. “The doc was called away to some emergency, they told me to come back in an hour.”
“You want a sandwich? Coffee?” Travis asked. “We have a spare latte.” He shifted Megan’s cup a couple of inches.
Hugh’s lip curled at the prospect. “Your mom packed a lunch for me. A flask of coffee and her home-cured ham sandwiches, better than anything you’ll get here. So, Megan, how do you know Travis?” His dark eyes twinkled with interest and something else—could it be relief?
“I work with him,” Megan said. “Against him, actually. We’re on opposite sides of a divorce case.”
“You’re handling a divorce, son?” Hugh’s eyebrows beetled. Seemed he held the same strong views on marriage as Travis.
“Special case, Dad,” Travis said lightly.
She was in this case for the high profile and downstream revenue opportunity from Theo’s business. What made it so special for Travis, since divorce wasn’t his thing? The huge fees involved, if Travis was a typical Prescott Palmer lawyer. Except, Megan realized, she’d been thinking he wasn’t typical. Maybe she should keep reminding herself that he worked for one of the shadiest firms in town. Maybe Robert would remind her of that tonight when he told her whatever he knew about Travis.
Hugh looked at Megan and opened his mouth, but Travis jumped in before he could speak. “Have you thought any more about staying in town for the night, Dad?” He leaned in to allow a woman to squeeze past behind him, her sandwich held over her head.
His father grimaced at the obvious change of subject, but he went with it. “I’ll head home, I think. Your mother gets lonesome.”
“It’s been a whole four hours since he saw Mom,” Travis told Megan.
She knew an attempt to manage a conversation when she heard it. She narrowed her eyes.
“That’s not to say I can’t be tempted. I might have stayed if there was a basketball game on,” Hugh conceded.
“Are you a big fan?” Megan reached for her purse, tucked under her seat. She wouldn’t get the truth out of Travis in front of his father. She might as well go back to the office.
“It’s my favorite winter sport. Travis gave me a pair of season tickets to the arena for my birthday.” Hugh took a drink from his son’s water glass. “Nice seats, too. Though not in the same class as the ones you had last week,” he said to Travis. He added good-naturedly to Megan, “Travis was given tickets to those fancy executive seats. But right before the game he blew me off for some hot chick.”
Hot chick? Me? Megan froze, her purse halfway between the floor and the table. Like her, Travis was in a state of suspended animation, his sandwich hovering near his mouth. Then he shrugged. “Hey, I’m not blind.”
Could she have been right with her first, discarded speculation about why he didn’t want her dining with Robert? Because he was jealous?
It was preposterous. Yet a deep, female part of her wanted to high-five someone. Travis thinks I’m hot. Disconcerted, she dropped her purse back on the floor. She said sympathetically to Hugh, “How rude of him to dump you for a woman.”
Still flustered, in a way she never was in a courtroom, she dipped a spoon into the latte she’d spurned, scooped up some whipped cream and ate it. Too sweet, too fatty.
The older man laughed. “It gave me a chance to invite a buddy along in Travis’s regular seat, so I didn’t mind.” He offered a polite smile to an attractive fiftyish woman who’d looked over when he’d laughed. The woman turned back to her companion. “So, Megan, you from a big family?”
“Just my dad and my sisters.” She filled him in briefly, concluding with, “Dad’s my boss and he doesn’t approve of long lunch breaks.” It was true. For all Jonah’s talk of work-life balance, he was the first to suspect a staff member when they took a proper lunch hour. She pushed her half-eaten wrap away.
“You married? Have kids?” Hugh’s eyes rested on her bare ring finger.
“Neither.” Megan dug in her wallet for a tip.
Hugh beamed. He was filling in the blanks, and getting it all wrong.
“I’m not in any rush to get married,” she said. “And kids aren’t in the plan.”
“A career woman. Nothing wrong with that.” It was so obviously a valiant attempt at fair-mindedness, Megan couldn’t help smiling. “So long as your job makes you happy,” he added.
Travis cleared his throat. Of course, he knew the job that would make Megan happy was even less likely to include kids, if not marriage. If he thought he could launch into another round of questioning her choices…
“What kind of work do you do, Hugh?” she asked quickly.
“I repair appliances—fridges, dishwashers and the like. On a break at the moment due to this.” He patted his hip.
“Does your wife work?” She wedged a couple of dollar bills under the ketchup.
“Like a Trojan. Around the house. Ellie hasn’t been out to work since we married. Too busy with me and the kids—Travis is the oldest of four.” As if the mention of his wife had triggered a reminder, Hugh pulled his lunch from his jacket pocket. Ignoring the fact he wasn’t supposed to bring his own food to a sandwich bar, he spread open the waxed paper. Was that homemade bread? No wonder Travis had inflated ideas of wifely attributes.
“Mom always said it was more important for us to grow up with her around than with a few more luxuries,” Travis said pointedly. “That was her idea, by the way. Dad didn’t have to chain her to the stove.”
“It must have been tough sending kids to college on one income,” she said, matching his emphasis. One low income, by the sounds of it. “Some women need to go out to work.” She was one of them, though not for financial reasons.
