"This possible deal isn't Jerry's, is it?"
"No, no, that's the thing." Burnett leaned forward excitedly. "I just overheard one guy telling another about a friend's restaurant plan. I got the name of the friend—now my potential client— and he's one of the investors and the architect. The Prospector is perfect for them, and just what the owner wants, too. You've filled half that building on your own, so you seemed the person to ask."
No doubt about it, if she were Jerry, she'd steal the lead from the kid because she was going to end up doing a chunk of work advising him and he'd learn a whole lot in the process. She realized, then, why she felt a little protective, maybe. He pinged her gaydar, ever so gently.
"Tell you what. I'll take the co-commission but you have to do the work. I'll give you ideas on approach, proof your proposals, role-play negotiations, sit in if you want. But you're going to earn every penny of the lead's pay."
"I don't expect to do any less. Really." He was all puppy dog, a sweet kid who couldn't help the fact that he wore a sign on his back that said Wallet's in the left pocket, help yourself.
"You did a nice job getting the contact. So—don't waste any time. First thing you're going to do is study up on the guy via Intellidome."
"I already did that. Cray Westmore. Up-and-coming architect, he's done a few other restaurants. Finances look clean, no liens or court flings."
"Good. So send out a cold letter and packet on the Prospector. We'll tweak the cover page and aim it right at his favors-of-the-new-west restaurant. One of our architect designs has a sort of rawhide and Remington feel."
Scarcely thirty minutes later, Burnett set an impressive package and well-written cover letter on her desk. Relieved that she wasn't propping up someone who really ought to consider a different line of work, she made only a few changes. She would have to stop thinking about him as a puppy—he was quietly smart, the kind of guy who walked off with the big prize while the other men were measuring their penises.
With a social dinner on her calendar she dropped the papers off in his cubicle with a cheerful "Well done" and headed out for the day.
She was parking her car when she got a text message that the couple she was meeting was running late, but the restaurant was a casual, popular place that wouldn't hold the table, so she claimed the reservation. After a reassuring scan of the faces of customers who'd entered after her, she followed the server to an out-of-the-way table and ordered a likely-to-please bottle of wine along with a cheese and olives plate.
She'd met Raisa while working on a deal—what else—and had had dinner a couple of times with her and her partner, Devon. Raisa was trying to make partner at the biggest architectural firm in town and a social connection was useful, CJ had told herself. There'd been no reason to refuse the invitations to dinner and both were busy women, so invitations weren't that frequent. She wasn't used to socializing without a purpose beyond conversation and a good time, and it was odd not to be brushing up on notes and reminding herself of the client's spouse's name and favorite hobbies.
They were a pleasantly interesting couple and had always suggested she bring along a date, but as usual, she'd told Raisa she didn't really have time to be serious about anybody. They'd like Abby, no doubt about it, but bringing her to any kind of event with friends would be a kind of lie. Even if Abby occasionally thought the sex-only truth sucked, at least it was the truth.
She read through the community service information sheets she'd stuffed back into her purse. She had expected litter detail, but the organizations listed were places like Mile High Senior Services, Meals-on-Wheels and the like. She would have preferred trash patrol to real people.
She took a quick look in her compact, marveling that the mirror didn't reflect the cold-hearted bitch she really was. To be sure, she saw the near-black eyes that all the Rochambeau women shared, and if she stared into them too long it was Aunt Bitty staring back. A casual glance, though, merely revealed the façade of an expensively-coiffed businesswoman, which was exactly what she wanted the world to see. The only need she had for people was the money she could make off them. Burnett wasn't so much a nice guy she felt like helping, as he was a potentially useful ally. She dismissed again the memory of the icy fire in Karita's eyes and snapped the compact closed when she heard Devon's voice.
"Hey, girl." Raisa, in a snug, sea foam linen suit, had obviously just come from work.
Devon, a part-time teacher at the university and part-time artist, was splashy in an orange and yellow wrap only someone of her mixed Native American and Polynesian blood could wear so fetchingly. "Sorry we're late. Traffic was awful at the U."
