Authors: Dara Girard
“Diabetic hose. I plan to broaden the selection. I know that diabetics have special needs regarding foot care and the material used for hose or socks is critical. I’m curious as to why manufactures stick to these three colors—black, white and tan. Also look into ways to reduce varicose veins and other ailments.”
“You think there might be something to this?”
“Yes.”
Miles shook his head unsure. “What could two guys know about hose?”
“That women like to buy many pairs.”
His interest peaked. “Hmm, I’ll see what I can do.”
“Thanks.”
“In the meanwhile, be careful.”
Hunter pulled his gloves on. “I will.”
Miles held out an envelope. “Here.”
Hunter stared down at it. “No.”
Miles shoved it in his hand. “Don’t be a damn martyr. I know you’ll pay me back, with interest. Think of it as a business investment.” He picked up a box. “I plan to be head of R&D.”
“What are you doing?” Hunter asked watching Miles load the truck.
“You’ve got a new employee.”
“I can’t pay you what you’re worth yet, but online sales are growing and—”
“We’ll come up with something.”
“It’s a risk.”
“I don’t see you shaking.”
Hunter nodded and handed him another box. “Then welcome aboard.”
***
Brenna thought it was an odd choice for the DA to put the guard from the apartment complex on the stand. She couldn’t rationalize what relevance the guard would be to the case. The guard was a large black woman with four earrings in each ear.
“Is it true that you consider yourself a friend of the defendant’s wife?” the DA asked her.
“Yes.”
“Did Mrs. Garrett share with you how her husband acted when he returned home that night?”
“Yes.”
“How did she describe him?”
“Agitated.”
“Did she say why?”
“No, she says he gets in his restless moods from time to time and doesn’t say much.”
“What was it that bothered you and convinced you to call the police? Was there something you noticed?”
She nodded. “Yes.”
“And what was that?”
“He was wearing a different shirt.”
“Thank you.” The DA returned to his seat. “No further questions.”
Byron stood and shrugged with nonchalance determined to make light of her observations. “So he changed his shirt? Is that unusual?”
“Objection,” the DA said.
Byron rephrased his question. “Are you sure you saw him in a different shirt?”
“Positive. Yes, he was wearing a crew neck T-shirt when he left and he came back in a blue button-up one when he returned.”
“Do you usually notice what people wear?”
“No, not always.”
“So what made you remember the defendant?”
She looked embarrassed. “Well, he’s the kind of guy you notice, you know.”
Byron stroked his chin as though weighing her words. “Is it true that his job is of a physical nature?’
“Yes, Fiona told me it can be physical. She says she hates when he comes home sweaty.”
“So it would make sense that he’s in the habit of changing shirts, correct?”
“I guess.”
“Therefore it would make sense that after working at Seaborn’s all day he’d change his shirt?”
“Yes.”
He tapped the stand. “Thank you. No further questions.”
“Any cross?” the judge asked.
“No, Your Honor,” the DA replied.
The judge looked at the guard. “You may step down.”
***
Later that day, Byron sat alone in his office as the rays of the sunset filled the room. Things didn’t look good for Stephen. Unfortunately, he didn’t have any tricks up his sleeve. He’d noticed some jurors had already made up their minds about him. He knew it was difficult to plant a seed of doubt in a slab of concrete, but he did believe in miracles. And he planned to get Stephen off. Bryon rubbed his eyes and sighed. He just wished he didn’t feel so alone. He missed his uncle and hated the prospect of dealing with another failure. He let his hands fall to his desk. No, he wouldn’t fail this time.
“The prosecution made quite a case,” Brenna said, standing in the doorway.
Byron sat up surprised. He’d always hoped she would come by to see him, but never believed that she would. He nodded, not trusting himself to speak.
She sat, resting her cane on the ground. “Do you still think you can get him off?”
He nodded again.
“I probably should have come before to help you with the case.”
“No other reason?”
Brenna ignored the undertone of his question. “There are some things you should know.”
Byron glanced at her hands as they fiddled with the strap of her handbag, she wasn’t as calm as she seemed. “I already know about your uncle.”
“Do you think the DA knows?”
