Rules of Negotiation (5 page)

Chapter Six

“You went on a
date
with The Slayer? The SLAYER? I can’t believe you waited this long to tell me!”

Betsy’s voice started at a whisper but rose with each word. They were standing in the hall in front of Tori’s office. Tori checked up and down the sleek, light-filled hallway of the newly remodeled office, her face burning; with her luck a senior partner would pick exactly that moment to wander past. Luckily, the passage was clear. It was almost six-thirty, and most of the lawyers and staff had gone home.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Tori hissed at her assistant. “All I said was that we had dinner. I never said it was a date.”

Betsy was a short, round woman with carefully teased black hair that had more than a few streaks of gray, and heavy makeup that she proudly attributed to Avon. Betsy was only forty-five, but she insisted her four children had aged her prematurely. She had been Tori’s assistant for four years, ever since Tori joined the firm, and they worked together well, taking turns envying each other’s lives. Betsy had a fabulous marriage, great kids, and the air of satisfaction that Tori supposed came from knowing she was doing exactly what she was meant to do. For her part, Betsy envied Tori’s travels and her supposedly glamorous, carefree existence.

Betsy wagged a finger at Tori. “I know what you said, but you’ve been in a daze ever since you walked into the office this afternoon, and I swear I heard you hum. Need I point out that Tori Anderson never hums? You’ve checked that BlackBerry a hundred times since you got here, and that’s bad, even for you. That, and someone delivered three dozen roses to your office while you were in your last meeting.”

Tori froze. “Roses?” she croaked. “For me?”

“Yes, you,” Betsy laughed. “Don’t look so appalled. Roses are a good thing, not a sign of the apocalypse.”

Tori was already hurrying into her office, her gaze darting around until she saw the crystal vase filled with dark red roses sitting in the middle of her enormous antique walnut desk, the sultry fragrance already filling the room. Without even pretending not to care, she jerked the envelope from the plastic holder and ripped it open.

Here’s to next time—Brit

“Here’s to next time?” Betsy shrieked. “Oh my God, did you
sleep
with him?”

Tori spun around. “Betsy, hush!” She jumped up to close the door to her office. “Of course I didn’t sleep with him. We, um, kind of made out.”

She shouldn’t be telling her secretary this. She shouldn’t be telling
anyone
this. But the tiny smile she’d been hiding all day burst free, for one tiny moment. She still couldn’t believe she’d kissed Brit Bencher. Maybe she had freaked out afterward, and maybe she didn’t have the guts to actually consummate the deal, but hell, he hadn’t run screaming from her or laughed at her refusal to let him spend the night. What kind of a man did that?

“Made out? What is this, high school?” Betsy grabbed the card and studied it for a moment. “
Here’s to next time
? Sounds like someone wants to finish the job.”

“Well, that’s romantic.” Tori rolled her eyes, though the thought of finishing anything with Brit set every nerve in her body on fire.

Especially the ones between her legs.

“Romance schmo-mance. You’ll be back to New York to close the Technix deal in a couple of weeks, right? You can jump in bed with him then.”

“I’m going there for business, not to sleep with Brit Bencher. You know I don’t have time to fool around, Betsy. I promised the business group I’d do a song and dance about my practice for the summer associates starting next week. I’ll need your help with a presentation. And then there’s—”

“Karl Bulcher,” Betsy interrupted. “I saw your e-mail and I moved the appointment on your calendar to seven tomorrow morning.”

Tori rubbed her eyes. The mere mention of Karl was enough to wipe away any remaining giddiness over her night with Brit. “If he’s serious about this new acquisition we’ll have to start assembling a team. We’ll need a few associates, all the summer people, and at least one other paralegal to help with the due diligence.”

Betsy held up her hand as if to stop the flood of assignments. “I get the picture. Do you need me to come in early?”

“No, we can work on it when you get in.” She opened her eyes to the sight of deep crimson velvety petals. Karl Bulcher disappeared from her thoughts and an image of Brit’s eyes, locked on hers as he leaned in for a kiss, appeared in its place.

