A Legal Affair (17 page)

Daniela smiled. “Thank you, Ms. Owens. I’m glad to be here.”

“Come in, come in,” Rita urged, opening the door wider to usher them inside the cool interior of the house. The wide foyer spilled into a large living area that boasted the finest in contemporary furnishings, and tall glass windows that soared to cathedral ceilings. Custom ceramic-tile floors gleamed beneath their feet as they followed Rita Owens down a wide hallway with archways on both sides that opened into several spacious rooms, each showcasing the handiwork of a very talented, and doubtless expensive, interior designer.

“Your father asked me to show you to the study when you arrive,” Rita told Caleb, and he gave a brief nod, his hand never leaving Daniela’s back. She felt the warmth of his touch through her silk blouse, infusing her with the strength and courage she needed to get through the evening.

At the end of the hallway, Rita stopped at a door that had been left slightly ajar. Without bothering to knock, she ushered Caleb and Daniela into the room. It was a large, richly appointed library that featured a twenty-foot ceiling and mahogany-paneled walls that contained rows and rows of books, the upper tiers accessible by a pair of tall ladders on wheels. The mingled odors of leather, ink and freshly polished wood scented the air.

Behind the carved mahogany island of a desk sat Crandall Thorne, a man who’d graced countless magazine covers and been at the center of more controversial court cases than Daniela could recall. His leather chair was angled away from the desk, one elbow propped on the gleaming surface as he pored through a sheaf of documents on his lap. Upon their entrance, he glanced over, then slowly set aside his paperwork.

“Your guests have arrived,” Rita told him, unnecessarily.

“Yes, I can see that,” Crandall Thorne said in a deep, gravelly voice that resonated with authority. Behind a pair of wireless reading glasses perched on the bridge of his strong nose, eyes the color of bittersweet chocolate unerringly homed in on Daniela’s face. “You must be the young woman my son’s been raving about.”

Taken aback, Daniela threw Caleb a surprised look. “You have?”

His mouth twitched with faint humor. “I may have mentioned one or two complimentary things.”

She felt an impish grin tugging at the corners of her lips. “Such as?”

His gaze roamed across her face. “If I wanted you to know,” he drawled, an amused glint in his dark eyes, “obviously I would have told you already.”

“Of course,” she teased.
“Obviously.”

Crandall Thorne discreetly cleared his throat, and Daniela swung her gaze around, embarrassed at how easily she’d forgotten that she and Caleb were not alone in the room. She stepped forward, her hand outstretched. “Daniela Moreau,” she introduced herself with a courteous smile. “It’s a pleasure to meet you, Mr. Thorne.”

As Crandall rose smoothly to his feet, Daniela realized that Caleb had inherited more than his father’s dark good looks. Wearing a crisp white shirt over impeccably tailored gabardine trousers, Crandall Thorne exuded the confidence and charisma of a man who knew who he was, and knew how to get what he wanted—an innate quality his son also possessed, which made him impossible to resist.

Crandall’s large, elegant hand swallowed Daniela’s in a firm handshake. “The pleasure is all mine, Miss Moreau. Please have a seat,” he said, indicating one of the oxblood leather chairs opposite his desk.

Daniela murmured her gratitude as Caleb pulled out the chair for her. But instead of claiming the other seat, he wandered over to a pair of French doors that overlooked a small courtyard, the stucco walls covered with a network of vines that were lush and green this time of year. As Daniela watched him, he leaned a negligent shoulder against the wall and stuffed his hands deep into his pants pockets, looking as if he had not a care in the world.

“I’m going to check on dinner,” Rita announced before slipping out of the room and closing the door quietly behind her.

Crandall’s dark, assessing gaze settled on Daniela. “My son tells me you’re interested in doing an internship at my law firm.”

“That’s correct,” said Daniela, pleased by how steady her voice sounded. “I think it would give me a wonderful opportunity to explore how the legal system works, not to mention the tremendous opportunity to learn from some of the finest criminal defense attorneys in San Antonio.”

Crandall inclined his head toward Caleb, whose back remained to them. “You’re already learning from
the
best criminal defense attorney in San Antonio. Did you know that?”

Daniela smiled a little. “Yes, I did. He’s pretty amazing in the classroom, as well.”

“That doesn’t surprise me,” Crandall said gruffly. “My son excels at everything he does. Always has.”

