Suddenly One Summer
Page 60
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She reached inside her purse, pulled out the business card she’d prepared, and slid it across the table. “If you like, we can tell the lab to send the results only to me. That’ll give you a few days to figure out how to explain everything to your wife. My recommendation? Go with the truth, the whole truth, and nothing but.”
He half-smiled, and took the card. “Thank you. I appreciate it.”
That settled, Victoria grabbed her purse and stood up. “I wrote the address of the lab on the back of my business card.”
“Wait,” Peter said. “You didn’t tell me. The baby . . . is it a boy or a girl?”
Victoria paused, the cynical divorce lawyer in her not having expected that question.
Normally, I see families as they’re falling apart. I’ve never had the chance to bring one together before.
“It’s a girl,” she said.
“A girl.” His eyes turned momentarily misty, and then he cleared his throat. “Right. I’ll wait for your call, then.”
* * *
VICTORIA HAILED A cab and called Nicole during the ride back to her office.
“You caught me just in time—I’m about to leave for an audition,” Nicole said. “Did you talk to him? How did it go?”
Victoria filled Nicole in on her conversation with Peter Sutter. “He says he plans to voluntarily take the paternity test, but let’s not hold our breath,” she said while paying the cabdriver. “It’s easy for people to say they want to do the right thing. Actually doing it is a whole other matter.” It had just begun to rain, so she climbed out of the taxi and dashed into her building.
“Do you think he’s going to tell his wife?” Nicole asked.
“He made it sound that way. But I figure he’ll wait until he has actual proof that he’s Zoe’s father before having that conversation.”
Nicole exhaled. “Right.”
They wrapped up the call just before Victoria stepped into the elevator. As she pushed the button for her floor, she felt cautiously optimistic about this development in the case. Over the course of the last several weeks, she’d prepared herself for the worst with Peter Sutter. But maybe Nicole and Zoe actually were going to catch a break in this. Maybe Peter would want to be a part of his daughter’s life, beyond just his financial obligations.
Unfortunately, she got to revel in that optimism for all of about thirty seconds.
As soon as she stepped into her office, Will handed her a stack of messages. Then one of her associates knocked on her door to discuss a client who’d spontaneously decided, mid-divorce, to spend over a hundred thousand dollars redecorating her home, and now had been hit—not surprisingly—with an emergency motion that accused her of depleting marital assets.
After addressing that mini-crisis, she spent the next few hours on the phone, going from call to call and putting out fires. Or, in some cases, starting a few fires herself.
In other words, it was a typical Monday afternoon.
But at five o’clock, after finishing an hour-long conference call, she did something that was atypical—for her, at least.
Will’s mouth fell open when he walked into her office with yet more message slips and saw her packing up her briefcase. “Are you leaving? You haven’t left the office at five since . . .” He cocked his head, coming up empty. “See? There is no end to that sentence.”
“There’s an errand I need to run.” Changing the subject, she took the message slips from him. “Anything noteworthy?”
“Mr. Dixon called. This is becoming a regular thing. Perhaps I should add him to your speed dial?” Will grinned when she shot him a glare. “Oh, spare me the look—so I’m having fun here. I like him. And so do you, even if you won’t admit it. I see the smile on your face after you talk to him.”
She said nothing as she picked up her briefcase, refusing to be drawn into this conversation.
“Don’t forget your umbrella, Ms. Slade,” he said cheekily.
Oops—right. She grabbed her umbrella and gave him a slight smile. Cheeky or not, the man was a lifesaver. “Good night, Will.”
She headed down the hallway and made her way to the elevator bank. After pushing the down button, Will’s comment about Ford echoed in her head.
I like him. And so do you, even if you won’t admit it.
There’d been a moment on Saturday night, as she’d been lying on the bed next to Ford, when things had felt different between them. Good different.
Scary different.
At the time, she’d covered up her thoughts by asking about the stupid brownies, assuming it was just a fleeting, post-sex thing. But here she was two days later, and the little butterflies she felt in her stomach every time she thought about him still hadn’t gone away.
And that was even scarier.
When the elevator reached the ground floor, she forced herself not to think about Ford and concentrate instead on the task at hand—a task that already had her anxious enough.
Tonight, she was taking on the subway during rush hour.
As she cut across the building lobby, she took her earbuds out of her briefcase and plugged them into her phone. She scrolled through her playlist until she found the song she wanted, and felt charged as she stepped outside into the rain and the music began to play.
This girl is on fire.
Damn skippy.
And tonight, this girl was going to kick the ass of her teeny, tiny panic-attack problem.
Twenty-six
FORD STOOD UNDER the red glass overhang of the Thompson Center, trying to stay dry from the rain.
He’d just finished interviewing the director of the Department of Children and Family Services for his story on parents who’d abused or neglected their children while supposedly under the agency’s supervision. The interview had run longer than he’d expected—the director had been surprisingly willing to talk—and since it was already five o’clock he decided to scrap his plan to return to the Trib office and call it a day instead.
He checked his cell phone, hoping to have a message from Victoria.
No luck.
He was very eager to hear how her meeting with Sutter had gone, so he decided to try to catch her at work. The rain began to fall steadily as he walked the three blocks, so while waiting for a red light to change, he wrestled his umbrella out of his messenger bag.
