“Bailey?”
Bailey George turned and looked across the busy lobby of Casa Blanca Resort and Spa to see Lacey Walker, the owner, threading her way through the crowd. She stopped and waited for her. In the past few years, especially since Lacey’s architect husband had taken her son, Michael, under his wing, the women had become close friends.
“Hey, Lacey. What’s up?”
“Whew!” Lacey juggled the large box she was holding. “We’re really rocking this week. Just checking to make sure everything was set up the way you wanted and the menus are okay.”
“It’s fine. Are you kidding?” Bailey laughed. “Everything is perfect, just as it always is.”
Lacey winked. “We want to be sure we’re taking good care of one of our favorite law firms. We’re just thrilled to have you here.”
As one of the junior partners in Blake, Rothbart and Padilla, it had become Baily’s responsibility to plan the partners’ annual retreat. A few years ago, she and senior partner Warren Blake agreed that the retreats did a lot to create bonding with the young associates in a non-office setting. This was their fifth one, but their first at Casa Blanca.
“I’m just so happy we became friends so I could bring everyone to this fabulous place,” Bailey told her. “By the way, that’s some fancy villa you put me up in. You could have saved that for one of your high-profile guests.”
“Don’t be ridiculous. You are a high-profile guest. You’re still having cocktails before dinner tonight, right?”
Bailey nodded. “That’s the plan.”
“And that’s why you have that villa. There’s a huge patio out by the pool. I thought it would be a great place for drinks and hors d’oeuvres. The crew will be over about four to set things up. And they won’t have to disturb you if you’re inside. They’ll just go in by the pool door, if that’s okay.”
“That’s fine. I probably won’t get back there much before then myself.”
“Well, holler if you need anything. We live to serve. I’d better get these folders to the office before I drop them. Oh, and let’s have coffee Sunday so you can tell me all about how it went.”
“Will do.”
Lacey hurried off through the lobby, nodding and smiling to everyone as she passed them. Bailey was always amazed by her. The woman was a marvel. She never got ruffled, even with the resort to run as well as its ancillary businesses to keep track of, like Barefoot Brides. Not to mention a teenage daughter and a little boy. Bailey treasured the friendship that had developed between them.
Funny how things sometimes worked out. She had gone home to have the baby, home to her parents who were completely supportive and nonjudgmental, thank the lord. They had helped with the baby while she went back to school until she’d completed both her undergrad and law degrees. Then she’d gone to visit a friend in Fort Myers, met Warren Blake at a dinner party, and the rest, as she was fond of saying, was history. She supposed, geographically, she was as far away from Zack Wallace as she could get.
Michael had chosen to attend the University of Michigan, citing the excellence of its college of architecture. However, he made it plain he wanted to stay around the Fort Myers-Naples area after graduation. He applied for the position of architectural intern, a licensing requirement, with local firms, and then the perfect situation came up. Clay Walker, Lacey’s husband, was an architect looking for help, and a mutual friend put the two of them together.
“He doesn’t want to get real big, Mom,” Michael had told her, excited at the prospect. “In a situation like this, I’ll get to do a lot more than I would in a larger firm.”
And that’s the way it had worked out. Clay was a great teacher, and Michael was a terrific learner. Bailey was monumentally proud of him.
Clay had invited them to dinner at the resort so Lacey could meet them, and the bond was created. That was a year ago, and Bailey had lobbied hard since then to have the retreat at Barefoot Bay. Naples had great resort hotels they’d used before, but this was something different, with a little bit of everything mixed together.
“Let’s make sure everyone understands we aren’t there just to play,” Warren had warned her but grinned when he said it.
Heading down toward the meeting rooms, she bumped into Clay.
“How’s it going, Bailey.” He gave her a one-armed hug, the other one wrapped around rolls of blueprints.
“Great, Clay. Everyone’s very happy with their accommodations, and dinner last night was an epicurean delight.”
He chuckled. “Be sure to tell that to Ian.”
Ian Browning was the chef in Junonia, the resort’s excellent restaurant. Bailey didn’t think she’d ever eaten anything as good as the meals he prepared.
“I will,” she assured him. “Hope that son of mine is behaving himself.”
Clay had started to walk away, but he turned back.
“Bailey, that kid is pure genius. He has a feel for things, a sense of what works and doesn’t, all the while working the measurements flawlessly. I’m going to do everything I can to keep him when this internship is over.”
“I don’t think you’ll have to do much. He loves working for you.”
“Good to know. Okay, see you later.”
Bailey continued on down the hall to where the event and meeting rooms were. She wanted to make sure the room she’d chosen was set up properly for the morning’s session. She and Warren had decided to try to make this as informal as possible but still have enough structure to get the work done. The firm was thinking about making some changes, and she also wanted to look into new ways of doing old things.
I have a good life. A really good life. Great career. Outstanding son. Yup. Good life, all right.
If every so often her heart ached just a little, well, she pushed the feeling away in a hurry. No regrets, she always told herself, even if sometimes, late at night, she whispered to herself, Liar.
She was standing at the back of the meeting room, taking a long look at the setup when Warren Blake walked in, carrying coffee in two of the resort’s very fancy go cups.
