Unconditionally

by Erin Lyon

  “Oh my gosh. That’s amazing! You’re going to start your own consulting firm?”

  He nodded. “I put out my feelers that I was thinking about it, to the colleagues that have mentioned it in the past. I got fifteen phone calls back in the first two days. I have four clients ready to sign contracts with me right now.”

  “Wow. And, believe me, that ‘wow’ was for your courage in taking this leap. I’m not the least bit surprised that clients are lining up.”

  “Well, I realized I was just letting things pass me by. And I looked at you and the way you just decided you were going to law school and did it. I realized that I’d gotten so complacent. Settled for the status quo. You were never willing to do that.” He was looking at me with his eyebrows lowered, as if seeing me differently. Or for the first time.

  “This seems like news to you.”

  “I hate to say it, but it kind of is. I mean, I was proud of you for going to law school, and I knew it was a lot of work, but I never really acknowledged the leap of faith involved. Or the risks you were willing to take. Now that I’m taking some of my own, I guess I finally understand everything that was involved.”

  I nodded. “I’m glad.” Admittedly, I felt a little let down. I’d always convinced myself that Jonathan knew me better than anyone. I guess there was a lot he didn’t notice. Then I looked at him with wide eyes. “Are you planning to stay local?”

  He shrugged. “I’m not sure. I’ll definitely stay in California, but, so far, those clients that seem to be lining up are all closer to San Francisco. Still California, though, so you could still get a job at any law firm. You know, just in case.”

  He hadn’t given up on us yet. Not if he was still considering logistics even in his new risk-taking phase. That made me happy. And confused. And strangely sad. So basically everything was clear as mud.

  “So, what’s involved? Have you created a company? Given your notice with your job?”

  “I gave my two-weeks already. The company is being set up now.”

  “And?” I asked. “What’s the name?”

  He smiled, looking a little embarrassed. Then he squinted at me. “Alonzo Analytics?”

  “I love it! People know your name, Jonathan. It makes sense to use it.” I leaned in toward him a little. “And you know I’m a sucker for alliteration.”

  “Because you’re a huge nerd,” he said, grinning at me. “Although your love for alliteration may have crossed my mind when I came up with it.”

  I shook my head, overwhelmed by his new sense of direction and purpose. “Wow. Well, congratulations. I am so happy for you.”

  “Thank you.”

  By the time the waiter brought our food and left again, Jonathan was watching me closely. “So, I feel justified, since Mags asked me … Are you dating much?”

  I set my fork down and shrugged. “I was dating this guy. Well, dating might be too strong a word. But I ended it. He mainly just gave me anxiety.”

  Jonathan smiled. “Pretty sure that’s a red flag.”

  I nodded. “Well, he was supposed to be the uncomplicated answer. You … are so confusing. Even Adam I don’t really know what to do with. But this guy was the easy one. I guess because it didn’t matter enough.”

  “Adam mattered enough?” Oops. Think, Kate. Before you say stuff.

  Deep breath. Nod.

  There. That wasn’t so bad. Until Jonathan looked back down at his plate and I felt like my answer had hurt him. Man, when I flip a switch, I really flip a switch, because just two weeks ago this was all Jonathan’s fault. Now here I was, feeling guilty for hurting him.

  Then Jonathan looked back up, pretending to be unfazed. “So you got rid of your uncomplicated route, huh?”

  “Well, I’m not really one for killing time.”

  “No, you are not. So thank you for the eight years you spent with me.”

  My cheeks felt hot at that, and my stomach twisted uncomfortably. “It was a great eight years.”

  “I’m still hoping there might be more.”

  My cell phone vibrated on the table and broke the building tension between us.

  I frowned at the unknown number on the screen. “Not sure who this is, so I should probably answer.”

  Jonathan just nodded agreement.

  “This is Kate,” I said.

  “It’s Scarlett.” Those two words almost made me scream. Like a getting pantsed at a seventh-grade dance scream.

  “Scarlett. How did you get this number?”

  “You just called me, and this is the number that came up on my phone.”