Just then, he spotted Victoria as she stepped out of the revolving doors of her building. She opened her umbrella and began walking in the opposite direction.
He half-smiled, and took the card. “Thank you. I appreciate it.”
That settled, Victoria grabbed her purse and stood up. “I wrote the address of the lab on the back of my business card.”
“Wait,” Peter said. “You didn’t tell me. The baby . . . is it a boy or a girl?”
Victoria paused, the cynical divorce lawyer in her not having expected that question.
Normally, I see families as they’re falling apart. I’ve never had the chance to bring one together before.
“It’s a girl,” she said.
“A girl.” His eyes turned momentarily misty, and then he cleared his throat. “Right. I’ll wait for your call, then.”
* * *
VICTORIA HAILED A cab and called Nicole during the ride back to her office.
“You caught me just in time—I’m about to leave for an audition,” Nicole said. “Did you talk to him? How did it go?”
Victoria filled Nicole in on her conversation with Peter Sutter. “He says he plans to voluntarily take the paternity test, but let’s not hold our breath,” she said while paying the cabdriver. “It’s easy for people to say they want to do the right thing. Actually doing it is a whole other matter.” It had just begun to rain, so she climbed out of the taxi and dashed into her building.
“Do you think he’s going to tell his wife?” Nicole asked.
“He made it sound that way. But I figure he’ll wait until he has actual proof that he’s Zoe’s father before having that conversation.”
Nicole exhaled. “Right.”
They wrapped up the call just before Victoria stepped into the elevator. As she pushed the button for her floor, she felt cautiously optimistic about this development in the case. Over the course of the last several weeks, she’d prepared herself for the worst with Peter Sutter. But maybe Nicole and Zoe actually were going to catch a break in this. Maybe Peter would want to be a part of his daughter’s life, beyond just his financial obligations.
Unfortunately, she got to revel in that optimism for all of about thirty seconds.
As soon as she stepped into her office, Will handed her a stack of messages. Then one of her associates knocked on her door to discuss a client who’d spontaneously decided, mid-divorce, to spend over a hundred thousand dollars redecorating her home, and now had been hit—not surprisingly—with an emergency motion that accused her of depleting marital assets.
After addressing that mini-crisis, she spent the next few hours on the phone, going from call to call and putting out fires. Or, in some cases, starting a few fires herself.
In other words, it was a typical Monday afternoon.
But at five o’clock, after finishing an hour-long conference call, she did something that was atypical—for her, at least.
Will’s mouth fell open when he walked into her office with yet more message slips and saw her packing up her briefcase. “Are you leaving? You haven’t left the office at five since . . .” He cocked his head, coming up empty. “See? There is no end to that sentence.”
“There’s an errand I need to run.” Changing the subject, she took the message slips from him. “Anything noteworthy?”
“Mr. Dixon called. This is becoming a regular thing. Perhaps I should add him to your speed dial?” Will grinned when she shot him a glare. “Oh, spare me the look—so I’m having fun here. I like him. And so do you, even if you won’t admit it. I see the smile on your face after you talk to him.”
She said nothing as she picked up her briefcase, refusing to be drawn into this conversation.
“Don’t forget your umbrella, Ms. Slade,” he said cheekily.
Oops—right. She grabbed her umbrella and gave him a slight smile. Cheeky or not, the man was a lifesaver. “Good night, Will.”
She headed down the hallway and made her way to the elevator bank. After pushing the down button, Will’s comment about Ford echoed in her head.
I like him. And so do you, even if you won’t admit it.
There’d been a moment on Saturday night, as she’d been lying on the bed next to Ford, when things had felt different between them. Good different.
Scary different.
At the time, she’d covered up her thoughts by asking about the stupid brownies, assuming it was just a fleeting, post-sex thing. But here she was two days later, and the little butterflies she felt in her stomach every time she thought about him still hadn’t gone away.
And that was even scarier.
When the elevator reached the ground floor, she forced herself not to think about Ford and concentrate instead on the task at hand—a task that already had her anxious enough.
Tonight, she was taking on the subway during rush hour.
As she cut across the building lobby, she took her earbuds out of her briefcase and plugged them into her phone. She scrolled through her playlist until she found the song she wanted, and felt charged as she stepped outside into the rain and the music began to play.
This girl is on fire.
Damn skippy.
And tonight, this girl was going to kick the ass of her teeny, tiny panic-attack problem.
Twenty-six
FORD STOOD UNDER the red glass overhang of the Thompson Center, trying to stay dry from the rain.
He’d just finished interviewing the director of the Department of Children and Family Services for his story on parents who’d abused or neglected their children while supposedly under the agency’s supervision. The interview had run longer than he’d expected—the director had been surprisingly willing to talk—and since it was already five o’clock he decided to scrap his plan to return to the Trib office and call it a day instead.
He checked his cell phone, hoping to have a message from Victoria.
No luck.
He was very eager to hear how her meeting with Sutter had gone, so he decided to try to catch her at work. The rain began to fall steadily as he walked the three blocks, so while waiting for a red light to change, he wrestled his umbrella out of his messenger bag.
Just then, he spotted Victoria as she stepped out of the revolving doors of her building. She opened her umbrella and began walking in the opposite direction.
