“I worked every possible line of defense in my mind before I even committed it to paper. If you have something to say, Trey, spit it out,” she demanded.
“In a nutshell, your response to the lawsuit is that Robert Gold’s plans are based solely on his own work product and not anything that has been provided, past or present, by the complainant,” Trey explained.
“Correct.”
“Yet, you offer no proof.” He leaned forward, resting his forearms against the edge of the table. “We need something to substantiate that...something that counters what they’ve presented or could potentially present.”
Inwardly, she chuckled. “I realize that, and we’re working on it,” she replied, understanding that she had been so busy holding her cards close to the chest that she hadn’t considered that Trey needed another piece of vital information. “We’re in the process of trying to find whoever’s behind all this as well as the forger that created the forged drawings that they used in their complaint document.”
Trey sat upright quickly, surprise evident in his expression. “Are you now? And what happens if you don’t?”
She closed her eyes a moment, and flashed through every possible scenario and summed it up with, “To be perfectly honest? We’re screwed... I’m screwed.”
Trey’s full lips lifted in a small smile. “No, you’re not. I have my team checking on a few more angles for us to explore. Have dinner with me so we can talk through all the options and opportunities before us.”
The only “angle” Trey Steel wanted to work was the horizontal tango. “Really, Trey? You throw in a cheesy pickup line when you ask me to a working dinner? Where’d you learn that? Caveman Practices 101?”
“A brother’s got to try.”
“Not really,” Farrah said, laughing. “You can try, just not with me.”
“But a sister also has to eat,” he hedged.
“Thanks, but I have other plans already. Why don’t you just email your ideas and I’ll take a look at what you have in mind?”
“Rain check?” he asked with one raised eyebrow.
“Let’s just focus on the response.” Farrah got up and headed to the door.
“I never give up, you know,” Trey declared, and she recognized it for the challenge he meant it to be.
“Of course I know,” she shot back. “That’s why we became attorneys in the first place.”
His laughter followed her from the conference room.
Farrah drove into the underground garage of the Blake & Montgomery office building and parked in her assigned space. She turned off the ignition and laid her head back against the headrest of her new white Porsche 911 Turbo Coupe. Farrah believed in working hard so she could play equally hard, which meant having some really cool toys—fast cars, a beautiful boat and vacation homes all over the world. Her most recent purchase was a prime piece of real estate in Paris, France, with views the length of the Champs-Élysées to the Arc de Triomphe.
Farrah pushed up her sun visor and caught a glimpse of her image in its mirror. The sight of her lips summoned the memory of the kiss she’d shared with Robert. “What the hell’s wrong with you? This is exactly why you have to either learn to control yourself or stay the hell away from him,” she said to her reflection.
She noted that Robert’s car was missing from its space. They drove the same kind of Porsche, but his was a startling black. He, too, had a thing for enjoying life and a few expensive toys. Something that should make them gravitate toward one another, but his capacity to make her feel inadequate about her work was the very thing that drove her away. She couldn’t understand why he didn’t just trust her ability to handle their court case to its end.
Farrah exited the car, entered their building and made her way to the floor where the administrative offices of Blake & Montgomery were located. In addition to their company, their building housed her and her sister’s personal residences as well as several additional apartments. Farrah walked past the midlevel cubicles as she headed to her office after being stopped only once.
Farrah’s office was designed exactly like her sister’s, only her furnishings were less traditional and more contemporary. A large oval-shaped curly-redwood desk with a turquoise inlay was the focal point of the room. There was also a six-seat, round curly-redwood conference table with red leather high-back chairs, and bookshelves that held a mixture of books and antique art pieces. In a corner stood a small, fully stocked bar and an antique hidden safe.
She had just powered up her computer when her office door flew open and only partly closed, allowing Paul White, the Blake sisters’ part-time stylist, to make a dramatic entrance.
“Where have you been? I’ve been dying here. How did Francine’s ultrasound go?” Paul asked, excitement written all over his clean-shaven face as he placed an electronic tablet and coffee cup on Farrah’s desk. He used his hand to brush his curly black hair from his face.
Paul also happened to hold the title of Francine and Farrah’s assistant, best friend and unofficial brother. They’d been friends throughout grade school and when Paul’s family abandoned him after he came out his sophomore year of college, the Blake family had welcomed him with open arms, making his college years less lonely—his words exactly.
“You need a haircut,” Farrah said.
“I know. What happened?”
“You mean she hasn’t called you yet?” Farrah said, frowning as she leaned back in the Herman Miller chair.
“Yeah, she called while I was on the phone taking care of everything for your New York trip, so she had to leave me a message.” Paul slipped his tall, lean frame into the chair across from Farrah’s desk—his favorite spot. “All she said was that she had ‘big news’ and that she’d call me later because she was taking the rest of the day off to celebrate with Meeks. So...” Paul’s hazel eyes had widened and he was rotating his index finger. “Spill. What are they celebrating?”
Paul leaned in, eyebrows rising in comedic fashion.
“The ultrasound revealed that...” She paused for dramatic effect.
“Woman, don’t make me kill you up in this fancy office of yours!”
“They’re having twins—a boy and girl.”
Paul flew out of his chair and started dancing around the room. “Yes! Yes! Yes!”
At that moment, Robert’s face flashed through her mind again, and she felt a pain in her chest that she didn’t dare give a name. Would she have been happy if she’d gotten news that she was carrying Robert’s child? Would they share doctor’s appointments, quarrel over baby names before compromising over the best ways to prepare to bring their child into the world? No, that can’t be. What’s wrong with you? Why was he always in her thoughts these days?
“Thank goodness,” Paul said with a relived
