The Wedding Favor (22 page)

When the partners arrived, they brought the security guard who would escort her from the building. Vicky sent Roxanne out and came around from behind her desk to face them.

Walter, gray-haired and gray-suited, wielded the axe. “I’m sorry, Victoria. We have to let you go.”

Even though she’d known it was coming, the blow took her breath.

“It’s the Brown case,” he went on. “Waxman”—the insurance company she’d represented at trial—“has already severed its connection with us. Their in-house counsel called five minutes ago to inform us that they’re moving for a new trial on the ground that your involvement with Brown was a conflict of interest. There’s bound to be a hearing on the motion, so you should expect to be called to testify.”

Vicky started to object but Walter held up a hand. “I know it’s bullshit but it will still be a mess. There’ll be a lot of scandal, a lot of bad press. All in all, it’ll be easier for the firm to weather it if you’re no longer with us.”

“So you’re sacrificing me to save the firm some bad press?”

“It’s not only that. Waxman’s deciding whether to sue us for malpractice. It might appease them if you’re out of the firm.”

Adrianna spoke up from her position behind the others. “Victoria, I want you to know that I disagree with this decision. Apart from the fact that it shows an appalling lack of loyalty to one of our trusted employees and will have a commensurately negative impact on morale, I think that firing you weakens our legal position and makes us all look guilty.”

Vicky’s gaze tracked to Bill. “You’re with Walter on this?”

He couldn’t meet her eyes. It was common knowledge that he’d long had a crush on her, but hadn’t acted on it due to their respective positions in the firm. “I’m sorry, Vicky.” He sounded miserable. “It was a tough decision, but we have to put the firm first. A lot of people depend on us. The attorneys, the staff. Their families.” He turned his palms up, a silent appeal.

“We’ve agreed on a substantial severance package,” Walter cut in. “It should tide you over while you decide what to do next.”

She hadn’t even thought about that, but she thought about it now. And felt the first inkling of panic. “No other firm will hire me with this hanging over my head.”

“I wish I could disagree.” Walter set a hand on her shoulder in his avuncular way. “You should also know that Waxman’s filing a complaint against you with the Committee on Professional Standards.”

Bill groaned. “Jesus, Walter. Do you have to dump it on her all at once?”

“It’s best she have the whole picture.” Walter patted her shoulder. “We all know it won’t come to anything in the end. But in the meantime, the complaint will be a strike against you if you apply for a law job.”

Full-blown panic kicked in. “What will I do? How will I live?” She cast a wild look around at all of them. “For God’s sake, I never wanted to be a lawyer in the first place! But it’s my career, goddamn it! You can’t just take it away from me!”

But they did. Five minutes later she was out on the street.

“G
ive me a mocha latte, Johnny. Full fat, triple shot, double whip.”

Johnny’s eyes bugged. Then he burst out laughing. “Jeez, Vicky, you had me going for a minute.” He called to the other barista. “Green tea, no sugar, no nothin’.”

Vicky leaned over the counter. “Hold that order.” Then, “Johnny, I’m serious. Unless there’s something with more fat, sugar, and caffeine?”

He slapped his hand on his hip. “Why you messin’ with me, girl? You always get the green tea. For the antioxidants.”

“And where have those antioxidants gotten me? No place, that’s where. So I’m trying something different. Something . . .” She churned her hand through the air, searching for the word. “Something
bad
for me.”

He snorted. “Hard to find somethin’ really bad for you at Starbucks.” He leaned on the counter, dropped his voice. “How bad you wanna be? ’Cause I can hook you up.”

“Thanks, but I’ll stick to abusing legal substances. Like sugar, fat, and caffeine.”

Her phone jingled. Maddie. The only person she could stomach talking to.

“Hey, Mad. Guess what I’m doing?”

“Signing up for unemployment?”

“Funny. Ordering a full-fat, triple-shot, double-whip mocha latte.”

“Uh-huh. And a pig just flew by my window.”

She gave Johnny a big tip and an air kiss, took her calorie bomb to a window seat. “I’m serious. Listen.” She sucked whipped cream off the top.

“My God!” cried Maddie. “What did those animals do to you?”