Caleb sent a bemused glance at them over his shoulder. “I thought we were here to discuss Miss Moreau,” he said dryly.

Daniela and his father exchanged amused looks. “Speaking of the classroom,” Crandall said, leaning back in his chair as he removed his eyeglasses, “I understand this is only your first semester of law school. What makes you think you’re ready for an internship so soon?”

“I’m
not
sure,” Daniela admitted, and saw a flicker of surprise in his eyes at her candid response. “My background was in accounting, so the field of law is pretty new to me. The truth is that if I were to intern at your firm, I would definitely get more out of the deal than you would. But what I may lack in experience, I more than make up for in a strong work ethic, proven initiative and a willingness to learn and be challenged. I guarantee you that being a first-year law student will not hinder me from successfully accomplishing whatever’s required of me.”

Crandall passed a slow, appraising gaze over her face. “I’m impressed by your tenacity, Miss Moreau, and I’m not easily impressed.” His eyes narrowed thoughtfully on hers. “What do you think about the indictment of Carlito Olivares?”

Daniela paused, remembering Caleb’s reaction to the news, and the speculation that Crandall Thorne would represent the corrupt labor union boss who’d been charged with embezzling funds from his union. Realizing that Olivares might already be a client of the man who now sat across from her, Daniela still opted for honesty. “I think Olivares’s actions are deplorable,” she said with unflinching conviction. “However, I realize, and appreciate, that the burden of proof rests with the state. If I were Olivares’s attorney, it would be my duty to ensure that he receives the best legal representation possible.”

Crandall arched a dubious brow. “You think it’s that cut-and-dried?”

“Probably not. Few things in life are. But if I had to represent Olivares, my main priority
would
be to give him fair legal counsel.”

“Ah, but how would you manage that, when your conscience is telling you that your client’s actions are, as you put it, deplorable? How would you set aside your personal bias in order to best serve him?”

Daniela gave him her most charming smile. “I guess I’ll have to cross that bridge when I’m an attorney working for Crandall Thorne & Associates,” she said affably.

Unable to resist the audacity of her remark, Crandall threw back his head and roared with laughter. Caleb glanced over his shoulder and met Daniela’s eyes, his own expression vaguely amused.

The door opened, and Rita stepped into the room. “Gloria sent me to tell you all that dinner…” Trailing off at the sight of Crandall’s broadly grinning face, she looked askance at Caleb, who merely shrugged.

“Dinner is ready,” Rita informed them. “And Gloria says you all had better come now, before the food gets cold.”

They dined outdoors on a balconied terrace that boasted a stunning view of the endless stretch of valley beneath them. Everything was perfect—from the pressed white linen that covered the table, to the fresh-cut flowers in crystal vases that perfumed the air with their sweet fragrance. Soon after the foursome was seated, they were joined by Crandall Thorne’s private nurse, Ruth Gaylord, a beautiful woman in her late fifties whose gentle brown eyes and warm, engaging smile immediately put Daniela at ease.

Dinner, courtesy of Crandall’s longtime personal chef, was a sumptuous culinary affair that opened with steaming crab bisque, and was followed by roast duck in a rich wine sauce and succulent Alaskan salmon that melted in Daniela’s mouth from the first bite.

“So, Daniela, are you originally from San Antonio?” Ruth Gaylord inquired when the meal was underway.

Daniela nodded, taking a slow, appreciative sip of vintage Bordeaux. “I was born and raised here,” she answered.

“You went to school here, as well?”

Again Daniela nodded. “I attended Trinity University.”

“Trinity’s a good private school,” Crandall pronounced from his position at the head of the table, “but you probably would have fared better at UT-Austin, which is where Caleb went as an undergrad and for law school. Can’t beat a UT education.”

Seated directly across the table from her, Caleb sent Daniela a rueful smile that apologized for his father’s high-handedness. She smiled back to let him know it was okay.

“Seems to me that Daniela fared just fine at Trinity,” Rita spoke up on her behalf. She reached over and gave Daniela a gentle, comforting pat on the hand. “By the way, you have the most beautiful name. I thought so the moment I heard it. Quite honestly, though, I’ve never met an African-American woman named Daniela. It’s a Hispanic name, isn’t it?”

“For the most part,” Daniela concurred. “But I was christened after my maternal great-great-grandmother.”