“Yes.”
“But it doesn’t need to come out in the trial.”
“It will if it has to.”
She yanked on the strap. “You can make sure it doesn’t.”
He flashed a smile of sympathy. “I can’t make sure of anything. I can only try to use it to my advantage.”
Both her gaze and her voice fell. “Oh.”
Byron leaned forward eager to lift her spirits. “Do you remember—?”
“No,” she said quickly, meeting his gaze. “Or rather I don’t want to remember.”
“I don’t have a choice.” He clasped his hands together and studied her for a moment. “Do you plan on having kids?”
Her gaze didn’t waver. “What do you think?”
“So the Randolphs wouldn’t mind if—“
“Hunter wouldn’t mind,” she said in a tight voice. “And that’s what matters.”
He rested back. “You don’t know everything about your husband.”
“Neither do you.”
Byron shrugged then came from around the desk, closing some of the distance between them. “Why did you come here? You could have just called.”
“I know. I wanted to offer support.” She grabbed her cane and stood. “But if you don’t need me for anything—“
He blocked her path. He stood close, but didn’t touch her. He could hear her breathing quicken. His body came alert at the rush of red that came to her cheeks and how she moistened her lips. “I don’t need you,” he said. “But I want you real bad.”
Her knuckles grew pale as she grasped the strap of her handbag. “I’m sorry to hear that.”
“No, you’re not. Brenna, don’t do this to me.”
She moved around him. “I’m not trying to do anything.”
“Okay, forget about us,” he called before she reached the door. “I could use your help.”
She paused then turned. “I’m listening.”
“Are you willing to work with me?”
She looked at him with interest. “I’m willing to do what’s necessary to help my brother.”
What’s necessary.
How very practical and like Brenna. There was no way he could convince her to sleep with him—at least not yet, but at least he was no longer alone.
Byron gestured to the seat and smiled. “I’m glad to hear that.”
***
Later that night Byron stared up at the ceiling. It wasn’t like him to be unable to sleep, but no matter what he tried, sleep wouldn’t come. He thought about the prosecutions’ witnesses: the guard who’d seen Stephen change his shirt and Seaborn’s son. But aside from that he thought about Brenna. He shouldn’t be alone tonight. She should be beside him, beneath him and he wouldn’t stop until she was. They belonged together. He’d been weak, but he’d always been weak and that weakness had cost him. But not again, never again. He wouldn’t let her down. With his good looks and background he was used to things coming easily to him. Brenna’s resolve amazed him. He had to admit that when she’d asked him to marry her he’d been scared. Scared that he couldn’t be the husband she needed. He’d taken the coward’s way out, but not this time. He’d fight. She didn’t know the man she’d married or the family she’d married into.
PART THREE
The true measure of life is not length, but honesty.
John Lyly
CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE
The Present
Brenna set her glass aside and looked at Byron. It was dangerous to be here with him. It was a simple invitation to a friend’s party, but she knew they were headed to much more. She’d let him kiss her. And as he did she thought of how much Hunter had loved Angelina. She remembered his words while indulging in the sensuous feel of Bryon’s lips on her skin. She shut her eyes. It could always be like this. She could be loved too.
“Come away with me,” Bryon whispered.
She reluctantly drew away. “I can’t. And this is wrong.”
“What’s wrong is how you continue to lie to yourself.”
“I have to go home.”
“To what? You have nothing and no one to go home to.”
***
Byron’s words echoed in Brenna’s mind as she stared at the large brick wall that slowly came to life under the artistic hands of twelve high school students. Tima had invited her to see the progress of a mentoring program she volunteered with.
“Feel the story,” Tima instructed. She looked over at Brenna and waved. “Hi.”
“Hi.”
“Is your leg hurting you?”
“Just a little. I’ve been working with Byron the past few days and trying to keep everything at work running smoothly. It’s just nerves.” She glanced around. “This is impressive.”
Tima folded her arms and shot her a knowing look. “Stay away from him, Brenna.”
She didn’t turn her eyes away from the mural. “Who?”
“You know who. You’re thinking about him right now. Personally, I don’t blame you.” She wiggled her eyebrows. “I’ve seen him. But you’re married.”
