When Lightning Strikes Twice (30 page)

Quint walked over to his desk and pushed the intercome button. “I’ll see Mr. Aiken now, Helen.”

His abrupt transformation startled Rachel. It was hard to believe the aloof attorney seated behind his desk was the
same passionate man who had been inside her, a part of her, such a short time ago.

“Six-thirty, Rachel,” Quint said as the door opened.

“Yes,” she murmured.

Eddie Aiken entered the office and she lifted her head in Saxon disdain as she walked past him to leave.

“Great-looking babe,” Aiken remarked, staring at the door Rachel had closed behind her. “Except she dresses like a Pilgrim. Looks like a snob, too. A client of yours?”

“No,” Quint said brusquely. “Time’s ticking, Eddie, and I charge by the hour, remember? Now, about your appeal …”

“This is an outrage!” Town Tilden Junior checked his watch again, which he’d been doing at thirty-second intervals since his arrival at the Saxon Associates ten minutes ago. “But I suppose we should’ve expected some sort of petty power play by that conniving, unprincipled shark.”

Rachel sneaked a glimpse at her own watch. Two-twenty-five. She suspected that the Tildens’ arrival, fifteen minutes past the appointed time, was supposed to have been their own power play. Unfortunately, they’d been bested by Quint who not only hadn’t been kept waiting, but also kept the Tildens waiting for him these past ten minutes.

“This is an intolerable inconvenience,” snapped Marguerite.

“Intolerable,” echoed her son Tilden Lloyd.

“And it’s too hot in here,” Sloane added petulantly.

“Rachel, lower the air-conditioning a few more degrees,” ordered Eve.

Rachel left the conference room—already a chilly sixty-six degrees—and walked to the thermostat in the corridor. She shoved the temperature back to sixty-five. If Quint didn’t appear soon, he might find them all frozen stiff.

Not at all eager immediately to return to the furious Tildens, she strolled to the office reception area, where Katie sat at her desk, meticulously painting her fingernails a most disturbing color.

“Isn’t it cool?” Katie noticed Rachel staring. “It’s my newest shade, Curdled Blood.”

“Different,” murmured Rachel. “Distinctive.”

“Yeah,” Katie sighed happily. She caught sight of Rachel’s plain, unpolished nails. “Hey, want me to do yours when I’m done mine?”

It was a measure of the desperation she was feeling that made her want to take Katie up on her offer, Rachel thought grimly. She would rather sit here and have Curdled Blood applied to her nails than return to face the collective wrath and indignation of the Tildens.

“Still waitin’ for Quint, huh?” Katie asked.

“Still waiting,” agreed Rachel. “I suppose I ought to go back to the Tildens now.”

“Man, it sucks to be you.” Katie was sympathetic.

“Katie, the moment Mr. Cormack arrives—”

“I know, bring him right to the conference room,” Katie finished. “I sure hope it’s soon ‘cause it’s getting awfully cold in here. What’s up with those Tildens wanting to refrigerate us, anyway?”

Back in the conference room, the Tildens continued to rage. Aunt Eve, seated at the table with the six of them, made an occasional diffident remark. The eighth chair at the conference table—the one reserved for Quint Cormack—remained empty, establishing him as a looming presence, even in his absence.

Rachel and Wade stood beside the window. The table wasn’t big enough to accommodate all three Saxons, so the two junior partners weren’t seated.

“Are you sure Cormack agreed to come?” Wade whispered. “Could you possibly have mistaken sarcasm for genuine assent?”

“He said he would be here.” Rachel was insistent. “And he wasn’t being sarcastic.”

“I have to hand it to the guy, when it comes to mind games, he is the world champion,” Wade growled. “If he actually does show up—”

“
When
he does,” corrected Rachel.

She thought of that torrid interlude in Quint’s office earlier. He might play mind games with the Tildens but not with her, she assured herself. He would come to the meeting—but he fully intended to drive the Tildens to distraction first.

When the door opened and Quint strolled into the room a few minutes later, she felt vindication, triumph, and relief. And a dizzying rush of love. Her eyes feasted on him, her heartbeat racing as she watched him amble casually toward the empty chair.

Eve and the Tildens rose to their feet, as if they’d been ejected from their chairs by springs. Quint sat down in his.

“Please, sit down,” Quint said, smiling that mocking, challenging smile that had made Rachel want to pummel him during the Pedersen trial.

