Between the Lines

Excerpt:
UNEDITED EXCERPT

Chapter One

“I appreciate that, Mr. Foster, but I’ve written to you five times advising you of this new date.” Stressed, attorney Victoria Langston rubbed her temples as she listened to her client whine about her expectations of him. She’d put up with a lot from him in the last few weeks, but this? This made a new low.
“Let me get this straight,” she said, very slowly. “I take the time to type a letter, address and mail it, but it’s too much effort for you to open and read it? Mr. Foster, you are due in court tomorrow. Not showing will make things extraordinarily bad for you.”
He whined about it being her fault for not notifying him properly.
Tory wished she could pull him up through the phone line and stomp on his head. And other parts of his anatomy that might feel significantly more pain. “I’m afraid the courts are unlikely to see it that way since I have written to you several times to inform you, not to mention left you five telephone voice mails.” She held the phone away from her ear as he blathered on at length, and at a significant volume. Finally he agreed to show up, acting for all the world as if he had just done her a very large favor.
“Moron,” she muttered under her breath. It was a good thing her hourly rate was high. There’s no way I would represent someone like him without big bucks at stake.
The task done, she hung up, and her gaze strayed across her desk to the snack pack of Oreos she bought for just such stressful occasions. A bit of chocolate often did her a lot of good.
She snagged the packet and leaned back in her chair, taking her time opening it, savoring the first whiff of chocolate as it filled the air immediately around her. She slid one cookie from the pack, licking her lips in anticipation.
Slipping out of the smart, black and white wedge heels she wore, Tory put her feet up on her desk, taking a moment to admire the shiny purple polish on her toenails.
The phone rang.
Biting back a curse, Tory tossed the cookies back on to her desk and snatched up the receiver. Why hadn’t she thought to take it off the hook, just for a few minutes? “Tory Langston,” she all but snapped into the handset’s small speaker.
The office secretary, Sara, suppressed a chuckle. “Well, aren’t you in a good mood today?”
Tory had a feeling the might need some aspirin. Sara had spoken with that someone’s here to see you tone. “What is it?”
“Herman White is here to see you.”
Tory groaned. Another of Mr. Foster’s ilk. “Show him in,” she sighed, and disconnected.
She spent – or, rather, wasted – the next hour showing Herman the letters she’d sent him detailing what he needed to do regarding a case about an accident he’d had in his car.
She’d written to him five times. Each time, he’d called into the office and asked her to explain the letter in simpler language. Each time, she’d write him a new letter, in increasingly simple terms. She wasn’t sure she could make it any simpler without having to give up and buy him a dictionary. In all honesty, she was surprised he’d survived this long.
It was almost as bad as a woman who’d come into her office wanting to sue the wind because a freak gust had made a car door close on her hand.
Herman left, and Tory sat up in her chair, thanking whatever higher power had made him decide to leave earlier than usual. The cookies forgotten for now, she rummaged in her handbag and plucked out a small hand mirror and a tube of raspberry flavored lip gloss.
The mirror displayed a tired looking woman. It irked Tory as she smoothed gloss over her lips. Tiredness could never be a stranger to those who worked in the law profession. It hadn’t helped that the conversation she’d had with her on and off boyfriend last week would likely be the last time she ever spoke to him, because “people don’t settle down in New York, Tory. It’s a place to have fun. And I don’t think we’re having that right now.”
Tory drew in a deep breath, considered more aspirin, and rejected it. She had the feeling Karl would have had the same response wherever they’d lived. But she couldn’t deny that a small part of her celebrated the break. The relationship had been withering, like a thirsty plant not watered often enough.
A frank study in the mirror told her she wasn’t in need of anything but perhaps a short holiday, and a lie-in or two. Her blue eyes were still bright and alert, and her long, caramel brown hair, recently washed, curved gently around her heart-shaped face. Another thing to feel good about was her recent splurge on the new suit she wore. It was Armani. So what if it had come from a discount store? It felt silky and soft, and the pinstripe made her feel important.
Snapping the mirror away, she felt better.