Thank God Maddie could always make her laugh. Even in the heartbreaking aftermath of Winston’s betrayal, she’d found ways to make it funny. She was sort of like Ty that way.

“Actually, they took it pretty easy on me. Mostly laid on a guilt trip, then had security escort me out of the building.”

“Security? You’re kidding me.”

“Standard procedure, so they can assure the clients that I didn’t steal any files on my way out. I’m a dangerous person now that I’m being investigated by the committee.”

A snort of disgust came through the phone. “I hope you’re planning to fight this bullshit?”

Vicky sipped her decadent latte. “I’ve got more immediate problems. Like how I’m going to make the mortgage payments on my co-op when I’m basically unemployable.”

“Rodgers told me they cut you six months’ severance. Stingy bastards.”

“I can’t blame them. The firm lost one of its biggest clients, and it’s at least partly my fault. If I hadn’t been dancing with Ty, our picture wouldn’t have been in the paper and none of this would’ve happened.”

“Don’t even
think
about blaming yourself! If your mother hadn’t shoved Winston down your throat, you wouldn’t have broken your toe. If you hadn’t broken your toe, you wouldn’t have gotten so close to Brown, and you certainly wouldn’t have been dancing on his feet.” She summed it up neatly: “This is on Adrianna.”

That was one way to look at it. But Vicky knew she bore some of the blame.

Maddie softened her tone. “Vicky, sweetie, you’re always so hard on yourself. Please, just for today, be nice to you. Do something fun.”

“There’s a one o’clock yoga class at the gym.”

“I was thinking more like a spa day. Maybe a movie. And don’t forget we’re on for drinks and pasta.”

Vicky sighed. None of it appealed to her. But she didn’t have anything else to do, did she?

S
he should have trusted her instincts. Two cosmos and a glass of Chianti, even cushioned by half a pound of ziti and a slab of tiramisu, only served to add a queasy stomach and spinning head to Vicky’s list of troubles.

Shuffling into her apartment at half past midnight, she dropped her purse on the Duncan Phyfe table inside the door and let her shoulders droop.

Tomorrow did not look promising in any way.

Toeing off her flats, she hobbled into her living room, dubbed “the sanctuary” by Maddie. The rest of her apartment reflected the fussy English style her mother approved of, but this space Vicky had designed for relaxation, from the restful taupe walls to the rich ivory curtains to the thick beige rug and mellow mood lighting. No computer or television intruded, no traces of her law career, no pictures of her mother. Nothing to disturb her tranquillity.

With a single remote, she ignited a fire in the black marble fireplace, activated the tri-level fountain in the corner, and engaged the iPod nestled in its docking station. Cocooned in moody light, with the trickle of water over stones and the quiet strains of Chopin to soothe her, she wilted onto the creamy beige sofa and released a shuddering sigh.

Most evenings, just walking into this room was enough to calm her spirit, and for those times it wasn’t, she kept a yoga mat tucked under the sofa. Twenty minutes on the mat usually restored her equanimity.

But tonight nothing could console her. The pressure behind her eyes, pressure that had mounted all day long as tension, pain, and fear demanded their tribute in tears, could be denied no longer. Too tired to sob or wail or wring her hands, she simply laid back her head and let the tears seep silently down her cheeks.

She cried for Ty, because he’d hurt her and because she missed him in spite of it. She cried for her future. Her looming financial peril, her suddenly uncertain prospects, and the injustice of it all.

And she cried because she felt so wretchedly, achingly alone.

Chapter Twenty

T
y stormed into the office. “Goddamn it, where the hell are my gloves?”

Joe looked up from a stack of bills. “Your gloves?”

“Isn’t that what I just said?” Ty glared at him until Joe turned red.

“I-I don’t know, Ty. I don’t usually keep track of your personal items.”

Ty’s jaw hardened. “You don’t want to sass me, Joe.”

“I’m not sassing you, I swear it. It’s just . . .” Joe’s Adam’s apple bobbed. “You’re always so easygoing, and now you’ve been pissed at me since you got back from France.” He turned his palms up. “I swear, I don’t know how Brescia got infected. I racked my brains, but honest, Ty, I really don’t think it’s my fault.”

