“Oh. Well, I . . .” Delicia nervously twisted her purse handle. “Of course he’d be busy. It’s just that I took the bus down here, and it will be a while before one comes that’s heading back to where I live. Do you think I could wait? Maybe he’ll take a break.”
“His schedule is pretty full.” Lois took in Delicia’s crestfallen face and continued. “But I guess it would be all right for you to wait a few minutes. If I get the opportunity, I’ll tell him you’re here. May I get you a cup of coffee?”
“That would be nice.”
“Cream and sugar?”
Delicia nodded.
“Be right back.”
After watching Lois retreat down the hall, Delicia hungrily eyed the closed door to Chaz’s office. Since her father died in 1997, no one had cared for her the way Chaz Covington had. Thirty-eight years old, Delicia had been separated from a no-account husband for five years. The only thing that had stopped her from finalizing the divorce was money. But in a few short weeks she’d have more cash in her account than she’d ever dreamed possible, and soon after that, Delicia would be free.
Before her settlement, Delicia would never have considered herself worthy of someone like Chaz Covington. Not only was she poor, but she wasn’t your typical Barbie-doll beauty either. Delicia had junk in the trunk and years of fries on her thighs. During the trial, she’d been too focused on the case to care about her looks. This had probably worked to her advantage in gaining the jurors’ empathy. But things were different now. Life held newfound possibilities. Which is why she’d borrowed three hundred dollars from her sister to make sure she showed up for today’s visit in style. She wore a simple, navy, jersey knit dress (that, thanks to Spandex, hugged her size-sixteen curves in all the right places), three-inch pumps (that were killing her feet after missing her bus stop and having to walk back two blocks), and a fried, dyed, and laid to the side haircut (the first such style sans braids or weave since Outkast apologized to Ms. Jackson). When Delicia had left the small, two-bedroom apartment that she shared with an eighteen-year-old daughter and ten-year-old son, she felt pretty good about herself. But now, in the midst of the elegance that epitomized the Covington law offices, she wasn’t so sure she could ever belong.
Lois eyed Mrs. Smith as she brought back her coffee on a tray containing cream, sugar, and a choice of pastries. She saw the apprehensive way this former client eyed her boss’s door, and her stomach clenched. Of course! I should have known! Lois found the thought of this overweight woman being interested in her boss repugnant. She’d always seen Delicia Smith as a struggling, middle-aged single mother who’d been dealt a raw hand, and for whom Mr. Covington had sought and found justice. Now Lois was beginning to see something else. When another thought popped into her head, Lois almost dropped the tray she carried.
“Oh! Are you all right?” Delicia asked, as she hurriedly placed a steadying hand on the tray, before taking it from Lois and placing it on the coffee table.
“I’m fine, just, um, stumbled.” You wrote the letters. That’s why you’re here! Lois turned and walked to her desk, lest her expression betray the sudden contempt she felt for a woman she’d once pitied—and whom Lois realized that with this new look was not only rather attractive, but maybe not as old as she’d first believed.
I’ve got to get her out of here. After giving Delicia five minutes to eat her donut and drink a third of the coffee, Lois took action. “Mrs. Smith, I hate to rush you, but I shouldn’t have told you it was all right to stay. It’s really impossible to see Mr. Covington without an appointment, so if you’d—”
“Lois, I need the petitions that we filed on the Scott case,” Chaz began, as he barreled out of his office.
“Mr. Covington!” Delicia said breathlessly as she stood.
Chaz turned around. “Delicia! What a surprise. And don’t you look lovely.” He walked over with an outstretched hand. “What can I do for you?”
“I know I shouldn’t have come without calling, but”—Delicia reached down for her purse—“I have a gift for you, just a small token of my appreciation. I was just getting ready to give it to Lois to give to you. She said I needed to make an appointment. . . .”
“That’s normally true. But I make exceptions.” Chaz winked at Delicia, causing her legs to almost buckle beneath her. Chaz looked at his watch. “I have a couple minutes. Step into my office.”
