Risking Ruin (7 page)

“Um, okay, it’s your life. But you do realize that was Josh’s
modus operandi
before he met me.  Sometimes you have to take a chance,” counseled Erica.

They had arrived back at Erica’s house.  “Thanks for dinner, the walk, and the pep talk.   Also, I hope you now feel better about your craptastic month,” said Marisa, going in to hug her friend.

“No.   My August was filled with parasites and vomit.  You got bedded by a movie star-handsome man.  I still win,” said Erica with a smile.

Chapter Thirteen

The new week flew by.  By Friday, Marisa had deposed a plaintiff, written several letters to other lawyers, and counseled Branco through a termination of the Vice President of their underperforming gourmet beef jerky division.  Her life felt normal.  It was almost like she could convince herself that she hadn’t slept with Trip Brannon.  The only thing that had changed since her walk of shame was her running route.  She no longer jogged along Magnolia Mound.  In fact, she carefully avoided the entire pocket of the neighborhood where Trip lived.

After lunch, Marisa’s direct dial line rang.  “Marisa Tanner,” she stated authoritatively.

“Marisa, it’s Trip.”

Marisa’s heart and breathing stopped. 
Be cool.  Be cool.  He’s a client.   Clients call you all the time. Be cool.
  “Hey, Trip.  What’s going on?”

“We’ve all decided that John’s last day should be today. It’s just for the best that he begins retirement a little ahead of schedule.  Under the circumstances, we can’t have a party for him. But, Jimmy wants to have a few drinks in his office to send John off.  If this lawsuit has legs, we can’t really be seen taking him out to The Rendezvous.   Jimmy said that you should come.   I agree.”

Damn.  I can’t say no.
  “Sounds like a perfect plan. What time?”

“Four-thirty.   Just come up to Jimmy’s office. No presents. Jimmy’s secretary knows what is up and is getting supplies.  But we’re keeping this quiet and small.”

“Understood.  See you at four-thirty,” said Marisa, anxious to get off the phone before she embarrassed herself.   Instinctively, she looked down at her outfit.   She was thankful that she hadn’t been tempted to wear a Friday casual sundress and sandals that morning.   A navy cotton poplin shift dress, spectator pumps, and delicate gold filigree accessories were just fine for an impromptu end-of-summer send off for her best and soon-to-be former client contact.

Marisa arrived at the Branco Building right on time and was ushered into Jimmy’s office.  She found the three men lounging on Jimmy’s burgundy leather sofa and chairs, each palming a glass of amber liquid. 
Shit
, thought Marisa, scanning the room.
  I’m going to have to sit on the sofa next to Trip.  I can’t just drag over another chair.  That would be even weirder.

Jimmy, John, and Trip realized she had arrived and stood.  “Marisa,” said John going in for a hug.  “Thank you so much for coming over. Now this is an attorney-client privileged conversation, so we can’t be can’t be made to talk about it later.”

“Ah, so that is what I’m doing here,” responded Marisa, the puzzle pieces falling into place.

“Not entirely,” said Jimmy, coming to her defense and heartily shaking her hand.  “We all know the good work you’ve done for us under John’s direction for many years, and I felt like it wouldn’t be a proper good bye without you.”

“Marisa,” said Trip with a nod of his head.  He extended a hand holding a heavy cut lead crystal glass containing a neat bourbon.   She returned the head nod and took the glass from him, studiously avoiding making contact with his fingers while at the same time trying not to look too long into his deep blue eyes.  Once the glass was firmly in her hand and she was safely out of danger, she breathed a sigh of relief and sat on the sofa.

The men reassumed their seats.  John and Jimmy each filled out a leather wingback chair and Trip’s body was a mere eighteen inches from hers on the sofa.  He hadn’t sat down on the far end of the sofa where he had been seated when she walked in, but was seated more towards her.  Still the same, a respectable distance separated them.

“To the man who has gotten me out of a ditch more times than I care to recall,” said Jimmy, raising his glass in a toast.

“Here, here,” echoed Marisa and Trip.  The strong liquid burned her throat and she stifled a cough.

“To John, a man whose shoes I could never fill,” toasted Trip.  As Marisa lifted her glass, he amended his toast.  “In more ways than one.”

