Chapter 2
CHAPTER TWO
To Do:
- Yelp reviews for party vendors
- Give Luke the envelope
- Fake sick to get out of dinner with Jack
It was hard to take Kyle seriously as a lawyer when he had a barbecue sauce stain on the collar of his white polo.
Claire closed the door of her office and took a deep breath. She backed into the corner and straightened the hem of her dress. A jolt shot through her elbow. Damn bookcase. It was the third time this week she had banged some part of her body on it.
Kyle took the seat behind the desk.
“So. The trial.” She crossed her arms over her chest. Maybe if she squeezed tightly enough, she could suffocate the anxiety out of herself.
“You recall that I told you Barney is under new counsel.” He leaned back in her chair, crossed one ankle over his knee, and pressed the tips of his fingers together. Was he practicing lawyer poses? This was not the time.
“Yes, and I’ll certainly miss Rachel calling me a deluded alcoholic in front of the entire nation.”
He nodded. “Right, well, his new attorney reached out to me this afternoon. There’s been a change in the plan.”
She pursed her lips. “I already hate where this is going.”
There was a series of sharp knocks on the door. “Come in,” she said, even though the suspense was drawing a wedge of pain between her shoulder blades.
Rachel bustled into the room and shut the door behind her, a fresh dirty martini gripped in her pterodactyl-like claws. What the hell was she doing here? Maybe the bar had run out of olives.
“Mr. Collins,” she said pointedly. Her nostrils were flaring, and for the first time since Claire had known her, she seemed to be shaken. Maybe it was just the vodka, but her perfectly coiffed hair had several escaping strands, and dog hair clung stubbornly to the hem of her pencil skirt. Ha.
“Rachel,” he said cordially, nodding in her direction. It was bold to call your best friend’s mom by her first name. Especially when he had thrown up Four Loko in her den as a teen.
She set the martini on the desk and crossed her arms. “You’ve heard?”
“Yes,” Kyle said slowly.
“And you’ve told Claire?”
“I was about to. How do you know?” He narrowed his eyes.
Rachel waved one hand. “I have many connections. Well, get on with it.”
He eyed Rachel before leaning forward and addressing Claire. This couldn’t be good.
“The DA’s office contacted Barney’s team. They’re offering a plea bargain.”
A bowling ball dropped into Claire’s stomach. “A plea bargain? What does that mean for the trial?”
“There won’t be a trial.”
Heat shot through her. Static burst into her vision. Her heart galloped like she was running away from Barney all over again.
“With a plea deal, he can plead to a lesser charge and negotiate for a better outcome,” Rachel clarified.
Claire was silent for almost a full minute. Rachel and Kyle looked at each other.
Taking a deep breath, Claire pinched the bridge of her nose between her fingertips. “So you’re telling me that the man who stalked me, chloroformed me, and stabbed me with the intent to bury me in his parking garage will be allowed to take a lesser sentence?”
Kyle’s eyebrows knit together. “Most criminal cases end in a plea deal. There are some good features. You won’t have to be involved with a lengthy, public trial. The press will back off sooner rather than later. There won’t be a jury for him to manipulate or pay off. He’ll have guaranteed jail time. He won’t be able to flee the country. And the time he spends in prison will give the FBI time to build a case against him for the other victims.”
She collapsed into the purple flowered accent chair across from Kyle. “There’s only one body. We don’t even know that they’ll have enough evidence to convict him. How is he going to plead?”
“Guilty to one count of second-degree felony aggravated assault. But we won’t accept that. He almost killed you.”
“I don’t understand. So he wouldn’t be charged with attempted murder? How long would his sentence be?”
Rachel laid an ice-cold hand on Claire’s shoulder. Claire jumped and reached up, then paused in midair. Months of self-defense training had led her perilously close to flipping her potential future mother-in-law over her head. She lowered her hand and tried to refocus. If Professional Stick-up-the-ass Rachel Islestorm, Esquire was comforting her, the next words out of Kyle’s mouth were going to be catastrophic.
“Ten years in Pennsylvania,” he said. “They’re asking for five. But we won’t accept that. We can’t. I can make a recommendation to the judge of first-degree felony and the maximum sentence of ten years.”
No way had she heard that correctly. Her stomach clenched. Was the room spinning? She jumped to her feet, throwing Rachel’s hand off as though it were a damp towel.