CJ got up for a round of hugs, and wondered at Devon's cat-with-cream smile. She understood when she was introduced to Elaina, a colleague of Devon's from the university. Elaina was lovely in a very nice sweater dress that brought out her green eyes, but wasn't so eye-popping that it announced that she'd fussed. Her darting, shy glance conveyed that she was both nervous and so far not displeased at the sight of CJ. Raisa, of course, wouldn't meet the meaningful look that CJ directed at her.
As they took their seats around the crowded table, Devon said, "Elaina is one of the law professors."
"Correction." Elaina spoke with a clip to her words, reminding CJ of the accents in upstate New York, where she'd gone to college. "I teach business law to undergrads who are not going into law as a profession. The curriculum is so set that a monkey could teach it."
"I think you're incredibly modest," Devon said. She gave CJ a nudge under the table.
"I couldn't teach," CJ said quickly. "I admire anyone with the patience." She found herself answering the usual questions about her job, offering the standard evasions about where she'd grown up and urging everyone to please try the wine. She'd forgotten Devon didn't drink, but Raisa and Elaina were both grateful for a glass. By the time they'd settled on entrees, everyone seemed comfortable.
After ordering and surrendering her menu to the waiter, CJ realized that her community service materials were still sitting on the table. She began to gather them with a nonchalant air, but Raisa interrupted her.
"Okay, what did you do to get you community service, huh?"
Thanks for announcing it to the world, Raisa, CJ thought, another thing to appreciate about the evening. "I blew a stop sign, didn't even see it, almost hit somebody. I thought community service meant litter patrol, but these are social welfare groups. I could visit senior citizens." She pointed at the grouping of retirement communities.
Raisa's scan of the list stopped when she excitedly tapped one name with a fingertip. "I know this one—I was the on the board of a group that loaned them startup money. Beginnings Women's Shelter. Incredible woman runs it, totally committed to her cause. Even if it's just a few hours, I know Emily could use someone with a brain to help out. She squeaks a dollar farther than any group I know of, but she's not long on business sense."
Battered women…it was a subject CJ didn't want to know more about. She also didn't want to explain why she didn't want to go there, but Raisa would want an explanation. More wine, and quickly, she thought. Is this what having friends was all about? Suddenly you're accountable for your choices?
"Well," CJ finally said, "I'll have to give them a call then." It was easiest just to do it.
Elaina was nice, another nice woman, the world was full of nice women, CJ concluded. When Raisa excused herself to the restroom, CJ went with her, asking as soon as the door was closed, "What's with the fx up?"
"Devon is an unstoppable force when she decides to match-make. She's got a decent track record, too."
"But I'm not in the market. I'm really not the settling down kind. Elaina is very nice, don't get me wrong."
Raisa's voice rose over the stall separator. "Devon doesn't believe anyone isn't the settling down kind. I wasn't when she met me, after all."
It was hard to picture Raisa as anything but married to Devon. They were like two puzzle pieces with a perfect ft. "You dated a lot before her?"
"Not women. Lots of guys because I was straight and figured sooner or later I'd find a guy who could actually do that stuff I'd read about in Cosmo. Then I met Devon. My first fireworks, if you get my drift, and it's only gotten better."
"I'm really quite capable of acquiring my own fireworks. But I've scarcely the time to go shopping, you know?" She joined Raisa at the sinks, glancing at her in the mirror. "Elaina's very nice and I don't want to hurt her feelings."
"I told Devon this was a bad idea. She wants to go to some bistro after this for dessert."
Thankfully, CJ could tell the truth. "Sorry, but honestly, I need an early night. There's a meeting with a client at their site, before the construction crew arrives. The alarm goes off at six a.m."
They walked back to the table and were reclaiming their seats when Raisa said, "You do work too much."