  Shit. Stupid, stupid, stupid.

  “Right. Well, I’m not in the office and this isn’t really a good time. Is something wrong?”

  “Something is always wrong—I live next door to an asshole.”

  “Scarlett, make it quick or I’ll have to call you when I get back to the office.”

  “Fine. Rhett was out in the street, taking pictures of my house. That is totally against the law and an invasion of my privacy.”

  I sighed. “Scarlett, that’s not illegal. If it was, we’d all be suing Google over Google Street View.”

  “Oh. I guess I didn’t think about it like that.”

  “Okay, so call me at the office if anything major happens.”

  “K. Bye.”

  Once Scarlett hung up, I looked at Jonathan with the widest eyes I could manage without giving myself a headache. “Oh my god. What have I done?”

  “That was your crazy client?”

  I nodded. “I called her from my cell in the car,” I said, pressing my fingertips to my temple, staring at my now blank phone screen.

  Jonathan was trying to hold back a chuckle. “Rookie move, babe.”

  “Thanks for your support.”

  He shrugged, his mirth still evident.

  After Jonathan paid the tab (yes, I offered but was vetoed, so, no, I don’t feel like I’m taking advantage of him), we got into his car and headed back to my office.

  As he drove, I looked over at him. He was tanner than the last time we’d been together, like he’d been spending time outdoors. And he clearly hadn’t gotten a haircut since we split, almost six weeks ago. The five o’clock shadow was also apparently a regular thing now. The new Jonathan.

  He pulled up in front of my office and turned to me.

  “Thanks for having lunch with me.”

  “It was fun. Always is.”

  “So we’ll do it again,” he said.

  “Jonathan, I want to say something to you … with all sincerity.”

  He lowered his brows and leaned toward me a little.

  “Get a haircut,” I said softly.

  He smiled. “You’re not the boss of me.” I laughed. That was something he’d always said to me when we were together, to which I always replied, “We both know that’s not true.”

  This time, I smiled and instead said, “This is true.”

  His smile faded a little. “That’s easy enough to remedy, though.” He pulled me across the front seat into a tight hug. I hugged him back, feeling an ocean of conflicted emotions that I didn’t feel like I could possibly sort out. So I did what any woman in my position would do: I kissed him on the mouth, tweaked his nose, and got out of the car. Okay, maybe not what any woman would do. Whatever. I was improvising.

  I stopped at Mags’s desk and she looked up at me expectantly. “I called Scarlett back on my cell phone. She has my cell phone number. She called me on my cell phone while I was at lunch. Houston, we have a problem. We may need to move up the mercy killing.”

  “You called a client from your cell and didn’t block the number?”

  “You can do that? I don’t know how to do that.”

  “You hit star sixty-seven before you dial. Seriously? You didn’t know that?”

  “Why would I know that?”

  “Seems like the kind of thing they should teach you in law school.”

  “What happened?” Brad asked from behind me.
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  “Kate called a client from her cell phone without blocking her phone number.”

  Brad laughed. “Oh, Kate. Rookie move.”

  “So I’ve been told.”

  “Is it someone cool, at least?” Brad asked.

  Mario, of the infamous punch, was actually Brad’s client. “Hm. Could you imagine Mario having your cell phone number if he was living next door to John and they had filed restraining orders against each other?”

  Brad’s laughter came out in a loud bark. “Holy shit, Kate. I’d tell you to change your phone number, but I think this might require the Witness Protection Program.”

  I dropped my forehead onto the wall of Mags’s cubicle. I felt a hand I assumed was Mags’s pat the back of my head sympathetically.

  I lifted my head and jerked a thumb toward my office. “Okay, well, I’m going to slink away now and rethink my life choices. You two enjoy your day.”

  I walked into my office and tried to get back into what I was doing before I’d left for lunch. I had my cell sitting on the desk and I caught myself glancing at it repeatedly, dreading the next ring that would confirm my worst fear—that Scarlett would never revert to calling the office and, of course, that I am the stupidest woman alive.