“Ten years? Ten years? Are you fucking kidding me? He’ll be thirty-eight when he gets out. So what, he serves a few years, gets out early on good behavior, and returns to stalking and murdering his ex-girlfriends?”
Her airways constricted. Never had she dreamed that she could see Barney on the streets of West Haven again. What would stop him from stalking her again? From taking more victims?
Kyle cleared his throat. The tension in the room was tactile. “The judge has to accept the plea bargain too. She could sentence him more harshly.”
Rachel spoke from the corner of the office. “You’ll have the opportunity to give a victim impact statement before the judge officially announces sentencing. It could result in a greater sentence for Barney.”
Claire stared at the ceiling. It was up to her to convince the judge to keep Barney in prison for as long as possible. If she failed, Barney could get out even sooner. More women could be in jeopardy. How was that fair? How was any of this fair?
Kyle stood quickly. He shifted from one foot to the other and put his hands in his pockets. “We can talk more about it tomorrow. Maybe at brunch? And give you some time to process.”
Process. There was no processing something like this. Between the insane California proposal she had just taken on and Tuesday’s meeting with the bank, her mental bandwidth was already gone. Her hands shook, and she clenched them into fists.
Kyle paused with a hand on the door. “It’s our best bet, Claire. There’s no telling what he’s capable of.” He squeezed her hand and wrenched the door open, then turned at the last second. “There’s one other thing.”
What else could there possibly be? She was going to lose it.
“The hearing is this coming Thursday.” He lobbed that grenade and walked out of the room.
Perfect. Less than a week to write a statement that would hopefully send Barney to prison for the maximum sentence. As if next week wasn’t going to be stressful enough already.
Claire and Rachel were silent for a long moment before the older woman walked to the door. She turned around at the threshold, the martini sloshing in her hand. “He’s right, you know. Mr. Windsor is very wealthy and very connected. The plea bargain is the safest way to make sure he stays in prison, and the best way to keep other people safe.” She shut the door behind her.
Claire sat, frozen in her chair. Laughter and the sounds of chanting came from the kitchen, but she didn’t move. She couldn’t.
Seconds later, somebody kicked the door open. She was too numb to react.
“What are you doing in here alone? Weirdo. Here.” Mindy stormed in with a mini cheeseburger and a fresh glass of wine. She handed both to Claire and stared pointedly at her until she got to her feet.
An hour later, after a third glass of wine, Claire decided to put all thoughts of the trial behind her. And she certainly wasn’t going to think about her meeting with the bank on Tuesday. Her mop of curly blonde hair was twisted back and bound by what felt like a thousand bobby pins. The night air was cool as she viciously hurled a beanbag at the cornhole board. The bag slid up the polished wood surface and dropped cleanly through the hole.
She cheered and triumphantly looked around. It had only taken her twenty-six attempts to get it in the hole. Where the hell was everyone? Rosie, who was rolling in something sure to be smelly, seemed to be the only being left outside.
“Guys?” Claire called, but no one answered. Her shoulders tightened. Surely the party guests hadn’t all been abducted and murdered while she was ten yards away. There was no need to be nervous.
The bartender shrugged and offered her a glass of water. She took it and walked, bemused, back into the house. The ballroom was empty. The hallway was empty. But voices came from the kitchen.
“Oh, Bri!” Claire nearly shouted, setting her glass on the island and racing to embrace her famous actress half sister, Brianna Hartley, who appeared to have just arrived.
Brianna squealed and drew Claire into a tight hug. The remainder of the party attendees stood at a small distance, wide-eyed and seemingly sneaking pictures with their phones.
“I’m so glad you could come!” Claire returned the hug eagerly, delighting in its warmth. “How was your flight? Do you have the?—”
“Yes, he’s here. This is Jeremy,” Brianna said, gesturing to a tall, lanky man with the posture of a thirteen-year-old who was glued to a video game console.
“You must be Claire? Luke’s agent?” He shook her hand firmly.
“Yes, that’s me,” she said seriously, smoothing her hair back and transforming into business Claire. The third glass of wine might have been a mistake. Maybe he wouldn’t notice. “You brought the documents?”
Jeremy handed over a thick manila envelope.
“Great, thank you so much. Why don’t you enjoy the party while I have our lawyer look these over?”
