I love you, but you’ve always had an issue with feeling like the odd man out.”
Damn, she’s good.
“If you’d really like to be included in all those nasty dinner conversations about criminal cases, this is the way to start. So far, the firm’s quasi cold-case squad has solved two murders. Two, David. Do you know how many nights I’ve had to listen to your father, Zac and Penny rehash those cases?” She held up her hand. “A lot. This is your chance to finally be part of the conversation. And, frankly, I want this. For the first time, I get to be part of the conversation, too, and I like it. I’m not your father’s socialite wife anymore. I’m more than an appendage.”
Academy Award winner Pamela Hennings. “Cut that out. You’ve never been an appendage. He’s terrified of you. Everyone knows that.”
“Everyone knows I’m his wife and that, yes, we have a strong relationship, but I’ve never had a job, David. All the charity work and clubs, it’s all an offshoot of your father’s work. Not that I haven’t enjoyed it, but if given the chance at a redo, I’d have a career of my own. Doing what, I don’t know. All I know is that I’m suddenly someone who can help bring justice and it’s not because it’s expected of me. So buck up and do this for your mother.”
Game over. She’d turned the entire thing around on him, playing up the guilt because she knew, when it came to her, he rarely said no. Damn. How the hell did she always do this? He ticked through the conversation, then burst out laughing.
“What’s funny?”
He grabbed his cup, rose from his chair and kissed her on the cheek. “Nothing. You’re brilliant. You’ve totally manipulated me into doing this. And I let you. Being around lawyers has rubbed off on you.”
“You’ll do it?”
“I’ll talk to the artist. Then I’m done. I’m not an investigator and have no interest in being one. I have a law practice to open.”
Mom pushed up from the table and held her index fingers up. “That’s fine. Talk her into at least doing the reconstruction. You’re better at that sort of thing than I am. Once you convince her, I’ll handle it from there.”
“I’m sure you will, Mom. I’m sure you will.”
“And, by the way, dinner is at seven-thirty tonight. Zac and Emma will be here and Russ and Penny.”
She ran her gaze over his clothes, starting at his long-sleeved henley. He knew she hated the Levi’s jeans and boots, but he wasn’t five anymore and didn’t need his mother dressing him. “Don’t start, Mom.”
“Between the clothes and that facial hair, I have to ask that you not come to the table dressed like you escaped from prison.”
Facial hair. She acted as if he had a hobo beard rather than the close-cropped one he favored. He snatched his favorite leather jacket, the one with the intricate stitching on the shoulders, off the back of his chair, and Mom’s lips peeled back. “Mom, this is a two-thousand-dollar jacket. Besides, my tux is at the dry cleaner’s.”
“Don’t be fresh.”
More than done with this conversation, he shrugged into his coat. “I’ve gotta go. You’ve convinced me to talk to this artist. I love you, but quit while you’re ahead.”
Morning sun shifted, the light angling sideways instead of straight into Amanda’s studio, and she stepped back from the sculpture. She’d been messing with the lips of a cell-phone manufacturer’s CEO, bending the clay, tweaking and retweaking for two hours, and she still couldn’t get the mouth right. And worse, she couldn’t figure out why. As much as it irritated her, drove her to near madness, it didn’t matter. She’d keep at it. No matter how long it took. After the botched nose on the fireman, resulting in a shake-up of her confidence, she’d get these lips perfect.
The changing sunlight through the loft’s oversize windows didn’t help, so she adjusted the six-foot lamp behind her, directing the light in a more favorable position. Light, light and more light helped keep her focused for the sometimes tedious hours spent in front of a sculpture. Changing shadows meant time slipping from her greedy hands. She glanced at the clock. Eleven thirty. She’d been at it six hours, two of them lost on bum lips.
“Okay, girlfriend. You need to get it together here. Forget the nose. It’s one nose. It shouldn’t be a career-ending mistake.”
Intellectually, she knew it. Emotionally, that faulty nose might do her in.
The studio phone rang, filling the quiet space with its annoying blinging sound. Typically, she’d ignore the phone until her exhausted and sore fingers gave out for the day. But now, with the rotten lips, it was probably a good time to take a break. Grab a quick lunch and refocus. She scooted to her desk in the corner and snatched up the handset.
“Good morning. This is Amanda.”
“Good morning, Amanda. My name is David Hennings. You met my mother at an event last night.”
And, hello, sexy voice of my dreams. Wow. The low-pitched resonance of that voice poured over her. With her dating history, he was probably five inches shorter than her and a total mama’s boy. “Hello, Mr. Hennings. I did meet your mother last night. She’s a lovely dinner companion.”
For whatever reason, he laughed at that, the sound just as yummy as his voice.
“That she is,” he said. “She told me she mentioned I was moving into a new place.”
Seriously, he didn’t sound short. Or like a mama’s boy. If that even made sense because how could anyone know what someone looked like by the way he spoke? She had a vision, though. A good one, an exceptional one, of a tall man, fair haired and blue-eyed like his mother. And he’d wear suits every day. Slick, Italian suits that alerted the world to his blue-blood status. Yes indeed, she had a vision.
“She mentioned you’d be working with Lexi, who is a friend, by the way. Would you like to set up an appointment and we can discuss what you might need?”
“Definitely. I just spoke with Lexi. I could swing by. If you’re available.”
“Now?”
“If that works. Otherwise, we could look at tomorrow.”
Apparently Mrs. Hennings was in a hurry. Amanda swung back to her sculpture and the stubborn lips. A break might help. Discussing new projects always seemed to cleanse the palate, help her look at existing work with fresh perspective and excitement. But she wasn’t exactly dressed to meet a new client. Knowing she had a full day of sculpting ahead, she’d yanked her hair into a ponytail and slipped on her baggiest of baggy jeans and a “Make Love, Not War” T-shirt a friend had given her as a joke. The hair she could deal with by removing her hair band. The clothes? Not so much.
“Mr. Hennings, that would be fine. But I have to warn you, I’m working on a sculpture today and when I sculpt I dress comfortably. I didn’t expect to have a meeting.”
“Don’t worry about it. I’m in jeans. My