“Was he as good as they say?”

“Betsy!” Tori said in a strangled voice.

A broad smile brought out the dimples in Betsy’s plump cheeks. “I thought so. Man, some people have all the luck. Tell me again why you didn’t sleep with him?”

Tori sank into the leather chair behind the desk. “You are incorrigible.” She steepled her fingers and rested her chin on top, staring down at the Ben Franklin Parkway and the collection of brightly colored flags that lined it. “We’re in the middle of the deal. It was too weird. Besides, he’s like a movie star or something. I can’t imagine he’s really interested in me.”

“You have a serious self-esteem problem,” Betsy said. “I saw this show once on successful women, and it said they’ve been conditioned to undervalue their worth—”

“Betsy! If I want a talk show dose of therapy, I promise, I will get one. Anyway, I assume, since you make my calendar, you’ve looked at it? Did you see a lot of free nights in there?”

“That is your choice, not a requirement,” Betsy retorted. “You nailed down the Excorp deal yesterday. You
could
take a night off. No one expects to make partner in their sixth year anymore.”

Tori thought about her mother, and Langston Estates. She knew Betsy did, too, because her assistant’s face softened, and sympathy creased her heavily made-up eyes.

How much time do I have? A year? Two?

“Oh, hon,” Betsy shook her head. “I’m sorry. I understand. At least call Brit back. You’ve got to say thank you for the flowers, don’t you?”

“I’ll send him an e-mail.”

“You’re kidding me. You’re really going to walk away from the first real man I’ve seen you with in the past four years?”

“Have you been talking to Jerry?” Tori asked.

Betsy ignored the question, pinning her down with a mother’s glare. “I’m not saying you have to date Fabio, but please, at least go for someone in your own class.”

“My class is five-six and pasty. Besides, I don’t like charming guys. They’re shifty. You can’t trust them.”

“They’re not all like your dad,” Betsy said.

Tori ignored the reference to her father. She regretted, not for the first time, the fact that Betsy had known her mother before the Alzheimer’s. She leaned back and put her hands in her lap. “Betsy, you researched Brit for me—you know he’s with a different girl every week. Why in the world would you want me to go after someone who gives new meaning to the phrase ‘love ’em and leave ’em’?”

“Maybe it would be different with you. Maybe you’ll be the one to tame his wild, cowboy soul.”

A smile cracked the corner of her mouth. “Right. I couldn’t tame my own cat.” She picked up the top piece of paper from the mountain of correspondence Betsy had stacked beside her computer. “I’ve got enough work to last me until Christmas. You should get home. I’ll see you in the morning.”

Pursing her lips, Betsy studied Tori’s face. “You flew in this morning from New York, and from the look of those bags under your eyes, I’ll guess you only got a few hours of sleep last night. Why not knock off now? The work will be here in the morning.”

“No can do. Especially now that I know Karl’s serious about this acquisition.”

“Remind me exactly why you are the only one who can handle this?” Betsy asked. “Last time I looked there were forty other lawyers in this firm, and any one of them would be happy to take on Mr. Bulcher’s latest project.”

Tori ground her teeth and prayed for patience. She had fought this particular fight with Betsy many times before. “Akro is one of our biggest clients, and for some unknown reason, no one can handle Karl like me. He’s a son of a bitch, but he knows I’ll get the job done. He’s my ticket into the partnership, Betsy. All I have to do is keep him happy.”

Betsy heaved herself out of the chair and walked back to her cubicle on the other side of the hall, shaking her head as she went. “Whatever you say, boss. Whatever you say.”

…

The sun was throwing a curtain of pink across the horizon and the air was turning cool when Tori finally slid into the seat of her black and white Mini. A mountain of manila folders and heavy black binders—bedtime reading to prepare for her meeting with Karl—overflowed the passenger seat, along with the crystal vase and its cargo of roses. Their sensual fragrance overwhelmed the small space. Ella Fitzgerald’s voice slid through the car as Tori turned the key, and she sat still for a moment, instantly transported back to Brit’s Mercedes.