“Ah, well,” Hugh began, “with Travis—”
“We managed,” Travis said flatly.
Hugh tucked a paper napkin into the collar of his shirt with deliberate care. “Travis always knew exactly what he wanted,” he said.
Money, Megan supposed. If his family had struggled financially, a firm like PPA must have been tempting.
“Dad…” Travis’s voice was tight; his fingers curled into his palms. Then he exhaled and straightened them out. “I’m working on it.”
“Course you are,” Hugh said. “Gina, our baby girl, just started college,” he told Megan in a clumsy change of topic. “She’s at Duke.”
An expensive school. Megan wondered if that was the cause of this moment of tension between father and son. The pregnant silence was beginning to feel like the gap she often sensed between her and her father. The gap between hope and reality.
“I’ll bet Gina loves you still calling her a baby.” Travis’s ribbing sounded forced.
Hugh lifted the top off his sandwich and squeezed mustard onto the ham from the bottle on the table. “Now you mention it, she did flounce into her room and slam the door when she was home on the weekend.”
“Gina’s eighteen, almost nineteen.” Travis’s voice softened as he explained the situation to Megan. “But
Mom and Dad have trouble remembering she’s not a kid.”
“She’s getting too serious with that boyfriend of hers,” Hugh said. “Young guys are only after one thing.”
“Like you were when you met Mom?” Travis suggested.
“I was a perfect gentleman toward your mother.” The gleam in Hugh’s eyes could in no way be described as gentlemanly. “But Gina’s boyfriend, that Scott…” He scowled at a piece of ham poking out of his sandwich.
“Don’t worry, Dad, I’m sure you raised her right,” Travis said. “Besides, you probably still keep that shotgun next to the front door.”
Megan snickered, distracted despite herself.
“Seems like only yesterday your mother was changing her poopy diapers,” Hugh grumbled.
Megan might have guessed he hadn’t done his share of the diaper changing, given Travis’s unenlightened attitudes.
“That’s something else I’ll bet Gina loves hearing,” Travis said.
“She’s in a sensitive phase.” Hugh chomped into his bread.
It was so clear that both men adored Gina, despite her apparently dubious taste in men, Megan felt a shameful pang of envy for this teenager she’d never met.
“Your mother’s hoping Gina will come home for the Christmas party this weekend,” Hugh said. “She’s going to that boy’s family for Thanksgiving, but hopefully we’ll see her Saturday. Your mom tells me we won’t see you for turkey.”
“Sorry, Dad. Kyle’s taking the anniversary of his parents’ death worse than usual. I told him I’d spend the holiday with him and his sister.”
“Anyway, maybe you can talk some sense into Gina on the weekend, you’ve always had a handle on her.”
“Sure,” Travis agreed. His sister must be sixteen or seventeen years younger than he was. No doubt he’d acquired some of his aptitude for children from living with her.
“Looks like we’ll have a decent crowd at the social,” Hugh said. “Maybe even the Laings. Might be the perfect time to spread some good news.” His encouraging smile at Travis wasn’t returned. The silence was back.
“Dad, Megan has to leave.” Travis pushed his chair away from the table and stood. “Would you like me to ask for a doggy bag?” He indicated the remains of her wrap.
“No, thanks,” she said, annoyed, as she shook hands with Hugh. She did need to go, but that wasn’t for him to say. “I have a date tonight, I’ll save my appetite.”
Travis’s mouth tightened. “Don’t forget, you owe me a Christmas party invitation.”
His stupid bet over his stupid coffee theory. She’d had it up to here with his insistence on analyzing her. The last thing she needed was him sharing his harebrained ideas with her father at the Christmas party. She ignored that he’d been right and said loftily, “I never gamble.”
CHAPTER SEVEN
A VAGUE MEMORY of wandering hands from her last date with Robert Grayson made Megan dress even more conservatively than usual that evening. Her black jersey dress might be formfitting, but it had a high neck, long sleeves, and ended modestly just above her knee.
She applied more makeup than usual, so all that black wouldn’t wash her out, and decided the result was good enough for Robert.
He arrived at Salt just as she did, on time at seven. His greeting was a respectful kiss on the cheek. Then he lessened the courteous effect by purring, “Verrry nice,” as he inspected her outfit.
They were seated in one of the holly-trimmed booths on the left-hand side of the spacious room, which required passing the table where Megan and Travis had sat last time. Tonight an older couple occupied it, sharing a slice of cheesecake.
“So, Megan, with any luck we might be working together soon,” Robert said after they’d ordered.
Not if I can help it. “Uh-huh.” She swirled her glass, watched the wine churn.
“I hear you’ve done a great job of building up the family practice,” he said.
“It’s the fastest growing area of the firm.”
“I think our friendship would stand us in good stead, were we to become colleagues,” he continued. “I wouldn’t see ours as a boss-employee relationship.”
She sipped her wine. “Considering we’d both be partners in the firm, I’d be surprised if you did.” Had Robert always been this pompous? Or am I getting spoiled by a man who doesn’t take anything seriously, who flirts like a sailor on shore leave?
