The Client: A Second Chance Romance

by Hazel Parker

  “It was bad timing.” She finishes the glass of water in front of her and scans the bar for the server, not interested in the vodka.

  Corbin looks around and waves for the brunette to bring them another.

  “Bad timing for what?”

  “I wasn’t ready for anything serious.”

  “Were we serious?”

  “We dated for a year.”

  “Were we dating?” A smile curls his lips. She can see him going over the many nights of steamy love-making at his place, at her place, at hotels throughout the city.

  “Seeing each other.” Arabella takes the cold glass from the server, thanks her, and gulps it down. She’s given up trying to appear cool. Her nerves are unraveling. All of the sadness that she thought she had cried out over leaving Corbin was threatening to well up and send her into the ugly-cry. She exhales. She tries to find a way out of this conversation.

  “Were we seeing each other?” He asks playfully. He enjoys her discomfort.

  “You know what I mean.”

  “No, I don’t. What do you mean, Arabella?”

  “I mean, we dated for a year—”

  “Did we date?” He interrupts her.

  “What would you call it?” She raises her eyebrows. She doesn’t like being on the defense. She wants him to stop his interrogation. She wants to leave this booth. But, she doesn’t want to leave Corbin’s side. She misses sitting near him, looking into his hazel eyes, and bantering with him.

  “We were kicking it.”

  “Is it the nineties now?” She leans back in the booth in an attempt to compose herself.

  “Sure.” He grins. “Do you remember how we met?”

  “How could I forget.” She smiles in spite of herself.

  “The Anti-Valentine’s Day dance.” He laughs. “You wore a little black dress.”

  “You wore a tuxedo. Why?” She shakes her head.

  “I was being ironic.” He smiles sheepishly.

  “We danced all night.”

  “More like bumping and grinding.” He laughs.

  “You walked me to my taxi.”

  “And kissed you good night.”

  “You tried to go home with me.” She shakes her head.

  “Hey, I had to try. You were hot.” His eyes rake over her dress. “Are hot.”

  The light banter turns heated and Arabella blushes. She wants to take control of the conversation. Her good manners tell her to just say thank you. Her reluctance to flirt with him tells her to keep quiet. But, she doesn’t want to be rude.

  “Thanks.” She looks down at her drink and twirls it on the coaster.

  “Not drinking?” He nods at her drink.

  “Not much.”

  “Why not?”

  “I stopped a few years ago. Never picked it up again.”

  “Why?”

  Because I had your baby. The words choke her throat. She gulps down her water and then chews on an ice cube.

  “Why’re you avoiding my questions?” He leans both elbows on the table. Then leans towards her and says in a conspiratorial whisper, “Tell me, Arabella, is now a good time?”

  Her heart stops.

  She cannot believe that after all these years, Corbin T. Goode is hinting at a second chance. Her mouth drops open. She always hoped in the back of her mind when she was up late or early with her baby that Corbin would come knocking on her door one rainy night and take her in his arms. But, he never reached out to her. Never called. Never messaged her. And why would he? Until today, she thought that he had deleted her from his life.

  “I’m not sure.” She closes her mouth and swallows her nervous. Her heart beats so quickly that she has to lean towards Corbin to hear him over the music and college girls singing and loud bar conversations.

  “How will you know?” He coyly asks as Whitney Houston’s hit song How Will I Know begins, and the girls at the bar sing along.

  They smile at the pun. Their eyes lock in mutual admiration. She feels the rekindling of the camaraderie and attraction and love.

  Was it love?

  Is it love?

  Arabella must put an end to this walk down memory lane before she finds herself telling Corbin everything.

  “I guess, I’m waiting to make sure I know how I feel.”

  “And how do you feel?” He leans closer to her, closing the space between them. His tone is light and playful. His eyes are earnest and hopeful. She knows him well enough to know that beneath his nonchalant exterior, lies a volcano of emotions. His pupils darken. He wants her. She wants him. But, she must resist him.

