Second Time Lucky. Debbi Rawlins
of paper or a dry napkin?”
Mia pulled her day planner out of her leather tote and tore off a used page. “Here.”
“Oh, my God, they still have those things around. Why don’t you use your BlackBerry?” Shelby found a clean spot on the table and started writing.
“I do both,” Mia said, and glanced at Lindsey, who understood about being careful. She did not look happy.
“Okay, how about something like this…” Shelby squinted as if she were having trouble reading her own writing, which was awful. No one could ever read it but her. “Here we go—‘Remember spring break? Mia, Lindsey and Shelby will be at the Seabreeze Hotel during the week of whatever. Come if you dare. You know who you are.’”
“Not bad, but we’ll have to be more specific.” Mia did a quick mental calculation. ‘Remember Spring Break 2004.’”
“Right.” Shelby scribbled in the correction. “Lindsey, what do you think?”
She shoved a hand through her blond hair and exhaled a shaky breath. It was dim in the bar, but Mia could see she was blushing. “I think you’ll have to change Lindsey to Jill.”
Shelby blinked. “You didn’t give him your real name?”
With a guilty smile, Lindsey shook her head.
Mia and Shelby exchanged glances, and burst out laughing.
DAVID PEARSON PASSED Mia’s empty office on his way to the conference room where he’d been summoned by his father and uncle.
He still couldn’t believe she was gone. The day she’d handed him her letter of resignation had been a shock. Now, two weeks and three days later, he still couldn’t come to grips with Mia no longer being with the firm. That she wouldn’t be stepping off the elevator each morning, early, before anyone but himself had arrived at the office, her green eyes still sleepy, her shoulder-length dark hair still down and damp. By eight, she’d have drunk three cups of coffee—no cream, a little sugar—and pulled her now dry hair back into a tidy French twist. He’d known her routine and habits almost as well as he knew his own.
“Good morning, Mr. Pearson.”
He looked blankly at the receptionist. Only then did he realize he’d stopped and had been staring at the plant Mia had left behind that was sitting near her office door. He silently cleared his throat. “Good morning, Laura.”
Smiling, the pretty young blonde continued toward the break room with a mug in her hand.
“Laura.”
“Yes?” she said, turning back to him.
“Will Mia be picking up this plant?”
She blinked. “I don’t know. I don’t think so.”
“Well, something has to be done with it,” he said more gruffly than he intended. He never got involved in such petty matters. Even more annoying was the unexpected hope that he’d see her again. “Either have it sent to her or if she doesn’t want it, let someone take it.”
“Mia’s going to Hawaii. I’ll keep it watered for now.”
“Hawaii?” His chest tightened. “She’s moving?”
“I bet she wishes.” Laura grinned. “According to Lily, she’ll be gone for a week.”
“When is she leaving?”
The curiosity gleaming in the young woman’s eyes brought him to his senses.
“Never mind.” He shifted the file folders he’d been holding and started again toward the conference room. “Just do something with the plant.”
“In a couple of days,” Laura called after him. “She’s leaving in a couple of days…I think.”
David didn’t respond, but kept walking. What the hell was wrong with him? It was none of his business what Mia did. She’d quit. Thanked him for the opportunity to have been part of the firm, told him she would be pursuing other endeavors, and that was it. He hadn’t tried to talk her into staying. She was a damn good attorney, and he should have. But mostly he’d been too stunned.
The conference-room door was closed, and he knocked briefly before letting himself in. At one end of the long polished mahogany table sat his father, his uncle Harrison and Peter, one of the equity partners. Odd enough that his father would be in the office instead of on the golf course on a Friday, but all three men looked grim.
“Good morning, gentlemen.”
“David.” Peter nodded.
“Have a seat, David” was all his father said.
His uncle poured some water from a carafe on the table and pushed the glass toward David. “You’ll want to add a shot of Scotch to that in a minute.”
“What’s going on?” As he slowly lowered himself into one of the sleek leather chairs, he looked from one bleak face to the next.
“We’ve lost the Decker account,” his father said, his complexion unnaturally pale.
David felt as if the wind had been knocked out of him. Thurston Decker was their second biggest client. “How?”
“That’s not all,” his uncle added, his features pinched. “It looks as if Cromwell may jump ship, as well.”
Bewildered, David looked to Peter, who was staring at his clenched hands. “I don’t understand.” David shook his head. “They’ve both been with us for two generations without a single complaint. We’ve done an excellent job for them.”
“They don’t dispute that.” His father removed his glasses and carefully began cleaning the lenses. “They’re citing the economy.”
“That’s bull.” Harrison angrily ran a hand through his graying hair. “It’s Thurston’s grandkids who’re responsible. Those greedy little bastards. They’re edging the old man out of the company and making a bunch of jackass changes.”
“No point in getting steamed,” David’s father said wearily. He rarely got angry or displayed much emotion. David was much like him in that way. “We need to focus on bringing them back around.”
“I doubt that’s a possibility,” Peter opined. He was a quiet, studious man, who’d joined Pearson and Stern a year before David, and arguably knew more about what was going on in the firm than either of the two senior partners. “I heard that Fritz Decker, the oldest grandson, has already hired one of his former prep school buddies who bought in to Flanders and Sheen. And for a much smaller retainer.”
“How reliable is that information?” David asked.
Peter’s mouth twisted wryly. “We can forget about Decker’s business.”
“Jesus Christ, what the hell happened to loyalty?” Harrison exhaled sharply and eyed David. “You might not know this, but your grandfather had just started this firm when Thurston Decker got into the booze business. He started out with one store and a bar. When he got tangled up with a moonshiner, your granddad took him on as a client for next to nothing.”
David had heard the story and just nodded. “What about Cromwell? Did we screw up, or is he playing the economy card, too?”
Peter shrugged. “We didn’t do anything wrong.”
“Do we have a chance of wooing him back?”
“Good question.” His father put on his glasses. “We’ve lost a few smaller clients in the past couple of months, legitimately as a result of the economy, and nothing that would ordinarily concern us, but at this juncture, throw Decker and Cromwell into the pot and we’re in trouble.”
David sank back in his chair, his head feeling as if it weighed a ton. He never thought he’d see this day. Pearson and Stern had been a reputable, prestigious