Binding Arbitration (12 page)

“I could have afforded to take care of you.”

“The price wasn’t in dollars, Aidan. It was in time, sleepless nights, and sweat and tears.” She grunted. “We’ll see how long you can last. About how much you can give, when it doesn’t involve cold, hard cash.”

“You better get used to the idea of me knowing my son.”

“You should grow accustomed to the reality that everything that’s worth having isn’t traded on NASDAQ. It’s not sold at Nordstrom, and your utterly overflowing bank account gives you absolutely no credit with me. The sooner you define your own limitations, the better for everyone, especially Cass.”

“What do you want from me? Blood? I’ll give you that. DNA? I’ll give you that, too. Tell me what you want, and I’ll bust my butt trying to give you whatever you need. I can’t make it up in a day, or a week, or even a month, but I can make it up, if you let me. I handled things poorly back then. I didn’t think of everything at stake, and I was wrong, but aren’t you doing the same thing now? Are you doing what’s best for me and for Cass? Or are you doing what’s easiest for Libby, and to hell with everyone else?”

“Don’t confuse your past behavior, with mine now. They don’t equate because I have something real to protect.” The quiet sound of tires on the road stretched out between us.

Once we reached my block, I spoke to David. “Once around to make sure the coast is clear.” The massive maples overhanging the parkway shielded the streetlights; its giant arms cast eerie shadows as leaves rolled over the deserted sidewalk.

There weren’t any news trucks camped on the parkway, so I was hoping the breakup wasn’t that big of a story after all.

Yea right, the headline reads: ‘Baseballs Golden Glove Dumps Heiress’. Google hits on your name just sky-rocketed.

It was exactly the kind of thing I didn’t need right now. Libby wrangled her gaze out the window, searching for some unseen threat. “Anything you want to fill me in on?”

“I broke my engagement with Vanessa yesterday.”

Her head skipped away from scouting out the shadows.

“My best guess is that she’s planning some retribution.”

“Great, just great, these are exactly the kind of media circuses I tell my clients to stay out of at all costs. Now you’re dragging Cass and me into the center ring with you.”

David saved me a retort by bringing the car to a stop in front of my house. There didn’t appear to be anyone on the street, as we exited the car. “Thanks, I’ll be in touch.”

He whispered, “Good luck, Band-Aid. You’ll need it.”

Libby started toward the sidewalk. I caught up with her, fishing keys out of my jacket, which was wrapped around her slender frame. She came to a dead halt, and I walked right into her from behind, steadying her at the hips. Over her head, I caught a glimpse of a featureless woman standing in the shadows on the sidewalk. I moved in front of Libby, as the woman started toward us. I caught the first flash of light before the camera man stepped into view from his evergreen nest. As the woman moved closer, I realized it was Vanessa’s recently unemployed assistant, Melinda.

“Melinda, what in heaven’s name is going on?”

“I wanted an exclusive on your breakup, but I have the feeling it’s become a lot more interesting. I’m a journalist for Harmsworth Publications.” She examined Libby.

Harmsworth Publications owned the
Spectator
, the magazine that had hotter dish than TMZ. “Crap.”

“You’ve been together all night.” It was an accusation.

“Listen, Melinda, you haven’t acted professionally here. You posed as Vanessa’s assistant for three months.”

“I’m an investigative journalist covering the story from the inside. Do you think it was fun for a Vassar graduate to work for a high school drop-out who doesn’t know there’s no difference between tuna and chicken of the sea? Whatever I get out of that, I’ve earned. Trust me. Now, why don’t you give me an exclusive with your new friend?”

Libby swung on me poking me in the chest with her finger. “You have exactly two minutes to get rid of her and that cameraman—minus the photos—before I go absolutely ape shit.”

I pulled Libby into my arms speaking over her head. “I’m not giving you anything.” I turned Libby about placing the keys in her hands and pushed her up the front stairs of my building.

I grabbed the photographer by the lapels of his coat. “You want to print pictures of me? That’s fine, I’m a public figure. She’s not. If you show one hair on her head, I’m going to have so many lawyers up your derriere you’ll be able to recite the constitution out your nose.” I let him go and straightened his lapel. “Do we understand each other?”

