Relentless (5 page)

Tension wasn't averted. Maxwell had arrived at Nicole's fifteen minutes late. It took ten minutes of pleading to get her to open the door, let alone join him for dinner. He didn't bother explaining to her that Jones and the Greater Metropolitan case had sucked every second out of his afternoon. Maxwell didn't bother going further in telling Nicole he had another five hours of work left tonight. She wasn't interested in his reason for breaking a promise; that he was sure. After a long-winded apology and lots of begging, she agreed to go out with him.

Hopefully they could keep the date to two hours, leaving him time to finish his work and grab three or four hours of sleep. By using a few favors and spreading a little money around, he was expecting a spot in the closed-door meeting scheduled for 9:00 a.m. on Tuesday. According to what Garrett told him, the bishop didn't know Maxwell was going to be present. That alone was worth the money spent, and warranted his stellar preparation. Every second between now and Tuesday had to be used wisely if he was to fully capitalize on the meeting.

Maxwell whipped into a parking space next to a man who was walking around to the passenger side of his car.

“Nice Porsche,” a man said as he walked by holding the hand of a pregnant woman.

Maxwell acknowledged the compliment as he pulled open Nicole's door. She planted her stylish designer shoes on the ground and climbed out.

Nicole saw the couple too as a longing stirred within. She yearned to step into Maxwell's familiar embrace, allow him to hold her tightly, and squeeze the tension from her body. Her anger hadn't completely released its hold. So, instead she tugged at the knot in his tie as if it needed straightening. The gesture wasn't a hug, but she was close enough to take in a hint of his cologne and give him her intense wanting eyes.

“You good?” he asked her.

“Yes, but I'm still a little shaken up from this morning,” she answered letting her hand slide down the length of his tie as she stepped away and let him reclaim his personal space.

“Well, you're safely on the ground now.”

Nicole wondered what Maxwell would be doing if she hadn't landed safely. Would he go to her condo to be near her things in an effort to feel close to her? Would tears fill his eyes? Would he be inconsolable? She couldn't provide a confident answer, which widened the crack of emptiness in her that began forming on the plane.

Standing inside the restaurant waiting to be seated, Nicole noticed the pregnant woman rubbing her stomach and the man gently massaging the valley of her back. The woman spurted out, “Ouch, that hurt. This baby is really starting to kick hard.” The man smiled and placed his hand on the woman's stomach.

Nicole looked at Maxwell who hadn't noticed anything but the screen on his phone. “Can we have dinner without letting work intrude?” she demanded feeling her anger rising again. Whenever they met for dinner or spent meaningful time together, work intruded. She'd never objected in the past. Today needed to be different for Nicole. They were seated quickly by a waiter who handed them menus, briefed them on the chef's specials, and laid napkins across their laps. Nicole opened her menu, but her eyes roamed, drinking in the large room, couples holding hands, crystal chandeliers dancing with colorful prisms of light, and the pearl white baby grand piano serenading the crowd. Peering at the menu, food wasn't really the source of her hunger.

Three well-manicured fingernails latched onto the top of Maxwell's menu, pulling it down and revealing the urgency in her eyes. “I'd like to talk to you.” She waited for his gaze of affirmation, which he never gave.

“Sure, just one quick minute.”

The waiter returned with two sparkling glasses of water and a small dish of lemon slices. “Have you made selections for the evening?”

“Not yet,” Nicole replied.

“No problem, take your time. Let me know if you have any questions.”

Then the wine steward came to the table. Maxwell took a quick sip from his water glass. “I'll take a bottle of your white wine.”

“Sir, we have a nice selection here,” the steward said holding out a wine list.

“Surprise me,” Maxwell responded.

“My pleasure, sir,” the steward said and left.

Once Nicole and Maxwell were alone, he surrendered his attention. “Now, I'm listening. What's up?” he asked with his gaze locked on her.

Nicole leaned forward slightly, admitting, “I just can't let go of what happened on that plane.” Her voice was soft, almost weak; definitely not her typical “I'm in charge” air. She knew it and made no apologies. “It was like something in a movie.”

The steward returned and set two glasses in front of the couple. Then he poured a sip. Maxwell sampled the wine, savoring it in his mouth a couple of seconds before swallowing. He gave the thumbs-up and both glasses were filled.

Nicole anxiously waited for the steward to hurry up and go away. She'd been interrupted too many times today. She had to get her story out before imploding. She sipped the wine hoping it would mellow her anxiety. Finally spirits were flowing and the wine steward was gone. They were alone again.

“What were you saying?”