John laughed.  Marisa found herself laughing, too.  She’d miss John’s slightly dirty humor, and it was satisfying to find out that she wasn’t alone in being amused by him.  “Here, here,” said Marisa, taking another swallow.  It was her turn to toast John.  Pride made her want to top Trip, but she also wanted to recognize the man whose trust in her had helped her become the lawyer she was.  She bailed on being witty.  For once, she could find no bon mot.

“To John, who is matchless,” said Marisa.   They all four clinked glasses, and Jimmy and John drained their glasses.  Trip stood and retrieved a bottle from the coffee table and filled everyone’s glass.

As he poured more bourbon into Marisa’s glass he whispered, “Matchless in
all
arenas?”  Marisa’s glass plummeted into her lap.

“Christ, Marisa, I’ve never known you not to be able to hold your liquor,” shot off John.

Thankful that it was only a little liquor and not a brimming glass of iced tea, Marisa brushed it off and focused her attention on John.    “Please forgive me.  I know how much you’re bothered by alcohol abuse.”   John chuckled into his glass.  Trip resumed pouring bourbon into Marisa’s righted glass.

“And abuse it certainly was,” said Trip, chastising Marisa in a mocking tone as he sat back down on the sofa, imperceptibly closer to her.

“Marisa, I understand that you’re not much of a bourbon drinker, but this is very nice Pappy Van Winkle.  I sell this at my restaurant by the shot for more than we pay you by the hour.  You shouldn’t spill it on yourself again,” said Trip, adding in a whisper “I’d have to lick it off.”

Marisa’s cheeks grew hot. 
Damn.  And now I’m blushing and thinking about Trip licking me.  I can’t believe he’s doing this to me with John and his dad right here. I need a minute out of here. I need to keep this light and graceful.

Marisa set down her crystal glass on the battered oak coffee table and stood.
“Excuse me for a minute,” said Marisa in a playful tone.  “I’m going to step out and clean up a bit. Please don’t say anything incriminating without me.  I wouldn’t want to miss that fun.”  The men rose, and she held herself together long enough to make it to safe confines of the ladies’ room.

What the fuck?!  He’s clearly not going to let me forget about my mistake.  Please, please, please Trip, don’t do or say anything that would give anyone an idea.  It’s not like he’s really interested in me.  I didn’t hear a peep from him after that night.   He just wants to rattle me. Well, do your damnedest, Trip.  I give as good as I get, but you should already know that
, thought Marisa with as smirk.  She left the ladies’ room with her confidence renewed, even though she smelled like a distillery.

The men were still quaffing bourbon when Marisa returned and picked up her glass.  She sat on the sofa next to Trip and scooted forward a bit, allowing her skirt to ride up an inch past proper.   She felt Trip’s gaze fall on her thigh.

Yeah, buddy.  I can make you squirm, too
.

She then rotated towards Jimmy, who was catty corner from her, and as she moved, permitted her knee to graze Trip’s knee.  He lurched back a few inches.

Yup.  You want to reference our sexy secret in front of Jimmy and John? Well we’ll see how you like it when you’re not the one initiating.

Marisa leaned back and relaxed.  She could keep Trip in line.  The foursome chatted happily until the bottle of bourbon ran dry.  Jimmy unsteadily stood up and announced it was time for dinner. 
Dinner?  Trip didn’t mention dinner.   But, when in Rome.

“I reserved a private dining room at the Club,” said Jimmy, picking up on Marisa’s confusion.  “We can continue our business meeting with our lawyer there.”  Jimmy gestured toward the door to his office, and the group left.  Instead of heading to the parking garage, Jimmy led them to a side street-level entrance to the Branco building where a black town car was waiting.  A clean cut driver in a black suit opened the doors for them.  As Marisa began to climb in the back seat, she heard Jimmy speak with the driver.  “Good evening, George.  We’re off to the Club for dinner.  At this pace, I’ll need you to drive everyone home afterwards, but I don’t anticipate keeping you out all hours.”

All of the blood in Marisa’s body froze and then immediately rushed to her cheeks.  
Oh dear God.  George. The town car.  Does he recognize me?  Maybe he’s forgotten it.  It was nearly two weeks ago, and Trip’s probably had a string of girls in this car since then.
   Marisa settled down in the backseat and fastened her seatbelt.  John slid in on her right side.  Trip took the left, and Jimmy sat up front with the driver.  Hip to hip and thigh to thigh with John or Trip?  She decided the best plan would be to try to make herself as small as possible.  If she could disappear entirely, that would be welcome.

