“No need, I can ask them to wait when we get home and pay...” she said. But he was already climbing the stairs.
A few minutes later, Michael walked her to the car. He opened the door for her.
Before climbing in, Rachel turned towards him.
“Michael...” she whispered. “I won’t see you again, will I?”
He shrugged his shoulders.
“I’ll go back to the city where I live tomorrow. You should take care. I hope you have a good life, Rachel. And thank you for having shared a moment with me,” he said, stroking her cheek tenderly.
“I... you too... good luck.”
Michael leaned down and gave her a quick, deep kiss on the lips.”
“Go, now, before I regret my good intentions...”
She stared at him for a moment, before she nodded and settled into the back seat of the taxi. She looked at him for the last time. He nodded with a half-smile.
Michael closed the door and stood to wait, watching the car disappear into the night. He could not explain the ache he felt in his body, as if he’d just let something valuable escape, and he could not figure out what it was.
***
Rachel woke up the next day with a smile. She had thought about Michael into the early morning hours. Her lips tingled when she imagined those kisses. Her nipples felt swollen when she remembered the burn of that mouth on them, but she knew it had only been a one-night experience.
She picked up her cell phone and saw several missed calls from Tamera. She wrote back, telling her friend that she’d had no problems that night. Tamera answered that, in the end, nobody was arrested or ended up at the police station. They managed to agree with the officers and promised not to build any more campfires on the area’s beaches.
Rachel put down her phone after saying goodbye to Tamera and walked downstairs for breakfast. She was not planning on telling anyone about Michael. He would be her secret. ‘A crazy juvenile adventure to tell my grandchildren about.’ Although, truthfully, she would have liked to fully experience the sensation of flying over flames and feeling invincible. She would have liked to feel her skin pulse with all five senses while Michael’s hands and body made her experience something that she’d never achieved with any other man.
She sighed as she reached the stairwell. She saw her aunt and smiled.
“Good morning, sweetie. I heard you come home late. Is everything all right?” asked Ariel, gazing lovingly at her niece.
Ariel Galloway was a widow and had taken care of her Rachel for the past three years. Her only brother, Shelton, and his wife Hilary had died years ago in a terrible traffic accident on the freeway in their hometown of Chicago. She had no other family.
“Yes, aunty. Did we get a letter from my sister?
Ariel, her blond hair streaked with gray, shook her head.
“I’m sorry, Rachel...”
“Oh,” she whispered as she put sugar in her coffee. She missed Piper. Her sister was ten years older and spoiled her. Or at least she had when she was free. They’d been happy together. After their parents died, when Rachel was eleven and Piper twenty-one, her sister took charge. Everything was going well until the day a nefarious incident separated them, forcing Rachel to leave Chicago and stay with her aunt Ariel, who had no children. Ariel received her with open arms and had always provided the advice and love she needed. “I miss her... I still believe she’s innocent.”
Ariel sighed. That was the eternal argument between them. Her niece, Piper, had been sentenced to several years in prison for drug trafficking, an accusation that pained her, but as a retired journalist, she knew some information that Rachel had no access to, and never would. She could not show her the photographs that her friend from the DEA had. Photographs that had been decisive in Piper’s trial.
Living with Rachel was not hard. Unfortunately, the memories of an eleven-year-old girl, who’d been allowed to enjoy grown-up get-togethers and do whatever she wanted, were not easy to contradict or confront what had happened. Piper had been careless, a bad guardian for her sister, and practically had her going from party to party, keeping her up at all hours of the night. Rachel, at her young age, could not have known that those parties were used to make contacts and deliver drugs. Or even worse, know that those wonderful dresses, the luxury apartment, and the chauffeur that drove her to an expensive private school were all paid for with dirty money.
“Would you like your toast with jam or butter?” she asked, changing the subject as she put a plate on the table.
“Jam.” She looked around as if she were searching for something. “Aunty, you haven’t canceled the subscription to the Chicago Tribune, have you?”
“Of course not. I know how important it is for you to know what’s going on in that city,” she commended as she went to get it. When she came back from the living room, she put the paper next to Rachel’s plate and sat at the table with a cup of tea. “You look particularly happy today. Is there something you want to share?” she asked, taking a sip of her Irish breakfast tea.
“I had a great time last night,” she replied, hoping she hadn’t blushed. She took a sip of coffee and picked up the paper. “The weather looks good today, so I’ll take a walk on the beach. You know? I have to go back to Chicago...”
“I understand it perfectly, my dear. You’re a wonderful girl, and I know you’ll do well, wherever you live. You can always come back. This is your home too,” she stretched her hand across the table and squeezed Rachel’s. “Never forget it, Rachel.” She looked through the living room window, which faced the beach. “It’s beautifully sunny. If you plan to go out, do it soon before the sun gets too strong.”
Rachel tore the plastic wrapping off the newspaper and started to browse through its pages. She enjoyed telling her aunt Ariel about some of the news items as she made her way through three slices of toast. She opened the Events section. She could not understand why pretentious people felt the need to announce their engagements and nonsense in a newspaper. Did not they know the value of intimacy?
