Chapter 5: Old Friends

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Amy

Karen Philpot sits across from me in the expansive dining room of the Palm Court in the Drake Hotel. White, high-backed chairs facing small, round marble tables fill the space. The entire room is soft white, from the tall, Corinthian columns to the drapes to the enormous bouquet of calla lilies mixed with freesia and baby’s breath atop the quatrefoil fountain in the center of the room. The trickle of water adds to the soothing stringed-quartet ambience.

I’ve come here regularly for high tea with Sylvia since I was a little girl. Today, however, it’s an opulent battleground, where I prepare for the woman sitting across from me in a lavender suit to pick me apart. (Yes, I said she’s wearing a lavender suit. It’s okay—I know how to play this game. Be cool.)

Her eyes travel over my sleeveless, tan silk dress. The neckline is a low cowl that plays peek-a-boo with the top of my black bra. A chunky silver and black statement piece is around my neck. I tied my hair back in a French twist, but a few strands have escaped around my cheeks.

“Thanks for inviting me to brunch¸ darling,” I say. Getting the first word is a sign of strength. Karen stirs her tea. I’m having espresso, of course. “What’s new since I left town? It feels like forever.”

“It has been forever. You left what? More than six years ago?”

“Hard to believe, isn’t it?” I lift the tiny cup and take a sip. “We graduated high school, I moved to Cornell, then to Europe. What did you do?”

Her eyes barely flinch, and in fairness, my tone was much less aggressive than it looks on paper.

“The usual. Brown, volunteering at the Swearer Center, then home to succeed mother as president of the DAR.” Her eyes travel over my tanned shoulders as she sips her tea. “It’s our duty to be leaders in the community. Do something more with our lives than drift from scandal to scandal.”

Now I fight my reaction to her words. I’m surprised she went straight for the jugular so fast.

“Well, that’s very refreshing,” is all I say, reaching for my now-empty demitasse. I feel exposed, and I wished I’d brought a cardigan. “I’m surprised you’re still in the city and not Highland Park.”

“We grew up in the city. It’s where everyone lives, where our houses are.”

I’m not sure the common man would call them houses. More like palaces. A waiter appears at my side.

“Another espresso, miss?”

“I’ll have a martini, thanks. Dry, no ice, two olives.” Fuck you, Pill-butt.

A brief smile and the beige-suited server hastens away to fulfill my request. We’ve each already ordered eggs benedict. Just waiting for them to appear.

My gaze returns to Karen’s. “The old gang still around?”

“Bev got married, did you know?” She holds me in her probing gaze, and I silently note how her brown eyes are not warm. I’m not sure they’ve ever been warm.

Shaking my head, I slide my finger down the handle of my knife, contemplating my once-best friend and wondering how long it takes to mix a martini. “We lost touch after I left.”

She shakes her head, and exhales a sigh. “I shouldn’t wonder.”

Not sure what that means. “I do keep in touch with C.J.,” I continue. “Although, I’m surprised he didn’t tell me his sister got married.”

Actually, I’m not so surprised. Bev chose her side, and it wasn’t mine. Not that I blame her. I was a wreck back then.

“Perhaps he wasn’t sure of your reaction. I know how close you two were senior year.”

I have to give her credit. Karen has grown into a royal bitch since I’ve been gone. She wasn’t this bold in high school.

“We were close, I guess. We just had different... paths.” The waiter is back, placing the small tumbler of clear liquor and a spear of two olives in front of me. “Why would I be surprised?”

“She’s as gay as her brother now.” I watch as my opponent leans back in her chair, a haughty expression on her face, and I steel myself. “What’s more, she actually demonstrates. Can you imagine one of us marching in the streets? It’s absolutely demeaning.”

“I suppose she has some wild idea she deserves the same rights as everyone else.” I take a sip of my drink. Wow, gin still tastes like Christmas trees.

Karen shakes her head as our plates are put in front of us. “Bullshit. We don’t have rights. The middle class thinks it’s so grand to be us, but we have a system of rules to follow no one would covet. If she wanted equality, she should’ve left like you did.”

That comparison calls for a little more Christmas. I take a longer sip, and consider how Karen would spin it if I had gin for brunch instead of poached eggs and hollandaise. No, I owe it to Sylvia to choke down a few bites.

My nemesis doesn’t skip a beat. “You should have seen her wedding.”

Knife and fork in hand, she slices a small wedge of egg, Canadian bacon, and English muffin. I reluctantly follow suit.

Her bite is cleared before mine, and she continues. “Her partner Lorna was absolutely gorgeous in this backless tulle gown. Very Portia de Rossi. Bev was in the usual black pantsuit, but at least she wore a white chiffon blouse.”

Nodding, I stir the olives in my glass. “So you went to the wedding?”

Karen’s eyebrow arches. “Of course! She invited me. We’re old friends. I support her living her life, but she can’t be cramming her agenda down our throats, expecting anything to change.”

Silence falls over the table, and we face each other awkwardly. This was not how I’d expected our brunch to flow. Instead of ire, it’s turned depressingly philosophical.

I’d expected Karen to pick me apart, but she’s already categorized me. Now I’m learning how much I don’t know, and I’m feeling more the outsider than ever.