Ty blew his stack. “Did I say it was your fucking fault? I’m the fucking idiot who brought her to Molly’s! It’s my fucking fault!”

He stomped across the paddock toward the barn. Brescia poked her head out to watch him come, and his heart swelled. She was everything he wasn’t. Placid and even-tempered. Accepting of her fate.

Well, he couldn’t accept it. If she died because of his selfish, slutty stupidity, he wouldn’t be able to live with himself.

He’d already talked to Molly, told her he wouldn’t be coming around again. She was prickly at first, but he’d had years of experience playing it’s-not-you-it’s-me. He laid on the sugar with a trowel, complimented everything from her hair to her toenail polish, and let her down so easy she hardly felt the bump.

He grimaced, mildly disgusted with himself. Those were his skills. Flattery, teasing, making people laugh. Skating over the surface of real emotions. Yup, he sure was good at convincing everyone he was easygoing. They all bought it, too, except Jack and Isabelle. And Vicky. She’d seen right through him.

He shoved that uncomfortable thought away. He’d rather think about Molly, which said a lot about how very little he wanted to think about Vicky. Not that he could help himself. Even after seven long days and nights, the look on her face when he abandoned her still twisted his guts like a corkscrew.

And that wasn’t all that haunted him. Damn it, he couldn’t even jerk off without reliving their sexathon. Imagine that asshole Winnie telling her she was frigid. Hell, the woman was hotter than—

Enough!
He’d go nuts if he didn’t quit thinking about her. It was all he did, that and worry about Brescia. And in some ways, worrying about Brescia was simpler. She was right here where he could touch her and care for her, try to make amends for letting her come to harm. Vicky, though, was two thousand miles away. He wanted to touch her too. He ached for it. But she was out of reach, and it was driving him absolutely batshit crazy.

Outside the barn, he made himself pause, take a few deep breaths. Brescia didn’t deserve to deal with his shitty mood. Neither did Joe, for that matter. He’d apologize to him later. Or give him what passed for an apology—an extra day off. It was the least he could do after chewing his head off three times a day for the last week.

When he was as calm as he was going to get, he strolled inside. “How’s my girl?” She raised her head for him, but her eyes drooped. Her tail swished listlessly.

He stroked her nose. She didn’t seem to be getting any better. With bloodworms, an aneurysm was the greatest risk. She could drop dead at his feet without a moment’s notice.

He kept his voice soothing. “Doc Clancy’s coming by to see you today. I think you’re his favorite patient. And who could blame him for falling for a beauty like you?” He stepped into the stall. “How about a little exercise?” He clipped a lead to her halter. “You want to keep your girlish figure, don’t you?”

He led her around the paddock at an amble, talking to her quietly, the way he did when they were alone in the hills. He’d already apologized for getting her into this fix. Now he filled her in on his troubles, how he could fall asleep all right, but then he’d wake up in the middle of the night with all kinds of crazy thoughts running around his head.

“The problem is, there’s this girl,” he told her. “She’s a real pain in the ass. A lawyer.” He said it with distaste. “I know, I know, you don’t like lawyers. Neither do I.” He paused, then shrugged. “She made me laugh, though. And she’s quick. It’s real important to stay out in front of her, ’cause she’s got a razor for a tongue. Peel the skin right off you.”

He glanced over at Brescia where she plodded beside him. “I wasn’t gonna mention her, because I’m trying to put her out of my mind. But I can’t lie to you. She’s what’s keeping me up at night.” It was a relief to say it out loud. “Now, I know you don’t like hearing too much about my sex life—and believe me, there’s plenty I don’t tell you—but me and Vicky, we tore up the sheets. I been at this for”—he counted in his head—“sixteen years, and nothing compares. Except Lissa, of course.”

Or at least he thought Lissa compared. After seven years, he couldn’t honestly remember.

He fought with his conscience. “Brescia, honey, I wouldn’t tell this to another soul, but something about Vicky—maybe it’s because I’m getting older, I don’t know—something about the way she got me all worked up every time she opened her mouth made the sex even hotter. Is that weird?”

