Balancing Act (The Santa Monica Trilogy Book 3) Page 8

  “Don’t you have a hot date or something?”

  “Not tonight.”

  “Seems like that’s the case most nights. At least lately,” Tom said. “You want to tell me what’s bothering you?”

  Zach slowed as they approached the street corner. “Why would you assume something’s bothering me?” He pressed the button for the pedestrian crossing signal.

  “It’s Monday.”

  “Yeah, so?”

  “We usually have dinner together on Wednesday.”

  Zach hit the signal button again. “What, I can’t offer you dinner on Monday night without you automatically assuming something’s wrong?”

  Tom smiled. “If you punch the button again, maybe this time it’ll turn green.”

  Zach dropped his hand. “How about Chaya? They should be opening up right about now.”

  “Sure, why not?” Tom waited until they were seated inside the restaurant before raising the topic again. “You have seemed a little tense the last few weeks, son.”

  Zach scanned the menu. “The black cod looks good. What are you having?”

  “Filet mignon.” At Zach’s pointed look, Tom sighed. “Right. I guess I’ll go with the grilled salmon.”

  “Good choice.” Zach signaled their server. Within minutes, she delivered their drinks, took their orders, and whisked away the menus.

  As she disappeared toward the kitchen, Tom nudged him. “Did you see that?”

  “What?”

  “The waitress. She was giving you the look.”

  “What are you talking about?”

  Tom raised his brows. “Now I know something isn’t right. You know you can tell me anything, Zach.”

  “Jesus, Dad, give it a rest. I’m fine. I’m just worried about this project, okay?”

  “Is that all?”

  “Yes.”

  “I thought maybe you were worried about the lawsuit.”

  Zach hunched his shoulders. “Maybe. A little.”

  “You want me to talk with Eva, see if she’ll have a word with Angie?”

  Zach snorted. “Good luck with that.”

  “You don’t think it’ll help?”

  “What I think is that Angie has a mind of her own.”

  “Yes,” Tom agreed. “But she and Eva are pretty close. And we’ve always had a good relationship.”

  Strange, hearing that word on his dad’s lips. Stranger still was that he agreed with Tom’s assessment. Tom had been Eva’s rock through the turbulence of her first husband’s illness, and their bond transcended whatever business wrangling had followed Roger’s death. Even now, years later, Tom and Eva remained good friends.

  This despite the fact that Zach and Angie had been circling around each other practically from the moment they met, like prize fighters sizing up the opposition. And that was before Angie had raised the stakes by suing the company.

  The problem was that Zach didn’t feel like fighting her anymore. And he was afraid that what his dad was proposing would damage whatever tentative understanding Zach and Angie had managed to forge.

  “I don’t know, Dad.” He stirred the ice in his water glass. “Seems to me like you’re asking for trouble if you go behind Angie’s back and try to get Eva involved.”

  No matter how Zach might try to spin it post factum, she’d most likely see such a move as manipulative, underhanded—or, worse, a betrayal of the informal agreement she and Zach had already made. And of course she’d blame him.

  While he wasn’t above playing dirty when the occasion called for it, he balked at doing so with Angie. If they had any chance of making this thing work—whatever it was between them—he had to be completely above-board and honest with her. Even if it meant potentially giving up the advantage. Even if it ended up costing him in the long run.

  Tom eyed him speculatively. “You think so?”

  “Trust me on this, Dad.”

  “Fine.” Tom glanced up as the waitress approached with a basket of fresh bread and olive tapenade.

  “Anythin’ else I can get y’all?”

  Tom smiled. “Actually, my son and I were having a little disagreement. I was hoping you could us help settle it.”

  The woman glanced at Zach, who frowned. Unfortunately, the expression had no effect on either his dad or the server. She slipped her order pad in a front pocket of her apron and straightened the ties around her narrow waist. “I can try.”

  “Your accent,” Tom continued. “Zach here thinks it’s from Georgia. I vote for South Carolina.”