Now she almost smiled herself. Quint was acting as if the others had risen as a sign of respect for him, though it had been a combination of fury and surprise that brought all seven to their feet. As he well knew.

“Do you realize that we’ve been waiting here since—” Eve began but Quint interrupted her.

“Sorry. I had a meeting run late.” Quint shrugged, clearly unfazed by his tardiness. “You know how it is.”

For the first time since entering the conference room, he glanced toward the window where Rachel and Wade stood. Rachel quickly averted her eyes. She didn’t trust herself to meet Quint’s dark-eyed gaze.

“Why are they exiled over there?” Quint asked.

“We aren’t exiled,” Wade hastened to explain. “There aren’t enough chairs for all of us at the table so—”

“Then I insist that Miss Saxon take my chair.” Quint rose to his feet. “I will not be seated while a lady is forced to stand.”

Rachel knew exactly what he was doing—making the male Tildens look like boors for allowing her to stand while they claimed the seats. Everybody in the conference room knew it, but there was nothing anyone could do. His point had been made well. The Tilden men had lost this round
in etiquette to Quint Cormack. Oh, he was a champion in mind games, all right!

But instead of fuming, Rachel felt proud of him. So much for keeping the professional separate from the personal!

“I’d rather stand, thank you,” she said, but Quint would have none of that.

He insisted that she sit or he would leave the meeting. So she sat down and he stood, which gave him the advantage of towering over the Tildens, who seemed shrunken and powerless in their chairs.

Rachel watched Quint covertly as he prowled the room. She studied the curve of his mouth and remembered the feel of his lips on hers, she stared at his long fingers, the nails squared and immaculate and relived their intimate touch on her body. She wriggled restlessly in her chair and forced herself to concentrate on the decidely unerotic goings-on around her.

“I take it you’ve read the last will and testament of Townsend Tilden Senior?” Quint directed his question to Eve, who nodded her head.

“Needless to say, we have a number of questions,” Eve replied, her tone civil and professional.

Apparently too civil and professional for Town Junior. “That’s putting it mildly! We all know that so-called will is a fake and a fraud, but we want to put that walking, talking nightmare named Misty out of our lives forever so we’re prepared to give your client a generous sum. We believe ten thousand dollars, in cash, would be more than fair.”

“I’m sorry to hear you’re still spouting that same tedious misinformation, Town,” Quint interjected. He heaved a sigh. “I’m heartily bored with it. First, I don’t understand why any of you are surprised that a new will exists. Certainly, you Saxons know that a marriage automatically revokes any existing will. That means from the day Town Senior married Misty, whatever will was in place was automatically invalidated.”

“But it doesn’t mean the will you drew up is legal and valid,” retorted Town III.

Quint rolled his eyes heavenward, as if summoning the Almighty for patience. “Eve, I trust you’ve done your research. Haven’t you explained to your clients that this will most certainly is legal and valid? Or have you tried, but they refuse to listen to you?”

“The will is valid. And legal,” Eve admitted. “Although my clients, understandably, are having a difficult time accepting this—uh—unfortunate turn.”

All six Tildens began to screech at once. The cacophony gave Rachel an instant headache. She wondered if she dared to leave and slip into her office where a bottle of Excedrin was stored in her desk.

“Naturally, we intend to contest the will in court,” Eve raised her voice above the din.

“A waste of time and money and you know it,” said Quint. “If you studied this will, you’ve seen the no-contest clause, Eve.”

“The
what
?” demanded Town Three. “There is no such thing, Cormack. You made that up!”

“A no-contest clause in a will means that anyone who challenges the will in court gets nothing,” Quint said coolly. “Town Senior left each of you a token of his affection because he felt you were already well provided for with trust funds and your positions in Tilden Industries. So, in accordance to the terms of the no-contest clause, if any one of you contests this will, you will not inherit a thing. Since you are unfamiliar with the concept, I’d better warn you that the clause will automatically apply to any other will that you might try to substitute for the current one.”

He saw the surprise in Rachel’s eyes. So the no-contest clause had caught her off guard? Well, considering how busy she’d been with him lately—and that she’d believed the will a fake to begin with—it was no wonder that she hadn’t familiarized herself with all its arcane details. Nor was his own client aware of the exact terms of the will. He’d deliberately kept certain facts from Misty at Town
Senior’s request, as a precautionary measure.

