When Girlfriends Chase Dreams (34 page)

“I was thinking,” he says, his voice low and steady. He’s Q-tipping his ears, looking very pensive. “Wait.” He holds up a hand and my face nearly smashes into it as I slow my pace and enter the bathroom. “I was thinking about this case—”

“But—”

Still holding up his hand, he says, “We need legal help. That’s the first step.” I open my mouth to tell him that we’ve got it covered, but he won’t let me speak. “We need a lawyer who knows something about contract law.”

“Conner,” I interrupt.

“Sophie’s brother, John? He’s a lawyer, isn’t he?”

“
That’s
what I’m trying to tell you!” I close my eyes and breathe in deeply. “I bet you anything John can help us out.”

Conner tosses the Q-tip into the trash and hems and haws. “Right… It might cost a small fortune…unless Sophie—”

“Can get us a deal,” I finish. “Sophie can definitely talk to John, and I bet we’ll get a nice deal.”

“Or maybe all we need is some basic advice?”

Conner is so calm and collected right now. God, what I’d give to be so cool in the face of major madness. Maybe Conner should have been the one planning this whole wedding. Wait, on second thought that’d probably mean ribs and beer would be served for the reception dinner, which would be held in the backyard, and an invite would come via text message at the last minute.

I rub the frightful image from my mind and say, “I’m sure we could get basic advice for next to nothing. Free, even. I mean, I bet this is a really super duper simple case that Sophie’s brother wouldn’t even have to open a book over.”

“Maybe.” Conner clenches his jaw before saying, “Give her a call and let’s see what we can do. We’ve got to get this taken care of ASAP, Claire.”

“I know. Can you imagine what my father would say? Oh and my poor mom will—”

“Claire?”

“Hmm?”

“Sophie. Call. Please.” He’s pointing at the cell phone in my hand.

“Right.” I briskly hit the number one speed dial for Sophie’s cell, anxiously hanging on each ring. “Ugh. Please pick up. Pick up, pick up, pick up.” I disconnect and say to Conner, “Voicemail.”

I jam the phone into my pocket and pull my jogging jacket from the knob on the bathroom door.

“Where you going?” he asks.

“The Cup and the Cake. This is an emergency.” I grab my purse from atop the bed. “Where else would that girl be?”

I begin to buzz on out of the room and then, with a sharp turn on my heel, I peer my head back inside. “Babe? While I’m over there, you want anything?”

“Chocolate anything.” He makes a kissing sound and waves goodbye.

“Oh!” I shout, dashing back around. “If there’s nothing chocolate left?”

“Just go already,” Conner says, waving me off. “We need to deal with this legal issue
quickly
.”

I click my tongue, then say, “Right. Okay. See ya!”

***

I arrive at The Cup and the Cake in minutes. I promise, I drove safely. It’s like the heavens opened up, though, and decided to bless me with clear roads, no traffic, and a safe drive with only one red light.

I’m so on-edge about this whole thing, I don’t even bother locking my door once I pull up into the lot, and my parking job is a sham. Then again, I’m always a wretched parker. But it doesn’t matter—this is a serious situation that requires major sister help.

“Hey,” I say, out of breath, slamming against the café’s front counter. I try to steady my breathing, gripping the edge of the countertop.

“Sudden sweet tooth calling?” Sophie teases.

“I need help.” As Sophie’s eyes grow wide I quickly add, “Nothing life-threatening. Don’t worry. Everyone’s safe and healthy and all.” I swallow, trying to get a grip and breathe like a normal person. Shouldn’t yoga and my sporadic jogs leave me in less of a panting-like-a-tired-dog state?

“What is it?” Sophie’s voice is hushed; she clearly doesn’t want to alarm her throngs of customers.

“John,” I tell her. “Can you call your brother for me? Or get me in touch with him?”

“Claire,” Sophie says in a motherly way. “You mentioned it once and ha-ha, it was funny. But for the second time, I am
not
letting you try to set John up with Oliver. Whether our assumptions are right or not.”

“No,” I groan. “It’s not about that.” True, I’d hinted a few more times at getting a shot at playing matchmaker, but I don’t have time for that now. This is serious stuff here. I need lawyer John, not John who needs an arrow from Cupid Claire.
 

Sophie takes an espresso from Emily, who’s working the machine behind her, and sets it down in between us on the shiny, tiled counter. “What then?” Sophie asks.