  I was still looking at the phone when it buzzed, and I actually jumped a little. Then I watched it expectantly. One buzz. It was a text, not a phone call. Lucked out this time.

  It was from Adam, so naturally it came with its usual dose of butterflies.

  Good afternoon, Kate.

  Hey. Thanks for the burger the other night.

  Thanks for attempting to cook.

  Hey. I told you. I can cook the shit out of chicken. That night notwithstanding.

  Lol. Maybe I’ll let you prove it.

  Uh-oh. Mayday. You’d think I’d have learned by now that I am absolutely not equipped to casually flirt with Adam. So knock it off, girl.

  Apparently my delayed response signaled him to come to my rescue.

  Okay. Or I won’t. Don’t have a panic attack.

  No panic attack. Maybe a few hives. A little shortness of breath. Definitely no panic attack.

  Haha. So I’ve got intel on my mom and Tony.

  Let’s hear it!

  Let’s hang out again.

  Resorting to extortion Mr. Lucas?

  By any means necessary Ms. Shaw.

  Well, I don’t negotiate with terrorists.

  God you make me laugh. Come on, Shaw. Two buddies hanging out. I promise I won’t hold your hand.

  Damn. That’s some disappointing news, there.

  Fine. But don’t blame me if I go off the deep end and you wake up at a signing party because I drugged you and forged your signature on a contract.

  You’re worth the risk.

  And now the tingles. Shit. What am I doing? Hm. I ask myself that a little too often these days.

  Ok. When are we doing this?

  Friday night?

  Ok. And in case shit goes south, what type of token do you prefer?

  Definitely the watch. I’m not really a cuff links kind of guy.

  Perfect.

  Alrighty. So I have a “hang out” session with my mad crush this weekend. I’m sure that’s a good decision and won’t have any negative repercussions whatsoever.

  Mags walked into my office and stuck a sticky note on my desk that read *67 to block caller ID on your cell phone.

  “Day late and a dollar short on that one, honey.”

  “So,” she said, perching herself of the edge of my desk, “I have a new intake that got routed to you. Woman’s name is Luann Sykes and she caught her partner in bed with another woman. When can you meet with her?”

  I tried to suppress a grunt and failed. “This is why I didn’t want to do signing law. Every single person we work with is miserable.”

  “But then they come to you and you get to help them through a difficult time.”

  I scrutinized Mags a minute. “You really believe that?”

  She shrugged. “Well, they come in miserable and they leave … slightly less miserable. I didn’t say you were saving the world.”

  “Wow. I feel all warm and fuzzy inside. Do you think I could add that to my business card? Like ‘Facilitator of slightly less misery’ or something?”

  Mags shook her head. “That doesn’t exactly roll off the tongue. We’ll brainstorm.”

  “Fine. I can meet with her tomorrow morning, if that works.”

  Mags hopped off my desk. “I’ll set it up.”

  “Wear something cheerful tomorrow.”

  “It’s Friday. I always save my most cheerful ensembles for Fridays,” she said, with a wink.

  My phone buzzed and I looked at it cautiously. Facebook notification. Friend request from Scarlett. I dropped my phone on the desk like it was a spider and pushed it away from me.

  Mags frowned, picked it up, and looked at the screen.

  “Ooh,” she said, with a serious frown.

  “It’s not just her. She’s the third client to try to friend me on Facebook. Why does this keep happening?”

  Mags snorted a little through her nose. “Because you’re the kickass facilitator of slightly less misery, woman.”

  I laughed.

  “Do you want me to show you how to handle this?” she asked.

  “Please.”

  “Okay,” she said, holding my phone so that I could see the screen. “You go into your friend requests, like this,” she said, pushing the respective buttons.

  I nodded.

  “And then you click Ignore.” Scarlett’s request disappeared.

  I rolled my eyes. “I could have done that. But now she’ll know I ignored it. That is the problem.”

  “Just tell her it’s an attorney rule.”

  I wobbled my head side to side. “She’d probably believe that.”

  “And maybe stop being so damn friendly with your clients,” she said, heading back to her desk.