Nicole pressed her fingertips into her chest just above her left breast. “I was scared! I wanted to hold on to someone, but there was no one there for me. The seat next to me was empty.”

Maxwell handed Nicole the glass of wine sitting in front of her. “Relax, drink this.”

She took a sip, peering at him over the rim of the glass. “I've never experienced anything so unnerving in my life. Things like that make you think.” Taking in a slow, cleansing breath, she sat back and rested her forearms on the table. “When I finally got home, I dreamt the plane had actually crashed and there were no survivors. It was so real. I could see myself hovering in the air.” She took a gulp of the wine. “I could have died.” Maxwell fidgeted, but it didn't give her pause. She had to share her heart. “I had to question what I'm doing with my life.”

“Oh come on, Nicole,” Maxwell said beckoning for the waiter. “You can't let one situation get you so rattled. It's over, you're safe, and that's the end of it.”

Maybe yesterday, she would have agreed. “It's not so simple.” The waiter approached the table forcing her to wait before continuing. As soon as they placed their order, Nicole snatched Maxwell's attention back into their conversation. “I'm serious. I'm not sure I like what I see in my life. I went off to college at seventeen, graduated early, and put all my energy into building a career. I've never been married and don't have any children.”

“But you're doing what it is you want to do. You get to travel and set your own course. Think about it,” he said leaning in toward the table. “Look at where you are. Do you know how long it takes most people to get anywhere near making partner? Years and years, if ever. Look at you,” he said filling his wine glass.

“Maxwell, that's what I'm saying. Don't you get it? I don't think my career is enough anymore. I want more. In my dream, I felt like I had missed something. But it was too late to change anything.” Nicole turned in her chair, crossed her legs, and looked down at her designer shoes, which didn't seem as satisfying as compared to last week. Her outlook had to change.

“It's okay. The plane, the dream, all of it is enough to make you a little uneasy,” Maxwell reached for her hand.

She withdrew her hand from the table, refusing to be dismissed with his superficial concern. “Maxwell, where is our relationship going? Where do you see us two years from now? Will we still be dating, engaged, married with children, or what?” She threw her left arm over the back of her chair, brushed the waves of hair from her face, and with a stern staring assault, she challenged Maxwell for an answer.

“What's with the melodrama? We've been going along with things the way they are between us for some while now. Neither of us put any pressure on the other, nothing really serious, just getting together when it works.” Maxwell thumbed his fingers on the table and let his glances shift to and fro.

Nicole stared past Maxwell at the couple sitting across from them. What sounded like joy in their voices and pleasure in the laughter floated across the room. “I know it's a cliché, but life is short: goals, success, being able to drive the best cars and having material things are all good. But, having someone to share those things with, a partner for life, is what I think I want.” Honestly, Nicole couldn't recall the chemistry with Maxwell ever being completely fulfilling. Her thoughts and gazes lingered with the couple. She was unable to stop staring. The intensity and effervescence of their relationship was intoxicating. She wanted what they had—love.

“Nicole, Nicole.” Maxwell quietly tapped on the table with his knuckles. “You can't possibly be telling me your career is no longer the most important entity in your life.”

“That's exactly what I'm saying.”

“Yeah, right.”

She laid her warm palm on top of Maxwell's hand. A passionless smile and her wide eyelids partnered with her voice to say, “People change. I don't want to roll over in bed at night to an empty spot anymore. And I think I'd like to have children, maybe one or two.” Nicole withdrew her hand, pressed her lips together hard and released a newly acquainted truth. “I want to be in love with someone and to share my life with a person. I want all of it, not just a fragment.” She sipped the wine as a lump of emotion clutched at her throat, making it difficult to will away the tears burning across the ridge of her eyelids. Nicole pulled both hands down into her lap and exhaled, feeling the cool air pass her lips.

Maxwell rubbed his temple with his index and middle fingers. “My head is starting to hurt. Let's pick up this conversation later.” He desperately wanted to take a pain pill but resisted. Nothing would ever control him, especially not a drug.

Their waiter sliced into the thick air surrounding the table as he served food and poured them both another glass of wine. Nicole took a long, slow drink then traced the rim of her glass with her index finger as her gaze latched onto Maxwell. Dinner wrapped up before dessert was served. She didn't bother complaining. Maxwell had gotten what he wanted, an evening on his terms. Nicole inhaled a dose of restraint struggling to control the myriad of feelings rumbling. Maxwell hadn't heard her heart. He wasn't connecting with how she felt. Nicole wasn't sure if he was incapable or just didn't want to.