“Hey, Em,” I abruptly greet in between breaths, giving her a short wave.

“What about John?” Sophie repeats. She takes a second espresso from Emily who nods a sideways and preoccupied hello my way.

“I need some legal help.”

Sophie takes both espressos and emerges from behind the counter. “Legal help? Like…a lawyer?”

“Yes! Legal help. Lawyer. It’s Melissa.” I swallow. “She’s suing me for breach of contract.”

“So let me get this right,” Sophie says a few minutes after she’s finished serving her waiting customers. We’re in the kitchen now, and while she’s been removing a freshly baked sheet of cookies from the oven, I’ve been rattling on about how Melissa is trying to destroy my life and any shred of sanity that remains.

“She’s suing you?” Sophie asks. “Actually trying to take you to court?”

“She’s suing me,” I choke out. “That’s right.”

She nearly tosses the hot sheet onto the stainless steel island. “That
bitch!
What for?”

“Like I said, breach of contract. Because I fired her. The letter isn’t that clear. I mean…it’s short and all.” I pull it from my purse and hand it to her. “Basically says that I’m in violation of the agreement we had. She’s still owed fifty percent of her fee.”

“For work she hasn’t even done yet, I presume.”

“Yeah, well.”

“Claire,” Sophie says after she takes a minute to read through the letter, “I’m no lawyer, and I’ve never had to deal with anything like this personally. But…my whole family’s filled with lawyers. If there’s one thing in the legal world that I’ve heard growing up, it’s how easy it is to try to take someone to small claims court over,” she waves the letter about, “contracts like these.”

“Great,” I say, thick with sarcasm.

“
And
, I’ve heard that it’s also extremely easy to overrule these things. Discount them entirely. So many people have sue-happy fingers but don’t take the time to read the fine print
before
they pull this kind of a stunt.”

“What do you mean?”

“Now, like I said, I’m no lawyer, and I’m sure my dad or John would be able to tell you for sure, but I bet you anything Melissa doesn’t have a case at all.”

“Really?” I light up. “That’s awesome!”

“Hold on. Let’s not pop the cork and celebrate just yet.” Her brow knits as she streams over the letter again.

“We want to be sure; but I bet you anything you have nothing to worry about,” she says. “Melissa’s short on money, but you’re short her work and, well, a wedding. Neither of you are holding up your ends of the bargain, so… I don’t know.” She takes her cell phone out of her apron. “I’ll give John a call.” She waves the letter about again. “Can I hang on to this?”

“Be my guest,” I say, throwing up both hands.

She’s dialing, the notice of lawsuit in her hand, and saying that she’s sure everything will be fine. “And, if she does have a case, then you’ve got your pick of Wharton lawyers who won’t cost you a penny.” She puts the phone up to ear.

“Thank you, Sophie.” I sigh and lean up against the steel table.

“Here,” she says, pushing the warm sheet of cookies my way. “Go at it. Now’s the time for comfort food.”

I sink my teeth into the most moist and chocolaty and purely serendipitous cookie ever. Timing really is everything.

“John?” Sophie says into the phone. “Hey, I’ve got a question for you… No.” She sighs in an aggravated way. “No…I’m not calling to play Twenty Questions about your dating life.” She gives me a lopsided smile. “It’s a legal question… Yeah… For a friend.”

I mouth a silent “thank you,” then reach over and grab another cookie. Because I can.

Chapter Twenty-Two

Don’t panic.

I’ve stopped panicking.

I think Tidal Wave Melissa is finally slowing down. I haven’t called her yet, even though I’m really curious as to why she decided to sue me and why she never even called to see
why
I had fired her. So strange.

I’m not supposed to call her, either. That’s what John Wharton, lawyer extraordinaire, says, anyway. “Absolute avoidance,” or something like that is what he said.

Sophie’s come to the rescue. That night over cookies and my first ever (and hopefully last) lawsuit letter, Sophie briefed John on the debacle I’d gotten myself into, and now, a few days later, things look like they’re back to smooth sailing. Smooth waters for the Linley-Whitley wedding!

“So I don’t get it,” Robin says while she peels peaches.

I finally got some of the girls to agree to come and help me make the massive quantities of homemade jam for the wedding favors. Looking around my kitchen at some of my best girlfriends, who are all either washing, peeling, chopping, stirring, or canning fruit for
me
…for
my
wedding…here at nearly midnight on a Friday night… Wow. What can I say? My friends rock.

