14
The sound of raised voices greeted Chaz as he rounded the corner into the main lobby of Covington Law Firm.
“I don’t give a rat’s ass who you are! I don’t have to tell you a damn thing!”
“The ‘no soliciting’ sign is clearly visible as you enter the building, and you obviously have something you’re trying to sell.” Liz’s clipped, East Coast boarding-school accent became more pronounced in anger.
The identity of the other voice dawned on Chaz as he rounded the corner.
“Bitch, I will wipe this floor—”
“Ladies! Get ahold of yourselves,” Chaz ordered, stepping in between them. “Delicia, what are you doing here?”
“Yes,” Elizabeth hissed, straining her neck to look around Chaz’s broad chest. “What is a woman like you doing in a respectable establishment like this?”
“Do you have an appointment?” Chaz calmly turned and asked Elizabeth. She tossed a mass of blond hair, but remained silent. “Go wait in my office.” Chaz watched her walk away, dispassionately noting how well her butt filled out the pair of rust-colored Anne Klein slacks, and how the color complemented her salon-tanned skin. He then turned to face Delicia Smith, understanding Liz’s assumption. Delicia wore a pair of white stretch pants that couldn’t have been tighter had they been painted on. A set of forty-four double Ds wiggled like Jell-o above a bright red-and-blue-striped, low-cut baby-doll top, and Delicia’s sudden growth spurt was explained when Chaz noted her size nine feet in five-inch stilettos. His expression made a verbalized question unnecessary.
“Uh, I was in the area?” Delicia offered in a soft, innocent voice.
Chaz donned a look of chagrin and crossed his arms.
“I bought a new car and wanted to take you for a ride?” Delicia’s wide-eyed, “don’t-know-nothin-’bout-birthin’-babies” look brought the merest hint of a smile to Chaz’s lips, even as his eyes narrowed. “I wanted to see if you had any openings for a one-handed secretary?”
Chaz’s stone face finally cracked and he laughed out loud. A sense of humor was probably one of Delicia’s finest assets, and why she’d been able to turn tragedy into triumph. That, and a few million dollars.
“I’m sorry,” she continued, her face sincere. “I know I need an appointment. I just . . . I just wanted to see you. And I did get a new car. The dealer gave it to me on credit, pending the arrival of my check.”
Chaz gently grasped Delicia’s arm and pulled her to the side as more employees entered the building. “Delicia,” he began softly, and her nana tingled at the way he said her name. “I’m flattered at your interest in me, but I have a rule about not dating my clients. You’re a smart, attractive woman, and now you have the means to transform your life in a way that will attract a man who’s perfect for you.” Chaz dropped his voice farther. “But I’m not him.”
Delicia blinked away the tears that threatened. “Rules are made to be broken,” she whispered. “It would be so good, Chaz. More cushion for the pushin’ . . .”
Chaz’s eyes narrowed once again, but Gina’s voice interrupted his thoughts. “Mr. Covington, you have a call on line two. Also, I can call the temp agency if we need a fill-in for Lois.”
Chaz gave Delicia’s arm a final squeeze. “I have to go. Good-bye, Delicia.”
Much as Chaz had done earlier with Elizabeth, Delicia watched Chaz’s retreating form as he crossed the lobby. His pants were tailored to fit him perfectly, emphasizing the symmetry of his broad back, narrow waist, tight butt, and long legs. Delicia didn’t realize her mouth was watering until she had to swallow.
Once he’d rounded the corner, Delicia turned and headed for the door. “Every good-bye ain’t gone, Chaz Covington,” she whispered to herself as she walked to her brand-new, white-on-white, customized Escalade. As soon as her onion touched the calfskin seat, she pulled out the pearl white Slide she’d purchased to match her car and began pecking out a text message using the thumb of her one good hand.
15
“You are way out of line,” Chaz said, as soon as he’d returned to his office and closed the door. He’d told Gina to take a message, way too angry to speak with a client right now.
“I know.” Elizabeth bowed her head slightly, a rare sight.
“This is my place of business and that woman you insulted, one of my clients. How dare you disrespect anyone who comes to my firm!”
“I’m sorry. I overstepped my bounds.”
Chaz took a deep, calming breath. “I respect your commitment to my foundation and all of the contributions you’ve generated on its behalf. But that charity and this law firm are two different entities. Liz, if you need to see me at my place of business . . . make an appointment. Have I made myself clear?”
Elizabeth swallowed a sarcastic comment, as she correctly deduced that now was not the time for petulance. Instead she stated the reason for her impromptu visit. “I’m divorcing Max.”
Chaz looked at Elizabeth a long moment, noting the sincerity in her eyes. “Your father would never allow it.”
“This one’s twenty-three,” Elizabeth said, moving away from Chaz to stare out on a picture-perfect April day. “The granddaughter of my dad’s best friend. The housekeeper caught them screwing in our bed, two o’clock in the afternoon.” Elizabeth swallowed hard, trying to dislodge the sudden lump in her throat. “He’s not even trying to hide them anymore.”