“Aren’t you going to introduce me to Luke?” Jeremy raised his eyebrows.
“Soon. It’s kind of a surprise.”
He nodded and moved in the direction she gestured.
She beelined for Kyle, who was hanging slightly back in the living room, but was keeping an eye on Brianna.
“Kyle, I need you to do something for me.”
“Only if you introduce us to your sister.”
“You met her at Christmas, remember? She brought that awful gluten-free fruit cake?”
“Yeah, but that was months and like two of her movies ago. She’s an important person—I’m sure she doesn’t remember.”
Claire threw up her hands. “Fine, but after you do my thing. Take this and go in my office.”
The envelope thwacked into his outstretched hands. Kyle eyed it. “What is it?”
“A contract for Luke. I know it’s not a ton of time to do a thorough inspection, but I just want to make sure they’re not taking advantage of him.”
He grumbled and disappeared down the hallway, envelope in one hand and cup of mac and cheese in the other.
Forty minutes later, after Tito and Luke competed for the cornhole championship trophy that Claire had molded out of beef jerky (Luke won), Kyle reappeared and drew her aside.
“Luke’s going to shit himself.” He handed the envelope over.
They walked into the ballroom. “We’re good?”
“All good. They were surprisingly generous with the terms. They must really want him.”
“All thanks to Brianna,” she said, smiling at her half sister, who was by the bar, exclaiming and pointing at Mindy’s (admittedly adorable) strappy heels.
“Speaking of which…” Kyle prompted.
“All right, get your wife.”
Claire approached her sister moments later with the newlyweds in tow.
“All good?” Brianna asked. Her blue eyes—definitely inherited from her bohemian mother, Tanya—sparkled.
“All good.” It was close enough to the truth. “Bri, you remember my friends?”
“Kyle and Nicole! Of course. How was your wedding day? Tell me everything.” Brianna grabbed Nicole’s arm and led her to a cocktail table.
Claire turned to find Luke, who had just lost a game of “chubby bunny” against Sawyer. “Can you come with me for a second?” she asked.
“Thure,” Luke said through the mouthful of marshmallows. “Do you hath thome water?”
She grabbed a bottle from a passing waiter and handed it to him.
“Man,” he said when his mouth was free again, “I haven’t played chubby bunny since high school. Sawyer’s mouth is huge. I think he had an unfair advantage.”
“Yeah, yeah. So, I need you to come to my office.”
He paused. “Is there a spider? We’re in the middle of a party. It can wait.”
“No, there’s not a spider. Just come on.”
“Not until you tell me why you need me to go.” He leaned against a banquet table and crossed his arms over his chest. Of all the times to be a stubborn asshole.
“I was going to suggest we do that thing you mentioned, but if you’re not willing to?—”
Luke shot away from the table, grabbed her hand, and immediately crossed the ballroom, thrusting the double doors open and dragging her behind him like a rag doll. He twisted the office door handle and had one hand on his belt when he apparently realized there was a man in the room.
Luke jumped, again covering his junk with his hand. Claire smiled and directed him into the chair in front of her desk.
“Luke, this is Jeremy.”
“Okay,” he said slowly. “Thanks for coming to my party, Jeremy who I’ve never met.”
She elbowed him.
“Mr. Islestorm. I’m Jeremy Lewis of Streamster Incorporated. I work in content acquirement. I’ve been in contact with your agent, Claire.”
Luke sat up and then froze. The wooden arm of the chair creaked under his fingertips.
“Nice to meet you.” He recovered and reached across the desk. They shook hands.
“I’m here representing Streamster. We are interested in acquiring your finished documentary and securing a relationship for the one in progress.”
Luke cocked his head. “You want my documentaries?”
“We do.” Jeremy slid a stack of documents across the desk to Luke. “I know you’ve done well with releasing it independently. But true crime is a tremendous market right now. If we streamed your documentary, it would reach millions. I’m confident that it would be a very lucrative relationship.”
Luke reached toward the documents, then snatched his hands back. He folded his arms and stared at Jeremy. “Would I be giving up any creative control?”
“None. We’re not interested in micromanaging our creators’ content unless there’s something egregious we can’t ignore. Our content manager loved The Suburban Hustle . The network would provide you with access to a team of people to help finish the new documentary—animation, camera crews, story editors, whatever you need. We would also give you the funding you need to finish. It’s all in the contract.”