“Everything’s looking good, Bailey.” He smiled as he handed her one of the cups. “As usual.”
She laughed. “Flattery will get you everywhere.”
“I’ll remember that.” His face sobered. “Seriously, I looked over the agenda, and you’ve done a great job mixing business with playtime. Not too many people realize the downtime is as important to creating a cohesive organization as training.”
“You wanted to create an environment where people, especially the junior partners, would feel relaxed and free enough to throw new ideas on the table.”
“And it looks like that’s what we’ve got here.” He cocked his head. “You’ve been with the firm for, what, fifteen years now?”
“Eighteen,” she correct. “But who’s counting?” Warren Blake knew to the day exactly how long she’d been with the firm, so what was the deal here?
“Eighteen. Right.” He sipped his coffee. “Just checking to make sure you knew how long it’s been.”
“You thinking of firing me?” she teased, even as a tiny bit of tension raced through her. No, that wouldn’t be happening. Would it? Not at this retreat, which he was praising her about before it even got started.
“Hell, no. You kidding me? Smartest thing I ever did was hire you. Look at the list of corporate clients you’ve pulled in, and it just keeps growing.”
“I still remember when you invited me to interview with you. I don’t think the ink was even dry on my diploma. I still wonder why you did it.”
He shrugged. “I saw talent and intelligence and a spark not a lot of people have. I was sure if you went back home, you’d hook up with another firm and I’d miss my chance.” He winked. “I still worry someone smarter than I am will steal you away.”
“That’s not happening, so you can quit worrying.”
She had found a great home at Blake, Rothbart and Padilla, a place that filled the empty spaces in her life Michael didn’t occupy. Ninety percent of the time, she was extremely happy with her life. She had risen to junior partner at the firm, and she could not ask for a better son than Michael. Good-looking, smart, responsible even when he was very young. If there was a thorn in their relationship, it was his unwavering desire to learn who his father was and find him.
“Maybe if he met me,” he said over and over, “he’d like me and want to acknowledge me.”
“I guarantee he would love you and be proud of you,” she always reassured him. “But please accept when I tell you he took a direction in life that didn’t allow for a wife and baby. He was a very good man, Michael, but, sometimes, life puts roadblocks in your way. There were just reasons I could not tell him about you.”
“Is that what I was?” he’d asked, unable to hide the hurt on his face. “A roadblock?”
“Oh, no, honey. That’s not what I meant.” When he was little, she could cuddle him in her arms and soothe away the hurt, but as he grew older, he shied away from that. “Please trust me that I had a good reason for not telling him.”
“Why won’t you at least tell me his name?” he demanded over and over. “And don’t say because.”
His question always gave her a stomachache. “Let me just tell you it’s complicated, and ask that you trust me. We’re doing okay, right? Aren’t we?”
That would put a halt to the discussion for the moment but it always came up again.
She carried her guilt around with her like a lead weight. The first few years she’d convinced herself she was doing it for Zack, to give him his dream. But then she began to doubt her decision, wondering if it was the idiocy of an immature twenty year old. And then the guilt began to creep in.
Over the years there were many moments when she was so tempted to reach out to Zack, to ask his forgiveness. Of course, that would be hard because, as Michael grew older, she could hardly forgive herself.
“You should seriously consider reaching out to him,” her mother urged. “The more time that passes, the more excuses you’ll tell yourself.”
“What if he’s married?” she always came back with. Oh god, how would she deal with that, even though she had lost the right to object? “What if he’s married and doesn’t want a child intruding on his life?”
Of course, she’d searched for a record of a marriage and didn’t find one, but that meant nothing. Maybe he was in a committed relationship, but they just hadn’t gotten around to a wedding. She didn’t think that was his style, but maybe he’d changed. People did.
“Michael’s getting older,” her mother began to remind her. “He’s asking questions. You can’t avoid this forever.”
She always sighed and nodded. “I know I’m a wimp. I’m just so afraid to take that next step. When Michael was younger, you know how I always worried that if I did tell him, he’d be so angry he’d try to take Michael away form me.”
“You’re an attorney,” he mother pointed out. “You could fight him.”
“But do I really want to put Michael through that? Maybe, after all this time, he’s totally immersed in his dream and a son would be an unwanted obligation. Then how would Michael feel?”
“Could he feel worse than he does now?” her mother asked.
But Bailey always had an argument.
“What if I tell him and he hates me? I’m pretty sure he would if he ever found out, even if he didn’t want to be an active parent.”
“That’s a really big load of guilt to carry around,” he mother pointed out.
She knew that. It always left with the sickening feeling the day of reckoning was coming.
When Michael graduated with honors, she nearly exploded with pride. She hoped the absence of the father who never knew about him was softened by the fact all the partners in the firm attended commencement and Warren Blake reserved a private room at the Ritz Carlton to host a celebratory dinner.
Lately, he hadn’t brought it up at all, but Bailey figured she was on a short leash. Michael was going to turn twenty-three in December. She was sure it was just a matter of time before he confronted her again and demanded the information.
Just last year, her mother had tried to convince her to deal with it at last.
