Authors: Deirdre Martin

Tags: #Women lawyers, #Contemporary, #Legal, #General, #Romance, #Hockey players, #Fiction

Icebreaker (7 page)

Midway through what
was turning out to be an outrageously decadent meal, Michael’s brother, Anthony, sat down at the table to shoot the breeze with them.

“Food okay?” he asked.

“Quit fishing for compliments, you loser,” said Michael.

“It’s amazing,” said Adam. “I spent years in Florida. You couldn’t get Italian food like this.”

“ ’ Cause this is the real thing, bro,” said Anthony. “You must have been able to get some amazing Cuban food, though.”

“Totally,” said Adam.

He noticed Anthony kept staring at his brother’s head. Michael noticed it, too. Finally, Michael snapped, “What? What are you staring at?”

“What the hell did you do to your hair?”

“Nothing. I went to Mario, as usual.”

“You look like Shemp from
The Three Stooges
.”

“Fuck you,” Michael said to Anthony. “This is why you have no friends; you insult everyone.”

“I have friends,” Anthony protested.

“Name one.”

Anthony rattled off four names.

“They’re all chefs who are as batshit as you,” Michael countered. “Name one non-chef friend.”

Anthony glared at him. “Bite me, Mike.”

“At least I don’t look like Moe,” said Michael.

Anthony shook his head sadly. “Pathetic comeback. Totally pathetic.” He stood up. “Adam, it was nice to meet you. Ty, it was good to see you again. Mikey, you’re not even worthy of uttering the name of Moe.”

Anthony returned to the kitchen.

Michael touched the top of his head worriedly. “Do I really look like Shemp?”

“Nah, you don’t,” Adam assured him. “He was just yanking your chain.”

“He’s such an asshole,” Michael uttered under his breath.

Dinner finished, Ty
and Michael left to go home to their families. Adam, not tired and not particularly eager to return to an empty apartment, told them he’d call a cab later and went to sit at the bar. He ordered a single malt scotch, taking in the surroundings as he savored his drink. He liked this place; it had a real family feel, with pictures of customers past and present on the walls, as well as a few pieces of undeniably tacky art (paint by number gondolas? The Leaning Tower of Pisa?). It reminded him of one of the restaurants in his hometown, Robkey’s Bar and Grill: unpretentious, good food, decent prices, and a place people could bring their kids. He’d heard through the Blades’ grapevine that the team’s watering hole, the Wild Hart, had a warm feel to it as well. He’d yet to check it out, but a drink with the team might be a good idea; it would give them a very small taste of his human side. Even so, he wouldn’t let his guard down too much. It was too big a risk to the “awe” element Ty wanted him to cultivate.

Adam lifted his eyes to the TV above the bar to watch
Monday Night Football
. The game wound up going into overtime, and by the time it was done, there was only one other guy at the bar, nodding off over his whiskey. Adam felt a clap on his back as Anthony Dante pulled up the barstool beside him.

“You survive your initiation by pasta?”

“Apparently so.”

“I hear my brother’s a good coach,” said Anthony, telling his bartender to pour him a scotch.

“Haven’t been here long enough to tell, but that’s the rumor.”

“Helluva hockey player in his day,” said Anthony proudly. “Tough.”

“He was,” Adam agreed. “I went toe-to-toe with him more than once on the ice. He was a real grinder.”

Anthony took a sip of his drink. “No family to rush home to, huh?”

“Nope. You?”

“I’m married to another chef. In fact, she owns and operates the French bistro across the street, Vivi’s. She’ll probably be over in a few minutes; then we’ll drive home together.”

Adam nodded thoughtfully. “Married to someone in the same profession. That must be interesting.”

“That’s a polite way of putting it,” Anthony chortled. He threw scotch down his throat. “Put it this way: there’s never a dull moment at our house.”

“Telling your brother he looked like Shemp really got under his skin,” said Adam, still amused by the comment.

“I knew it would,” Anthony said with a smirk. “He’s such a vain bastard.”

“I take it you’re a
Stooges
fan.”

“Huge,” said Anthony.

“Me, too.”

“Yeah?” Anthony looked pleasantly surprised. “Ever notice women hate the
Stooges
?” he asked philosophically.

“I have noticed that.”

“They think it’s mindless crap. They don’t have an appreciation for the art of physical farce.” Anthony shook his head despairingly. “I’ve got the complete DVD collection, right? But I can only watch it when Vivi’s not around. She hears one ‘Nyuk nyuk nyuk’ and she goes mental.”

“Totally doesn’t get it.”

“You should come over one night to watch. I’ll make a pizza, crack open a few brews . . .”

“That’d be great.”

Anthony drained his drink. “I gotta get back in the kitchen. Gimme your number, I’ll shoot you a call.”

Adam gave Anthony his number.

