Suddenly One Summer

  It’s not the pale moon that excites me, Norah crooned.

  Feeling better, Victoria took a sip of her wine and then closed her eyes, once again succumbing to the hot water and steam, the heady scent of the bubbles, the soft, sultry music—It’s just the nearness of you—

  Another knock at her door.

  Son. Of. A. Bitch.

  Muttering under her breath, she climbed out of the tub and quickly dried off. After wrapping the towel around herself, she headed into the living room and looked through the peephole on her door.

  Ford stood in the hallway.

  She groaned in annoyance, half-shouting through the door. “What?”

  He blinked at the unceremonious greeting, and then cocked his head. “What are you doing in there? I can see your lights on through the balcony—you’re obviously not sleeping.”

  Oh, really? Who was spying on whom now? “I was trying to take a bath.”

  “Oh.” He paused, as if considering this. “All right, I’ll come back. What do you need, ten minutes?”

  “Ten minutes?” She rolled her eyes. Men. “That’s hardly enough time to—” Feeling stupid arguing through the door, she sighed in frustration. “Just hold on.” Figuring she might as well get this over with, she grumbled under her breath and went into her bedroom to throw on jeans and a T-shirt. On her way back to the door, she removed the clip she’d used during her bath and shook out her hair.

  She threw the door open and got right down to it. “So. To what do I owe this pleasure, Mr. Dixon?”

  His lips twitched at the corners. “That’s an interesting way to wear eye makeup.”

  Victoria stepped back and checked out her reflection in the foyer mirror, and saw that she had two big black raccoon-like smudges of mascara under her eyes. Oh, for Pete’s sake. She gestured impatiently for him to enter. “Well, come in already. I’ll be right back.” She left him standing there and went to the bathroom to grab her makeup remover, then scrubbed her face clean and headed back out into the living room.

  She found Ford standing by the couch, checking out a photograph of her and her mom from law school graduation.

  “I know someone else who went to Northwestern Law. Cade Morgan. Two years ahead of you, I’m guessing?”

  Clearly, somebody had been doing a little research on her, if he knew what law school she’d attended. “I know the name. Listen, I have a tub of steaming hot water and a nice jammy zinfandel waiting for me. Maybe we could cut to the chase?”

  Ford turned to face her. “My sister said you offered to take on her case.”

  “That’s true.” And if he’d come here tonight to tell her he had a problem with that, unfortunately, he’d just have to get over it. She may have stumbled unintentionally into being Nicole’s lawyer, but now that she’d made a commitment, she was all in.

  “She also said you’d mentioned cutting her a break on your rate.”

  “Also true.”

  He studied her. “Why would you do that? You don’t even know my sister.”

  Victoria leaned her hip against the back of the couch. “She needs help. I can help her. It’s not all that complicated.”

  He came around the couch, moving closer. “I looked into you, you know. Your firm appears to be quite successful.”

  “I do all right.”

  He stopped in front of her, shifting uncomfortably. “So, if someone with your . . . seemingly acceptable legal skills”—he looked slightly pained by the acknowledgment—“has decided to help my sister, I suppose I shouldn’t get in the way of that. Even if it does mean we have to work together.”

  Victoria, who’d been rather enjoying seeing Ford stumble his way through this begrudging, quasi–thank you, blinked at this last part. “I’m sorry. Did you say, ‘work together’?”

  “Trust me, I’m not thrilled about it, either. But seeing how you’re Nicole’s lawyer, and I’m the one who’s going to track down Peter Sutter, I figure we’re pretty much a team now.”

  A team? Oh, now that was cute. But, unfortunately, not the way she operated. “Right. I remember Nicole saying something about you using your resources at the Trib to find Peter Sutter.” Victoria waved this off. “That won’t be necessary anymore. I plan to hire a private investigator to handle that.”

  He folded his arms across his chest. “But I already told Nicole I would do it.”

  “Well . . . un-tell her, then.”

  He raised an eyebrow.