Her phone buzzed again, and Tory answered Sara in a slightly more upbeat tone. “Yes?”
“Tory, I’ve got a woman on the phone – Mel Saunders? Says she’s your cousin. Calling from Taylor & Wit Literary Services in London?”
Tory mentally flipped through files in her head until she came to the one labeled Mel Saunders. Tall, pretty, blonde. Around thirty. Daughter of Tory’s mother’s sister, who had moved to England to marry a man she’d met on holiday. But she hadn’t spoken to Mel for at least a year. What could her cousin want?
“Put her through, Sara,” she instructed. What could be worse than Herman White? Besides, it’d be nice to have a little catch up.
“Hello, Tory,” Mel’s London accent floated up the receiver.
“Hi, Mel.” Tory couldn’t help but smile at her cousin’s voice. She’d always been a sucker for foreign accents. “How’re things with you?” she asked, deliberately curbing her curiosity about why the other woman was calling. She’d been brought up to well to leap right in with courteous small talk.
“Oh, good, good. I’ve been at Taylor & Wit for around a year now - I love this job! Mum’s fine – she says to tell your family hi, and send her love.”
“Yeah, I will do, and right back at you.” Tory opened her email inbox and began to scroll through new arrivals as she chatted casually to Mel. Finally, when there was a long silence, she gave in. “What can I do for you? If you just called to chat, this is going to be one expensive gossip session.”
“While I do love gossip…” Tory heard the rustle of papers, and then Mel cleared her throat, sounding a bit awkward. “Listen, Tory, you’re an attorney, aren’t you? Family law, am I right?”
“Mainly family.” But she had been known to dip her fingers in other pies when it was required of her by the firm. “Do you need some legal advice? Because, last time I checked, they did have lawyers in England.”
Mel laughed. “You’re a hoot. Not legal advice for me. But let’s say someone was writing about New York, and wanted their main character to be a lawyer, a female one, obviously attractive-”
“Mel, you’re babbling.” Tory recognized it because she had a tendency to babble too, when nervous. “Lay your cards on the table already.”
Mel drew a breath. Tory heard the brief drum of fingers on a hard surface. “I’ve always been a babbler. Get it from Mum. All right. The thing is…” Another pause. “Don’t be mad.”
In Tory’s vast experience, the words don’t be mad ever prefaced anything good. She wished for coffee. A lot of very strong coffee. “I can’t promise to not be mad. Just tell me what you need.”
“Okay.” The sound of drumming fingers commenced for a moment. Tory surmised that it must be a nervous tic of Mel’s. “Have you heard of Aaron Cooper, suspense and thriller writer?”
Tory took a moment to search her huge stock of memory files again. Aaron Cooper. She’d read a few of his books, one of which had caused her an uneasy night’s sleep. His writing had her flipping pages anxiously, often for hours at time. She thought he might be one of the best suspense writers of the past few decades. The New York Times often agreed.
“I’m familiar with him,” she told Mel, puzzlement creeping through her mind. “But what does an English suspense writer have to do with me?”
“Well, the thing is…”
Time to cut to the chase. “Mel, I charge a fee for every six minutes of my time. You are coming close to racking up a hefty bill, and I have cases to work on.” And I want to eat my damn cookies already. “Spit it out or hang up.”
“Well.” Her cousin blew out a breath. “You must be a good lawyer. Aaron came to me last week – I’m his agent.”
“Go on.” Tory looked around on her desk for something to play with. She liked her keep her hands busy when she talked. She finally settled on rubbing a red stress ball between her palms. She’d picked it up at a college fair when she’d volunteered to advise students who were looking to sign up to the legal career path.
“Well, quit interrupting me and I will spit it out!” Mel heaved out a sigh, but there was a smile in it. “He was all excited about setting a book in New York – he always travels around, sets each one in a different, fun, exotic location. And he dreamt up this character. A female lawyer, one that gets drawn into a murder case. Full of intrigue and romantic tension, he said. He’s just brilliant at drawing you in, setting the scene.”
Tory dropped her head on the cool surface of the desk for a moment and closed her eyes. When Mel started to speak again, she interrupted. “Mel, I can figure out the rest for myself. You sent him here, to talk to me. So he’d have someone to bounce law theories and ideas off.”