If looks could kill, Lois would have faced murder charges for the daggers she shot at Delicia’s retreating back before Chaz closed the door. She opened her desk drawer, pulled out the newly created file marked “Miscellaneous—N” (“n” for nasty, of course) and fingered the lone paper inside. So far, Lois had thought Gina, ex-wife Jennifer Covington, or socialite Elizabeth Stein was behind the notes. But now she knew that another suspect’s name needed to be added to the list.
5
“Why, if it isn’t Chaz Covington calling, and after hours no less. Is this business or pleasure? I prefer the latter.” Elizabeth fairly purred as she idly fingered a strand of perfectly shaped black pearls. She stood at the floor-to-ceiling windows of her ultramodern condo on Michigan Avenue and gazed at the striking nighttime view.
“Would you accept that it’s pleasurable business?” Chaz answered, his voice unconsciously seductive. “I wanted to thank you once again for bringing our latest donor on board. His company’s million-dollar pledge is unparalleled, and your father’s offer to sponsor this year’s fund-raising ball—well, Liz, I’m in your debt.”
“Umm, and I know just how you can repay me.”
“Really, how?” Chaz asked.
“Come over to my place. Dinner, and especially dessert, is on me.”
Chaz loosened his tie as he leaned back in a chocolate brown, leather executive chair. He was in his home office, resplendently decorated in brown, beige, and ivory tones. Decor that relaxed him, as did the two fingers of vintage scotch he sipped from a crystal snifter. “A generous offer, but one I must decline.”
“Why, Chaz?” Elizabeth asked, with a pout in her voice. “I’m at the condo. No one will know.”
Chaz chuckled. “We both know differently. Your father has eyes everywhere. Especially anywhere you are.”
“Then you name the place. We’ll meet for a drink. That’s all.” Elizabeth sipped a drink as well, her third glass of wine. It was the only reason she had the nerve to be so brazen, intimidation usually barring her ability to do so. And Elizabeth didn’t intimidate easily. Chaz had the kind of confidence and swagger rarely seen in men, combined with a shrewd mind and intellect honed since birth. It was one of the reasons Elizabeth’s father adored him, and had made no secret of his desire for Chaz to run for office—state senator for starters, and then congress and beyond. Kenneth Owens was the one who’d suggested—translation: demanded—that Elizabeth cultivate a business relationship with Chaz, even as he’d warned against anything further happening between them. “The man has a stellar reputation,” her father had said, his deep voice powerful and commanding. “I don’t want to see it soiled.” He’d then eyed his daughter in a way that reminded Elizabeth of her promiscuous past, a past her father was well aware of, having paid hundreds of thousands in “shut up and go away” money over the years. Elizabeth’s husband, Max, also came from old money. Neither family would tolerate scandal.
“You’re a smart, beautiful woman, Liz. Your husband is lucky to have you. But I’ve been on the other side of that unfaithful coin and, believe me, it doesn’t feel good.”
“I know how it feels. Do you think Max has been a saint? Ha! Far from it. He couldn’t care less if I slept around.”
“Oh, really? Then have Max call me and tell me that it’s all right to meet you. And then have him hand the phone to your dad.”
Elizabeth laughed. “You irresistible jerk. Just remember, I’m ready. Anytime, anywhere . . .”
Chaz’s brow creased as he remembered the desire-laden e-mails he’d read every day this week before placing them in a folder—
at least five so far. Liz? After agreeing to meet the following week to discuss the holiday fund-raiser, Chaz ended the call. He picked up his drink, walked from his home office to his tastefully masculine master suite—heavy black furniture made lighter with tones of tan, gray, ivory, and strategically placed splashes of red. He finished his drink, undressed, and stepped into the shower. He was totally unaware of the picture he painted: a tall bar of chocolate that was toned without being bulky, with nice tight buttocks and a “package” that would make even Scrooge shout “Merry Christmas!” As he lazily soaped said package, he thought about the woman who zealously raised money for his foundation. Whatever the motive, her efforts gave her clout in Chaz’s eyes because in helping the foundation, Elizabeth was helping keep alive his mother’s memory. For Chaz, the sun had risen and set on Camilla Covington and all these years later, he still keenly felt the pain of her loss. But while he had a soft spot for Elizabeth and found her attractive, she was off limits to him. She was married. Besides, Liz is too classy a woman to send me e-mails like the ones I read. Isn’t she? He began to harden as he recalled the words of the writer—the detailed explanations of what she wanted to do to him and what she wanted to have done to her. He switched the water from hot to cold and quickly finished his shower. After toweling off, he walked to the phone, not pausing to cover his near-flawless nakedness. There was someone he had on his speed dial for moments like this. It was time to give her a call.