He nodded thoughtfully. “Yeah, you’re right, it’s weird. I mean, I like my girls rambunctious, but in a playful way. Vicky’s rambunctious, for sure, but in a tear-your-throat-out way.” He shrugged. “I’ll be honest, though. I miss her. A lot. And if things were different—hell, if
I
was different—I’d go straight to New York City and get her.”

That’s what he wanted to do. Find her and bring her back to the ranch. Take her riding through the bluebells, and sappy shit like that. She’d probably hate it at first, being a city girl. But underneath her lawyer layer, she was real sensitive. Once he got her out under the stars, made love to her by campfire light, she’d come around.

Yes sir, if only he could believe that it wouldn’t all go to shit eventually, he’d go after her in a heartbeat. But he just couldn’t let himself believe that. Because if the past was any measure, at best he’d disappoint her. And at worst, he’d let her die.

“V
ictoria Jane Westin, it’s time to get your head out of your ass and start thinking about your future.” Maddie was in tough-love mode. “You’re hitting three yoga classes a day,
jogging
, for crying out loud, meditating more than a monk, and you’re a bigger mess than you were a week ago when the storm troopers marched you out of the building.”

Vicky hit the button on the blender to give herself a moment’s peace.

As soon as she shut if off, Maddie started in again. “I don’t know how you can stomach another smoothie. Remember the latte? How good it tasted? How decadent you felt?”

“I tried decadence, Madeline. You should remember, since you’re the one who had to pour me into a taxi. All I got out of it was a hangover.”

Maddie crossed her arms. “Getting shit-faced on the night you got fired doesn’t count as experimenting with a new lifestyle.”

Vicky glugged some smoothie. She truly was sick of them, but she wasn’t about to admit it. “Being out of control isn’t a lifestyle. It’s a disaster waiting to happen.”

“Sweetie, the disaster
already
happened. You couldn’t control it then, and no matter how many smoothies you force down—and I can see you’re having trouble with that one—you can’t control the future either. The only thing you can control is your reaction to it.”

Vicky raised her glass in salute. “That’s exactly what I’m doing. I’m reacting by being disciplined. Focusing on my health. As my best friend, I’d think you’d be glad I’m not sticking my head in a bottle or hopping into bed with a different guy every night.”

“Maybe I would be, if it was working.”

Maddie had her there. It wasn’t working at all. At least twenty times a day she needed yoga breathing to stave off a panic attack. The rest of the time, she couldn’t concentrate enough to read or even follow a television show. She’d finally resorted to reality TV, with its short spurts of action and total lack of plotlines. Speaking of which—she flicked a glance at the clock—in twenty minutes she’d find out which of last night’s couples would be voted off
Dancing with the Stars
.

Coming out from behind the counter, she tried herding Maddie subtly toward the door. “I’m fine. I just have to process things in my own way.”

Maddie stood her ground. “Have you talked to Brown? Does he know what happened to you because of him?”

Vicky stood perfectly still. Breathed in to a four count, out to a four count. “No, I haven’t talked to him. And I doubt he’d feel bad that I’ve been fired. Don’t forget, I’m the one who had him on the stand. I tried to make the jury believe he was delusional. Or worse, a liar who pulled the plug on his wife and then tried to profit from it.” She breathed in, out. “No wonder he dumped me.”

Maddie wasn’t buying it. “You were doing your job. And anyway, he won.”

“He won money, though even that’s up in the air now.” She held up a registered letter. “Three weeks from today, I’ll be back in Texas for the hearing on Waxman’s motion for a new trial.” She let out a feeble laugh. “I can hardly wait to raise my right hand and swear that I’m a slut. ‘That’s right, your Honor, I never met Tyrell Brown before the trial, but three days later we had hot monkey sex all night long.’ ”

Maddie simmered. “It’ll serve Brown right if the verdict’s overturned and he has to go through a whole new trial.”

“I’d hate to see that happen. But thanks.” Vicky smiled. “They say your best friend isn’t the one who pats your arm and tries to cheer you up. She’s the one who grabs the baseball bat and says, ‘Let’s get the bastard!’ ”

That made Maddie grin. “Just point me at him.”

“Turn left when you get to Texarkana.” Vicky chugged the last of her smoothie, set the glass on the counter. “He’ll be the guy with my red lace panties sticking out of his pocket.”