Appalled at the thought, she summoned some enthusiasm for her companion. They talked recent cases, industry gossip. When Robert had drained his first glass of wine and the waiter had poured him a second, Megan maneuvered the conversation back to the managing partner’s job at Merritt, Merritt & Finch.
“For Dad to put you on the short list means he has a high opinion of you.” Personally, she wondered why Robert was so dense that he hadn’t picked up on what Travis had taken five minutes to figure out. That she wanted the job herself.
Robert preened. “Jonah expressed some concerns about the way the criminal division has been run since Cynthia left. He thinks I might have the firm hand necessary to pull it back into line.”
Firm hand in criminal, Megan noted. “What sort of profit targets do you think we should be aiming for in that area?” She sat back as the waiter delivered their appetizers: pumpkin soup for her, chicken liver paté for Robert. She picked up her spoon and sampled the soup. Creamy, velvet-smooth, with a delicate hint of nutmeg.
“In my view,” Robert said, “you can’t expect the same return in criminal that you can in family, even though in criminal the cases are…”
The rest of his words flew over her head as, out of the corner of her eye, Megan caught a familiar shape, a familiar way of moving. At the center table she thought of as hers and Travis’s.
It couldn’t be…she inched discreetly across so she could see beyond the booth.
It is.
The older couple had left, and Travis was settling a pretty brunette into the chair facing the door. Megan’s seat.
She choked on the pumpkin soup.
“Are you okay?” Robert topped up her water glass and glanced around, presumably in search of someone to perform the Heimlich maneuver.
“Fine,” Megan croaked. She took a long slug of her water. When she put the glass down, she glanced back at Travis. He’d taken the same seat as last time, facing the extravagantly decorated Christmas tree at the far end of the room, and was looking right at her. He lifted his wineglass in a toast.
“As I was saying,” Robert went on, “you tend to find that margins in a family law division…”
Dammit, she lost him again. Though she managed to keep her eyes on Robert, her awareness was lured to Travis like an ant to honey. How dare he show up, knowing she’d be here?
Maybe he was jealous? She edged along the booth so she wouldn’t have to crane, and found Travis engrossed in conversation with his date. He laughed at something the woman said and leaned in closer.
So much for the jealousy theory. To her irritation, Megan found herself angling toward Robert, too. It was the encouragement he’d been waiting for. His voice dropped half an octave, as if his talk of margins and billable hours could be remotely construed as sexy. He was a good-looking guy, but all getting up close did for Megan was show her she had a strong preference for darker eyes, lit with teasing humor.
Robert was telling her about what changes he would make at Merritt, Merritt & Finch. Important information she should absorb if she wanted to beat him to her father’s job…and yet every single word was chased out of her mind by a plague of questions about Travis’s motives.
By the time Robert’s dessert arrived, Megan was ready to throw in the towel and leave. A marked contrast with when she’d dined here with Travis…they’d both ordered dessert and coffee, neither of them in any hurry to end the night. Robert’s foot touched hers under the table, jerking her back to the moment. When she retracted her foot, his slid forward, and this time his calf rested against her leg. A sharp kick might give him the
hint.
“You’re great company, Megan,” he said.
Kicking him seemed a churlish reaction to the compliment. “Thanks,” she replied without enthusiasm.
“I’ve often thought it a shame you and I didn’t make a better go of dating,” he mused. “There are a lot of what I’d call power couples in our industry. Husband-and-wife legal teams. It makes sense.”
“It sounds…unnerving.” She thought about the way Travis always seemed to read her mind.
“Your own parents,” he pointed out. “The way my dad tells it, your mother was an excellent attorney.”
“My parents divorced,” she reminded him.
“Always a risk.” His knee nudged hers. “But with the right prenup, one can keep things amicable.”
“Prenups are unromantic.” She agreed with Robert, so why was she spouting Travis’s outdated view?
“Hello, Megan.” The man himself arrived alongside their booth, his girlfriend with him. Travis glanced down beneath the table.
“Oh, hi.” As if she hadn’t quite registered his presence before now. She allowed Robert’s leg to stay where it was. If she was going to kick anyone, she’d rather make it Travis. “You remember Robert Grayson?”
The two men shook hands. Travis introduced them to his date, Allie Fleming.
“Nice to meet you,” she told Megan. Her hair was more chestnut than brown, a rich color that gleamed in the restaurant lighting. When she smiled, her eyes lit up. She looked relaxed, happy and…nice, dammit.
“Do you work with Travis, Allie?” she asked, to fill the silence.
“I work from home,” the woman said. “I have a business baking cookies, which I sell to cafés.” Well, wasn’t she just perfect? Beautiful and she made a living out of the kind of homemaking skills Travis admired.
“Best cookies you ever tasted.” Travis’s hand brushed Allie’s shoulder.
“He’s so sweet,” the woman said to Megan.
“You think?” she asked, before she could curb the impulse.
Travis snorted, but Allie’s expression cooled at the insult to her date, whose eyes, Megan noticed, had once again drifted downward.