Whiskey Beach by Nora Roberts Page A

If there’s a difference either way, we’ll adjust it next week. Since you won’t be working, I’ll give your office a quick pass, and I promise not to touch anything on your desk.”
    “Okay.” He stood where he was, watching her. She wore a plain black T-shirt today—conservative for her—with snug black pants and red high-top Chucks.
    Chains of little red balls swung at her ears, and he noted a little bowl with several silver rings on the kitchen island. He supposed she’d taken them off to avoid getting polish on them.
    “You were right the other day,” he said at length.
    “I love when that happens.” She stepped down from the stool, turned. “What was I right about this time?”
    “About fighting back. I let that slide. I had reasons, but they’re not working. At least I need to be armed, so to speak.”
    “That’s good. No one should have to tolerate being harassed and hounded, and that’s what Lindsay’s family is doing. They’re not going to go through with this suit.”
    “They’re not?”
    “There’s nothing there, legally, for them to go through with. Not that I can see, and I’ve watched a lot of lawyer shows.”
    He let out a half laugh. “That would qualify you.”
    Pleased with his reaction, she nodded. “I could make a living. They’re just habeasing their corpus and whereforing the heretofore to screw with you.”
    “That’s . . . a unique argument.”
    “And rational. They probably think if they can string this out, keep chipping away at you, maybe they’ll uncover new evidence against you. Or at the very least, they’ll beat you up, bury you in documents and writs and whatever so you’ll offer a financial settlement. Which would prove, to their mind, your guilt. They’re grieving, so they lash out.”
    “Maybe you could make a living.”
    “I like
The Good Wife
.”
    “Who?”
    “It’s a lawyer show. Well, it’s really a character study, and sexy. Anyway, what I’m saying is, it’s good you’re going to meet with your lawyer, that you’re taking steps. You look better today.”
    “Than what?”
    “Than you did.” Resting her polishing hand on her hip, she angled her head. “You should wear a tie.”
    “A tie?”
    “Normally I don’t see the point in a man putting a noose around his neck, which ties are, essentially. But you should wear a tie. It’ll make you feel stronger, more in control. More yourself. Plus you have a whole collection upstairs.”
    “Anything else?”
    “Don’t get a haircut.”
    Once more, she simply baffled him. “No haircut because?”
    “I like your hair. It’s not lawyerly, but it’s writerly. A little shaping if you absolutely feel it’s necessary, and which I could actually do for you myself but—”
    “No, you absolutely couldn’t.”
    “I could on the element of skill. Just don’t whack it into the suit-and-tie lawyer look.”
    “Wear a tie, but keep the hair.”
    “Exactly. And pick up some flowers for Hester. You should be able to find tulips by now, and they’d make her think of spring.”
    “Should I start writing this down?”
    She smiled as she came around the island. “Not only looking better, but feeling better. You’re getting some sass back that’s not just knee-jerk temper-based.” She brushed at the lapels of his sport coat. “Go pick out a tie. And drive safe.” She boosted up, kissed his cheek.
    “Who are you? Really?”
    “We’ll get to that. Say hi to your family for me.”
    “All right. I’ll see you . . . when I do.”
    “I’ll reschedule the massage, note it on your calendar.”
    She walked around the island, climbed back on the stool and went back to her polishing.
    He picked out a tie. He couldn’t say putting it on made him feel stronger or more in control, but it did—oddly enough—make him feel more complete. With that in mind, he got out his briefcase, put in files, a fresh legal pad, sharpened pencils, a spare pen and, after a moment’s thought, his mini