C
lancy rested a hand on the door of Brescia’s stall, looking in on her with troubled eyes. “I don’t like it, Ty. It’s been two weeks, she should be improving by now.”

Ty turned his hat in his hands. “What else can we do? Is there someplace I can take her? Some new medicine to try? I don’t care what it costs.”

Clancy shook his head. “The problem we’re having with bloodworms is that they keep evolving, developing resistance to everything we’ve got. The best we can do is try a new combination of old medicines. It’s been known to work, though I haven’t had much luck with it myself.”

“Let’s try it anyway. You got them with you?”

“In my bag.” He headed toward his truck, Ty dogging his heels.

“How about alternative therapies? Vitamins? Acupuncture? I’ll try anything.”

Clancy pulled his bag from the cab, headed back toward the barn with Ty in tow. “There’s a guy down Galveston way, I’ll get you his name. But I don’t want you to give up on traditional medicine. There’s time yet to turn things around.”

After Clancy left, Ty hung around the barn, stacking hay and keeping Brescia company. He was still out there when his cell phone jangled. Checking the number, he broke into a smile.

“Isabelle, honey, how was the honeymoon?”

“Wonderful!” She launched into a ten-minute description.

He grunted, “Uh-huh” at the appropriate times, let out a few long whistles, and flicked bits of hay off his sweaty chest. When she wound down, he told her how pretty her wedding was, how it brought a tear to his eye to see her riding off into the sunset with another man, and what a nice time he’d had, all things considered.

Then he waited for it.

“Tyrell Brown, I don’t understand you at all. Why didn’t you tell me about the trial? Why did you let me push you and Vicky together?”

“You had plenty to worry about, honey, without adding me to the list.”

“But you got along so well.” She sounded miserable. “When I think of the things I said to you Sunday morning . . . I’m so sorry, Ty.”

“Isabelle, you quit it right now, you hear me? Vicky and me got along fine most of the time. She’s a nice girl, for the most part, and I never would’ve known that if we hadn’t faked it for a few days.” He let his fingers slide into his pocket to rub the panties he’d swiped from her. Every morning he told himself to leave them behind, but every morning he stuffed them in there, like an addict pocketing his pills.

“She is nice, Ty. I’m glad you realize that now.”

Her voice had softened like she was on to him, so he whipped his hand out and tried to change the subject. “How’s the groom taking to married life?”

She giggled. “He’s madly in love with his new wife.” A pause. “But he isn’t so happy that the wedding made the papers. You saw the pictures?”

He grinned. “I like the one where I’m giving Winnie an armpit-wedgie with his shirt.”

“I suppose you know about the backlash?”

His grin faded. “Yeah, Angela filled me in. Taylor’s insurance company filed a motion for a new trial. We’ve got a hearing in two weeks to clear it up.”

“I know. Matt and I were summoned to testify.”

“Aw, shit.” Ty slapped his hat against his thigh. “I’m sorry, honey. Angie didn’t tell me that.”

“She must have mentioned that Vicky will be there too.”

“Yeah, I figured that much out for myself.”

Thinking about seeing Vicky again made him antsy, so he started toward the house. “I wish it hadn’t come to this, honey. It’s a pain in everybody’s ass, and I’m sorry about that. But since I didn’t know Vicky from a hole in the ground before the trial, Angie thinks it’ll come out all right in the end.”

“Well, I’m glad there won’t be any problem for you. I really am. But Vicky—”

He didn’t want to talk about Vicky anymore. “Honey, I’m out on the range now, and you’re breaking up.”

“Okay, I’ll call you later.” She shouted it, making him feel like a heel. But he really didn’t want to go there.

“I’ll be out . . . few days . . . see you in Houston . . .” He closed the phone, plopped down on the porch swing and stared blindly at the pink roses climbing the rail.

He’d been in a sweat for a week, since Angie’d told him about the hearing. One minute he was filled with dread at the thought of seeing Vicky; the next he was hard as a nail. Damn it, he couldn’t even do yoga without remembering her ass in the air. And remembering her ass made him picture her tiny little panties, dozens of them, like Victoria’s Secret had exploded in her drawer.