“The marriage isn’t real. Sometimes I wonder if I’ve made a mistake.”
“You didn’t make a mistake marrying the man you love.”
Brenna continued to stare at the mural. “Everyone knows I married Hunter for his money.”
“That’s what you want everyone to believe and most people do.”
Brenna turned to her. “But not you.”
Tima shook her head. “Why don’t you just admit that you loved this man the moment he walked into your office?”
“I can’t admit that,” she said in a tense voice.
“Why not?”
She gripped her cane and fought hard against tears. “Because I promised myself never to feel this way again. Never to love a man who didn’t love me. How could I be so stupid? How can I love a man like Hunter? Do you know what I am to him? An employee. I have my duties and my place and nothing more. I should leave him…”
“Why don’t you?” Tima said bluntly. “He doesn’t have money any more.”
Brenna ignored the question. “Byron wants me. Do you know how good it feels to be wanted in that way?” Her gaze fell as she thought about the time she’d spent with him. The forbidden kiss that night on the balcony only days ago and the questions she refused to answer. “I’ve told him no, but…”
“You don’t know what you want.”
“What’s better? To love or be loved?”
“It depends on what makes you happy.”
“Byron’s coming by tonight. Hunter’s working late so there’ll just be the two of us.”
Tima studied her friend, uneasy. “Be careful, Brenna.”
“Don’t worry. I am.”
***
Hunter did not appreciate the sight of Brenna and Byron saying goodbye in the parking lot. But it wasn’t the first time he’d seen them together. Brenna had explained that Byron needed her help in uncovering some information and he couldn’t object. But there was no doubt he couldn’t wait for the trial to end. He watched Byron walk to his car then followed.
Byron saw him and smiled. “Hello.”
Hunter didn’t return the expression. “You’re heading in the right direction. I suggest you keep going.”
Byron looked amused and shoved his hands in his pocket. “You can’t stop me from seeing her. You’ve denied her enough things, don’t you think?” He glanced at the building. “This little set up of yours isn’t working anymore. The main thing is you can’t make her happy.” He rested a hand on his chest. “I can. I know she loves the scent of pumpkin pie and fall afternoons and the taste of blackberries in cream. What do you know about her?”
“Enough to know she belongs to me.”
“The great thing about belongings is that you can always get a fair exchange,” Byron said. “How would you like your old life back? A time when you could afford anything you wanted? Fortunately, people will pay a lot of money for the right kind of secrets. And I know of someone who could use a few.”
“I’m not interested.” Hunter began to walk away.
Byron shrugged. “The Randolphs have treated you badly,” he called after him. “In a way we’re on the same side.”
Hunter slowly turned, his voice laced with ice. “And what side would that be?”
Byron flashed a ruthless grin. “We both wouldn’t mind a little revenge.”
Hunter folded his arms curious. “What do you have against the Randolphs?”
“Orson got my uncle disbarred. He had discovered Orson and a bank executive had hired a corrupt lawyer to throw a case against a bank manager indicted for embezzlement. The manager went to prison and they made a hefty profit from the ‘missing funds’ that were never recovered. When Orson discovered my uncle was investigating the case, he pulled some strings and made sure my uncle never worked in law again. I’d like to repay him for his kindness.”
Hunter was silent a moment. “When you heard about this case, what caught your attention more? The name Randolph or Garrett?”
“I was swayed by both.”
“Perhaps one more heavily than the other?”
“Perhaps.”
Hunter shoved his hands in his pockets. “Which would you prefer? Company secrets or Brenna?”
Byron rocked on his heels. “I don’t make choices when I have the advantage.”
“And what would that be?”
“I have money and Brenna needs me. As I said earlier it’s a friendly exchange.” He grinned then turned. “Think about it.”
***
Hunter sat at the table thinking about Byron’s offer. He did want revenge. He did want money and prestige, but not at his price. He’d deal with his grandfather on his own terms and he would do whatever it took to make Brenna happy. He wanted to make her happy, but didn’t know how. He glanced up when she put a fruit smoothie in front of him. “What’s this?”