The balding man looked at Melinda before nodding in the affirmative and took a step away.

“Come on, Aidan, I know you’re a good guy. Let me help you out here. You’re going to need it.”

Libby had reached the glass door and was arguing with the keys as I evaluated Melinda. “What is that supposed to mean?”

“She’s coming after you. Haven’t you talked to your lawyer? I have information that can offset all the negative publicity she’s going to throw at you. Names, dates, locations.”

I nodded my head in Libby’s direction. “You eighty-six her, and I’ll give you a sit-down.”

“I’ll do what I can, but my sources report you had a tail on you at the restaurant. Someone else might’ve picked up on the story already. If they did, then I have to go with what I have.”

I looked up and down the street gauging how much I wanted to say. “Be fair when you write the story.”

“I’m not after you.”

Libby was mumbling under her breath as she tried to force the bolt to turn over. I reached around her for the keys, which were shaking in her hands. “It sticks sometimes, babe.” I drugged myself with a long deep breath into her hair. She smelled like homemade apple pie.

Libby stepped into the foyer, before the Victorian, mirrored coat rack that took up the entire wall opposite the front door. Her beautiful reflection in my mirror caught me off guard. I struggled to think past our joined reflections.

She slipped off my coat and held it out to me, as if she couldn’t wait to be rid of it.

“Let me show you around. I need to check my email. Then I’ll take you home.” I flicked a light switch; the illumination shimmered over walls and sparkled in Libby’s hair.

When she moved into the vaulted living room, she focused on the painting hanging over the mantel.

“Renoir?” She stepped closer. “It’s breathtaking.” Her eyes never looked back at me. “It must have cost a fortune.”

“Unfortunately, the original is in a museum.” I looked away. “And they wouldn’t part with it.”

“It’s odd that a jock would buy a portrait of a woman.”

“You’re a little old for stereotyping. Or do you call it profiling?” I smiled. “You said it yourself. She’s beautiful.”

She turned on me, the serenity of the spell broken, looking around as if unsure about her environment.

“My office is in the back.” We walked through the connecting dining room and into the custom designed kitchen where she paused, her eyes surveying the room.

The granite countertops were set off by antique white glazed cabinets. Stainless steel appliances matched the pressed tin ceiling and molding. The red cast iron stove seemed to draw her to the stained glass Victorian window over the sink.

“Do you need a kitchen like this for soup and sandwiches?”

“Someday, I hope, my wife will want a big family.”

“I can’t imagine Vanessa Vanderhoff slaving over that stove in a pair of Pradas.”

She’s right. You need someone who smells like an easy bake oven.

“That’s one of the reasons why she isn’t going to be Mrs. Palowski.” I gestured for her to precede me into the study; while I gave the ump the ‘I’m going to slit your throat sign’.

Libby stood just inside the casement, examining the wires protruding from the wall; they looked like alien antenna reaching beyond the surface ready to snag her signal. She sat on the other side of the desk, in one of the oversized arm chairs, which seemed to swallow her up. As I listened to, deleted, and saved messages, I tried to keep my eyes off her, but it was as if the beating of her heart was a beacon I couldn’t ignore. She drew her stocking feet up alongside her, her eyes fighting to stay open as she relaxed. Most of her hair had worked its way loose and she seemed as peaceful as Renoir’s woman on canvas.

That’s why you bought the piece of art, kid.

I studied her now. On a subconscious level, that painting reminded me of her subtle tranquility. She had managed to grow lovelier with age. Faint lines around her eyes only made her observations seem keener. Her freckles had faded like script on a piece of paper left in the heat of the sun, until they were just faint traces.

I thought she was asleep, so I let her rest, while I opened the mail. I tried to find it interesting, but my eyes kept wandering back to her. She mumbled in her slumber. The phone broke the silence and rocketed her awake.

“Hello.”

The person spoke on the other end.

“No comment,” I said before hanging up.

She was wide awake now. “Between whatever happened to this wall behind me, the reporter greeting us on the stoop, and that call, I have a feeling all hell is going to break loose. Tell me what’s really going on.”

A lawyer, when properly informed, knows when to pass on a case. Better ease her into the disaster that’s your life.

