I’m doing this as a personal favor.”
“You’re the Managing Senior Partner of the Whitten Law Firm and you shouldn’t take petty cases. You have competent lawyers to do that. But I don’t have time to get into it with you today. I wanted to let you know that I’m sending Derek Mann your way.”
“Who is he?”
“He’s a damn good lawyer. He’ll bring some clout to the firm.”
She bristled instantly. “The firm is one of the best in Texas. We have clout and prestige.” She’d worked most of her adult life to accomplish that.
“Sweetheart, don’t get upset. You’re doing a very good job. I’m proud of you.”
Then why are you constantly keeping tabs on me?
“I’m not looking for a new attorney,” she said.
“You’ll change your mind once you see his résumé. It’s coming to you FedEx and you should have it today.”
“Dad…”
“Just read it and we’ll talk again.”
“Dad.” She sucked air into her tight lungs, knowing it was useless to argue with him. “I really have to go. I’ll be on the lookout for the résumé.”
She hung up, unclenching her aching jaw. She’d reached her limit of how much she could hold inside. Grabbing her purse, she headed for the door.
As she reached Nina’s office, Nina was immediately on her feet.
“Tell Aaron I’ll talk to him tomorrow and please handle the nurse.”
“Yes, ma’am. Mr. Coffey wants to know if you’re free for dinner tonight.”
“No.” She walked toward the door, needing fresh air—needing freedom.
Byron caught her at the elevator. “Oh, Grace. I just left a note with your secretary.” Suave, silver-haired, Byron epitomized the sophisticated older male in his prime. He was fit, wealthy and the type of man she was sure would get her father’s stamp of approval, except he left her cold. And he was much too old for her. If she was in love with him, age wouldn’t matter. But she wasn’t.
She punched the elevator button. “Sorry, Byron, I’m not free tonight.”
“Stephen is sending Derek Mann’s résumé. I thought we could go over it together.”
Her father had already talked to Byron. She controlled her resentment as she stepped onto the elevator. “I’ll check with you in the morning.”
“Grace…” The doors swished closed, cutting off his words. She counted as she went down, down, down, not letting one thought cross her mind. Instead of going to the parking garage, she walked through the lobby and out the double glass doors embossed with the Whitten Law Firm logo in gold. As a child, she used to love to come here and see her father’s name on the door. One day she would work here. One day she’d make her father proud. One day had come, but nothing she ever did was good enough.
Nothing.
She started walking down the sidewalk. She had no idea where she was going—just away. Not being an exercise-type person, by the fourth block her feet were killing her. She took refuge on a bench and realized she was at a bus stop. Removing her shoes, she rubbed her sore feet.
What a picture she must make, she thought to herself. Her skirt had ridden up her thighs as she raised an ankle to rest on her knee, massaging the sole of her foot. This was definitely a Kodak moment—Grace Whitten not impeccable and in control.
She glanced down at the heels beside her and Jeremiah’s words came rushing back. You couldn’t even let your guard down long enough to enjoy the dance. You were afraid I’d step on your five-hundred-dollar shoes. My God, who pays five hundred dollars for a pair of shoes?
For years shoe shopping had been her passion. Now she felt a sense of guilt. Maybe shoes had replaced men in her life. No man had ever made her feel as good as slipping her feet into a pair of Manolo Blahnik shoes did. And if that wasn’t a depressing thought she didn’t know what was, except maybe Jeremiah’s words.
You continue to call me Jeremiah. No one calls me that. It’s like a slap in my face every time you
“You’re the Managing Senior Partner of the Whitten Law Firm and you shouldn’t take petty cases. You have competent lawyers to do that. But I don’t have time to get into it with you today. I wanted to let you know that I’m sending Derek Mann your way.”
“Who is he?”
“He’s a damn good lawyer. He’ll bring some clout to the firm.”
She bristled instantly. “The firm is one of the best in Texas. We have clout and prestige.” She’d worked most of her adult life to accomplish that.
“Sweetheart, don’t get upset. You’re doing a very good job. I’m proud of you.”
Then why are you constantly keeping tabs on me?
“I’m not looking for a new attorney,” she said.
“You’ll change your mind once you see his résumé. It’s coming to you FedEx and you should have it today.”
“Dad…”
“Just read it and we’ll talk again.”
“Dad.” She sucked air into her tight lungs, knowing it was useless to argue with him. “I really have to go. I’ll be on the lookout for the résumé.”
She hung up, unclenching her aching jaw. She’d reached her limit of how much she could hold inside. Grabbing her purse, she headed for the door.
As she reached Nina’s office, Nina was immediately on her feet.
“Tell Aaron I’ll talk to him tomorrow and please handle the nurse.”
“Yes, ma’am. Mr. Coffey wants to know if you’re free for dinner tonight.”
“No.” She walked toward the door, needing fresh air—needing freedom.
Byron caught her at the elevator. “Oh, Grace. I just left a note with your secretary.” Suave, silver-haired, Byron epitomized the sophisticated older male in his prime. He was fit, wealthy and the type of man she was sure would get her father’s stamp of approval, except he left her cold. And he was much too old for her. If she was in love with him, age wouldn’t matter. But she wasn’t.
She punched the elevator button. “Sorry, Byron, I’m not free tonight.”
“Stephen is sending Derek Mann’s résumé. I thought we could go over it together.”
Her father had already talked to Byron. She controlled her resentment as she stepped onto the elevator. “I’ll check with you in the morning.”
“Grace…” The doors swished closed, cutting off his words. She counted as she went down, down, down, not letting one thought cross her mind. Instead of going to the parking garage, she walked through the lobby and out the double glass doors embossed with the Whitten Law Firm logo in gold. As a child, she used to love to come here and see her father’s name on the door. One day she would work here. One day she’d make her father proud. One day had come, but nothing she ever did was good enough.
Nothing.
She started walking down the sidewalk. She had no idea where she was going—just away. Not being an exercise-type person, by the fourth block her feet were killing her. She took refuge on a bench and realized she was at a bus stop. Removing her shoes, she rubbed her sore feet.
What a picture she must make, she thought to herself. Her skirt had ridden up her thighs as she raised an ankle to rest on her knee, massaging the sole of her foot. This was definitely a Kodak moment—Grace Whitten not impeccable and in control.
She glanced down at the heels beside her and Jeremiah’s words came rushing back. You couldn’t even let your guard down long enough to enjoy the dance. You were afraid I’d step on your five-hundred-dollar shoes. My God, who pays five hundred dollars for a pair of shoes?
For years shoe shopping had been her passion. Now she felt a sense of guilt. Maybe shoes had replaced men in her life. No man had ever made her feel as good as slipping her feet into a pair of Manolo Blahnik shoes did. And if that wasn’t a depressing thought she didn’t know what was, except maybe Jeremiah’s words.
You continue to call me Jeremiah. No one calls me that. It’s like a slap in my face every time you
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