Maxwell arrived at his office early Monday. Sleep couldn't bind him to his bed. Not even the tension-laced drive to Nicole's or the unexpected door she'd slammed in his face last night would interrupt his mission today. His focus was completely wrapped around being prepared if Garrett was able to get him an invite to Jones's conference. He poured himself over pages and pages of notes he'd taken over the months. He was determined to come up with an angle, a clue that would point him in the right direction. If he could get the invite, he'd be able to set things in motion and watch the effect.

Maxwell reached into his desk drawer for a marker to use on his white board. He needed to see how the puzzle pieces were fitting together. A jovial face glared up at him. The five-by-seven of his nephew tugged at his heart, reminding him there was family he cared about. Yet Maxwell wouldn't let those ties keep him from his journey, the one he had to travel alone. The boy's honey-colored eyes, full cheeks, and toothy smile reminded Maxwell of his sister. His ringing cell phone snapped him back to task. He shoved the picture to the rear of his drawer, grabbed the marker and went to the coat rack by the window.

Quickly pulling his cell phone from the jacket of his suit coat, he eagerly answered. “Garrett, tell me you've got good news.”

“Do I ever let you down? Everything is set. You can expect a call this morning.”

“Yes.” Maxwell clenched his fist and shook it in the air. “I don't know what you did or who you talked to. Don't need to know. Good job as always.”

“I'll catch up with you later,” Garrett said and ended the call.

With his right hand pressed against the thick glass and his left shoved into his pants pocket, Maxwell watched the people down below meandering along the sidewalk and the cars moving toward their destinations. A sardonic grin crawled across Maxwell's lips. Gloating, he walked back to his desk, gathered up the cluster of papers, and moved to his round table next to the white board. A light knock on his door followed by a soft voice and a head full of thick curls peered through the partially opened doorway.

“Mr. Montgomery, the mayor is on line one,” Sonya announced, doubling as a paralegal and administrative assistant for the firm.

“Thanks! I'll take it.” Sonya nodded and closed his office door. Four smooth paces and Maxwell was standing at his desk. He placed his hand on the receiver, gripped it tightly, pushed out a grunt, and went into character. “Good morning, Mayor.”

“Mr. Montgomery, thank you for taking my call. I know you're very busy. So, I'll get right to the point. I would appreciate it if you could attend a nine a.m. community meeting tomorrow here at City Hall. There will be some key city officials and clergymen in attendance. Our goal is to reduce the mounting gun violence in the city and build alliances with at-risk youths.” Maxwell stared straight ahead envisioning the mayor's meeting. “I apologize for the late invitation. However, your legal expertise and insight could be very beneficial to our overall objective.”

Maxwell suppressed the laughter rumbling in his throat. He continued with the surprised facade. “Absolutely, Mayor, I wouldn't want to miss something so desperately needed. And the fact that you are including clergymen will certainly add value to the meeting.” Maxwell was charged by the notion of having a flock of ministers feeling awkward in his presence. He gave the mayor a lively, “I will see you there.” Maxwell hung up with a newly motivated drive that thrust him to the white board. For the next few hours he sifted through papers, lined up questions, and mapped out a course of action for blindsiding Bishop Jones.

 

 

The afternoon had sliced away the early morning haze and Maxwell hadn't left his office. It didn't seem like Sonya could quell her curiosity about the mayor's call any longer. For the second time today, she knocked on Maxwell's door and entered without being directed to do so. “Mr. Montgomery. I'm checking to see if you would like me to order you some lunch? You didn't even have your coffee this morning.”

Without glancing in her direction, he responded, “I'm fine, thanks. I've got a lot of work to do today, and I don't want to stop right now.”

“Did you need me to do anything for you based on the mayor's call earlier?”

Suddenly, he looked up from the paper he was holding. “Oh, yes, you can cancel my appointments for tomorrow. Clear my calendar. I will be out most of the day.” She left with him intentionally giving her no additional information.

Maxwell got up from the table and added another item to his list on the white board. Considering the number of young folks at Jones's church, he wondered how many of them had been arrested, incarcerated, or had gang affiliations. What had Jones done to help steer any of them in the right direction? Had he bailed any of the young men out of jail? Had he mentored any of them? Had he put any of the federal funds to good use, those specifically earmarked for helping at-risk youth? Maxwell snapped his fingers and pointed to the list in front of him, thinking that might be an effective line of questions to toss at Jones and the other ministers. Drawing upon guilt instead of blood would be his strategy.

He called Garrett to work another miracle and get answers before the meeting. It would cost more money. Maxwell didn't care. Every dollar spent was deemed a wise investment.