  “It’s nothing personal,” she said. “Okay, yes, fine, it is personal. You and I hardly mesh well. But on top of that, I don’t subcontract out the investigative work in my cases to relatives of clients. Period.”

  Ford considered this. “How much will a PI charge you?”

  She thought back to the last time she’d worked with a private investigator. “Around a hundred an hour. Maybe more.”

  “And you’ll just pass along that cost to my sister, despite the fact that she has someone who’s offered to do the work for free?”

  Victoria bristled at the implication. “I didn’t say that.”

  “Then . . . what? Your firm eats the cost of the PI? All we have is a name and the bar where Nicole and Peter Sutter met. Do you realize how long it could take to find this guy? We could be talking about thousands of dollars here. I can save you that expense.”

  The practical businesswoman in her paused at that.

  But.

  “I just don’t think you and I working together is a good idea.”

  He met her gaze boldly. “I can handle it if you can.”

  “I never said I couldn’t handle it.” And the truth of the matter was, technically, Nicole had every right to use her brother to track down Peter Sutter, whether Victoria liked it or not. She didn’t have to give Victoria the go-ahead to use a private investigator for that.

  “Then it’s settled,” Ford said.

  Not seeing how she had much choice—most unfortunately—she wanted to get one thing straight from the beginning. “If we do this, we do it my way. I want to be kept fully in the loop with everything you’re doing. I can’t be worrying that you’re running around knocking on the door of every Peter Sutter in town, demanding to know whether he knocked up your sister.”

  “Just so I know, is it your plan to be this bossy the entire time we’re working together?”

  She smiled sweetly at him. “You’re welcome to walk away anytime.”

  “This is my sister we’re talking about.” He took a step closer. “Which means you’re stuck with me, Victoria. Like it or not.”

  She’d had a bad feeling he was going to say just that.

  * * *

  TWO DAYS LATER, Ford was at his desk in the Tribune newsroom, finishing up the first part of his series on the Cook County probation department. Fueled by the second cup of coffee he’d had that morning, he wrote for nearly three hours straight, banging out the entire story before lunchtime.

  Just as he was finishing up with some editing, his phone rang. He checked the caller ID and saw that it was Nicole.

  “Unfortunately, no luck,” she told him.

  “You’re sure?” Yesterday, he’d begun his search for Peter Sutter. They didn’t have much to go on, just the name and a vague description—brown hair, between the ages of twenty-five and forty—but Nicole believed she would recognize him from a photograph.

  Ford hoped she was right about that, because if she couldn’t ID the guy, this was going to be a hell of a lot more complicated than it already was.

  His first step, on the off chance they’d get lucky, had been to check Facebook, Twitter, and LinkedIn. He’d run searches for all Peter and Pete Sutters in Chicago, and then had e-mailed Nicole profiles of the three guys with brown hair who’d popped up.

  “I’m sure,” she told him. “Do these men honestly look like the type I’d go home with? Even when drunk, I have my standards.”

  “This isn’t Match.com, Nic,” he said. “I don’t care whether they look like your ‘type,’ just wh
ether they might look familiar. Besides, for all you know, these guys are totally cool in person.”

  “The second one’s Twitter profile says, ‘Angry son of a bitch. Don’t like what I say? Go fuck yourself.’”

  “Okay, not him.”

  “Call me stuck-up if you want, but I’m telling you, we’re looking for a Peter Sutter who is cute.”

  “Cute. Got it,” Ford said, pretending to take notes. “Eye color, height, address, phone number, and profession all unknown. But definitely a hottie. Based on that, I should have the case cracked by dinner.”

  Her tone was sweet. “Have I told you how awesome you are for doing this?”

  “Yeah, yeah,” he grumbled. “Save it for when I find the guy.”

  He hung up with his sister and wrapped up his probation department piece, then headed out to grab a sandwich. It was a warm and sunny late-June day, so he decided to walk across the river to one of his favorite delis. He grabbed a table outside and caught up on e-mail as he ate, not realizing until he’d finished his chips that he was only half a block away from the law offices of the illustrious Victoria Slade.

