Why Did It Have to Be You?

by Allyson Charles

  “Samantha Beswick has been out on maternity leave for two months.” Evers shifted in his tasseled loafers. “And Jack Delgado was out sick that day. So we had a majority.”

  “And do you have the zoning board’s bylaws that state a quorum of three is all that’s needed instead of the full board to conduct business?” The judge raised an eyebrow over his cornflower blue eyes.

  Evers blustered. “Your Honor, a copy of the bylaws isn’t necessary. The city accepted the variance. They issued the permit based on that belief. And they wrote the rules for the board. If they didn’t question the signatures, I hardly think you or I should.”

  Connie sucked in a breath. She admitted she didn’t know much about being a lawyer yet. She was as green as the forest of pine trees that gave this area its name. But even she knew it wasn’t smart to cop an attitude in a court of law.

  Judge Nichols smiled, his cheeks rosy, his expression deceptively sweet. “Mr. Evers, I’m so happy to hear you have complete faith in the competence of city hall. But I seem to remember you arguing before my court just eight months ago that the city of Pineville had ‘egregiously and flagrantly disregarded the dictates of Measure B.’ I’m paraphrasing, of course, but I’m sure Ardele”—he nodded his head at the court reporter—“could find your exact words. It’s duly noted in my courtroom that you now believe city hall to be beyond reproach.”

  He took off his glasses, folded them, and slid them into a breast pocket behind his robes. “I’m allowing the temporary restraining order until such time as you can prove that city hall regulations allow a quorum of the zoning board to sign a variance. And if at that time, the plaintiff has her own environmental impact report to present, she may.” Pushing to his feet, he strode for the back door. “Ardele, calendar another hearing in two weeks. Before that hearing, I expect both sides to meet and try to mediate their disagreements. Is that understood?”

  Both Connie and Evers nodded.

  “I think that’s all then. And Ms. Wilkerson”—he paused, one hand on the door—“welcome to the Michigan bar.”

  The door to his chambers hissed shut. Connie’s shoulders sagged. Her first hearing as an attorney was over. And had been somewhat successful. She wanted to go celebrate with a caramel mochachino. Extra whipped cream. She rubbed the back of her neck and wished she had friends in this town to celebrate with. But she’d burned too many bridges.

  Putting her papers back in the portfolio, Connie blew out a big breath. Screw it. She was making a fresh start with her career. She could make one with the people of Pineville, too. Everyone deserved a second chance. And the people of this town were kind enough to give her one.

  A wooden chair scraped against the floor. David shook hands with his attorney, his face grim. Evers clapped him on the back, a big grin splitting his face like he hadn’t just screwed the pooch in court. But he must have known. After one more full-wattage smile, the attorney picked up his briefcase and hightailed it out of the courtroom, leaving David and his sour expression behind.

  New beginnings, Connie told herself. Everyone deserves a fresh start. With that mantra in her head, she stepped forward and stretched out a hand. “It’s nice to see you again, David. I’m sorry it’s under these circumstances.”

  Okay, so getting a fresh start obviously didn’t include complete honesty. The only way she’d want to see David Carelli again was under just these circumstances: him, defeated by her, in court. But this was only a preliminary hearing, and a lot of battle remained ahead. She kept the gleeful smile off her face.

  David looked at her hand, and continued his perusal down her body, over her wrinkled skirt, stopping at her shoes. Drawing her hand back, she followed his gaze. Dirt caked the heels of both pumps, and one ankle was streaked with brown.

  He continued to stare at her legs, and she fought the urge to shift on her feet. He raised an eyebrow, and every inch of her bare skin burned. Without her panty hose as armor, she felt exposed. Unprofessional. The crazy idea to give him a second chance dried up as fast as the mud on her shoes had.

  David shook his head. “Crazy Connie. You sure do love living up to that name.”

  Bile rose in her throat, but she kept her expression even. He’d never see how much that nickname hurt her.