  “I feel like...I would be able to find the right woman for you.”

  He leans back into the booth and looks disappointed in her answer. He reaches for his drink and downs the rest. He waves for the server to bring him another.

  “Okay, Arabella. This is how you want to play it?”

  “Corbin, you called me to be your matchmaker.”

  “You think you can find the right woman for me?” His eyes peer into her heart.

  She feels like he can see her dilemma. He can read her face, but he can’t figure out the why behind her words.

  “I know I can.” Arabella sits up straight. She loves a good challenge. “Can I ask a few questions?”

  He nods.

  She reaches for her bag and takes out a manila folder with the name Adam Smith on the tab. She opens it, glances over a sheet of paper, and then looks up at Corbin.

  “So, you spend your time around the most beautiful women in the world—”

  “Used to.”

  Her eyes dart from his left to his right eye. She searches for sincerity.

  “Used to?” She can’t help but wonder when did Corbin Goode stop being a bad boy?

  “After Dana died in the car accident—”

  “I’m sorry for your loss.” She blinks back tears threatening to well up.

  “Thanks.” He clears his throat.

  They share a moment of grief. She looks down at her paper and asks the next question.

  “Why now?”

  He looks away at a TV screen where a music video is playing. The Pop Princess is dancing on a deserted beach near clear blue waters. She looks seductive and happy. On the bottom of the screen flashes the news caption: We miss you, Princess.

  “I’m ready. I haven’t had any girlfriends since Dana passed.” He pauses. “The only girl in my life is my daughter, Chloe.”

  “You haven’t dated anyone?”

  He shakes his head.

  “It could be awkward because I keep memorabilia and photos of Dana in the house to keep her memory alive for Chloe… It’s difficult to find the balance between keeping enough in the house to remind Chloe of who her mom was yet limiting it to where I can move on and try to find love again.”

  Arabella stares at Corbin. She is moved by his honesty. When she dated him, he was honest with her. But, she always assumed that he was dating other women when she went away some weekends with her girls. He was known for dating supermodels and divas and celebrities. She always wondered why he dated her. Not that she had low self-esteem. She was just aware of her status in life: she was the heir to the Wilder fortune. Her family’s shipping business generates hundreds of millions of dollars in international sales. While in the future she thought that Corbin would make a great candidate, at twenty-one, she never thought of him as a long-term boyfriend. She never thought that he thought of her as a long-term girlfriend either. He was a confirmed bachelor at twenty-five.

  Now, she’s twenty-five, and he’s twenty-nine.

  She considers that maybe she was wrong.

  “What do you think Dana would tell me if she knew that you hired me?” Arabella reads the question from a list titled, What to ask a widowed client.

  “I think she would tell you to do it. She wanted me to be happy.”

  “I think that Dana would be happy that you’re looking for love. I saw your wedding photos.”

  “Oh yeah?” He smiles
with a hint of sadness.

  “Not going to lie. I looked up the photos online. They’re beautiful. She loved you. She would want you to be happy.”

  They look at each other in another moment of silence filled with questions unasked. Both wait for the other to say something first. They’re aware of each other’s pregnant silence. Each dare not speak first and break the spell of the moment.

  Arabella clears her throat.

  “Remind me how long has it been since Dana passed?”

  “Um, it’s been two years, four months.”

  “How old is Chloe?”

  “She’ll be 4 in December.”

  “Wow. Corbin T. Goode with a baby girl. That’s awesome.”

  “You ever think of having children?”

  Arabella’s eyes grow wide. She did everything in her power to keep her baby a secret. She nursed him at her parents’ Greenwich home, even after they died. She hired the au pair and who tagged along when she was shooting for her show in New York City and Jersey City and Atlanta.

  “Or are you waiting to be sure?” He winks at her, letting her off the hook.

