“I’m not after money or an interview. I need a lawyer. I don’t want someone else. I want—I need—your services.”
I felt a flare of anger. I was tired. The week had been a difficult one, and I had a long weekend ahead of me of more work. I was slammed with cases and had decided a few weeks ago not to take on any new ones unless they were an emergency. Rene and I discussed any new prospective clients, and then we matched them up with other good, honorable attorneys I trusted, if possible. I couldn’t remember him mentioning anyone named Fiona, so I doubted she had even tried to get in contact. She was simply taking the short route, and it pissed me off to no end.
I stood, flinging some money on the table and leaving the untouched beer. “As I said, get in touch with my assistant.”
I strode from the bar, not bothering to look behind me. I headed across the street, deciding to call it a night and head home. I walked down the ramp of the parking garage toward my car, muttering under my breath about pushy women when I heard it.
Running feet behind me.
I pivoted. Fiona was racing across the parking lot, headed my way. She stopped in front of me, her breath coming out fast. She was short—at least a foot shorter than my 6’2”. Her hair, damp from the rain, clung to her head, and she was clutching her coat.
“Please,” she gasped. “I didn’t mean to upset you, Mr. Smithers. I simply didn’t know what else to do. I waited outside your office all night watching for you to come out.”
I ran a hand through my hair, my anger dispersing at her genuine distress. Up close, I could see the exhaustion on her face, the signs of sleepless nights and worry, all too familiar, that were etched into her skin.
“Call my office on Monday, Fiona,” I said, my voice calmer. “Tell Rene I said to fit you in.” I could at least listen to her.
She shook her head. “I tried that. Your pit-bull assistant won’t let me past him.”
Her description of Rene was accurate, but I frowned. Rene never made the judgment call. That was my responsibility.
“I’m sorry, I don’t understand. You’ve called?”
“Yes. I came to the office as well. He told me your caseload was full and you weren’t interested in speaking to me.”
Something about her voice caught my attention. That feeling of familiarity hit me again.
“Have we met?” I asked.
“Once,” she replied. “It wasn’t exactly, ah, comfortable.”
“Oh?”
“I was with my husband. The man divorcing me now. The man I need your help to fight against.”
A memory tickled the edges of my brain. A dinner a couple of years prior. A roomful of lawyers.
One in particular.
I narrowed my eyes. “Who is your husband?”
She shivered. “Scott Hutchings.”
Halton
After she dropped that bombshell, we stood, our eyes locked in the parking lot.
Now I knew why she looked so familiar.
“Nice try, Mrs. Hutchings. Whatever game you and your husband are playing—I’m not interested.”
I turned to walk away, but she grabbed my arm. “Please, Mr. Smithers! I’m not playing a game.”
I pivoted, shaking off her hold. She met my furious gaze, honesty leaking from her eyes.
“Scott wants a divorce. He ended our marriage, Mr. Smithers. Please, help me.”
“Why me? There are lots of other lawyers in town. Get one of them.”
“No, I want you.”
“Why?”
“Because you hate Scott almost as much as I do, and I know you’ll do a good job.”
Her statement startled me.
“Hate is a strong sentiment.”
“It’s how I feel—finally.”
I studied her. “I’m going to check out your story.”
She lifted her chin. “Unlike Scott, I have nothing to hide.” A long shiver ran through her body, and I remembered her earlier words.
“I waited outside your office all night watching for you to come out.”
It had been getting colder all evening, and the rain had started hours ago. The building was locked at six.
“Where did you wait for me?” I asked, curious.
“In the doorway across the street so I could see if you came out. Or if your car did.”
“Did you plan to jump in front of my car?”
“If need be.” Another shiver raced through her.
I glanced around the almost empty parking lot. “Where did you park?”
She shook her head. “I don’t have a car. I took the bus.”
I made a decision and grasped her elbow. “Come with me.”
“Where are we going?”
“I’ll drive you home.”
“But my case—”
I interrupted her with a shake of my head. “Mrs. Hutchings, I don’t conduct my business in the late hours of a Friday night in a parking lot while a potential client freezes to death. I’ll drive you home, and you can come into the office on Monday and we’ll talk.”
The auto unlock feature of the remote in my pocket clicked, and I opened the passenger door, indicating she should get inside. Once she slid in, I closed the door and walked around to the driver’s side, my head swimming.
I hadn’t heard anything about Hutchings’s marriage failing. Not a whisper. Until I had confirmation, I was going to proceed with caution. But I wouldn’t leave a woman stranded and freezing, even if she was the wife of someone I disliked.
I recalled meeting Fiona Hutchings at a dinner I had attended. Scott had been there, drinking too much and talking too loud, the same way he did in a courtroom. He loved calling attention to himself. He was a braggart and a liar, and it was all I could do not to tell him to shut up.
We had been seated at the same table, and I ended up across from him, barely able to stand the fact that I was being subjected to his company. Somehow Fiona ended up beside me and at first I hadn’t known she was his wife. She had only introduced herself by her first name, and we spoke briefly. She was elegant and classy, her hair—blonder then—swept into a knot at the base of her neck, her dress demure. I remember thinking her charming and witty for the few moments we conversed. Although she wasn’t my usual type, I also found her attractive. Then I saw the thin wedding band on her finger, and I reined myself in—I never got involved with married women. It was another one of my rules. Be it someone I met at a bar, one of these dinners, or especially clients—if you were married, it was hands off.
The next moment, Scott’s voice boomed across the table, so deep it was almost a snarl.
“Fiona! Breaking bread with the enemy now, are you?”
She had flushed, and I realized to whom she was married and tried not to shudder. So much for first impressions.
Another attorney at the table chuckled. “Now, now, Scott. This is social. When we’re out of the courtroom, we can all get along, right?”
Scott’s expression said it all, even though he laughed along with everyone else, but he insisted she switch seats. He made a great show of flinging his arm around her shoulders and kissing her. I was certain at the time she had turned her head slightly, so the kiss fell on her cheek rather than her mouth. I studiously ignored Scott the rest of the evening, although I found my glance fixated on Fiona on occasion.