She glanced over the photographs until one caught her attention. Her hand was shaking. She touched her fingers to her lips, nervous. ‘No, it can’t be.’
“Rachel, what is it? You went white as a sheet, suddenly.”
She read the photo caption for the fifth time, in case she’d been confused. The photograph did not switch places, and the caption did not change.
“No... nothing, aunty. A silly picture surprised me, that’s all,” she replied, trying to sound nonchalant. But the newspaper burnt her hand, and her eyes were stinging with tears she did not plan on shedding. She had been about to make love with her sister’s executioner.
Raymmond and Francine Bechmenton from Western Springs are pleased to announce the engagement to be married of their only daughter, Lara Bechmenton, to Douglas Whitmore, son of Jack and Louisa Whitmore from Park Ridge, and brother of Michael Whitmore...
‘Michael Whitmore.’
The man she should hate with all her strength instead of thinking about that kiss, those hands... Damn it!
She felt like breaking something. Going there and slapping him.
‘Under what pretense? You have none,’ she told herself, defeated. It was impossible for her to have recognized Michael. Many years had passed since the trial. A trial she never attended because her sister asked her not to; had begged, tears in her eyes, telling her that a courtroom as no place for her. But mainly for her safety, because some of the defendants were dangerous people, and Piper told her she would rather not expose her to them. Grudgingly, Rachel had obeyed.
Now she was sorry she had done so because if she’d been at the trial, she would have seen Michael first-hand, and she never would have allowed him to lay a finger on her. And she, stupidly, would not have allowed herself to practically melt.
“You should have let me read the papers and watch television during the trial, aunty...”
Ariel frowned.
“Where did that comment c
ome from?” she wanted to know, walking around the table, but Rachel protected the newspaper as if it would burn her aunt, much as she felt like those pages were burning her.
“Some nonsense, nothing, really,” she said defensively, getting up. “I did not sleep well last night. You know I’m waiting for an answer from the university.”
“Is that all it is?”
“Yes, yes... don’t worry about it.”
Ariel sighed and sat back down.
“All right, sweetie...”
According to what her aunt told her years ago, two children from very wealthy, influential families were involved in the case with her sister. And they had not used those influences to get their children off scot-free, because aunt Ariel had said that all the suspects were sentenced, but they did use their influence to keep the press away. And they had succeeded. But Piper Galloway, who had no fortune, was an easy target, and journalists had focused on her.
She moaned internally.
She felt that she’d betrayed Piper. She’d been about to ask that man to keep touching her! That bastard, who had used the same hands to write the documents that sentenced her sister.
“Aunty, do you remember Piper’s trial”, she asked shakily.
“We’ve talked about it... you just told me that...”
“Please, aunty, it’s very important,” she interrupted and sat back down. Ariel sighed. “Do you remember the lawyer who sent her to prison?” she continued.
“It was a team of lawyers. Not just one.”
“Yes, but...”
“A man named Whitmore. I can’t remember his first name anymore... I’d have to think back,” she replied, frowning.
“No, no need. I only wanted to confirm it,” she murmured. What had she expected? That by some miracle it hadn’t been Michael? She was a complete idiot.
“Rachel, you’re acting strangely.”
“I need to take a walk,” she said, her voice quavering. She held the newspaper tightly against her chest. As if that protected her aunt from anything. “I’ll take your advice and go to the beach for a while.”
Ariel looked at her questioningly.
“All right...” she replied, not fully convinced. “Are you planning on taking the newspaper?”
“To finish reading it, yes. Thank you for breakfast; I love you, aunt Ariel.” She kissed her aunt’s cheek, wrinkled by time. And then went up to her room.
A while later, Rachel left the house.
Once she found a distant spot on the beach, alone, she cried with rage. One day, she’d figure out how to publicly destroy Michael Whitmore, just as he had done to Piper when he’d convinced a court to unfairly declare her guilty. Depriving them both of life together.
***
Three weeks later, Rachel Galloway received a letter from the University of Chicago. She had been accepted to a business degree. ‘Perhaps fate isn’t that cruel, after all,’ she thought smiling, the acceptance letter in her hand, wrapped in Ariel’s hug.
CHAPTER 3
Nine years later.
Illinois, United States.
The freezing wind and heavy snowfalls were typical of the city of Chicago. Its inhabitants were used to them. Foreigners, lovers of culture, the arts, and elite business enjoyed the city but were mortified when low temperatures took hold of one of the most emblematic cities in the United States.
At the offices of Salmann & Buckend, a prestigious law firm located on East Randolph Street, the lawyers’ offices were luxuriously decorated. The opulence included a state-of-the-art heating system, which worked perfectly. Michael Whitmore, the youngest partner, could vouch for that.
Nine years earlier, thanks to his hard work and personal sacrifices, Michael had been promoted. The managing partner, Dereck Salmann, backed him during the vote at the partner’s meeting that could open or close the door for him to become part of the professional elite at one of the best law firms in Chicago.