Mel seemed surprised. “Yes. Wow. You don’t sound mad. That’s good.”
Deep breaths, Tory told herself, resigned. She wouldn’t gain anything by getting cross. Mel had obviously already promised Aaron Cooper her advice. The damage had been done. “I just wish you’d asked me first. Just… Please tell me he has somewhere to stay?”
“Of course he does,” Mel assured her. “The Hyatt.”
Tory’s eyebrows shot up into her hair. She had no idea tapping away at a keyboard paid so well- but, she supposed, a bestselling novel probably returned quite a bit in royalties. “And how long do I have the pleasure of his company for?”
“Probably two weeks – though the hotel is letting him keep an option open for a third week. Once he gets the city, the plot, and the main characters in his head, he can write the rest back here.”
Two weeks. Okay. Tory relaxed. He wouldn’t be bothering her every day. Writers must spend more time at their computers than out and about, she thought. He’d probably only need bare bones from her.
“Fine,” Tory said after a long pause, reigning her thoughts in. “Fine. So, I don’t suppose I can schedule an appointment with him through you? I’ve not really got a significant amount of free-”
“Tory,” Mel cut in, her voice bold now. “There’s a reason why I was so keen to get hold of you... And why I though t you’d be mad. Aaron is… That is, he’s… well, what time is it in New York? It’s about eleven in the morning, right?”
“Coming up to ten minutes past,” Tory answered. The feeling that she would soon be interrupted crept up the back of her neck.
“Well, then, he should be with you-”
Her phone buzzed twice, the signal that she had a call waiting. “Bang on time,” she murmured. “Seems you were right, Mel. He’s here.” When there was no response, she sighed, and pictured her cousin cowering over in London. “It’s fine. I’m sure I can handle whatever it is he wants. But send chocolate. And it better be the biggest box available. I like the caramel filled ones.”
“It will be.” The relief in Mel’s voice was almost tangible. “Thanks, Tory. Thanks a lot. I owe you. Bye!” And she hung up, presumably before Tory could demand anymore payment for her uninvited guest.
She accepted the other call. “Yes, Sara?”
The secretary’s voice sounded a little strange – almost dreamy. “Yes, Tory… There’s a man here to see you. I think he’s from England.” A girlish giggle escaped her, and then, as if suddenly remembering her post, Sara subdued it. “He’s really, quite, well….. Can I send him in?”
Tory checked the clock to remind herself of the time again. In an hour she could cry off on an early lunch or fashion a lunch meeting across town. But he likely wouldn’t stay for an hour. When talking, an hour was a long time. He’d want to explore before then, or sleep. England time was, what – five hours behind New York? He’d need time to recover from the inevitable jet lag.
She pushed back from her desk and cracked open the window at the rear of her office, then ran her fingers through those few waves of her hair that always refused to bow to the power of her GHDs. As a final nod to presentation, she spritzed a small cloud of her favorite perfume into the air in front of her and walked through it.
A moment after she set the rose quartz colored bottle down, there was a knock at her door.
“Come in.”
She saw the doorknob turn before the door itself opened. And then her first impression struck. oh, boy.
The leather of his jacket looked touchably soft, and the color of her favorite brand of dark chocolate. The hem of it hit him mid-thigh. Underneath, she could see a crisp white shirt, apparently uncrumpled by hours of travelling. It fell open a few buttons to reveal his collarbone, and an inch of lightly tanned chest. He hadn’t tucked the shirt in, and its color was a deep contrast to the black jeans he wore.
Worn brown boots took her the final inch to the floor.
She looked up – he had to be over six feet – and met his gaze.
His dark, tousled hair wove around his face, the ends of his brushing the collar of his jacket. His dark amber eyes reminded her of the gorgeous color the leaves turn in Autumn. Striking, black-framed, rectangular shaped glasses only drew her focus more intently to his searing gaze.
A beautifully sculpted jaw and cheekbones, and a currently unsmiling mouth, ended her visual exploration of her guest.