As the car made its way down Central Avenue toward Midtown and the Memphis Country Club, Marisa didn’t make a peep. She focused on keeping herself physical separated from Trip, even though every time the car moved, she seemed to be jostled into his body, which brought back a flood of memories of the last time she was in a car with Trip Brannon.  She was hoping the older men’s bourbon infused jolliness would overshadow her presence, rendering her invisible.  Luck was not on her side.  “Like the car, Marisa?,” Trip asked nonchalantly.

Shit,
thought Marisa.  She was certain he was also thinking about the exquisitely naughty things they had done in this very car.

“It is lovely.  How thoughtful of Jimmy to plan this.”

“It is thoughtful, but it isn’t Jimmy’s doing.  I had to figure out some way to have dinner with you again, and I know you can’t say no to Jimmy or John,” said Trip quietly.

Marisa kept her eyes straight ahead while her brain swirled. 
Is he shitting me?  He could have called, but he’s right.  I would have said no.  I’m just going to have to make it clear that we’re not going to do that again.

The car pulled up under the awning of the esteemed Memphis Country Club.  It was actually Marisa’s first time at the club.  Money could buy almost anything in the world, but not access to the bastion of old school country clubs like Memphis.  Membership was by invitation only and Marisa didn’t know anyone who was a member.  But, it made perfect sense that the Brannon family would belong to Memphis.

A woman in a polished gray suit skirt greeted them upon entry into the white columned building and ushered them to a wood-paneled private dining room.   The white linen draped square table was set for four.  Another bottle of Pappy Van Winkle sat in the middle surrounded by four short glasses.  “Because we couldn’t exactly go to John’s favorite restaurant to celebrate, I had Rendezvous brought in,” announced Jimmy.

Good
, thought Marisa.
Dry rub ribs and heavy sides.  That will take the edge off the booze, but I really do need to switch to beer ASAP.

“Wow, Jimmy,” oozed Marisa, “you really did go all out.”

“Yes, thanks so much, Jimmy. You know how to make a guy feel special and send him out in style,” said John, playfully punching Jimmy in the bicep.

“I will confess that I’m going to let you guys enjoy the bourbon.  Ribs just need beer in my opinion,” said Marisa as she signaled for the waiter in a black jacket and tie, who was standing like a statue in a corner of the room.  “Bud Light, please.”

“Bud Light? Marisa, I thought you had better taste,” said Trip in mock horror.  He nursed his bourbon. 

“Clearly my taste can be questionable at times,” Marisa shot back.  She noticed John’s rib pause slightly in mid-air before continuing to his mouth. 
I’d better dial this down.  John doesn’t need to get suspicious
.

“Please excuse me while I run to the ladies’.”  Marisa pushed her seat back and walked out of the private dining room, intent on escaping Trip’s pull on her.  She quietly explored the nearby rooms and unsurprisingly discovered they were decorated in a nearly uniform presentation of cream brocade wallpaper, carved mahogany furniture, and cream, hunter green and burgundy hand-tied Persian rugs.  
Heck, it’s not like I’ll be here again. Let’s see what all the fuss is about
.  Marisa located the softly lit ladies’ restroom that was discretely labeled “Ladies’ Lounge.” Once she entered the “lounge,” she never wanted to leave.  The walls were a hand painted
Chinoiserie
on the palest of blue background, the indirect lighting was soft, and there were no actual bathrooms in sight.  Just tufted furniture in greens and cream. 
Well, this is absolutely lovely, but I do need a real bathroom.
  Marisa finally found the bathroom, which was hidden behind a door and down a short hallway, and freshened up.  As she dried her hands on an impossibly fluffy white hand towel, Marisa examined her reflection in the gilt framed mirror.

She was surprised to find herself looking a little worn.   Trip’s presence weighed so much on her.  Not just for the muddled thoughts of their working relationship and the one night stand, but because he was tantalizing.  After two drinks and alongside of thoughts about touching him, the only thoughts that seemed to enter her mind were of him touching her.  She pushed the thoughts out as best she could, but they were constantly hovering at the edges of her mind, pressing their way to fill her consciousness.   Marisa lightly slapped at her cheeks in an attempt to rouse herself from her Trip-induced stupor, and returned to the private dining room.