“At some point, he’ll force the issue and take it out of your hands by doing it himself. Is that what you want, Bailey?”
What she wanted was for someone to wave a magic wand and make it all go away.
All except her son, of course, her pride and joy.
He was wicked smart. If he wanted answers, all he had to do was backtrack to the year he was conceived and research everything about her that year. Somehow, somewhere, Zack’s name would pop up, and that would be all she wrote.
He was Zack’s son, no doubt about it. He had his father’s masculine good looks and intelligence, and something else that made her uneasy—Zack’s love of flying. The father of one of Michael’s friends owned a small charter service at Page Field in Fort Myers. He’d taken both boys up in the plane for Michael’s thirteenth birthday, and that was all it took. After that, Michael spent every spare minute at the field with his friend, working for the charter service doing odd jobs around the hanger and often bartering his services for short flights.
Oh, Zack. He’s so much like you. You would be so proud of him. Did I make a mistake never hunting you down later? Never telling you about him?
For some reason, this week it had all leaped to the forefront of her mind, despite her efforts to ignore it. She’d lain awake at night, her sleep disturbed by the knot of her conscience that kept tightening inside her. Okay, so she’d had a good reason for not telling Zack that night in their apartment. At least, she kept reassuring herself she did. But what about later on, when she’d gradated law school and he was firmly established in his uncle’s charter service?
And of course, her mother had brought it up in their latest conversation, something she did with regularity.
“Have you done that search yet?” she wanted to know.
Thanks to the Internet you could find out anything about anyone these days. And there weren’t a lot of Ezekiel Wallaces with pilot’s licenses out there. Despite the danger of contacting him, the urge to follow his life was like an addiction. Wallace Charter had grown substantially since Zack joined his uncle, flying people all over Alaska, taking hunters and fishermen to far-flung locations, often taking on medical flights. Pictures of the isolated places he flew to, the many overnight trips he took—selfies and snapshots with some beautiful woman laughing into the sun with him—reinforced her decision. Never mind the ache in her heart that never seemed to go away.
“Yes,” she’d sighed. “I guess I should have mentioned it, as many times as you bring it up. But I still don’t know what I’d do with any information I dig up.”
After a while, she stopped searching. It was just too painful. He was happy, and she was…okay. No, better than okay, she repeated over and over. Nearly twenty-four years had passed. She had a fulfilling career and a son who made her so proud she could hardly stand it. It was time to forget the past. Let it go. So what if she didn’t have a man in her life? The few attempts she’d made to rectify that had turned into dismal failures. The last man who had tried to build a relationship with her had given her some advice that hurt.
“I can’t compete with a ghost, Bailey. I’m not sure anyone can. He must be one hell of a guy. I just don’t understand why the two of you aren’t together.”
She had no answer for that, because sometimes she asked herself the same question. If pictures didn’t lie, even if she changed her mind now, she was too late to the dance. And it was definitely all her stupid, immature fault.
“Bailey? Did I lose you somewhere?”
The sound of Warren Blake’s voice jolted her back to the present.
“Sorry.” She gave herself a mental shake. “Just running a few things over in my mind.”
“We don’t start officially until this evening,” he reminded her. “My wife told me this place has a spa. I mean, it’s the Casa Blanca Resort and Spa, right?”
“Were you planning on a treatment, Warren?” she teased.
“No, but my wife and my daughter-in-law will be here tomorrow. They plan to make good use of that spa before they join us for dinner. By the way, good idea to have the spouses and significant others or whatever at the closing dinner. Makes the evening more relaxing after focusing on strategy and client development for two days.”
“Thank you. I figured all work and no play, you know.”
“My point, though, is you should use the rest of the day to take advantage of the spa and whatever else this place has to offer. Charge it to the firm.”
Bailey lifted her eyebrows. “Tell me you’re kidding. I can’t do that.”
“You can if I tell you to. After all, I’m a senior partner.” He winked. “And my name is first on the logo. So go do it. You’ve worked your ass off to make this come together, and for three days, you’ll be playing teacher and mommy to all of us. I order you to take the day for yourself.”
She laughed again. “Okay, okay. I’ll at least check it out.”
“Excellent. See you at your villa for cocktails. Six o’clock?”
She nodded. “Yes. Everyone will be here by then. And thanks, Warren.”
She watched him walk away toward the lobby. He’d be spending the day out on the water with Nate Ivory, one of the hotshot millionaires who lived on the island and owned, among other things, the local minor league baseball team. Warren’s roster of friends and clients could have come straight from Forbes, but Bailey knew he’d worked very hard to accumulate it. On top of that, he was a really good guy.
Which made her wonder what his comment about her number of years at the firm was all about. Warren’s steel-trap mind never forgot any facts, no matter how small. Oh, well. She gave a mental shrug and pulled up a document on her tablet. She walked the room slowly, checking off each item, making sure the staff at Casa Blanca had placed things where she asked.
Warren had wanted her to shake things up, make this a different kind of retreat, and that’s what she had done. She just hoped everyone didn’t think she was nuts. Satisfied at last, she headed off to find Jocelyn Bloom Palmer who ran the spa. She decided she’d take Warren up on his offer and get herself signed up for the full treatment.