Chaz came up and placed a comforting hand on Elizabeth’s shoulder. He could more than relate to how she felt in this moment. “I’m sorry, Liz.” Often viewed as a bitch on wheels, an emotionless vixen carved of stone, he was reminded of the truth: that Elizabeth Stein was an insecure, vulnerable trust-fund baby, who had hundreds of associates but very few friends. Whose looks made her the desire of men and envy of women, but whose life wasn’t the fairy tale it seemed.
“Please, don’t be,” Elizabeth said, with a snort. Her signature hair toss and a squaring of the shoulders effectively dissipated the moment of vulnerability. “I’m going to pay him back by fucking his golfing partner’s twenty-one-year-old son. And maybe the partner, too.”
“C’mon, Liz, two wrongs don’t make a right.”
“No, but it will make me feel better. In fact”—Elizabeth’s crystal blue eyes, darkened with desire, bored into Chaz—“there’s someone else who can make me feel better, who can make me forget Max and all of his whores.” Elizabeth walked up to Chaz, scraped long, manicured fingernails down his chest, and pressed her breasts against him. “I want you . . .” Elizabeth leaned in for a kiss.
He gently but firmly widened the space between them. “You really have to go, Liz. I’ll call you later.”
Fortunately for Chaz, a slew of work kept his mind off the women troubles that swirled around him. Perspicacious and cunning in the courtroom, only those closest to him knew Chaz’s sensitive side. For the next eight hours following Elizabeth’s departure, Chaz took calls, met with two potential clients, and spent the afternoon in the courtroom. He’d used his private bathroom to shower and change and now looked forward to an evening with the Bateses.
He was almost out the door when he remembered the prepaid cell phone he’d left the night before. He smiled as he sauntered back to get it, already anticipating what saucy comment his mystery writer had left for his pleasure. After retrieving the key from his hiding spot beneath the desktop, Chaz opened the drawer and picked up the phone. A slight frown creased his brow. I thought I turned this off before I left. He looked at the lit face another moment before slipping the phone into his briefcase and striding purposely away from the drama of the day.
An hour later, Chaz dug his fork into the dinner Taylor had prepared, and savored the bite. “James,” he asked, after wiping his mouth with a napkin. “Did Taylor really cook this meal? The rice is cooked to perfection and the lobster rivals the best seafood in town.”
“I was watching,” James replied, around a mouthful of rice pilaf. “She did it.”
“Well,
I remember when she couldn’t boil water. Man, you’re a miracle worker to have turned her into a chef!”
“Uh, excuse me, but I’ll take full credit for my honed cooking skills, thank you very much.” Taylor’s smile belied her words, and her face glowed at the praise. “I admit, I was a ramen-noodle queen back in college and served so much canned pasta during those first years of marriage that James used to call me Chef Boyardee.”
Everyone laughed. “Yeah, but I knew my baby had potential,” James said, picking up a lobster claw and sucking the juice. “Between my iron stomach and Taylor’s addiction to the food channel . . . we not only survived, but thrived.”
After a light dessert of raspberry sherbet, James and Chaz retired to the library, otherwise known as the “men’s den.” The entire room had been redesigned to be wheelchair friendly, with a bar, pool table, and cushioned dartboard all lowered to accommodate the new James. He rolled his chair over to the bar and poured two snifters of premium cognac.
Meanwhile, Chaz rolled and snipped two Cuban cigars. “I ran into one of your colleagues,” he said, accepting the drink James offered and handing him a stogie. “He said you’re shaking things up at the school.”
“How so?” James asked, even as his eyes sparkled.
“Said one of your students petitioned for and won a change in the grading process—something about using experience at a local hospital in lieu of finals. You wouldn’t have anything to do with that, would you?”
“You know I was never one to stand on protocol, even when I could stand.”
The men exchanged small talk and enjoyed their cigars in companionable silence. Chaz declined James’s chess challenge, knowing that if the men started, the game would go well into the night. He looked forward to spending time with his children this weekend, even if he did have to pick them up at eight a.m.
James reached into a crystal bowl filled with nuts and changed the subject. “It’s been a minute since a skirt has accompanied you on your visits. You losing your touch, or what?”
A lazy smile crossed Chaz’s face. He blew smoke rings, and for the first time in hours, the earlier drama of the day—much like the blue-gray smoke from the Cuban classics—wafted away from him.
“I’m beginning to think my life would be much less complicated without skirts.”
“Aw, shit. You ain’t getting ready to switch hit are you?”
“Ha! Man, you trippin’.”
James’s rumble of a laugh was contagious, and soon Chaz joined in.
“What about that fine little filly you had over here a year or so ago?”
Chaz sighed. “Naomi.”
“That’s a fine sista right there. What’s going on with her?”
“Galavanting the globe.”
“What does she do again?”
“She’s a retail consultant, helping small- and medium-sized companies establish their brands, design their stores . . . stuff like that.”
“One of those independent types? Not interested in settling down?”
“She’s moving back to Chicago soon.”
“There you go, might be a chance there, brothah.”
“Yeah, maybe.”
“She had your nose open for a minute, I remember that.”
“Listen at you, talking smack.”
“Man, I’m just messing with you. Truth of the matter is . . .” James’s voice trailed off into nothingness as he drained his glass and rolled over to pour another drink.