  The woman tucked a strand of hair behind her ear and smiled. “Sorry, Zach, but your daddy’s right.”

  Zach shot his dad an irritated look. “Thanks for clearing that up.”

  Tom kicked him under the table and said, “You’ll have to excuse my son. He’s a little shy around beautiful women.”

  “Well, aren’t you just the sweetest thin’!” She flashed Zach another smile. “Supper should be ready soon. Can I get y’all anythin’ else in the meantime?”

  The moment she was gone, Zach scowled at his dad. “What the hell was that about?”

  “The woman was practically drooling over you. You couldn’t spare her a glance?”

  Zach topped a piece of bread with more tapenade. “I don’t need my dad trolling for women on my behalf.”

  “No hot dates. No clubbing. No interest in getting set up.” Tom ticked the points off on his fingers. “You’re not sick, are you?”

  “Not that I know of.”

  Tom sat back. “Shit. Don’t tell me you’re gay?”

  Zach paused in the process of taking a bite. For the first time all evening, he felt a genuine spark of humor. “Yeah, Dad. It’s only taken me thirty-five years to figure it out.”

  “Well, damn. Really?”

  Zach resumed eating. “It’s not that big a deal.”

  “I need a drink,” Tom muttered, raising his arm.

  “No you don’t,” Zach said. “You’re off the booze, remember?”

  “That was before I found out I wasn’t getting any grandchildren.”

  “Grandchildren?” Zach paled. “Jesus, who said anything about grandchildren?”

  He and Angie hadn’t even slept together, and his dad was talking kids? That was worse than opening a book and finding nothing but “The End” printed inside.

  Sure, he and Angie struck sparks off each other whenever they were in the same room. But that was no guarantee of long-term compatibility, let alone a common vision for the future.

  He had no idea if Angie even wanted kids. Maybe she was so invested in her career that she wasn’t interested in anything that would compete for her time and attention. Some women were like that. He’d dated a few of them. Hell, his own mother had been a prime example of someone who should never have had children. When he’d told Angie the other night that his mother didn’t have a maternal bone in her body, he hadn’t been kidding. And while he didn’t think Angie was cut from the same cloth, there was no way to tell for sure. At least not without getting to know her a whole lot better.

  “You’re shitting me,” Tom said. “About this whole gay thing. Aren’t you?”

  Zach sighed. “If I tell you the truth, will you lay off the matchmaking?”

  “You bet.”

  “And no more talk about grandkids.”

  “Now hold on a minute…”

  “I mean it, Dad.”

  Tom opened his mouth, then glanced over Zach’s shoulder. “Looks like our food is here.”

  They ate in silence for several minutes before Tom set down his fork. “It’s a parent’s prerogative to worry.”

  “You can rest easy, Dad. I was joking.”

  “Okay.” Tom nodded. “I figured as much.”

  Zach watched him fiddle with his silverware. “Something wrong with the food?”

  “No.” He took a bite, chewed, then set the fork aside again. “You know, Zach, I’ve been meaning to say this for a long time. Your mother and I did you a disservic
e, showing you all the ways a marriage can go wrong. I’m sorry about that. But just because we screwed up, doesn’t mean you can’t find happiness with the right woman.”

  “I thought we agreed you’d stop with the matchmaking, Dad.”

  “All I’m saying is, you have to at least try. I want you to be happy, son. That’s all. It’s not too much to ask, is it?”

  Zach swallowed. For once, he didn’t have a ready response.

  CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

  The settlement conference took place in chambers at the downtown Stanley Mosk Courthouse. The judge met with each party separately before bringing them all together toward the end of the day to hammer out the details.

  Things progressed smoothly, except for one brief hiccup early in the process, when it appeared that Phyllis Callahan was having second thoughts. Angie glanced across the table at Naomi, who raised her brows and gave a slight shake of her head.