“I broke up with Vanessa, and it’s going to get ugly.”

She didn’t seem convinced. “Why’d you do that, when you knew it would draw attention?”

“Because I couldn’t deal with what Cass needs, if I had to babysit her.” I drew my eyes away from the mail to look at Libby directly. I took a deep breath, blowing it out through my nose. “The relationship wasn’t going anywhere, so it’s better, if we go our separate ways.”

“Does she think it’s because of Cass?”

“She doesn’t know about Cass. I just told her it’s over, the end, Amen.”

“Did she think she could dig her way back into your heart with her nails?”

I smiled. “Only after she begged.”

Libby snorted and it made me yearn to touch her. “What was there?” She pointed toward the blank, but dented wall.

“Flat screen TV.”

“Did it fall all by itself?” She asked mockingly.

“No, projectile intervention.”

“What sort of projectile?”

“An iPhone.”

“The infamous estrogen-free phone I presume?”

“Last year’s model.”

“Trading in all last year’s models?” She smirked. “I can’t wait until I make you really mad.”

“We already discussed that, remember, in the elevator.”

“We need to come to an understanding that doesn’t involve physical violence perpetrated on my person.”

“I never threatened physical violence.” I didn’t look up for her response. “It was sexual retribution, I believe.”

I looked at her, and her face was finally flush, but she managed to utter. “There’s no way I’m doing things your way.”

I smiled at the thought of getting to her.

Keep it up, kid, and I’ll have to eject you.

“That’s certainly your choice but a deal’s a deal.”

“I don’t want an arrangement with someone whose price of cooperation always outweighs his benefits.” She bolted to her feet, clutching her briefcase, before she yelped, and fell back into the chair grabbing her stocking-clad foot. I moved around the desk and went to my knees to pry open her bloodied hand.

“You stepped on glass. Let me get it out for you.”

“I’ll get it out myself.” She slapped my hand away. “Where’s the bathroom?”

I picked her up before she could refuse, carried her to the bathroom and deposited her on the edge of the tub.

She pointed toward the door. “Out.”

I stayed put.

She turned on the faucet and stuck her foot under the cold cascade. Then she pulled it out and tried to locate the glass.

“You’re going to have to take your hose off.”

She glared at me, before her expression turned blank and her eyes rolled back in her head. I caught her before she fell into the tub. I sat her on the toilet. “I’ll get it out.” I gave her a cold washcloth. “You try not to pass out.” My hand ran up her leg to remove her hose.

She flinched and her skin ran to gooseflesh.

When my fingertips brushed the top of her thigh-highs they froze. Our gazes collided. I cleared my throat. My hand trembled, as I peeled the sheer silk away from her translucent skin. I dug in a drawer for tweezers, thanking God my hands had something to do because the room came alive with a current running between us. As I dug for glass, she balled up a fistful of skirt and bit perfect crescents into her bottom lip.

“We’re going to work this out between us, like friends.” I caught her eye. “The best thing for Cass is for us to get along, so we can make good decisions for him.”

“You can make yourself believe anything you want, Palowski, but don’t con yourself into believing we’re friends.” She clenched her teeth, balking when I went a little too deep with the tweezers. “You have no rights, where Cass is concerned. And I will make decisions without any interference from you.”

I pinched the pad of her foot to further open the wound.

“You made a game change when you called for my help. Now I want a say, especially where Cass is concerned. I have more practice dealing with the media. Once they get hold of this story, they’ll rip you to shreds, if you don’t let me handle it.”

Libby screamed. “You don’t think I have any experience dealing with the media?” Her other leg shot out and kicked me in the shin. “I’m an attorney.” She was panting. “For God’s sake.”

She tried to pull her foot away, but I pulled it back, almost dumping her on the floor. Her skirt slid to her hips and I could see the edge of dark lace.

“Let me handle it.” I dug deeper in the wound.

She roared in pain like a fire-breathing dragon doused in glacier ice. “This isn’t a game,” she said between colorful curses about my balls on a bloody platter. “It’s real life.”

“Life’s a game.” I extracted the sliver of glass and held it up to the light, admiring the fact she’d remained upright.