I should call him.

I definitely should not call him.

I should have slept with him.

You were out of your league. Let it go.

She pulled out of the parking garage, her thoughts running in circles as she followed the familiar path to the Langston Estates nursing home. When she arrived, the last rosy sunbeams were glancing off the side of the small brick building and lighting the shiny wintergreen shrubs growing beside it. She pulled into the small parking lot and threw open the car door. The damp air had awakened the smell of the lavender growing along the front walk. It helped clear the jumble in her head.

Tori pushed a button on the wall and braced herself for battle.

“Sorry, we’re closed to visitors right now,” came a stern voice through a silver intercom.

“Chad, it’s Tori Anderson. Any chance you could let me in to see my mom?” Tori stared into the shiny, black square above the intercom that she knew concealed a camera, and tried to look pitiful.

“Visiting hours are from nine to five, Tori. You know that.” The regular night clerk sounded disgruntled, but that had never stopped him from letting her in before.

“Come on, Chad,” Tori cajoled. “You know I can never get here during visiting hours. Besides, it’s time for
I Love Lucy
. I know she’s watching. Can’t I stop in for a second? I promise I won’t be in your hair.”

There was a long pause.

“Pretty please? I’ll bring you a triple mocha with extra whipped cream next time I come.”

Still no response. Tori bit her lip and shifted from one foot to the other. Damn it, she knew she should have stopped on the way for the mocha. That always worked.

“Okay, but you owe me huge.”

A buzzer announced that the door was unlocked. She swung it open with a sigh of relief. The hall inside was muted orange, the colors in the comfortable waiting room an autumn palate of rust, brown, yellow, and red. Langston Estates, a nursing care facility specializing in dementia and late-stage Alzheimer’s disease, refused to treat its residents like patients in a hospital. It surrounded them with bright colors, music, and activities from poetry readings to plays.

“She’s in the rec room.” Chad greeted Tori halfway down the hall. The thin, stooped man had a kind spirit that he tried to disguise behind his brusque voice. “You better be in and out before nine. I’m not getting in trouble because you can’t get here when you’re supposed to.”

Tori patted his arm gratefully. “You are a saint.”

He snorted. “You been working late again?”

“Always,” she said, trying to inject a cheerful note into her voice. “I got back this afternoon from Texas, via Florida and New York.”

“Hmph. Doesn’t seem right, a young thing like you spending all her time working.”

“How’s she been?”

“It’s been a tough week,” he said after a pause. “She hasn’t wanted to eat much. But they’ve been working with her. I think she got out for a walk this morning, and that always helps her appetite.”

With only thirty residents, the staff at Langston got to know all of the patients. Chad had a special rapport with the ladies. Tori had seen him coax a smile from her mother when no one else could communicate with her.

“Thanks, Chad.”

Chad thrust a bony finger her direction. “You sure I can’t fix you up with my cousin’s boy Drake? He’s a few years younger than you, but a nice boy. You’d like him.”

“Sorry, gotta run. I’ve only got a few minutes, you know!” Tori patted his elbow and started toward the large common area that held two televisions and a library of books and magazines. Over the last year, Chad had offered to set her up with his cousin’s sons, a neighbor, and two doctors who visited the home on occasion. Tori refused them all. Blind dates were not her cup of tea.

She hightailed it down the hall, a smile lingering around her lips. The familiar theme from
I Love Lucy
blared out at her the minute she passed through the wide double doors. Four or five residents sat on couches and in chairs watching the flickering lights of the television, their faces reflecting varying degrees of interest and comprehension. A watchful staff member sat at a large table on the other side of the television, playing cards with a gray-haired man with a thick white beard. He raised a hand to acknowledge Tori, and she waved back before approaching her mother.