  “Ms. MacDowell,” Judge Rosenberg said, removing his half-moon glasses and frowning at Angie. “Please explain to your client that no better offer will be forthcoming. And frankly, I have to say that in this case, going to trial would be a mistake. But if your client wishes to turn down a perfectly good settlement offer and take her chances in court, there’s no point in wasting our time any further today by arguing over the terms.”

  Angie requested a fifteen minute recess to discuss things privately with Mrs. Callahan. A blunt review of litigation and opportunity costs, as well as their odds of obtaining a favorable verdict at trial should the proposed settlement fall through, got things back on track.

  The court reporter was finally called in to document the agreement, including the boilerplate disclaimer that the settlement was not an admission of any wrongdoing on the part of Stewart & Landry LLC, and that the terms were to remain confidential.

  “Mrs. Callahan,” the judge said. “Do you understand and agree to the terms as stated?”

  She glanced at Angie, who gave her an encouraging nod. “Yes, Your Honor.”

  “Do you understand that this settlement puts an end to your claims, and that you may not reopen the case at a later date or file another lawsuit arising out of this same dispute?”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “What about you, Mr. Stewart?” The judge addressed the same questions to Tom.

  “I understand and agree, Your Honor.”

  Angie breathed a sigh of relief. Sure, there was still additional paperwork to complete and file, including the release and notice of dismissal, as well as the formal transfer of settlement payments and funding of an escrow account to cover the Callahans’ housing for the agreed-upon period of three years. But the lawsuit itself was now officially over.

  Amid the general scraping of chairs and shuffling of feet, she glanced covertly at Zach. He rose and clasped his father’s shoulder, nodding in response to something Tom said to him sotto voce.

  She’d managed to avoid looking at him through most of the proceedings, concentrating instead on the notes in front of her, or on what the judge was saying. But now, as she thanked Judge Rosenberg and agreed to convey his regards to her father, she found her eyes drawn repeatedly toward Zach.

  Did the end of the case also signal an end to his interest in her? He’d claimed on several occasions that the one had nothing to do with the other. But now, as he failed to look even once in her direction, she wondered.

  “Coming?” Naomi said.

  Angie shouldered her bag and followed Naomi and Mrs. Callahan toward the exit. She was halfway down the hall when she felt a familiar tingle at the back of her neck.

  A warm hand brushed her spine. “Congratulations.”

  She glanced sideways at him, nearly stumbling when she saw the banked heat in his eyes. “Thanks.”

  “I’ll call you later, okay?”

  Her sense of elation was completely out of proportion to his words. She felt like a teenager mooning over her first crush. Ridiculous. She never ceded that much control to any man. Especially when the man in question had short-term fling written all over him.

  She forced a neutral tone. “Sure. There are still a few details to go over.”

  His smile dimmed a little and he glanced up ahead, to where Naomi was regarding them with raised brows.

  “Of course.” He nodded and turned on his heel to rejoin his father, who was just exiting the judge’s chambers.

  CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

  It was nearly ten p.m. when her cell phone chirped with a text message from Zach.

  Still up?

  She debated for all of two seconds before replying:

  About to go to bed.

  The phone rang.

  “What are you wearing?”

  She glanced down at her faded UCLA T-shirt and cut-off sweats. “My Jimmy Choos and a black silk G-string.”

  “Jesus. Really?”

  She smiled and padded into the bathroom. “Mm-hm.” Putting him on speaker-phone, she reached for the toothpaste. “How about you?”

  The low buzz of her electric toothbrush filled the silence.

  He cleared his throat. “What are you doing?”

  She made a pass over her lower molars with the rotating head before replying. “Use your imagination.”

  He cursed. “Send me a photo.”

  “What are we, in college?”

  “You’re killing me, Angel.”

  “You’ll live. And I’ll finish brushing my teeth and go to bed.”

  There was a moment of silence, and then a deep chuckle that raised goosebumps along her arms and did all sorts of funny things to her insides. “Wicked, wicked girl. You had me going there for a minute.”

  She turned on the tap, rinsed and spit. “So, are you going to tell me why you called, or am I supposed to guess?”