  “Yeah. I’ll work on that.”

  * * *

  I had been home for about ten minutes when my cell rang. I did my ritual “Please don’t be Scarlett” chant in my head and looked at the screen. Oh, it was Sandy. Much better.

  “Hi, Sandy,” I said, smiling even though she couldn’t see it.

  “Hi, Kate. Would it be any trouble if I stopped by real quick? I was hoping to get the measurements of your little back deck, because it needs to be replaced and I need the dimensions to get some bids.”

  “Of course. No problem at all.”

  “Wonderful. I’m only about two minutes away.”

  “See you soon.”

  We hung up and I ran upstairs real quick to change out of my suit. By the time I came back down, in shorts and T-shirt, there was a knock at my door.

  I opened the door to Sandy’s smiling face and, behind her, Adam’s smirking one.

  “Hi, you guys,” I said, stepping out of the doorway.

  Sandy wrapped me in a hug. “Hi, sweetie. I brought my helper. He’s been making the rounds with me.”

  Adam stepped in toward me, once Sandy stepped back, and hugged me as well. “Hi, sweetie,” he said, mimicking his mother.

  I smiled up at him and gave him a quick poke in the rib. No mocking Sandy.

  “Thanks for letting us drop in on you like this,” Sandy said.

  “Not a problem at all,” I said again.

  “Well, we’ll do this quick and get out of your way.”

  “Please,” I said. “You’re not in the way.”

  Sandy walked through the kitchen and opened the back door to the deck. While Adam followed her to the door, I pulled out of the refrigerator a pan of chicken that I had been marinating. I turned on the oven, and just as I was sliding it into the oven, I heard Adam mutter, “Uh-oh.”

  I pointed a stern finger at him. “No input from you, mister.”

  “I just feel bad for the chicken.”

  “Well, shows what you know. This chicken is not going to turn
out like the last one. This is my redemption chicken.”

  He started laughing. “Well, that does sound tasty.”

  I nodded. “And you don’t get any.”

  His response to my snarky yet playful comment was to drop his chin and narrow his eyes, giving a look so ridiculously sexy, I almost forgot his mother was five feet away. “Not even a taste?”

  My eyes shot open at the suggestiveness of the comment and immediately flicked over to where Sandy was standing, looking down at the deck, hands on her hips. Either she wasn’t listening to us or she entirely approved of the flirting and was pretending not to listen to us. Either way, I got to pretend she didn’t hear us.

  Adam just laughed at my embarrassment and turned to his mom, holding out the tape measure.

  “Thank you, hon,” Sandy said, gripping the end of the measuring tape. They proceeded to do the whole deck-measuring thing, with Sandy writing down quick notations in a little notebook she had tucked in her pocket. After they measured the top of the deck and the height of the railing, Sandy walked down the few stairs to the little yard below and continued making notes.

  Adam looked back at me, where I was leaning against the oven, and raised an eyebrow.

  “What?” I asked.

  “Not sure. I think she’s trying to give us a few extra minutes of privacy so that we can declare our love for each other.”

  I grinned at him. “You go first, dear.”

  He laughed again and looked down at the floor, shaking his head.

  I peeked into the oven and checked the chicken. No flames billowing. Always a good sign. I grabbed a fork from the counter and reached in to turn the chicken breasts over.

  “Be careful, Kate,” Adam said.

  In true Kate fashion, as I glanced over to roll my eyes at him, I managed to connect my wrist to the edge of the metal baking pan. I jumped back, pulling my hand out, making the universal Ow I burned myself! sound of sucking air in through my teeth with a hiss.

  “Shit, Kate. That was my fault.” Adam grabbed me by the shoulder and guided me to the sink, where he turned the faucet all the way on cold. “Here,” he said, reaching for the wrist I was holding gingerly in my other hand. He stretched my arm out under the water and I did some more hissing sounds.

  Adam was holding my wrist under the water with one hand while his other hand was behind my back. He looked down into my eyes. “Well, you weren’t supposed to actually hurt yourself just because I distracted you.”