"I know." CJ seized the opening. "I'm a workaholic. I really enjoy what I do. It's so nice to have a break once in a while, like tonight, with friends. It's a completely client-focused business, so I have days like tomorrow where I have to be up at sunrise and a networking meeting after dinner. That means it'll be nine p.m. before I can even think about the gym. After meals like this, the gym is essential." She smiled brightly, hoping she looked like the antithesis of good girlfriend material.
Her gaze slightly narrowed, Devon said, "I was hoping to convince you to try this new place I know that has a crème brulee to die for."
"I really can't, not tonight."
"I couldn't either." Elaina's smile was just a trifle forced. "I've got a department meeting in the morning too. Perhaps another time." She was looking at Devon when she said it, without a sidelong glance at CJ.
CJ turned a gusty sigh of relief into a cough. No follow-up date was sought by Elaina—workaholic or friends had done the trick, or Elaina had decided something didn't click, which was okay, too. Devon was easily the most disappointed person at the table.
Her early night was the better for the relaxing meal and a hot shower when she was safely home. She pushed away her concern that Raisa and Devon could get to know more about her over time, and there were questions she couldn't answer. It would be better if she claimed to be busy the next time they called— nothing had changed. She couldn't afford anyone getting close to her, even if it was only close enough to wonder why she might want to avoid a battered women's shelter.
After the highs and lows of the day, the honey of Chet Baker's trumpet in the quiet of her apartment was just what she needed. Out of habit she checked the parking lot from her window, then glanced out the back as she checked the heavy deadbolt. Another lost client annoyed her, especially when she was sure he'd been misled by the other broker.
She finished a cup of coffee as she idly studied her list of names and numbers. If she'd closed that deal she'd have had just about enough to take care of the next name on the list. It would have to wait another month at least. What she really needed to do was work some old clients and see if she could pick up a lead or two.
She hadn't yet asked herself what she would do when the list in her hand was completely marked through. She was good at real estate and maybe she'd stick with it, now that she was licensed. She liked Denver-for what that was worth to someone who might have to run for her life at a moment's notice. So far, she'd not seen a hint of anyone looking for her, but she had to remain vigilant. She might be able to stay here, when she'd finished with the list, but such decisions were two years off, at least. There was nothing in this apartment that she wouldn't easily walk away from, she told herself. That was the point of her lack of a social life, why she couldn't really afford Raisa and Devon as friends, the point of her honesty with Abby She could leave it all behind. That is, everything but the list. It would go with her until she was done with everybody on it.
She was about to call it a night when she remembered the stupid community service papers. Expecting to get an answering machine or recording that gave the time she should call back in the morning, she was startled when a real person answered the phone with a brisk, "Beginnings. How can I help you?"
"Oh, hi. I'm not sure if this is the right time—"
The voice deepened. "It's okay. Do you need help right now?"
"No, I'm calling because I have to do community service."
"Oh. Cool. Okay, can you be here tomorrow night?"
"I guess. I have a business dinner until about eight."
"Nine is fine. It's Friday night."
Was that supposed to mean something to her? "Nine it is.
Where are you located? It just says Denver Metro area on the paperwork."
"We're in Lakewood."
The voice, taking on a harried quality, quickly related the address and a few general directions. "That's confidential, so I'd appreciate you keeping it to yourself. We do our darned est to make it hard for batterers to figure out where the women they're beating have disappeared to."
"I get that," CJ said. She spelled her name when asked for it, then added, "Tomorrow night, then."
Strangely agitated by the phone call, she pushed the laundry basket out of the way and got down on her stomach so she could open her safe. Wedged into the back of her closet, it wasn't something anyone could casually pick up and carry away. Spinning the dial with the ease of long practice, she opened the door and caught the bundles that immediately spilled out.
Twenty fifty-dollar bills neatly wrapped. Seven stacks of five bundles each and an eighth stack of four—thirty-nine thousand dollars. Tomorrow when she went to the bank she'd have an even forty. If her checks were what she hoped over the next month, she'd have at least forty-two-five, and that would take care of the third to last name.