  “You got me there.” She takes in another ice cube and crunches on it, grateful to have something to do with her mouth other than talk. She looks at her paper and dreads this next part of her job. The home examination. The last thing she wants to do is enter his home and see how he lives and meet his daughter. A little girl named Chloe whom Arabella would love to introduce to Tucker so that he’d have a playmate.

  “So, I also looked up your home.”

  He laughs.

  “And I see that you have a lot of photos and artifacts from Dana’s career. Do you feel like you have so much of the Princess of Pop’s presence that a woman couldn’t walk into your home and see herself there?”

  “Well, no. I think that, um, I owe my daughter the presence of her mom in the house. I also have a legal responsibility to the estate to keep Dana’s image alive.”

  “Would it be possible to see your home?”

  “Now?”

  “If you want. I like to do home visits to see how my clients are living.”

  “Why?”

  “I want to see if you’re living in the past.”

  “Are you living in the past?”

  The direct question sends Arabella back to the past. She’s sitting on the toilet in her bathroom holding a pregnancy test in her hand. Two pink lines appear in the window. She’s staring at the test and willing the second pink line to disappear. She tells her cell phone to call her friend Nora. Nora Thomas—corporate lawyer. She’s practical, logical, and orderly. Arabella needed Nora to talk her into an abortion. Arabella remembers the conversation went very differently from how she expected:

  “Nora, I’m pregnant.”

  “Excuse me?” Nora says something to someone and then comes back on the line. “It’s nine on a Monday morning. There’s only so much shock I can take this early in the week.”

  “I don’t have time for jokes. I’m freaking out.”

  “Who’s is it?”

  “Rick’s.”

  “Who’s Rick?”

  “You know, Humphrey Bogart.”

  “Ohmygosh, you watch too much TV. Rick’s Cafe guy?”

  “Yes.”

  “Why not say his name?”

  “Because, we’ve only been dating a year and I don’t want to name his name.”

  “A year is a good amount of time.”

  “I’m only twenty-one.”

  “He’s, what?”

  “Twenty-five.”

  “Maybe he’s ready to settle down.”

  “He’s got a yacht and a private island that he parties on regularly.”

  “And you know this…”

  “Because I’ve been there with him. And he’s there, now.”

  “Without you.”

  “Mmmm hmmm.”

  “So, he likes to party. So do you.”

  “Yeah, but I’m not off having random sex with strangers.”

  “Is he?”

  “I’m assuming he is.”

  “You two aren’t exclusive?”

  “No.”

  “Do you want to be?”

  Arabella stared at the pregnancy stick. She couldn’t bring herself to say yes.

  “That’s a yes. You’re such a commitment-phobe.”

  “I’m twenty-one!”

  “So is Whitney and she’s been with her boyfriend since boarding school.”

  “Whitney’s an aberration.”

  “Sasha’s been with her boyfriend for a year.”

  “Really?”

  “Well, on and off. But, time adds up. Hold on.” Nora said something to someone. “Listen, I can’t talk for too long. I’m due in court in a few hours.”

  “Anything interesting?”

  “Some man is claiming that our pharma-client’s drugs made him suicidal.”

  “Did it?”

  “Immaterial. The question is whether he can afford to prove it before his money runs out.”

  “Oh, Nora!”

  “Arabella. Did you call me to have a conversation on ethics?”

  “Well, yes. I mean, is it ethical for me to...get rid of the baby?”

  “How long have you been pregnant?”

  “Um, we conceived four weeks ago.”

  “How do you know?”

  “We ran out of condoms and went bare—”

  “Arabella!”

  “I know. I know. It was stupid.”

  “Yes—”

  “It was the only time.”

  “Once is enough.”

  “I know! Nora, I don’t need a lecture right now.”

  “Sorry.”

  “I just need your support.”

  “Whatever you decide. I’m here for you, girl.”

  “Thanks.”

  “Love you girl. I gotta go.”

  “Love you too. Call me later.”

  “Will do.”