“Great meeting you,” said Anthony.

“Ditto.”

“See ya.”

“Yeah.”

Adam gave the bartender a nice tip and asked him to call a cab. It had been a pretty good night. Great food, good company, and to top it all off, he’d hit it off with someone who wasn’t a hockey player. He wondered what Sinead O’Brien would think of his liking the
Stooges
. She’d probably think he was a cretin. A vision streaked through his mind of her all prim and proper in her office, asking him, “I hear you like
The Three Stooges
. Do you think their violence influenced the way you play hockey at all?” The image amused him greatly. She wanted more info on him? Wanted to peel back the layers of his life? Maybe he’d volunteer the info himself. “Don’t know if this will be helpful, but I really love
The Three Stooges
.” He smiled, imagining her expression. That’s when he realized: he sure as hell was spending a lot of time thinking about Sinead O’Brien.

“So, tell me
all about Captain Perry.”

“They all think he’s the second coming of Christ.”

Sinead wearily cleared away the mountain of papers obscuring Oliver’s couch and flopped down. She’d spent three days at Met Gar talking to virtually every player on the Blades about Adam—his reputation, their encounters with him off the ice, if they knew anything about his personal life that could help the case. To a man, all they had was praise. Adam’s a great player. Adam’s the best at what he does. The charges against him are bullshit. Adam, perfect Adam. All ideal for her case, but she found the lack of information on other aspects of his personality frustrating.

Even so, she did find three things particularly interesting: no one seemed to know anything about his personal life, past or present; he was taciturn to an extreme, only speaking to the players when absolutely necessary; and everyone seemed a little frightened of him.

Oliver was behind his desk, can of cola in one hand and a pastrami sandwich in the other. He held up a hand, indicating Sinead should let him finish chewing, then took a long slug of his drink before putting it down with a resounding thud.

“Nothing? Seriously? Nothing?”

“Nothing.”

“Hmm. Gotta be some skeletons somewhere. Always are.”

“Well, if there are, these guys don’t know about it.”

“Who else you planning to talk to?”

“Guys he played with in Tampa. Sportswriters. Anyone I can find.”

“Still planning to go to his hometown?”

“Definitely, even though he told me he didn’t see the point.”

“Maybe he’s got a few illegitimate kids running around up there. Secret wife.”

“Why keep them a secret? God knows there are enough professional athletes with illegitimate kids, and everyone knows about it. It’s not considered a character flaw. And forget talking to
him
; it’s like pulling teeth. At first I thought he was a moron. Now I realize he’s just very, very guarded.”

“Pot meet kettle!”

Sinead was shocked. “What are you talking about?”

“Sinead, we worked together for a year before I even knew you were divorced or came from a large Irish family. It took you forever to open up.”

Sinead squirmed. “I just liked to keep my private life private, is all. Keep things on a professional level. His being so guarded is a detriment to me. My being guarded with you wasn’t a detriment.”

“Yes, it was. We could have become friends sooner. We lost a whole year of intimacy. Think of the things we could have shared. Think of the nights—”

“Shut up, Oliver. The point is, I did open up eventually.”

“Once you trusted me. This guy just doesn’t trust you yet.”

“Good point.”

“Some people need to be wooed. Coaxed into telling their story. I’m the client whisperer; I know these things.”

“So do I,” said Sinead, somewhat annoyed. “My coaxing method is just different than yours: it doesn’t involve Grey Goose and garter belts.”

“Maybe it should,” Oliver murmured, raising one eyebrow seductively. He studied her closely. “You’re hot for him.”

“What?”

Oliver leaned back in his chair, tenting his fingers. “You’re talking to a man who can smell female pheromones from a mile away. You’re interested in this guy.”

“As a client.”

“Bullshit.”

“He’s a
challenge
. I’m not used to clients who don’t display even the slightest bit of anxiety and who don’t tell me their story, true or not, in the hopes it will help them out of a jam. It was like interviewing Lurch.”

“A studly Lurch.”

“An egotistical Lurch. He actually asked if I was really the best attorney for the case because I didn’t know hockey,” she said, smarting at the memory.

“Maybe he’s uncomfortable being represented by a woman.”

“Well, he has no say in the matter. His employers hired me. End of story. I’m hopeful that when I understand the game to his satisfaction, he’ll be more cooperative.”

“You care what he thinks of you,” Oliver said slyly.

“As a client. Even if I was attracted to him,” Sinead said with a sniff, “it’s not like I would do anything about it.”

“Why not?”

“Ethics, Oliver.”

“Screw ethics. Has dating a client ever prevented me from being amazingly brilliant in court?”

“I love your humility.”

“Well?” Oliver prodded.

“
No
, but I’m not you.”

“Too true,” Oliver said with a sigh.

“You’re such an ass,” Sinead said affectionately.