Martini finished, I just say it. “I wasn’t cramming an agenda when I left.”

The statement freezes her mid-bite. Anger flashes in those cold brown eyes and her voice is flat. “Don’t you go there, Amy Knight. Don’t you dare. We both know why you left.”

How many years has it been, and we haven’t moved a step away from the past? “This place had become too poisonous.”

“You poisoned it. Why did you even come back?”

Glancing around, I lift my bag off my chair. This enormous room feels like it’s closing in on me, and I need to get outside where I can breathe.

“I’ll pay up front,” I say, placing my napkin beside my plate and standing.

“Answer my question, Amy Knight.”

All the weight of the past presses down on my shoulders, but the last ten days cemented my decision. “I came back for Sylvia.”

She can’t counter that, and I don’t wait for her to try. So many times I should have thought of my mother first. I should have prioritized her needs. I’m here for her now, and I’m not going anywhere. No matter how badly Karen wants me to leave, or what she might do to get her revenge.

It takes five seconds to cross from here to the exit.

I’m going to make it in three.

* * *

Marcus

I lean back in my leather chair and study my desk clock. It’s noon. How long should I wait... Forty-five minutes? An hour? More?

Brunch at eleven-thirty. Knowing women, they’re probably chatting, catching up. Propping my feet up on the edge of my desk, I stare at the coffered ceiling remembering her smile, the way she looked at the bar—laughing, her eyes sparkling. The light tips of her hair danced around her shoulders the same way they did when she straddled my lap.

She was so beautiful last night in that black lace bra and thong. My eyes close, and I can see her small breasts bouncing as I drove into her. They’re perfect handfuls, perfect mouthfuls.

She did it again. I didn’t make her say she wouldn’t run out on me. I tried to be a hard-ass, demand an admission of... anything. Picking up my white, Chicago Cubs stress ball, I give it a squeeze before tossing it straight up and catching it again. I was too distracted by my cock aching to be inside her to care about making her say she’d stay.

Next time...

Dropping my feet, I lean forward and snatch up my phone. It doesn’t matter what time she finishes. My text will be waiting when she checks her phone.

In my office. Run up and we can finish our talk.

Now I have to hope she checks her phone. She doesn’t seem as attached to it as most women her age. She also probably doesn’t work on weekends. I don’t consider this working, so I don’t mind being up here.

When we leased this place, I chose this office because it was the most like a living room or a home office. Research, the law, solving cases, they’re what I love, and being here feels as natural as being in my condo doing it.

The last thing I wanted was a sterile, cold workplace. Here, the chairs are comfortable, I have a nice view, I’m close to bars and coffee shops. Looking across the room, I admire the recliner and ottoman positioned in front of a wall of books. It’s warm and welcoming, an extension of my home.

The phone buzzes and I snatch it up, my pulse ticking a little faster at the prospect of seeing her again. I’m not going to hide it. Amy Knight is beautiful, smart, strong, fantastic in bed, and I’m willing to see how far this might go. Also, I’m not accustomed to chasing women. It’s something new and intriguing.

With a frown, I read the message from Kitty Donnelly. Marcus, dear, please join us at the house for dinner tonight. I need to chat with you about my nephew Oscar.

Exhaling, I dutifully type out a reply. Sure. What time?

How I’ve managed to become the go-to for all the young people trying to break into the Chicago scene, I’ll never know. I’m not a man about town. I don’t appear in the city magazines. In fact, I do everything possible to avoid being photographed with my dates at events. It keeps my personal life personal. And real. No publicity-seeking, social climbers throwing themselves at me.

Would 7 work for you?

See you then.

Truthfully, dinner with Paul and Kitty will be a nice distraction from hanging around thinking about her. Amy Knight is interesting enough to warrant a little pursuit, but I won’t be made a fool.

* * *

Amy

Walking fast up the sidewalk toward Michigan, I realize I’m trembling.

I can’t go home like this. Sylvia will be all over me wanting to know what happened, and telling her is the last thing I can do.

Stopping at the intersection, I take a deep breath and look up and down the sidewalk trying to estimate how far I am from Millie’s. I’m not that out of touch with the city. I should be able to remember where the closest bar is.

C.J.! I grab my bag and dig around for my purse. He’ll know where we can go for a drink, and if he joins me, maybe he can take my mind off what just happened.

The little red spot tells me I have a text. Swiping it fast, I stop in my tracks. Marcus wants me to stop by his office. Marcus...

Last night is so fresh in my mind. He ran after me in his bare feet. Giving my forehead a hard rub, I consider taking him up on his offer.

No. He’s too demanding, too bossy, and damned if my insides don’t go all squishy at the thought of him.

Be logical. It’s possible, once I lay the ground rules, I don’t do relationships, we’ll be fine. Hell, he’ll probably agree with me. He’s got to be at least thirty-five, and he’s still single. It’s silly for me to cross him off the list when we haven’t even laid the ground rules.

Standing on the sidewalk, I look up in the direction of his building. After the battle I just fought, it would be nice to have him lick my wounds. My stomach warms, a naughty smile on my lips. Or something else...