  He could easily picture her in some sleek, sophisticated office, doing . . . whatever the heck high-powered divorce lawyers did on a Friday afternoon. Probably sassing someone, if their interactions thus far were any indication. Undoubtedly while wearing another one of those sexy suits she seemed to like so much. And high heels.

  Hmm.

  Actually, now that he thought about it, he really should drop by and update her on his plans for phase two in the search for Peter Sutter. Seeing how she’d been so worked up about being kept in the loop and all.

  That decided, he threw away the remnants of his lunch and headed along the river. Her office was located in a glass skyscraper, and after checking the tenant listing, he took the elevator up to the thirty-third floor.

  He saw the door marked with her firm’s name in bold gray letters, and walked into a sunlit, elegant lobby with white leather chairs, hardwood floors, and floor-to-ceiling windows.

  A receptionist greeted him from behind a curved white desk. “Can I help you?”

  “Ford Dixon. I was hoping to see Victoria. I don’t have an appointment.”

  The receptionist nodded. “Let me see if she’s available.”

  Ford walked over to check out the view of the Chicago River while he waited. Moments later, he heard footsteps coming from the hallway behind the receptionist. He turned around and saw a man with wire-framed glasses and dressed in a slim-cut navy suit heading his way.

  The man held out his hand in introduction. “Mr. Dixon? Will Coffer, Ms. Slade’s assistant. I was told you wanted to speak to her.” His gaze was polite but sharp. “Ms. Slade doesn’t generally take walk-ins. Can I ask what this is in regards to?”

  “I’m working with her on a case and thought I would stop by to give her an update.”

  “Dixon . . .” Will cocked his head. “As in, the Nicole Dixon matter?”

  “That’s the one.”

  “You must be the brother. Victoria’s new neighbor.” He suddenly appeared quite curious as he looked Ford over. “She’s very busy today. But follow me—I’ll see what I can do.”

  He led Ford down a hallway, passing several offices along the way. The place buzzed with an energy that was palpable—not unlike the newsroom before deadline. Phones were ringing, one lawyer paced in her office while practicing some kind of speech or argument, and a younger man, probably an intern or paralegal, hurried by them carrying a stack of files almost as tall as his head.

  At the end of the hallway was a second, smaller waiting area outside a large corner office.

  “Feel free to have a seat,” Will said. “She’s with someone right now, but I’ll let her know you’re here.”

  From his vantage point in the waiting area, Ford could see Victoria in her office. He’d guessed right about her outfit—today she wore a camel-colored suit with a white silk blouse and high heels.

  She leaned against her desk as she spoke to a woman in her midtwenties who was also dressed in a suit.

  He watched as Victoria nodded encouragingly as she talked, looking surprisingly . . . approachable. Friendly, even.

  Then she turned as the associate left her office and spotted Ford sitting out in the waiting room.

  She folded her arms across her chest. “You are not my one thirty appointment.”

  So much for friendly.

  He stood up and walked over. “I was in the neighborhood. Thought we could talk.”

  She looked over at her assistant. “How much time do I have?”

  “Mr. Ulrich just arrived,” Will said.

  Ford peered down at her. “Guess I’d better talk fast.”

  “Quite fast,” she emphasized.

  Her office was large and airy, with a bold glass-and-steel desk and a view of the city and the river. He took a seat in one of the chairs in front of the desk, wanting to get one preliminary matter out of the way. “Nicole mentioned that she dropped by your office yesterday to sign a retainer agreement. She said you agreed to take on the case pro bono. I thought this was going to be a reduced-fee arrangement.”

  “Isn’t a no-fee arrangement even better?”

  For some, maybe. But having grown up as one of a handful of working-class kids in a very affluent suburb, there was some pride at stake here. “I can help Nicole with the legal bills. You don’t have to take this on as a charity case.”

  Her expression softened a bit. “If it makes you feel better, I benefit from this, too. My firm has made a commitment to take on a certain number of pro bono cases each year. And your sister’s case seems like a worthy cause to me.”