6
Two hours later, a sexually satisfied Chaz lay next to the former girlfriend he’d known since high school, Taylor Bates. Taylor was the one married woman for whom Chaz made an exception and shared intimacy. They’d dated, briefly, while attending colleges on opposite sides of the country, but couldn’t sustain the long-distance relationship. When Taylor moved to Chicago, after marrying a prominent doctor, they rekindled their friendship. The two couples had even dined together—Chaz and Jennifer, and Taylor and her husband, James. But three years ago, James was severely injured in a head-on collision and paralyzed from the waist down. He’d offered to divorce Taylor, but she wouldn’t hear of it. She loved him and vowed to stay by his side. But unlike her unfortunate husband, Taylor had shared with Chaz that she was “very much capable of feeling below the waist.” James did his best, and Taylor was grateful they could still share intimacy. But sometimes his tongue and fingers just weren’t enough. She needed something to go deeper, and eventually even her vibrator wouldn’t suffice. She didn’t need something, but someone. After two years of stress, sacrifice, and pleading with Chaz, he agreed to sleep with her.
The arrangement had worked out for both of them. Chaz, with his high profile, was very protective of the image he’d cultivated since graduating law school. He was known as an honest, fair man of integrity. And he was. But he was also compassionate and discriminating. By the time he slept with Taylor, after her husband’s accident, Chaz had been celibate for a year himself. The two didn’t get together often, only every couple months or so. They were “in case of emergency” lovers, “take off the edge” partners, and the best of friends.
“How’s James?” Chaz asked, turning on his side to face Taylor.
“He’s okay. Some days are better than others. Today was a good day.”
“Has he given any more thought to serving on my foundation’s board?”
Taylor smiled, turned from her back to her side, and faced Chaz. “I think he’s going to do it. Thanks again for thinking of him, Chaz. Sometimes he feels so worthless, even though he’s still consulting at the hospital and now teaches at the university two days a week.”
“I wish I could do more for him.” Chaz sighed and flopped onto his back. Chaz had prosecuted the driver for negligence and won the case. But the perpetrator, a fairly successful businessman, filed for bankrupty. The Bateses had yet to see a dime.
“You’re doing plenty, believe me. James enjoys the man-time he spends with you . . . attending the Bulls’ games, your grueling chess marathons. And I . . .” Taylor rubbed a hand across Chaz’s firm, flat stomach and peered into the distance. “I don’t know how I’d do this without you.” Taylor kissed Chaz’s cheek. “So what about you? How are things?”
“I’ve got a stalker.” A smile accompanied what could have been a rather serious pronouncement.
“A what?” Taylor sat up in bed. “Who? Where? When?”
Chaz laughed and joined Taylor in a sitting position. “Whoa, detective. There’s not enough evidence to convict anyone, or to know their identity.” He gave Taylor a brief rundown of the week’s events.
“Who do you think it could be?”
Chaz shrugged. “It could be anyone.”
“That’s what you get for being so fine.” Taylor gave Chaz a playful nudge.
“You’re finer than I am. Do you have a stalker?”
“No, but I don’t have a commercial on television either, running every five minutes.” Taylor mimicked Chaz’s somber punch-line delivery. “If you don’t get paid . . .”
“I don’t get paid,” they finished together, and then fell out laughing.
“I know who it probably is,” Taylor said, after a pause.
“Who?”
“Your loyal assistant.”