Thirty-eight years old, Michael had become one of the most respected lawyers in town, just as his father and grandfather had been when they were practicing the law. They had been disappointed when he told them he’d decided to leave the family firm, W&W, to join Salmann & Buckend. He believed it was for the best after that terrible case that led him to leave criminal law behind and enter the banking and finance area.
Now, from the large window of his comfortable office, he could watch the snowflakes fall, creating a soft, white blanket over the city. He had the world at his feet, but his soul was empty. The only woman who’d ever touched his heart was no longer with him.
He gazed out at the wide-open city below him one last time, trying to gather the little patience he had left for his morning client. He turned with a smile. That professional smile that he’d learned from his grandfather, and later his father.
“Mrs. Stevenson,” he said to his client in an affable voice, “after this two-hour meeting, I must reiterate that our firm cannot take your case. I am sorry.”
The woman was elegant, sophisticated, and believed that money could buy anything. Even the possibility of committing her mother to a psychiatric facility, though no medical report showed that she presented the symptoms of bipolarity and schizophrenia that the woman was trying to use as an argument. The research team at Salmann & Buckend had looked into the circumstances and concluded that Henrietta Stevenson was an economic piranha with significant debts and very little humanity. However, abstract values were not useful in the courtroom, so they stuck to the red numbers on her bank statements. She would not make for a solvent client or a prestigious case.
They did not take risks at his firm.
“I am offering you an exorbitant amount in fees, Michael. How can you possibly reject me?” she asked in a whiny voice. A voice used to getting her way. Hentietta walked up to him and gently shook his arms. “Did you hear me?”
His lips tightened. The sixty-year-old woman quickly removed her hand.
“I have heard your arguments. I studied your case, as did my legal team, but we cannot represent you. There is no conclusive evidence to indicate that your mother has a mental disorder that would make her a danger, or that she should be committed to a medical facility. Besides, I’m specialized in banking and finance, not in family law.”
“My husband has worked with this firm for over five years; he told me I could come here, and I would be treated as I deserve. You are rejecting me, Mr. Whitmore!” she declared as if she’d never been more insulted in her life.
“Mr. Edward is one of our most valued clients, but it seems he has confused my role and specialization. In any case...”
At that very moment, Angelique Cooper, the lawyer in charge of family and civil law, walked in. The annual conference for all the partners at the firm’s offices throughout the United States was in the works, and Angelique had been chosen to coordinate the events team, together with Human Resources. Seeing her boss’ furrowed brow, she shot him a questioning look. When Michael nodded, she walked into his office. Michael had never thought an interruption could be better timed.
“Will you help me, or not?” asked Henrietta, losing her composure and petulantly scraping the heel of her Jimmy Choo on the office carpet. “This inheritance will be given away to charity. My mother is demented. She’s lost her mind!”
Michael, instead of arguing, dazzled her with a smile.
“Would you like to state your case again for Ms. Cooper, Mrs. Stevenson? She is more knowledgeable than I am about this type of family matters,” he said, glancing at Angelique. With her brown hair and brown eyes, the young woman was a very talented litigator in several areas of the law. “I’m sure that she will answer all your questions and can give you invaluable advice.”
Henrietta pouted and haughtily picked up her baby blue Hermès bag.
“Come with me, please,” said Angelique before leaving the luxurious office.
“I’m sure you will know how to treat a client,” said Henrietta as the door closed behind her.
O
nce he was alone, Michael took a sip of whiskey and rubbed his forehead. He closed his eyes for a few seconds, and then called his brother to confirm he would be attending that night to celebrate his sister-in-law’s birthday. Lara was the charming, sweet-natured woman who had managed to tame his quick-tempered younger brother. Not only that, but she had also given birth to two precious boys that were the delight of the whole family. Michael adored those five-year-old twin rascals, Alan and Moses.
He considered himself a family man, but he enjoyed the pleasures of his bachelorhood tremendously. On the weekends, he usually visited Heidi, the woman with whom he had a relationship of convenience. She accompanied him to social events, and he provided whatever she set her heart on. They had been together for six months, and the sex was good. They complimented each other in some ways, but he was not ready to be married, not again, and not to her. And that was a subject that Heidi was starting to bring up repeatedly, in not very subtle ways.
Michael barely had time to find the way to break it off with her, or get a substitute who would accept engaging in a physical exchange as a release, but nothing beyond that. He had a very hard case on his hands with two important Chicago banks; he had been working on it for over four months. The next two weeks would be crucial. A breakup, no matter how superficial the relationship or bond had been, could not happen right now, especially considering Heidi’s prickly nature. He would rather enjoy the stress relief of a good session after a busy day for a little while longer than complicate his life more with all the responsibilities he was juggling.
He drove his Bentley Mulsanne Speed, Beluga edition, towards his brother’s house through the cold evening. Heidi did not come with him to family events. This was the case for all of his mistresses. It was the simplest way to set clear boundaries and terms.
He left the jacket of his Brioni ‘Vanquish II’ suit in the car. Then he loosened the knot of his purple tie, with pinstripes that matched the suit, and threw it after the jacket. More relaxed without his usual business attire, he walked up the gravel path to the door of Douglas’ two-story house.
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