rekindled ember of wanting to share his life with someone—someone like Alaine—the offer didn’t sound quite so ludicrous.
What did he have to lose? “All right. Ninety days. I’ll meet whoever you feel would be a good match for me.”
Shon grinned. “You won’t regret this. I promise.”
“Yeah, and you won’t regret being able to claim Bonneterre’s Bachelor of the Year as a client, either.”
“You said it, not me.”
After Shon left, Forbes slumped in his chair and turned to stare out the window at the tops of the trees lining the opposite bank of the river. The wild tangle of greenery reminded him of Delacroix Gardens. There must be other people in town with that name—he’d gone to school with several Delacroixes both here at the local branch of the University of Louisiana as well as at Loyola Law School in New Orleans. But could Alaine be related to the owners?
He sat up. She’d sounded stressed on the phone. She’d said she couldn’t go out with him. Could it be because relatives of hers faced losing their business to his parents’ redevelopment plans?
He jumped when the intercom on the phone beeped.
“Mr. Guidry, opposing counsel in the Pichon case is in the first-floor conference room to discuss the schedule for mediation.”
He turned and pressed the intercom button. “Thank you, Samantha.”
Mediation. If his parents ran someone Alaine cared for out of business, Forbes would need mediation with her if she was ever going to agree to go out with him.
***
“All right. Thank you, anyway. If you know of anyone...”
The line went dead. Alaine crossed the second-to-last name off her list and flipped the phone closed. Finding local lawyers who specialized in real estate law on Google probably hadn’t been the best way to find the right person, but so far, her fears over getting hoodwinked by some smooth-talking ambulance-chaser hadn’t materialized.
She headed back inside, having already taken five minutes longer than the fifteen she’d allowed herself for this personal break.
One thing was certain: If she wanted to get one of them to meet with her to find out more about the case, she needed to leave out the fact that the potential law suit was against Boudreaux-Guidry Enterprises; because as soon as that name came up, each lawyer hastily made some excuse or another to get off the phone.
She left a message for the last one on her way back to her desk and then tried to put the matter out of her head by finishing tomorrow’s post for the Bonneterre Insider blog. Fortunately, her series on local artists to promote the upcoming Artisan Festival—of which the station was a major sponsor—interested her, making it easy to switch her train of thought.
She saved the post, and her cell phone rang. She grabbed it and flipped it open, not recognizing the number that flashed on her screen. “Alaine Delacroix.”
“Yes, hello. This is Hank Biddle. You left a message that you wanted to talk to me about a case.”
“Yes, Mr. Biddle, thank you for returning my call.” Alaine stood up, looked around over the top of her cubicle walls, and, seeing no one at any of the nearby desks, she stayed at her desk instead of going back out into the intolerable heat and humidity. “I’m looking for someone familiar with real-estate cases—specifically with taking on the cause of a group of homeowners who are being forced out when a ... large company wants to come in and force them out.”
“And you’re probably looking for someone who could take it on pro bono?”
“Well, we wouldn’t have much money to spend, no.”
“With as much as I’d like to take on a worthy cause, my current caseload is too full.”
Alaine wanted something hard to bang her head against. “I understand. And I appreciate your calling me back.”
“You might want to call the LeBlanc Legal Aid Center. This is the kind of case they specialize in.”
She sat up straighter and grabbed for a pen, which she had to chase
What did he have to lose? “All right. Ninety days. I’ll meet whoever you feel would be a good match for me.”
Shon grinned. “You won’t regret this. I promise.”
“Yeah, and you won’t regret being able to claim Bonneterre’s Bachelor of the Year as a client, either.”
“You said it, not me.”
After Shon left, Forbes slumped in his chair and turned to stare out the window at the tops of the trees lining the opposite bank of the river. The wild tangle of greenery reminded him of Delacroix Gardens. There must be other people in town with that name—he’d gone to school with several Delacroixes both here at the local branch of the University of Louisiana as well as at Loyola Law School in New Orleans. But could Alaine be related to the owners?
He sat up. She’d sounded stressed on the phone. She’d said she couldn’t go out with him. Could it be because relatives of hers faced losing their business to his parents’ redevelopment plans?
He jumped when the intercom on the phone beeped.
“Mr. Guidry, opposing counsel in the Pichon case is in the first-floor conference room to discuss the schedule for mediation.”
He turned and pressed the intercom button. “Thank you, Samantha.”
Mediation. If his parents ran someone Alaine cared for out of business, Forbes would need mediation with her if she was ever going to agree to go out with him.
***
“All right. Thank you, anyway. If you know of anyone...”
The line went dead. Alaine crossed the second-to-last name off her list and flipped the phone closed. Finding local lawyers who specialized in real estate law on Google probably hadn’t been the best way to find the right person, but so far, her fears over getting hoodwinked by some smooth-talking ambulance-chaser hadn’t materialized.
She headed back inside, having already taken five minutes longer than the fifteen she’d allowed herself for this personal break.
One thing was certain: If she wanted to get one of them to meet with her to find out more about the case, she needed to leave out the fact that the potential law suit was against Boudreaux-Guidry Enterprises; because as soon as that name came up, each lawyer hastily made some excuse or another to get off the phone.
She left a message for the last one on her way back to her desk and then tried to put the matter out of her head by finishing tomorrow’s post for the Bonneterre Insider blog. Fortunately, her series on local artists to promote the upcoming Artisan Festival—of which the station was a major sponsor—interested her, making it easy to switch her train of thought.
She saved the post, and her cell phone rang. She grabbed it and flipped it open, not recognizing the number that flashed on her screen. “Alaine Delacroix.”
“Yes, hello. This is Hank Biddle. You left a message that you wanted to talk to me about a case.”
“Yes, Mr. Biddle, thank you for returning my call.” Alaine stood up, looked around over the top of her cubicle walls, and, seeing no one at any of the nearby desks, she stayed at her desk instead of going back out into the intolerable heat and humidity. “I’m looking for someone familiar with real-estate cases—specifically with taking on the cause of a group of homeowners who are being forced out when a ... large company wants to come in and force them out.”
“And you’re probably looking for someone who could take it on pro bono?”
“Well, we wouldn’t have much money to spend, no.”
“With as much as I’d like to take on a worthy cause, my current caseload is too full.”
Alaine wanted something hard to bang her head against. “I understand. And I appreciate your calling me back.”
“You might want to call the LeBlanc Legal Aid Center. This is the kind of case they specialize in.”
She sat up straighter and grabbed for a pen, which she had to chase
Similar Books
