Twenty-Eight

Brad was, as always, irritatingly punctual, and I slid into his white BMW in a pair of faded jeans, flip-flops and a scoop-neck white shirt. He gave my outfit an appraising glance before putting the car in reverse and backing out of my driveway.

“I’m sorry, is there a problem with my outfit?” I asked innocently.

“Only that I want to tear it off you,” he growled, leaning over and kissing me. I pulled away, playfully smacking him. “Watch the road!”

He laughed and leaned back in his seat, his face dark in the car, lit occasionally by oncoming traffic. I fastened my seat belt and watched him. He seemed distracted, drumming his fingers on the steering wheel in tune to the radio. He glanced over, catching my eyes. “You shouldn’t have been in the wing alone. Not after what happened to Kent.”

I frowned. “I’ve been in the office countless times that late.”

“I know, but normally there is other staff around. Just, given the circumstances, you should have told security.”

“If I had told security, they probably wouldn’t have let me up there.”

He laughed. “Good point. So what, pray tell, was so important?”

I leaned back into the seat. “I don’t know. I was just sick of being at home. I needed a distraction.”

“Which you got.”

I turned to him, grinning. “Yes. Thank you, oh great one, for my distraction.”

He squeezed my hand, then released it, putting both hands on the wheel, his face distracted.

“Thinking about Broward?” I asked.

He stopped drumming and looked over at me, his expression serious. “Yeah.”

“You don’t seem very upset.”

“I’ve had two days to absorb it, Julia. But you already knew that Kent and I weren’t close.”

I closed my eyes briefly, sitting back on the plush leather seat. Yes, I knew he and Broward didn’t get along. We had had that discussion early on, when Broward told me that Brad had fucked his wife, Claire, six years ago on a corporate retreat. The information had caused me to step away, and almost meant the end of our budding relationship.

“I know. Still. You were so...mad when you found out, and were so quiet yesterday. It’s just been an odd course of reactions.”

He reached over and grabbed my hand, squeezing it reassuringly. “Julia, I have my own way of dealing with things. I don’t want to ruin any more time I have with you.”

I ran my fingers lightly over our clasped hands, loving how small and delicate my hand looked in his.

We pulled up to a strip mall that had one end occupied by a restaurant. Navigating the crowded parking lot, he pulled up to the front, lit by a neon light, to let me out. I opened the door and stepped out, moving through waiting patrons as he pulled away to park. I was smiling in anticipation as I pulled open the door and walked into pure, crowded deliciousness.

Despite my Scottish surname, I’ve always secretly wanted to be Italian. Though no Italian blood runs in my veins, I have gone ahead and adopted their food, lovemaking and overall passion for life. The cheap, strip mall door opened to a wave of noise and smells of Parmesan cheese and marinara. I could barely squeeze in the door, a small crowd filling the small lobby. I took a half step in and waited, trying to see through the crowd for a hostess. I finally saw one, and caught her eye.

“Two. De Luca,” I said, and she scribbled it down on a pad.

“You guys sitting in, or out?”

I didn’t see any outdoor seating, but the night was unseasonably cool, so I let that be the determinant.

“Out.”

“Your car?”

My face must have shown my confusion because she smiled and elaborated. “What kind of car do you have?”

“Oh. White 7-Series.” She wrote something else down, and moved to the next person in line. I squeezed my way back through the entrance and into the night air. I saw Brad walking up from a side lot obscured by trees, and met him halfway.

“The place is packed. I said we’d sit outside, but I don’t know how long the wait is.”

He nodded, flashing a quick grin at me. “Good. If we are sitting outside, then there isn’t a wait, they’ll serve us out on the car.” He gave my waist a quick squeeze and nodded to the parking lot. “Why don’t you sit on the hood and I’ll grab us drinks? What do you want?”

“White wine—something fruity. Riesling, if they have it.”

