Six months ago.
Little did I know something I secretly dreamed of for years would have the cops on my ass twenty-four-seven.
“Brand. Your meeting is here.”
I turn from the windows and look across the conference table big enough to seat at least twenty. I lift my chin to my attorney and friend. “Thanks for staying late, Art. Tell Tessa and the kids I’m sorry I kept you. I’ll make it up to them the next time we get together.”
“You spoil my family more than I do. What you pay me on retainer, I’m happy to share my conference room when you need it. Especially in these times, you need to be careful. I’m going to keep eyes on your new doctor for a few more days. If you didn’t tell me she was a shrink, I’d think she was a librarian or some shit. Boring as hell other than being pulled in for questioning.”
I shrug. “Boring might be what I need after the last decade.”
“Whatever gets you off, man. I’ll be in my office. We’ll leave out the front together, take your time.” Art opens the door, and his face immediately turns to stone. “Hey, asshole. I didn’t say you could sit. My wife just redecorated the waiting room and that sofa cost me ten grand.”
Art stalks out the door as Simon spits one apology after another when they pass in the hall.
“Close the door, Simon.”
He looks around the darkened offices before settling his focus on me. “Is there anyone else here?”
“No. It’s after midnight. I can’t risk meeting you anywhere but my attorney’s office with the cops on my ass.”
“Oh, right. Sorry.”
“Simon, we need to talk about the Realm project.”
Simon isn’t comfortable in his own skin and shakes his head too fast. “I don’t know what happened, boss. They told me everything was a go. I checked with the inspector right before he showed. I—”
I hold my hand up. “Whoa.”
“Sorry, boss. I just—”
“You just didn’t do what you were supposed to do. You have one job. One job to make sure the inspector issues the permits on time. Do you know what happens when you don’t do your one job?”
He shrugs.
He fucking shrugs.
“You bottleneck the process, Simon. I have workers I need to pay. If they don’t work, I can’t put them on the books. If I don’t put them on the books, I can’t move money.” I take a step forward, put a hand to his shoulder. “Do you understand? We’re behind schedule—and I don’t mean on the Realm project. I’m talking behind on other things. Cash stacking up usually isn’t an issue for most people, but, for me, it is.”
“Sorry, boss.”
“I’m sure you are, but sorry doesn’t clean my money. I don’t get my hands dirty, but my father has people who will. You were hired for a specific task. You were given money to line the pockets of the right people yet my building is at a standstill. You broke the chain. Now, what are we going to do about this?”
He pulls his cell out of his pocket and his fingers tremble as he looks through his contacts. “I’m on it.”
“This is important, Simon.”
“Yeah, boss.”
I turn him and push him toward the door. “Take the stairs all the way to the basement. Slip out through the cargo bay between the dumpsters. Make sure you’re not seen. The cops are out front and I know you have warrants. That would suck if you ran into them tonight.”
He nods, texting at the speed of light, and barely glances at me. “I’ll get this fixed. I will.”
I pat him on the back. “I know you will. Next time make sure we don’t have to have this conversation.”
He’s out the door and disappears into the stairwell without another word. He won’t get caught. He’s a sneaky fuck which is how he’s gone this long with so many warrants.
I head to Art’s corner office. “Done. Thanks for the office space. I can’t afford an electronic trail with anyone like him right now.”
Art looks from his laptop and leans back in his sleek office chair. “You can thank me by telling me about this Dillon chick.”
Arthur Ramos and I were in school together. Between the two of us, we created havoc from preschool through our senior years at Saint Mary’s in Seattle. Art knows everything there is to know about me, my family, and now, my legal battle that he’s managing with a fine-tooth comb. I’m lucky my life-long friend turned out to be as cunning as he is book smart. I trust him with my life, and it’s not just because I can afford the best defense attorney on the west coast.
He’d do it for free, but he knows there’s no way I’d allow that. My dad has his own attorney who’s older than dirt. I was Art’s first client the day he passed the bar and the first person I spoke to after Marcia was found floating face down in Gray Mountain Lake behind my house.
I’ve yet to be officially charged despite being their only suspect. Art is fucking good at what he does and has painted me in the media as the devastated widower that I definitely am not.
I look at my watch and decide I need to kill at least another twenty minutes so it looks like I’m having an actual meeting with my attorney. “That’s Dr. Dillon to you.”
“Fine. What’s with Dr. Dillon? Because six months might seem like a long time, but for someone who’s been tried in the media for his wife’s death, I can promise you it’s not. Marcia might be six feet under, but you need to consider her lukewarm and not parade other women around in public.”
I shrug. “She bid on me at the charity auction, which you knew I was doing. I owed her a date. I did it all in the name of charity. The cops can ask all they want—it’s the truth.”
Art leans back and rests one Gucci loafer on the edge of his desk before crossing his ankles. I know all too well he only had to work an hour and five minutes for those shoes. “While you were conducting business in my conference room, I got a call from my contact at the PD. Aria corroborated what you just told me. Should the cops pull you in again, feel free to tell the truth this time.”
“I’ve told them the truth, Art. You think I’m a liar and a murderer?”
“I know you’re the former and I don’t give a shit about the latter. My job is to prove your alibis are solid—don’t make me a fraud.”
“I would never.”
He drops his feet to the floor and his forearms go to the desk between us. “Don’t fuck with me. You pay me too much and I don’t want to see my lifelong friend go to prison. What am I supposed to tell my kids when they ask why their godfather isn’t at their birthday parties? You need to give the good doctor a rest. Leave her be. You followed through on your part of the auction and took her to dinner. That makes sense when it comes to your public story. But I can’t play you as the grieving widow in the media if you start something too soon. I know you know how to hide your affairs—”
“This isn’t an affair,” I growl.
“I don’t give a shit what it is. I suggest if you want the doctor in any way, keep her a secret. Putting your lips to her neck after pressing her to her door with your hands all over her out in the open is not smart, Brand. And don’t tell me that didn’t happen. Not only are the cops following you, but so are the Riccis. Word is out and everyone knows.”