“Wouldn’t want my little Misty to give away our secrets to the wrong people,” old Town had said, and Quint had agreed with him. Besides, trying to explain estate planning to Misty was as daunting as trying to explain the principles of Archimedes to her. One didn’t.

“What are these tokens of affection that Grandfather mentioned in his new will?” Sloane asked, her eyes narrowing to focus intently on Quint.

Quint picked up a copy of the will and handed one to Eve. “Do you want to read the list or shall I?”

“I’ll do it,” Eve said briskly, reaching for her reading glasses. “According to this—document, Town Senior left his entire antique gun collection to Town Junior, along with the set of Hogarth prints that hung in his den and an original Frederic Remington bronze.”

“Father knew how much I admired the Remington and those prints. And, of course, I have my own antique gun collection to which his will be a welcome addition,” muttered Town Junior.

“Town Three is to receive his grandfather’s coin and stamp collections,” continued Eve.

“That seems rather appropriate.” Town Three frowned thoughtfully. “As a kid, I spent hours with Grandfather, learning about those coins and those stamps. I’ve also maintained my own collections through the years.”

“Marguerite inherits the two Fabergé eggs which Town Senior inherited from his father.”

“Those are priceless treasures and I want to retrieve them immediately before that woman does something unspeakable to them.” Marguerite rose to her feet, ready to go.

“Sit down, Marguerite,” Town Junior commanded his sister. “You can’t get anything until the matter of the will is settled.”

“It’s already been probated,” Quint spoke up. “If you agree not to contest the will—which, I remind you, is ultimately contest-proof—Marguerite can collect her eggs,
you can take your guns, Town Three can have his coins and stamps. Would it be overkill to add that should you decide to contest, all of those things are as good as Misty’s?”

“It would definitely be overkill,” grumbled Rachel. “Like beating the issue to death and burying it ten feet under the ground.”

“I think I’ve just been called a repetitive bore.” Quint grinned. “Ouch.”

“I would like to continue …” Eve frowned, and both Rachel and Quint ceased fire.

Eve resumed reading. “Sloane is to have her grandmother’s antique dollhouse, fully furnished, including the doll family that resides there.” She smiled at the bequest.

Sloane didn’t. Her mouth curved into a sullen pout. ‘The dollhouse? Didn’t Grandfather notice that I’m not six years old? What about the jewelry?”

“I’m sure Misty gets it all,” Wade guessed, a trifle too gleefully. His aunt shot him a reproving glare.

“And Tilden Lloyd is to be given ten thousand dollars,” read Eve.

“That’s all I get? A measly ten thousand dollars! Which will be taxed to almost nothing?” Tilden Lloyd’s voice rose to a squeak.

“Measly?” Quint looked amused. “Isn’t it interesting that when my client was offered ten thousand dollars to get out of town it was considered to be a princely sum?”

“The things Grandfather left to everybody else are worth far more than ten thousand dollars,” whined Tilden. “Even that dollhouse could draw a tidy sum at auction. The furniture could be sold piece by piece.” Suddenly, he pounded his fist on the table, adding a bit of theatrical flair. “But it doesn’t matter anyway, because we’re holding out for everything! That ridiculous no-contest clause of yours is most certainly illegal, Cormack. We aren’t gullible fools, you know. Tell him to quit bluffing, Eve.”

Eve gazed at the document in front of her. “Well, actually …”

“Perhaps Rachel will explain to all to you.” Quint smiled at her. Not his intimate lover smile, not his wonderful Brady’s daddy smile. His “gotcha!” attorney smirk.

She bristled. “It’s not illegal to put a no-contest clause into a will,” she admitted grudgingly.

“But we can always contest the no-contest clause in court,” Wade put in.

“You could,” agreed Quint. “But it would be a stupid, expensive waste of time for everybody.”

“That seems to be your standard reply when anyone suggests taking you to court, Mr. Cormack,” Eve said sharply. “You say not to bother because you’ll surely win. As if it’s inevitable.”

“Because in this case it is,” Quint assured her. “And you and Rachel and Wade know it. Or you should.”

“Like we were saying earlier, Rachel, if mind games were an Olympic event, Quint Cormack would walk away with the gold medal.” Wade smiled sardonically.