Chapter 2 #2
“Well, the rumors are wrong,” Kara told her heatedly.
She felt the guilt spreading. She was not one for gossip and the fact that William wasn’t here to defend himself made it even worse.
“He’s not gay,” she added firmly. “And I think this discussion is closed. No—” She shook her head when Abigail started to speak.
“You know how I feel about discussing my personal business. You’re my friend, but I don’t think it’s appropriate. ”
“I’m going to say something that might offend you, but it needs to be said.
You’re young and beautiful. You’re also one of the most talented lawyers I’ve ever known.
That said, I will also point out that you’re too staid, too old for your age.
You need to get out there and have fun, get laid, go to a club, let down your hair, and go wild.
” She rose gracefully. “Life is too short for you to be settling. When you’ve decided to start living, come and find me.
I need that file on my desk by this afternoon. ”
Kara sat where she was, trying to ignore the hurt the words had started inside her.
So, what if she wasn’t really a party girl?
Nothing was wrong with that, was there? And if she wanted to save herself for marriage, there was absolutely nothing wrong with that either.
She had standards and it was her choice to stick by them.
It didn’t matter what someone else thought.
It was her life and she chose to live it her way.
William respected her wishes. She had laid it down for him and he had accepted that she wanted to wait. Ignoring the nagging feeling of discontent and uncertainty, she picked up the file and buried herself deep.
*****
Zane kicked the lever down, his breath hissing out. He wished to God he had stayed longer at the bar. An hour more or so and he would have missed the woman seated on one of the chairs he had left outside.
Michelle Stanhope was seated primly on the edge of the chair, shoulders straight and everything about her immaculate and well ordered, from the raven hair pinned at the nape of her neck to her flawlessly cut apricot pantsuit. He wondered how long she had been waiting.
“Ah, there you are, darling.” Putting aside the thick folder she had been leafing through, she beamed at him. “I was just about to leave you a message.” She lifted her smooth cheek to be kissed. Her delicate perfume assailed his nostrils.
“Mother, what are you doing here?” The thought of getting a shower and grabbing a beer went down the drain.
“I wanted to see you, to remind you about supper on Sunday.” Tawny eyes pinned him with a look that had him squirming.
“I told Dad that I might have plans.”
“We haven’t seen you in two weeks.”
He did squirm. Whereas he could always refuse his father, the women in his life were a different matter altogether. It pissed him off how easily they could get to him.
“I had stuff.” He almost—almost—shoved his hands into the pockets of his worn jeans and ducked his head. No wonder she was such a bloody good lawyer. She could stare holes into a suspect and have them blabbering in no time. Squaring his chin, he reminded himself that he was a grown ass man.
“Darling.” Patiently, she leaned forward and touched her fingers to his arm. That was all it took. That and the steady way she was staring at him. Christ! The woman must have studied witchcraft. That was the only explanation for her power over him. “You look thin.”
Blowing out a resigned breath, he placed a hand over hers briefly, before letting go. The Stanhopes were not people for public displays of affection. “I’ll be there.”
“Good.” She nodded briskly. “And you’ll bring the file your father gave you? I’m hoping you have some ideas about the project?”
He closed his eyes briefly, resignation turning to resentment. He hated being managed.
“Mother—”
“No pressure at all.” Touching his cheek lightly, she rose. “Seven sharp for supper and wear something clean.” Her eyes flickered over the white tees and crushed denims. “Please.”
“If you’re thinking of sending one of the maids over to do my laundry, you can just forget it,” he warned.
“I would never dream of it.” Touching his arm lightly, she turned and walked towards the gleaming Mercedes Benz parked at the side.
Dropping back into the chair, he watched the taillights of her vehicle disappear. And realized that his mood was now shot to hell.
*****
Kara would rather have been anywhere else, but the Sunday dinner at her mother’s place was standard. After services, it was expected that she would come straight here to supper. She had never once protested or done otherwise.
So here she was again, being the obedient daughter and wishing fervently that she could rebel. She was twenty-eight years old—earning her own money, living on her own—and still could not find a way to stand up to the woman seated across from her.
Katherine Saunders was a force to be reckoned with.
A handsome woman in her early sixties, she had passed on her excellent genes to her only child.
After the death of her husband ten years ago, she had juggled her career as a criminal lawyer and that of a mother, and considered that she had done her utmost best.