“Yeah, me neither,” Emily says. “Why won’t Melissa’s lawsuit hold up in court?”

“Something about not clearly defined methods of…what was it, Sophie?” I ask.

“It’s not clearly defined—the contract that Melissa had made—what all of the methods of service and payment should be,” Sophie replies. She rinses a heavy colander of peaches under water.

“What you have with Melissa is more of an agreement than a real contract,” she continues. “At least, as far as the courts are concerned, it’s not an ironclad contract, so suing you won’t be easy. More headache and hassle than she’d probably get for it, financially. Oh, and the legal fees, too!” Sophie makes a
tsk-tsk
sound.

“The courts are so flooded with minute small claims anyhow,” Lara says casually from the chopping station I’ve set up with edge-to-edge cutting boards in the kitchen.

“Exactly,” Sophie says. “That’s what John said. And more than half of the breach of contract suits never make it anywhere near the small claims courts. Yours will be one of them. One that won’t make it there, that is.”

“I hope it doesn’t,” I say with a sigh. “I just want this to be behind me. I really can’t believe she would go and do something like this. I mean, what nerve!”

“So is it all behind you?” Robin asks.

Sophie answers, “Not yet. John has the letter and is drawing up all the papers.”

“I have representation,” I say proudly, as if I know what I’m talking about.

“Oooh,” Lara says playfully.

“But you can be sure everything will be fine,” Sophie reassures. “John said he’ll probably give you a call again some time this weekend or early next week, Claire.” She looks at me and hands over a freshly washed peach. “To cover any last-minute questions and bases and such. But I’d say you’re in the clear.”

I smile and feel my shoulders drop in relief. It was a whirlwind twenty-four hours after I received that letter. Talking to John about it the day after Hurricane Melissa presented herself was the second biggest step towards relief, with step one, of course, being the cookie and chat with Sophie.

John had wanted to hear firsthand all about how I’d fired Melissa, why I’d chosen to do so, and then I even sent him a copy of the email that I’d sent to her for evidence as he prepared to fight the suit.

He then said a bunch of stuff about torts or tarts (I’m pretty sure it’s torts. Sophie does tarts…). He said something else about intentional wrongdoing, invalid mutuality or something… Okay, I’m not making much sense. What he said was in my favor, and he reassured me that he’d take care of things

 
“And the bitch hasn’t tried to contact you in any other way?” Lara queries. “Other than that filed suit, that’s all you have?”

“Yup. Crazy, huh?”

“At least tomorrow you’re on to happier things,” Robin says with an encouraging look about her.

“Omigod, I can’t wait!” I dump the chopped peaches into the deep saucepan.

“Tomorrow is going to be the happiest day of your life!” Robin says.

“Well, second happiest,” Sophie says with a smile.

***

I wake up the next morning with a smile on my lips. Literally—awake, bright and early after only a few hours of sleep, with a big ol’ smile on my face. Today is definitely going to be the second happiest day of my life! Okay, maybe more like third, with the wedding naturally coming in first, and Conner’s proposal a second.

Today I have an appointment to get my wedding dress. Not to pick one out, not to try one on, not to get alterations. To actually pick it up and bring it home! I’m so excited I can’t stand it. I can barely get myself dressed and ready for the day. Oh, today’s the day. The very exciting day! Vera, here I come!

“My Choos,” I cry, reaching from the bridal boutique’s pedestal towards Emily. She has the carrier bag containing my most beloved and most beautiful (not to mention most expensive) shoes.

“Claire,” Robin says, sizing me up. “You look fabulous. Like a dream. A total dream.”

“Oh, I feel like a dream!” I gush. All of the butterflies of nervousness that I felt right before the last button was done on my gorgeous wedding gown have become butterflies of excitement. As I run my still very un-manicured hands over the folds and sways of the gown’s fabric, I think they’re softer than they were before. They’re more lovely, more perfect.

I look up in the tri-fold mirror and that goofy grin that I know I awoke with is still plastered on my face.

I clumsily pull my untamed, springy curls onto the crown of my head. I’m trying to imagine what my wedding hair will look like, and I wonder what I’ll do for makeup. Probably very subtle. I’m never one to slosh it all on anyhow. Conner wouldn’t want it that way—he likes me as much myself and
au naturel
as possible.