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Authors: Pamela Binnings Ewen
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of a second-year associate were irrelevant.
Reaching her hotel, she parked the car and carried her briefcase, purse, and the bag of satsumas through the empty, high-ceilinged foyer, her heels clicking on the wooden floor. She would not think any more about the Marigny. She would not allow herself to wonder whether Bingham Murdoch intended to destroy those beautiful old oak trees or anything else in the city.
A small voice inside pointed out the public outrage that would erupt when word of Bingham Murdoch's plans got out. There would be protest marches and fiery editorials in the newspapers. But confidentiality would protect the project until it was too late—that was the key to the success of Bingham Murdoch's plans. And Amalise was bound ethically, morally, and in every other way to keep that secret.
Chapter Eight
Amalise had found a house for sale uptown she thought she'd like. She'd called Jude and asked him to come along to see it. He had said sure, and she'd made an appointment to visit the place with a real estate agent. So here he was on a Saturday afternoon, driving Amalise down
St. Charles Avenue to look at a house.
He could feel her watching him. Folding her arms and cocking her head to one side, she said, "That transaction I told you about the other night is moving fast. Doug and Preston are giving me more substantive work." She settled back and looked ahead at the traffic. "We're past the drone stage at the firm now, Rebecca and I. We're on our way."
Jude smiled and nodded, only half listening as he concentrated on the traffic. They were in a hurry because she had to get back to work. She was in the office most Saturdays, but then work was Amalise's idea of entertainment.
He glanced her way, smoothing the furrows between his eyes before they formed. She'd been staying at a hotel down in the Quarter but wanted to find a real place. The apartment she'd shared with Phillip before his death wasn't an option. He'd offered to let her have the apartment on the other side of his duplex on State Street rent free and was chagrined when she'd turned him down flat.
She'd found a perfect little cottage on Broadway near the universities. She wanted a home of her own, and with the insurance money she'd received, she'd pay cash for the right one. He pondered the irony: Phillip Sharp, who'd have sucked the very life from Amalise if he could, was now financing her freedom.
So here she was, racing off in direct contradiction to his plans, as usual. But he loved that about Amalise, that determination of hers. Even with all the questions in her mind about life and purpose and meaning, about suffering in the world and those problems that were too big for one person to do anything about, still she was complete in and of herself.
And where did that leave him? He stifled a sigh. Well, he'd broach that subject soon. But he'd come to realize since the accident and all the subsequent changes in Amalise—her craving for independence, the desire to understand the purpose of her life—love, when it came to Amalise, would be the icing on the cake.
But not the cake itself.
So he kept his foot on the gas pedal and his eyes straight ahead because, again, he knew this wasn't the time or place to discuss the nature of their relationship. He glanced at her from the corner of his eye and smiled, happy for her in spite of himself. She was free of Phillip and working again.
She went on talking about that deal of hers while he concentrated on negotiating the three lanes of traffic on the two-lane avenue. Suddenly she turned to face him again, and the movement brought the scent of soap and roses wafting his way, a fragrance he'd associated with Amalise since she was a little girl. But today that scent roused emotions that had nothing to do with their childhood friendship.
"Jude, are you listening?" She leaned in close and tucked her hair behind one ear, as she always did. "I think I'm talking to myself here."
Too close. He dropped his
Reaching her hotel, she parked the car and carried her briefcase, purse, and the bag of satsumas through the empty, high-ceilinged foyer, her heels clicking on the wooden floor. She would not think any more about the Marigny. She would not allow herself to wonder whether Bingham Murdoch intended to destroy those beautiful old oak trees or anything else in the city.
A small voice inside pointed out the public outrage that would erupt when word of Bingham Murdoch's plans got out. There would be protest marches and fiery editorials in the newspapers. But confidentiality would protect the project until it was too late—that was the key to the success of Bingham Murdoch's plans. And Amalise was bound ethically, morally, and in every other way to keep that secret.
Chapter Eight
Amalise had found a house for sale uptown she thought she'd like. She'd called Jude and asked him to come along to see it. He had said sure, and she'd made an appointment to visit the place with a real estate agent. So here he was on a Saturday afternoon, driving Amalise down
St. Charles Avenue to look at a house.
He could feel her watching him. Folding her arms and cocking her head to one side, she said, "That transaction I told you about the other night is moving fast. Doug and Preston are giving me more substantive work." She settled back and looked ahead at the traffic. "We're past the drone stage at the firm now, Rebecca and I. We're on our way."
Jude smiled and nodded, only half listening as he concentrated on the traffic. They were in a hurry because she had to get back to work. She was in the office most Saturdays, but then work was Amalise's idea of entertainment.
He glanced her way, smoothing the furrows between his eyes before they formed. She'd been staying at a hotel down in the Quarter but wanted to find a real place. The apartment she'd shared with Phillip before his death wasn't an option. He'd offered to let her have the apartment on the other side of his duplex on State Street rent free and was chagrined when she'd turned him down flat.
She'd found a perfect little cottage on Broadway near the universities. She wanted a home of her own, and with the insurance money she'd received, she'd pay cash for the right one. He pondered the irony: Phillip Sharp, who'd have sucked the very life from Amalise if he could, was now financing her freedom.
So here she was, racing off in direct contradiction to his plans, as usual. But he loved that about Amalise, that determination of hers. Even with all the questions in her mind about life and purpose and meaning, about suffering in the world and those problems that were too big for one person to do anything about, still she was complete in and of herself.
And where did that leave him? He stifled a sigh. Well, he'd broach that subject soon. But he'd come to realize since the accident and all the subsequent changes in Amalise—her craving for independence, the desire to understand the purpose of her life—love, when it came to Amalise, would be the icing on the cake.
But not the cake itself.
So he kept his foot on the gas pedal and his eyes straight ahead because, again, he knew this wasn't the time or place to discuss the nature of their relationship. He glanced at her from the corner of his eye and smiled, happy for her in spite of himself. She was free of Phillip and working again.
She went on talking about that deal of hers while he concentrated on negotiating the three lanes of traffic on the two-lane avenue. Suddenly she turned to face him again, and the movement brought the scent of soap and roses wafting his way, a fragrance he'd associated with Amalise since she was a little girl. But today that scent roused emotions that had nothing to do with their childhood friendship.
"Jude, are you listening?" She leaned in close and tucked her hair behind one ear, as she always did. "I think I'm talking to myself here."
Too close. He dropped his
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