  Stepping into her space, he brushed his fingers over her skirt, at the place where hip curved around to meet butt. Before she could object, because yeah, it was definitely more butt than hip, he pulled away, a crushed three-leaf clover pinned between his fingers. “If you want to go for a quick roll in the hay, don’t do it before my court dates. My time is more valuable than your sex life.”

  Her face flushed. Did she look like she’d just had sex? Was that the impression she’d given to Judge Nichols the first time she’d stood before him in the courtroom? She didn’t bother to correct David. His touching her ass was the high point of her sex life for the past year. But she’d die before telling him that.

  She stepped away until she couldn’t smell his expensive cologne. “Talk to your attorney. If you’d like to meet to discuss a settlement, he has my number. My clients would be willing to reimburse you for part of the cost of your EIR if you drop your plans to build a shelter in their neighborhood.”

  “How generous of them.” David opened the gate to the gallery, and waited for her to step through. “Perhaps they could extend their generosity into supporting our local animal shelter. I know lawyers are supposed to be cold-blooded sharks, but fighting against puppies? That seems like a new low.”

  Showing him a smile worthy of a great white, Connie said, “There’s plenty of room for those puppies. Outside of town. And don’t pretend that you give a damn about shelter animals. This is just another money-making scheme for you.” She turned at the doors, and looked up to meet his gaze.

  The flash of vulnerability she saw gave her pause. He’d always had nice eyes. A deep aquamarine, the color as variable as the Mediterranean. But small lines of fatigue etched the corners. Her gaze dropped. The knot of his red silk tie was a smidge out of line under the French collar of his shirt. For a man who put appearances before substance, those tiny flaws told a big story. One that Connie didn’t have the time or inclination to read.

  “You’re going to waste a lot of money in legal fees on this project, money that could be spent developing another site. A more appropriate site for an animal shelter.” She pushed out into the empty main hall of the courthouse. The front doors stood open, and through the square of light she could see a gardener riding a mower around the large front lawn of the building.

  David fell into step next to her. “Well, listen to you. Trying to talk tough like a real lawyer.” Bending his head, he whispered in her ear, “I know this is your first case. If you don’t want to be humiliated right out of the gate, you’d be wise to talk some sense into your clients.”

  Her shoulder blades slammed together. Damn if one of the other attorneys at her firm hadn’t recommended just that. But taking Carelli down a notch was just too tempting. And representing the interests of her clients, of course. She couldn’t forget that.

  “So kind of you to be concerned over my professional reputation.” Stepping into the sunshine, she dug in her purse and pulled out her sunglasses. “But don’t worry about me. I’ve got this.”

  He laughed, a deep honey-coated rumble that rolled through her. If she didn’t despise the man so much, she’d have to admit he had a great smile. But everyone in Pineville knew that his smile was the first warning before he screwed a person over good.

  “You do know you have a snowball’s chance in hell of winning this case.” He cupped her elbow, pulling her to a stop.

  Connie fought the urge to yank her arm away. Or lean into his touch. Both inclinations were equally destructive. She focused on his face. The look of sympathy had to be a ruse.

  “Even if Judge Nichols rules we need a third signature, we can get it. Connie…” He squeezed her arm before dropping his hand. “Talk to your
clients. Make them see their case is hopeless. That’s what good attorneys do.”

  Her body tensed. What the hell did he know about what good attorneys did? From all the times he’d been sued?

  “As always, your advice isn’t wanted,” she ground out between clenched teeth. Spying a spot of green between his fingers, she grabbed the mangled clover and put it in her coat pocket. “And that’s my lucky clover.”

  Without another word, she headed for her car—and the parking ticket wedged under her windshield wiper.

  “It’s only the four-leaf clovers that are lucky,” David shouted, still standing in front of the steps. He smirked as she shoved the ticket into her purse. “You’re one leaf short.”

  Hands in his pockets, he strolled away, a smile curving his lips, not looking anything like a man who’d just been defeated in court. Smug bastard.