“Was she Hispanic?” Rita prodded curiously.

Daniela shook her head. “Cherokee Indian.”

“How interesting,” said Rita, sounding genuinely fascinated. “Does your family still live in San Antonio?”

“Yes, they do.”

“That’s good. I think it’s important for young women to stay near their kinfolk—helps keep you grounded. Nowadays, you see so many girls graduating from college and running off to big, noisy cities to pursue these stressful, high-powered careers. Nobody thinks about raising families anymore—until it’s too late. And then they have to spend thousands of dollars on expensive fertility treatments because their biological clocks have stopped ticking.” She clucked her tongue in patent disapproval. “It’s a crying shame, I tell you.”

“With all due respect, Rita,” Ruth chimed in gently, “I think it’s a bit unfair to place all the blame on the young women. I know there are plenty of women—my youngest daughter included—who
are
family-oriented and would love nothing more than to settle down and start having children. But the men they’re dating aren’t remotely interested in making such a commitment.”

“Humph,” Rita snorted. “That’s because they’re dating the wrong men.”

Mildly exasperated, Ruth looked to Daniela for help. “Daniela, I’m sure you can attest to what I’m talking about.”

Heat suffused Daniela’s cheeks. “Um…well…”

“You two never know when to quit,” Crandall objected from the end of the table. “Now you’ve gone and embarrassed the poor girl.”

“It’s all right,” Daniela said quickly, all too aware of Caleb’s quiet, watchful gaze. “I’m afraid Ruth is right, to a large extent. It
does
seem that many men go out of their way to avoid any sort of permanence in relationships.”

“You’re a smart, beautiful girl,” Rita admonished, as if Daniela were speaking nonsense. “There’s no reason you should have any problems finding Mr. Right.”

“You’d be surprised,” Daniela murmured, wondering if her face could possibly get any hotter than it already was.

Ruth slid a teasing look at Caleb, who had remained inconspicuously silent throughout the entire discussion thread. “Are we not sitting at a table with a confirmed bachelor?” she pointed out to Rita.

Rita guffawed. “Caleb’s not a confirmed bachelor,” she argued. “He’s just waiting for the right woman to come along, and then you watch and see how long he stays single. Ain’t that right, Caleb?”

The hushed silence that fell over the table was deafening. Silverware stilled, glasses stopped tinkling, even the eagles soaring above the surrounding treetops seemed to grow silent as all awaited Caleb’s response. It was then that Daniela chanced a look at him.

With calm deliberation, he raised his wineglass and took a leisurely sip of Bordeaux before setting the glass down again. His deep voice was laced with lazy humor as he said to Rita, “Far be it from me to argue with the woman who used to nurse me through illnesses and covered for me whenever I got in trouble at school.”

As laughter erupted around the table, Caleb’s eyes met and held Daniela’s for one heart-stopping moment. Crazy as it was, she felt as if he were silently communicating a message to her, though she couldn’t begin to fathom what that message might be.

Only when his heated gaze slid away from hers did she dare breathe again.

“Wait a minute. What’s this about you getting into trouble at school, boy?” Crandall gruffly demanded, and the conversation soon evolved into humorous anecdotes about Caleb’s childhood exploits as a prankster who frequently got away with murder because his teachers, who were so enamored of him, seldom suspected him of any wrongdoing.

Daniela laughed, drank good wine and couldn’t remember the last time she’d so thoroughly enjoyed herself. As the evening progressed, she found herself revisiting her previous opinion of Crandall Thorne. Observing the way he interacted with Caleb, he seemed less daunting, less austere, than she would have expected. He struck her as a man who was deeply devoted to his son, a proud, loving father who would do anything to protect him, just as Pamela Roarke would do for her own children. As Daniela watched Crandall tease Caleb, and get teased in return, she knew she was seeing a side of the shrewd, formidable businessman few people ever witnessed.

Was it possible Crandall Thorne wasn’t as bad as she—and her brothers—had thought?

It was an unsettling prospect.

As the sun slid toward the mountain range, ushering in nightfall, candles were discreetly produced and lit along the table. After lingering over coffee and sinfully rich hazelnut cheesecake, the party began to break up. Crandall announced that he was tired; the four-hour dialysis treatment he’d undergone that day had taken its usual toll on him, he grudgingly admitted.