It was calming and reassuring to restack the money in the safe. She had to move the gun twice, but finally everything ft. She shoved the door closed and spun the dial several times.
Turning off lights as she headed for bed, she conceded that at that moment it might have been nice to have Abby near, to curl close to the warmth of contact. She shouldn't have let Raisa see the papers, and shouldn't have agreed to any time in a women's shelter. She'd just have to grit her teeth and survive it. It would be a piece of cake compared to other places where she'd been required to spend her time.
She left the music on and willed herself to sleep.
Her dreams were disturbed with the memories of breaking glass, hoarse shouts and grunts of anger and pain.
In the morning the past felt closer than it had in years. She examined the circles under her eyes and considered the long day and even longer night ahead.
"You should have just paid the money," she told her refection. "Nothing good is going to come of it."
Chapter 5
"Great news, Karita darlin'." Emily beamed at her but something in her smile made Karita nervous.
She secured her locker and turned toward the long kitchen. "Lay it on me."
"We get an extra pair of hands tonight."
"Okay, that's a good thing." Why did Emily look so smug? "Who is it?"
"Some woman who fell afoul of the law."
"Community service refugee? Emily—no, you're not going to stick me with her!" The evening had begun so promisingly, too, with a message from Nann that the lovely cocoadoodle's family had been found, scoring another one for Gran's magic charms.
"If anyone can get some decent work out of someone who really doesn't want to be here, it's you." Emily sipped from her coffee mug, deliberately oblivious to Karita's scowl.
"Plus you've taken the last of the coffee." Karita rolled her eyes as she set about making more. "Can't she just answer the phone for the night? I'll have to show her what I want and then do it myself anyway. The number of grown women who don't know how to make a bed is shocking."
"Maybe this will be the one." Emily patted Karita's cheek on the way past her to her office. "The one who gets as hooked as you on helping out and we'll all get some relief now and again."
"Dream on. What we really need is someone wh
o can patch linoleum and fix those twisted Venetian blinds. And while they're on a ladder, paint the ceilings." Her cheek tingled where Emily had touched it. Not tonight, Karita thought. We shouldn't and we won't. Emily doesn't need my welfare and future on her conscience and she's right, I ought to be dating and having bad sex and awkward third dates, oh joy. "What time should I expect her?"
"Nine. Remember to get her to—"
"Fill out the confidentiality and consent forms, I know."
"Of course you do." Emily disappeared into her office., then leaned back out the narrow doorway, the light teasing gone. "Thank you, Karita."
Without the banter there was only the honesty of her affection and she knew Emily could see it, even from across the kitchen. She was a good woman, and if they would do the sensible thing and fall in love, it would make life easier. "You're welcome, Em."
By the time nine o'clock came and went, Karita had forgotten about her supposed help for the night until the doorbell rang at nine thirty and the monitor revealed a solo woman in a business suit carrying a briefcase. She sighed. The refugee was definitely not the type to put on a ladder with a paintbrush. Emily was in the intake room with a new client and a frightened little boy, so Karita answered the door.
"Please come in." Karita gestured brusquely, not liking to have the door open for long. "I'm Karita and I'll be—oh, it's you!"
"And it's you." Skinny-mocha-Turkish-capped CJ looked as surprised as Karita felt.
They stared at each other, and Karita felt as if the world were taking a long, steadying breath, right along with her. She exhaled as quietly as possible. Her scalp prickled and her palms itched and she didn't know if that was good or bad. Well, given that even though there was little physical resemblance and CJ still reminded her vividly of Mandy, it was bad.
She said the first thing that came into her head. "Do you know how to make chocolate milk?"
"Ever since I was four."
Karita carefully locked the front door again, then led the way to the kitchen. "Milk and syrup are in the fridge. Tumblers in the drainer are clean. Make up about a half a glass and I'll just get some forms for you to fill out."
The Kiss That Counted Page 6