  Connie slid behind her wheel, pulled out the clover, and put it on her dash. The crack on the passenger’s side of the windshield had spread a couple more inches during her absence. Eyeing the weed, she stuck her key in the ignition and turned. A few clicks greeted her ears. Pumping the accelerator, she tried again. Not even a click. Her battery was good and dead.

  She rested her head against the steering wheel. Even with her minor victory in getting the TRO, Connie knew this was a bad sign. She had all these grand plans to turn her life around, when in reality she was stuck in place. David was right. Her victory was temporary. She’d probably lose her first case. The law wasn’t on her side. Her whole life she’d been missing that damn fourth leaf on her lucky clover. And it was starting to piss her off.

  Chapter Two

  As he dried his hands, David ran through his schedule with his assistant. “You’ll have to move my three o’clock tomorrow.” He folded the towel and hung it over the edge of the sink in his office kitchen. “The attorney wants us to meet with Environmental Solutions to discuss the EIR they created. Make sure there aren’t any holes.”

  Braden tapped some notes into his phone. “Got it. Also, the O’Hare build is a week behind schedule. The foreman says the owner is bitching.”

  Of course Martin O’Hare was bitching. When wasn’t he? Pressing his lips together, David headed for his office, Braden following. He crossed through the lobby, and nodded at the two receptionists seated behind the hammered-aluminum reception desk. Turning onto a cut pile carpeted hallway, David paused beside the console table tucked along the wall of the corridor. He adjusted the silver-framed mirror hanging above it. Damn thing refused to hang straight.

  “What about the Bohannon and Sunny Shores developments?” He strode into his office and plucked his suit jacket off the back of his executive chair, pulling it on. “Any problems with those?”

  “Nothing significant.” Braden ran a hand down his narrow red tie and fiddled with the end. “If this lawsuit makes us fall behind schedule with the shelter build, will it affect our calendar for the rest of the year?”

  David bit back a smile. He’d hired Braden fresh out of college, a business major with no work experience. But the kid’s drive had impressed him. He was hungry. And when Braden had learned the annual bonuses were based on the company’s yearly performance, his work ethic had doubled. He kept David on task better than a drill sergeant. Braden reminded him of himself at that age, all ambition and attitude. Sometimes he worried the kid was a little too much like him.

  “We’ll be fine.” David would make sure of it. “In the meantime, we should double up on the work crews for our other jobs while we have the extra manpower. That should shut O’Hare up.”

  A sharp rap sounded on the door. Susan Wolff stood framed in the doorway. Her tailored pantsuit was a disconcerting shade of orange, but it molded around her curves pleasantly. When David had first agreed to build the new shelter, the pint-sized dynamo had caught his attention. There was no reason why he couldn’t mix business with a little pleasure. It didn’t hurt that the director of the Crook County Animal Shelter had connections to people David was eager to impress, either.

  But the past couple of months had shown him that her personality was as obnoxious as her outfits. He’d probably still nail her if it would help his cause, but it would be business now, not pleasure.

  “Come on in, Sue.” He waved her to one of the leather guest chairs in front of his desk. “Do you want something to drink? Some coffee?”

  She sank into the chair, and addressed Braden. “Herbal tea. With local honey. Organic if you have it.” She turned to David. “My allergies have been killing me lately.”

  David knew for a fact the only honey they kept in Carelli Construction’s kitchen came in the shape of a little bear. He also knew Braden would swear on a stack of Bibles that he’d given each bee a backrub and harvested the honey himself if it would keep a client happy.

  With the barest of eye rolls, Braden walked out, closing the door behind him.

  David took the guest chair next to Sue, crossing his legs and leaning toward her. Body language was fifty-five percent of communication, and David was an expert at making people hear what he wanted them to hear.

  “Thanks for coming down,” he said.

  “Of course.” Her teeth flashed bright against her blood red lipstick. “I already tore Craig Evers a new one. Wanted to do the same to you in person.”