  When she said it like that, Ford almost believed that was all this was—a high-priced lawyer needing to do a little charity work for PR reasons. But his instincts said that there was more than met the eye when it came to the woman sitting across from him.

  Still, he tabled that issue for now, since he was up against the clock here. “So, I struck out with phase one in my search for Peter Sutter.”

  She leaned back in her chair. “And phase one was . . . ?”

  “Social media searches. I’d thought maybe I’d find the guy on Facebook or Twitter, but no such luck. Which brings me to phase two of my search . . . but phase two is more complicated and will take me longer to explain. And you have a Mr. Ulrich waiting.”

  “I do. But I think my Monday schedule is a little better.” She turned toward her computer, as if about to check her calendar.

  “Monday?” He laughed at the ridiculousness of that. “You live ten feet from me, Victoria. I’m not making an appointment to see you next week when we can easily talk this weekend.”

  “Who said I’m even around this weekend?”

  “Well, are you?” When she didn’t immediately respond, he smiled, knowing he had her. “Remember, the hair dryer doesn’t lie.”

  “I suppose I could stop by your place tonight, after work.” She paused, her lips curving up at the corners. “That is, if I can squeeze my way in between the cavalcade.”

  “Couldn’t resist getting that in one more time, could you?” He stood up. “You know, you are going to be so disappointed when I turn out not to fit into whatever ‘womanizing player’ box you’ve put me in.”

  “I haven’t put you in any box.” When he gave her a look, she cheekily made a small square with her fingers. “Okay. Maybe a little one.”

  * * *

  SITTING AT HER desk, Victoria leaned to the side and watched as Ford strode down the hallway to the exit.

  Of course he would show up, unannounced, at her office. The man clearly had no sense of boundaries. Not to mention, he was entirely too confident with his little I’m-not-making-an-appointment-to-see-you edict. And also just generally irritating.

  Great ass, though.

  Broad shoulders, too. Lean hips. A bit of a swagger in his step that made a woman think—

  “So? Did I hear you’re meetin
g him tonight?”

  Startled by the voice, Victoria jumped and quickly righted herself in her desk chair. She looked at Will, who grinned knowingly from the doorway.

  “It’s not like that,” she said, cutting him off at the pass.

  “Hmm, isn’t somebody quick with the denial. I was simply wondering if I should block off an hour for your meeting tonight. Or do you need more time to conduct your business with the ruggedly Adonic man who sleeps ten feet from you?”

  She threw up her hands in frustration. “Why does everyone feel the need to keep pointing that out? I’m well aware of where the man sleeps.”

  “I bet you are.” Will’s tone was sly as he left her office.

  Clearly, she needed to start being more Badass Boss–like in their relationship, if she was actually paying to be mocked like this. “And I don’t think ‘Adonic’ is actually a word,” she called out, determined to at least get the last word in.

  Five seconds later, Will e-mailed her the link to Merriam-Webster.com.

  Damn, that man was good.

  Eleven

  SHORTLY BEFORE SEVEN o’clock, Victoria knocked on Ford’s front door. She’d run late with her deposition that afternoon, and then had stopped at her condo to drop off her briefcase. While there, she’d debated whether to change out of her suit and heels, and then had thought better of it. Yes, it was a Friday evening, but after her conversation with Will, she felt it was important to underscore that this was a work meeting. She would simply pop into Ford’s place for a few minutes, get the lowdown on the search for Peter Sutter, and then be on her way.

  To her surprise, however, it wasn’t Ford who greeted her.

  Instead, a thirtysomething man with a shock of spiky, jet-black hair and dressed in a T-shirt and workout shorts answered the door. One of the guys who’d been with Ford that night at The Violet Hour, if memory served.

  His eyes widened when he saw her. “Wow. I picked the wrong building to live in. And I just said that out loud, didn’t I? Shit.”

  “Said what out loud?” Victoria asked, deadpan.

  It took him a moment, and then he grinned. “Ooh . . . you’re funny, too.” He held out his hand faux earnestly. “Hi, I’m Tucker. Will you marry me?”