  “I want to see you.”

  “Okay.” She glanced at the mirror. It had been a long day, on top of a long week. And if she was honest, the last few months had been no walk in the park. Without her usual makeup, her face bore the ravages of too many sleepless nights. She flicked off the overhead lights and took the phone to bed. “When?”

  “I can be there in twenty minutes.”

  She paused in the process of adjusting her pillows and surveyed the bedroom.

  Half-open drawers overflowed with lingerie, scarves, and socks that she never quite got around to organizing. Discarded accessories, along with the detritus of hastily emptied coat pockets and purses littered the top of her bureau. Coffee mugs that she kept meaning to collect and put in the dishwasher dotted nearly every flat surface. Back issues of the ABA Journal, RPTE Law Journal, and Santa Monica Magazine spilled off of her nightstand and onto the floor.

  She closed her eyes and mentally pictured the rest of her two-bed/two-and-a-half-bath condo. It wasn’t pretty. Except for the kitchen, which was probably still pristine from the last time the cleaning lady had been there. If you didn’t count the trash bin stuffed with used Keurig pods, disposable utensils, and empty take-out containers.

  It would take more than twenty minutes to tidy up, shave her legs, and slap on some makeup.

  Even if by some miracle she managed that, was she really ready for what sounded like a booty call?

  She sank onto the bed. It felt like this moment was years in the making, and yet…

  Her gaze fell on the partly closed nightstand drawer. Beneath a tissue box and bag of throat lozenges, half-obscured by a jumble of sample size beauty products, there it was: a still-sealed box of condoms. She pulled it out. Crap. Expired.

  Her silence must have dragged on too long.

  “Never mind,” Zach said. “How about dinner, tomorrow night? Say, around seven? You pick the place. Something quiet.”

  “You mean, like a date?”

  “Yeah. You know—food, wine, soft music. Maybe even talk about things that have nothing to do with law or real estate.”

  “I have to get some condoms.” Damn. Had she really just said that out loud?

  Zach groaned. “Angel,
I’m trying to be a gentleman here. You’re making it pretty damn hard.”

  She flushed, remembering the feel of him, pressed against her, letting her know without words just how hard he could get. Her breath whooshed out. “Yeah. Okay.”

  “I’m hanging up,” he said. “Before you destroy all my good intentions. I’ll pick you up at your place tomorrow. Seven o’clock.”

  ~

  Zach raised his glass. “To us.”

  Angie acknowledged the toast and took a sip of wine.

  So far, the evening had gone nothing like she’d imagined. For one thing, Zach hadn’t even touched her, other than to help her into his low-slung sports car, and off with her evening wrap once they’d entered the restaurant. For another, he was being excruciatingly polite. There was none of the usual baiting that she had come to expect—even anticipate—from their interactions over the years. If anything, he appeared to be deliberately avoiding any controversial topics.

  Sure, he was charming. And gorgeous to look at, especially once he’d shed the sport coat, revealing a closely-fitted polo sweater and dark jeans that showed off muscles he’d no doubt worked hard to attain. But she missed the old Zach, the one whose acerbic wit and blunt manner seemed to challenge her at every turn.

  “You know,” she said, unable to resist prodding him a bit. “I’m surprised you’re in such a good mood.”

  “Why is that?”

  “Well, you did just lose a case.”

  His lips quirked, as if she’d just made a joke. “You mean the one we just settled?”

  She dismissed that with a flutter of her fingers. “My client got what she wanted—for which she thanks you, by the way.”

  “Glad I could help.”

  “But seriously, why aren’t you pissed?”

  “Are you telling me I should be pissed?”

  She shrugged. “I probably would be, in your position.”

  “That’s one of the things I like about you, Angel. You say what you mean. No coyness or beating around the bush.” He swirled the wine in his glass. “I have to admit, I was pretty angry to start. But my dad reminded me that sometimes we have to chalk it up to the cost of doing business.”