  He narrowed his eyes. “I can understand your being upset—”

  She crossed one leg over the other, and bobbed her open-toed pump. Her toenails matched her suit. “I’m not upset. Merely annoyed.” She tapped the back of his hand with a sharp nail. How she worked with animals with a manicure like that, David didn’t understand. She must delegate as much as he did.

  “You said you’d take care of getting all the signatures, and I trusted you to do that.” Sighing deeply, her chest rose, the lace of her bra peeping out beneath the double-breasted suit. David brought his eyes back to her face. Everything about her was just so obvious. He used to go for flash, but nothing about Sue was doing it for him.

  At least she didn’t have a stick up her ass like Connie Wilkerson. It was so tough to get close to that woman; she might as well have barbed wire wrapped around her body. But Sue didn’t have Connie’s silky dark hair, either. Or a smile that could make a man forget his problems.

  A longing hit David, so intense it stabbed him right between his ribs. He shook it off. He wouldn’t get ahead by wasting his time on useless pursuits. No, between the two women, Sue was definitely the better option. Better a mediocre screw than a nonexistent one.

  He put on his best high-wattage smile, the one that had gotten him laid all through college. “I did get us the signatures. It’s not my fault the zoning board was down a few members. I’m sure the bylaws allow for a majority of the members present to make a binding resolution.” He flicked a piece of lint off his trousers. “And if it doesn’t, we’ll reapply. I’ll walk down with the application when I know Delgado will be there. We’ll get the three signatures.”

  “We should have gotten three signatures before.” Sue frowned. “I don’t understand what Mike was thinking, voting against the variance.”

  Michael Washington was probably only thinking of one thing when he voted. How best to screw over David. Ever since Washington had become involved in local politics, he’d been the proverbial thorn in David’s side. Always whining about transparency. Lecturing about ethics. It was enough to give a man a migraine.

  But he was the brother of Jed Washington, the owner of the triple-A baseball team, the Cleveland Cutters. David had heard that Washington was thinking about changing his team’s affiliation contract to the Detroit Tigers, a shift that would include a move to a new city. And a new stadium. If that new stadium was going to be built anywhere in Michigan, David wanted to be the man holding the hammer, so to speak.

  Jed Washington was nicknamed the Honest Abe of baseball. If any of his players tested positive for performance-enhancing drugs, they were gone. If any of his coaches tried to skirt ar
ound the new concussion protocols, they got their red slips faster than a Randy Johnson fastball. If people didn’t play fair, Jed Washington didn’t let them play. Washington had to respect a man to do business with him, and David wanted his business.

  That’s where the man’s brother, Michael, came in. Mike was also on Pineville’s Citizen of the Year committee, the committee that decided who received the Citizen of the Year award at Pineville’s annual Founders’ Day Celebration. If David won that award, impressed Mike with his altruism, he was one step closer to impressing Jed. David had asked several of his associates to email the committee, nominating him. With that hurdle cleared, the rest was up to David.

  So far Mike had been a hard sell. David had bought him a drink one night and let it be known that he’d changed his cut-throat ways. That all his business practices from here on out would be nothing but above board.

  Mike seemed to have a good bullshit detector. “I don’t understand it, either,” he lied. “You two are on the same committee, after all. Aren’t you friends?”

  Sue shifted in her seat, the leather whispering against her linen suit. “I wouldn’t exactly say friends. And the Citizen of the Year committee only meets twice a year. Our first meeting will be next week to go through the nominations, and send out notices to the nominees. And then we meet a couple of weeks later to vote. It doesn’t leave much time for bonding.”

  So maybe Washington’s no vote wasn’t just about David. Sue might have made her own enemies. Could he play one off the other to get the award?

  “Regardless, we’ll get the permit sorted out.” Standing, David walked to the cabinet that covered the far wall, and pulled a roll of papers from one of the diamond-shaped cubbies. “In the meantime, I wanted to go over my latest revisions to your blueprints.” He unrolled the diagrams on the small conference table in his office, and pinned the four corners down with brass paperweights.