  The phone clicked off. Nora never says goodbye. She doesn’t like the finality of it. She prefers to end the conversation with love.

  She looks at Corbin. “Maybe I am living in the past.”

  “Look at that. Miss Wilder answers a question finally.”

  “So, how about that home visit?” She gathers her papers and closes the manila folder. She takes out a pen, strikes out the name, Adam Smith, and writes Corbin Goode above it.

  “Don’t forget the T.”

  “Right.” She adds his middle initial T. Then she stashes the folder in her bag. She looks around for the server to settle the bill.

  “I’ve got it.” Corbin waves to the server who seems to keep an eye on their table all the time. She appears instantly and hands a black check-holder to him. Smoothly, Corbin places some cash inside of it, closes it, and hands it back to the server. “No change.”

  “Thank you, Mr. Goode.” She smiles and scurries away.

  “She knows your name.” Arabella slides out of the booth and stands up on shaky legs.

  “Everybody knows my name.” He gives a self-effacing smile that takes Arabella off guard. She finds that she can’t predict this new Corbin. She doesn’t know what he’ll say, what he’ll do.

  She manages a weak smile in return. She spies the exit in the distance. First, she has to maneuver her way through the lively crowd in various stages of intoxication.

  “Follow me.” Out of habit, Corbin takes Arabella’s hand and leads her through the after-work crowd.

  Following closely behind him, she can smell his cologne and clean clothes scent. She can see him popping the labels off his non-iron dress shirt like he did the year they were together. He never laundered his clothes. They simply disappeared from the floor the next morning. He never went shopping either. His clothes simply appeared in his closet. She marveled at the easy life his money afforded him. Not that her life isn’t as easy. But, she does re-wear her clothes and sends them out to the dry cleaners. Her parents made her make her own bed. They didn
’t want her to grow up spoiled and useless. She tells Tucker to make his own bed. She wonders if Corbin will supply Chloe with an endless closet of new clothes.

  Inhaling Corbin’s cologne, holding his strong warm hand, Arabella feels the deep-down clench of her muscles. The old feeling of desire and anticipation make her cheeks flush. She tells herself that he’s just being a gentleman. She tells herself that her body’s just reacting to the memory of all those days and nights they spent together. She looks up at the waves of dark brown hair escaping out of the back of his baseball cap. She’s surprised that he still lets his hair grow long. She suppresses the urge to reach up, take off his cap, and tousle his hair. Her hands ache to touch him. She misses the way he took command. She always liked his decisiveness.

  The crowd thickens in the waiting area. The lights are dimmed. Roaring conversations and loud music fill the cool air. Corbin looks back at Arabella and smiles darkly. Then he turns, takes her in his arms, and they are dancing to an up-tempo pop song.

  “Oh!” Arabella says in surprise as he presses her body to his and they dance through the drunk crowd.

  His muscular body presses her torso to his. His pelvis moves against hers. They step to the beat of the music through the crowd. Arabella feels warm. Her pulse quickens. She follows his lead. She can’t believe that they’re dancing.

  Breathing in Corbin’s masculine scent, Arabella allows him to guide her through the crowd to the long hallway that leads out onto Palmer Square. Dancing into the chilly winter air, away from the loud music and warm crowd, Arabella feels light-headed from being so close to Corbin’s body.

  They stand beside each other just outside of the bar-restaurant’s double glass doors. Her heart beats loudly in her ears.

  Suddenly, a bike messenger zooms down the sidewalk, almost crashing into them. Corbin pulls Arabella close to his body. He steps back against the double doors. His arms hold her so tightly against him that she can feel the bulge in his pants. She can’t breathe. She needs to separate from him. But, she doesn’t want to. She looks up at his face in wonder. How is it, after all these years that her body still responds to his?

  “Off the sidewalk!” Corbin yells at the messenger.

  “My bad!” The cyclist swerves back into the street and waves to them as he zooms down the street.

  “What the—” Arabella shakes her head.