“Lois?” Chaz asked incredulously. “That’s ridiculous.”
“You think so?”
“I know so. Lois is staunchly religious. I’d bet my next court victory that the woman is still a virgin.”
“Those are the very ones who often do these types of things: those quiet, mousy, ‘religious’ women,” Taylor said, making air quotes. “The ones you’d least expect. I saw her checking you out at the law firm’s five-year anniversary party.”
Chaz looked at Taylor. “You’re kidding, right?”
“No,” Taylor said with a chuckle. “She checked out your ass as you walked away from her. I saw it.”
“Taylor Bates, you’re nothing but trouble, do you know that? Lois Edwards is the last woman on earth who would write the type of notes I received. Trust me.”
“Au contraire, my dear friend, it’s you who needs to trust me. Lois is no different from any other human with a va-jay-jay and eyesight. We see you, we want you. Her close contact keeps her meow meow at a constant purr. If she is a virgin, which I doubt, she’s ready for you to stroke her kitty.”
“Geez, Taylor, you really need to stop it. I’ve never looked at Lois that way.”
“But maybe she’s looking at you that way. Don’t be fooled.”
7
“Whew! Thank God it’s Friday.” Gina leaned against the counter in the break room, casually shaking a protein drink. “Got any hot plans?”
“Yes, really hot,” Lois replied as she dipped a tea bag into hot water. “I’ve got a date with Redbox and a few movie stars.”
“We need to get you a life, girlfriend,” Gina said.
“No, you need to get some business and stay out of mine. What are you doing that’s so special?”
“Going on a blind date. Well, not blind really, I’ve seen his picture. But I’ve never met him.”
“Where you’d see his pic?”
“Dating Web site.”
“Oh my goodness, people really use those things?”
“I initially thought the same thing. Who in their right mind would go online for a date, the same as shopping for shoes, books, or a concert ticket? But my brother’s best friend just proposed to a woman he met online two months ago! I know this guy: smart, good looking, not a perv or anything. So I figured if he was on the site looking for love, then maybe there are other decent men on there.”
“Why didn’t you hook up with him, your brother’s best friend?”
“Felt too incestuous. We all grew up together. Rick’s like my brother. Besides, you know who I’m holding out for. . . .” Gina let the sentence hang when another co-worker came into the break room. She waited until he’d gotten his coffee and left, and then turned back to Lois, with a look.
“Gina, you r
eally need to let go of that fairy tale. I think Mr. Covington dates women on another level than you and me.”
“Ha! If you think you and I are on the same level, sweetie, then you’re the one who’s delusional. True, there is that pesky rumor that in all the years he’s had this firm, he’s never had an office romance. But there’s a first time for everything. I plan to be the first and the last.”
“Good luck,” Lois said sarcastically and left the break room.
Gina unscrewed the top on her protein drink, contemplating Lois’s words as she sipped her drink. I know some things you don’t know, Lois Edwards. Like certain things no man can resist . . . not even the great C.C.!
Lois returned to her desk and plunged into work. The cheery mood she’d felt in anticipation of a relaxing weekend had been replaced by a gnawing unease. First there were Gina’s inappropriate comments about her boss. Then there was the letter. Another one. After a day of not receiving anything and hoping it was over, another anonymous letter had arrived with the morning mail.
Lois hadn’t opened it. And while she wanted very much to throw it away, she hadn’t done that either. She’d placed the unopened envelope in the file hidden in the very back of her desk drawer and tried to forget about it. Act as if the letters didn’t exist. But they did. And now, with two said letters hidden away in a file, and several e-mails in a Web folder, Lois felt more and more uncomfortable not letting Chaz know about them. I should have told him from the beginning. Lois saved the brief she was typing, took a deep breath, reached for the folder marked “Miscellaneous—N,” and crossed the hall to Chaz’s office. It was time to tell her boss about the nasty file.
“Mr. Covington?” Lois inquired, having opened his door after a light tap.
“Lois, you’re a mind reader. I was just getting ready to buzz you.” Chaz opened a folder and began examining its contents.
Crush Page 10