“What’s the truth of the matter?” Chaz asked softly. Even after the accident, James was usually jovial and upbeat. One rarely detected melancholy in his voice.
“That girl out there is my heart,” James said, his voice becoming gruff with emotion. “I’m already ten years Taylor’s senior, straining to keep up with her . . . urges. She’s a young, healthy woman . . .”
“She’s committed to you, James.”
James’s voice dropped to a whisper. “I’m not the man she married.”
“You’re the man she loves. I’ve known Taylor since high school, brothah, and I’ve never seen her happier than the day you made her your wife.”
James visibly swallowed. “Yes, but there are things I can’t give her now, that I can’t do. I wouldn’t blame her for . . . seeking release, know what I’m saying? I’d understand.”
Chaz simply nodded, resisting the urge to squirm. He believed he did know what James was saying—that he was either giving his blessing on Taylor having an affair, or worse, knew she was already having one, if the intermittent dalliances he and his best friend shared could be characterized as such. “Even with all you’ve endured, you’re a blessed man, James,” he finally said, and meant it. “It’s not always easy to find love; don’t ever take yours for granted.”
They clinked and then drained their glasses. Shortly afterward, Chaz headed home. Again, the day’s events and the women behind them drifted into his mind: Delicia Smith, an attractive woman with a good heart whose affections were well-intended if misplaced; Elizabeth Stein, dealing with what had been his lot a few short years ago; and Lois. Chaz turned up the jazz and pondered his capable assistant who had no life. He let out a gentle sigh, remembering how embarrassed Lois had been after losing her balance and falling flat on her rear. She was sure in a hurry, he thought, as he exited the highway and turned onto the boulevard where he lived. You would have thought that . . . Chaz’s sharp lawyer mind sifted through the pieces that made up Lois’s embarrassing incident. Is that why she was in such a hurry? Because I arrived at the office unexpectedly early? I’m sure I turned it off last night, but my cell phone was on today. That could only mean . . .
Chaz pulled into the driveway of his Hyde Park residence, his thoughts becoming crystal clear with each passing moment. Lois had seen the text messages, he decided. But a question remained: Was she reading the messages for the first time or reevaluating the handiwork she’d sent?
16
Lois was petrified, which was why she’d sat in the parking lot for the past fifteen minutes. What will people think? Lois pulled down the visor, checking her image for the umpteenth time. Then she looked at her watch—8:25. In two years, Lois had never arrived to work later than 8:30. And she wouldn’t be late today.
Inside Covington Law Offices, someone else was a bundle of nerves. Gina had worked on this plan for weeks, had waited for just the right time to put it into motion. Lois’s mishap and subsequent absence the previous Friday had given her the opening she’d needed. After settling in the temp who would answer Chaz’s phone calls and handle light filing, Gina had sent Chaz an e-mail requesting a meeting. She’d been thrilled when he’d responded positively, instructing her to set up an unusually early Monday meeting at 8:15 a.m. Now here she sat, an outward sea of calm while her insides churned.
“Thanks again for taking the time to meet with me,” she said as Chaz perused the proposal she’d given him. “I know how busy you are.”
Chaz waved away her comment. “Frankly, your e-mail intrigued me. Just the other day, the partners and I were discussing how to restructure the office. We’ve grown exponentially in the last five years, barely able to keep up with the caseload, let alone oversee administration as a whole. An office manager, as you’ve suggested here, is just what we need.” Chaz reared back in his chair and eyed Gina intently. “But what do you believe qualifies you for the job?”
Gina sat straighter in her chair, smoothing out a nonexistent wrinkle from the designer suit she’d purchased specifically for this occasion. It looked like a suit an office manager would wear: a rich navy color with a skirt that stopped just above the knee, paired with a light blue shell and understated jewelry. Her four-inch navy pumps with the silver heels gave a bit of sassiness to the ensemble, while the decision to pull back her thick hair into a ponytail highlighted big brown eyes and a mouth that made men think of doing things to it.
Gina demurely placed her hands in her lap and looked Chaz straight in the eye. “Mr. Covington, I have worked har
d for everything I’ve ever gotten in life. This work ethic came from my immigrant parents, who fed a family of seven through lawn services and domestic care. I’m the first in our family to pursue a college education. I am very proud of my secretarial certification, and starting this fall, I plan to pursue a degree in business management from the University of Phoenix.
“Being the oldest in my family, I was often left in charge of everyone. This is where I honed my supervisory and organizational skills, and why I’m a very mature woman for being only twenty-seven years old. Having four competitive brothers is how I learned to wield diplomacy. I am bilingual, get along well with people of all backgrounds, am tenacious when I have a goal, and quite frankly, Mr. Covington, I’d like to establish myself as an invaluable member of your team.” Gina crossed her legs, which caused her skirt to ride a bit higher on her thigh. Her face and look were the epitome of professionalism, but raw sexuality oozed from her pores.
You are an attractive woman, Gina Perez. And a smart one, too. Chauvinistic or no, attractive women fared well in the legal environment. As in many professions, beauty and brains were often a formula for success. “What would you say to the fact that there are other, more qualified assistants here?”
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