Luke was silent for several seconds. Was this some kind of negotiation tactic?
“Can I think about it?” he finally asked.
Claire’s eyes bulged, and she kicked Luke. He winced but didn’t react.
“Of course,” Jeremy said, standing up and sliding his blazer back on. “We’ll need to know by Friday. My card.” A black-and-silver embossed business card slid into Luke’s hands. Jeremy nodded at them and left.
The second the door closed, Luke collapsed back into his chair.
“Streamster wants my docs,” he said simply.
“They do.” Claire slid an arm around him and perched on the arm of his chair. “Why do you want to wait on it?”
“It’s a big decision.” He wiped a hand over his face. “Probably not one that I should make while buzzed from Battleship Jell-O shots. Not to mention a blood sugar level of 3,000 from chubby bunny.”
She nodded. “That’s a good point. Are you excited, though? Happy? Pissed at me for interfering?” The wheels were definitely turning behind those stupidly beautiful green eyes. Maybe this whole thing had been a mistake. He didn’t love surprises, and this evening had already been full of them.
“Just surprised.” He turned to her. “I can’t believe you did this for me.”
She flippantly waved a hand. “It’s nothing. I just had to impersonate an agent, ask Brianna to introduce me to someone, and coerce Kyle into looking over your contract. It’s solid, by the way.”
“I am a little disappointed, though.” His hand slid over hers.
“Why’s that?”
“You said we could do the thing we talked about, but instead all I got was a contract.”
“Well, it is your birthday.” Claire stood, keeping her eyes on Luke as she locked the door with one hand and unhooked her bra with the other.
Hours later, Luke and Claire collapsed into bed full of carbs, booze, and love.
She curled up against his bare chest, breathing in his sweet, outdoorsy smell. He yawned and gathered her close.
Rosie, who had had a late-night bath in Luke’s whirlpool tub after inexplicably rolling in barbecue sauce, snored lightly in her dog bed.
“I almost forgot, there’s one more thing.” Claire sat up suddenly and withdrew an envelope from under her pillow. A wax seal was stamped on the back, and Luke’s name and address were written in calligraphy on the front.
He shook his head. “Have you been taking calligraphy classes again?”
She scoffed. “Please. I’m a calligraphy master. I don’t need more classes.”
He pulled out a thick cardstock envelope and handwritten invitation in the same loopy handwriting.
“Holy shit.” He dropped the envelope on the bed.
“What?” she asked. She already knew after probing the depths of the internet, but this was Luke’s news to deliver.
“ The Suburban Hustle was nominated for an Emmy.” His voice was barely more than a whisper.
“Holy shit,” she echoed, snatching the envelope and scouring the contents. “Luke, this is crazy! How are you not ripping your shirt off and running screaming into the hills right now?”
He took the envelope from her and laid it gingerly on the nightstand. He flipped off the light and collapsed heavily onto his pillow, turning away from Claire.
Her heart dropped. Of all the things that could have pissed him off this evening, it was getting nominated for an Emmy?
“What’s wrong?” she asked quietly in the dark.
“I didn’t earn this.” His voice was muffled.
“What do you mean?”
“I’m assuming Brianna orchestrated the nomination too?”
She rolled him over so he had to look at her. “Of course not. Don’t you think if Brianna had any control over the Emmys, she would have like six of them by now?”
“You didn’t ask her to say anything?” It was hard to tell in the dark, but he didn’t look convinced.
“No, Luke. This was a complete surprise. I suspected what it was because I Googled what an Emmy nomination looks like and I hid it from you. I may have broken a federal law or two. I figured it was the best thing you could receive on your birthday.”
He sat up and looked at her. The frown slipped from his face, and his eyes sparkled. Moonlight fell across his six-pack. It was awfully distracting.
“You earned this nomination. One hundred percent on your own. You’re an Emmy-nominated director.”
He threw the comforter off and stood on the bed. Rosie popped her head up.
“We’re going to the fucking Emmys.” He grabbed Claire’s hand and pulled her up next to him.
“We’re going to the Emmys!” They said together as they laughed and jumped on the bed. Rosie barked like crazy and propelled herself onto the bed to jump with them. Luke picked Claire up and whirled her around before sealing their joy with a lustful kiss.
He threw a dog treat out the bedroom door and snapped it shut before tumbling back into bed with Claire.