He nodded and headed in. I wandered to the parking lot. It was a makeshift lot—with cars parked in all sorts of directions, but most facing the overlook. I saw Brad’s, the “B D Best” vanity tag clearly identifying it. It was parked close to the edge, and I climbed on top of the hood, which was still warm from the drive. The view from the hood was cut from every sappy movie I’d ever seen—a rainbow of city lights at night—and sitting on the hood I felt like a nervous teenager about to make out. It was almost pitch-black out here, half of the neighboring cars silent and empty, half with couples perched on the hood, or tucked inside their expensive frames. I yawned and lay back, the hood uncomfortably hard but the night sky clear and beautiful. Crickets chirped, and I waited expectantly for the first mosquito to find my juicy self.

Brad appeared from the left side, a red Solo cup in his hand. I sat up, my abs protesting, and grabbed the cup, peering inside. White wine. I looked at him quizzically.

“What—you only drink from fine glassware?” The darkness hid his face, but I heard his smile.

I took a sip. It was chilled, fruity and sweet. Perfect. “No. Just not typical De Luca.”

He clinked his bottled beer to my plastic cup and sat on the hood next to me, the car noticeably sagging. We sat in comfortable silence for a minute, looking out on the view.

“Are you working tomorrow?”

“Yeah. Lisa Strong emailed everyone, telling us not to come in today, but to be there tomorrow.”

“Lisa is Clarke’s secretary?”

“Yes.” I took a sip of my wine, smiling. “I can’t believe you don’t know that.”

He smirked. “I barely keep my own staff straight.” He sobered, thinking of something, then turned to me.

“I met with Clarke today.”

I stayed quiet, waiting for him to continue.

“We were never interested in a fourth partner. We always wanted to keep it to three. With Broward...gone...we needed to figure out what was next. If we would stay just the two of us or not. I—”

“Broward’s not even in the ground yet!” My voice came out louder and harder than I intended, and he closed his eyes and sighed.

“Julia, I—” He stopped, interrupted again, this time by a thin redheaded waitress in a white button-up, black tie and black pants.

“Excuse me. I am Amber, your waitress. I have your drink orders from the bar. Is there anything else you’d like to drink?” She set a citronella candle on the hood and lit it, depositing two cloth rolls of silverware next to it.

“I’ll have bottled water, with dinner,” Brad stated, and looked at me.

“I’m fine for now, thank you.”

“Would you like to hear the menu?” she asked. I nodded in response, and Brad gave a curt nod.

“It’s pretty basic. We have spaghetti, chicken parmesan and lasagna.” I waited for more, but from her pregnant pause, that was apparently it. I ordered the spaghetti, and Brad asked for both chicken parm and lasagna. The waitress left, and I looked at Brad, the candle now illuminating his handsome face.

“So they’ll serve us out here? On the hood?” The idea seemed preposterous but fun, if not a little messy.

He nodded. “The inside restaurant is pretty small. It fills up quickly. When they first opened, and word started spreading about their food, the line would snake through the parking lot. They started taking drink orders from the waiting crowd...then things just progressed to where they’re at now. I should have asked if you like Italian. Their menu is so limited...”

I waved my hand, erasing his concern, and took a sip of wine.

“So. Broward?” I prompted him.

“Right. I understand that it seems cold to you, us discussing this so quickly after his death, but it is a business situation. We can mourn his passing after work, but this is a decision we needed to make quickly. There are clients and cases to contend with, not to mention the necessity to sell his shares so that we can settle with his estate. Claire will need and appreciate the money.”

My eyes clouded a bit at the mention of Broward’s wife, and I wondered, briefly, if Brad had been in contact with her.

“So, what did you decide? You and Clarke?”

“We decided not to absorb Broward’s interest, but to allow an outside attorney to purchase his shares. We don’t have the time or expertise to take on Broward’s clients, and don’t have any junior partners ready to fill his shoes. Today we chose a replacement and extended an offer, which was accepted. Tomorrow we’ll make a formal announcement and will introduce him to the team.”

I turned it over in my mind, thinking. “Why are you telling me this?”

“Whoever takes his place will be your new boss. There is a chance that he or she won’t want to train a new employee—in that case H.R. will either reassign you or terminate your new position.”

Terminate my new position. The phrase just screamed law school rejection. I sipped my wine slowly. “So. If I was to be reassigned, it would probably need to be to an attorney with a large caseload, someone who would need an additional hand.” I looked up at him suggestively, a wry smile crossing his face as he leaned over and looped his arm around my waist, bringing me to him, his lips pressing gently on my head.