Zoe felt like an intruder. How could Sharon talk to her son and express her pain with a stranger present? She watched Declan’s mother turn and walk down a narrow hallway. Declan took her bakery bag and motioned for Zoe to enter the apartment. A few moments later, Zoe sat next to Declan on a leather couch. The room, decorated in rich browns and expensive art, had a masculine flare. Not at all the way Zoe would picture a home Sharon decorated.
Sharon sat her cookie on the long, marble coffee table and then settled on the edge of a wingback chair, looking like she might bolt at any moment. After an uncomfortable moment of silence, she waved a hand through the air, indicting the room. “It came furnished. Amazing what convenience money can buy.”
The words held a distinct bitterness and they hit a nerve for Zoe. “But it can’t buy happiness.” She kept her eyes on Sharon when she said the words but she felt Declan’s attention.
“A voice of experience?” Sharon asked.
Zoe didn’t want to talk about herself, but she’d opened the door for questions and she knew it. “Let’s just say I have been around. Money has a nasty way of taking control of life. It becomes the replacement for other things that have no price tag.”
Sharon stared at Zoe a moment and then turned her gaze on her son. “Smart woman. I hope you’ll let her influence you.”
“Money doesn’t control me, Mother. You know that.”
“Do I?” she asked, her voice quivering. “You work like a dog by your father’s side and for what, if not money?” She laughed. “I know. I know. It’s all about justice and the law. I’ve heard it all from your father. It’s why he didn’t come home until all hours of the night. It’s why he forgot anniversaries and birthdays and every special occasion I remember since he opened that firm.”
“I’m young. I’d hoped my hard work would let Dad retire and you two could enjoy life a little.”
“So if he retired tomorrow you’d be different?” “Mother—”
Sharon held up her hand in stop sign fashion. “Don’t explain. I don’t want to hear your reasons. I’ve heard thirty-seven years of excuses that played out like a well-plotted closing statement.”
Zoe didn’t know what to do. She felt like she was in the middle of something never meant for her ears. Instinct made her act. She pushed to her feet. “Listen,” she said. “I’m going to step into the hall and make a call.”
Sharon and Declan both stood. “No,” Sharon said. “I’m sorry. I really am. Please sit and talk to me. Declan hasn’t brought a woman to meet me since high school. I can’t believe I’m blowing it with emotional nonsense.”
What had she gotten herself into? Zoe felt the words like a shock wave. She didn’t dare look at Declan. Hell, she hadn’t looked at him since they’d walked into his mother’s apartment. The implications of Sharon’s words were just way, way too intense. True, Declan had brought her out of convenience but he had to have known how his mother would respond.
Declan’s hand settled on her back. “Please stay.”
She turned to look at him and found a plea in his eyes. One she should have found easy to ignore. Instead, it made her stomach flutter. Slowly, Zoe lowered herself onto the couch, her eyes still locked with Declan’s. “I can make the call later.”
The look he gave her said thank you and for some unknown reason, he mattered to Zoe. More than it should and she knew it. Maybe because she got the impression that her being here, and her staying when he asked, mattered to him.
“I’ve been rude,” Sharon said. “Zoe, how about some coffee?”
“Actually,” Declan said. “That reminds me. We left a pot on back at Zoe’s apartment.”
“Oh,” his mother responded. “So you have to go?”
The disappointment in Sharon’s face was instantaneous. “No,” Zoe said quickly. “Coffee would be wonderful. Besides,” she added, “the chocolate croissant in my bag is calling me.”
Declan reached over and took Zoe’s hand, giving it a gentle squeeze meant as a silent thank you. Sharon pushed to her feet. “I’ll go make the coffee. This place thought of everything. I have dishes, pans, and even a toothbrush. They went all-out.”
A few minutes later Zoe sat with Declan and his mother at a long cherry dining table, steaming coffee coming from her cup as she took a big bite of her pastry. As the delicate
pieces of sugary sweetness touched her tongue, Zoe sighed with pleasure. “God, I love these things.”
Declan and Sharon laughed. Zoe blushed. “Oh, um, sorry. I guess I get a little intense about my food.”
“All I can say,” Declan replied, “is I hope mine is as good as yours.” He took a bite and then did an exceptional job of imitating her sigh of pleasure. “Yep. I believe it is.”
Zoe smiled. “So I can’t have yours, too, I take it?”
“Not a chance,” Declan said.
“What kind of gentleman keeps pastry from a woman?” Zoe teased.
“Exactly,” Sharon said. “You really should hand over the croissant, dear.”
Declan eyed them both. “You women think you can team up on me, but you can forget it.” He took another bite as if he had to eat it before it was stolen.
Watching Sharon, Zoe could see her face lighten at her son’s playful nature. This little distraction had done Declan’s mom good. Turning her attention to Declan, Zoe studied him. It was hard to put the tough attorney’s exterior she’d seen in the media with the lighthearted, sincere man sitting at the table laughing. Both versions were handsome. Confident. Beyond sexy. But this Declan, he seemed so…real. So good and honest. Zoe inwardly shook herself and reached for her coffee. She knew Declan’s courtroom track record. He got murderers off. Helped criminals to make a big paycheck. No matter how wonderful he seemed, this shell hid something darker. Something she didn’t dare forget existed. In fact, the smoothness of the way he hid that part of himself made him worse rather than better in her book.
“So, Zoe, tell me about yourself. What do you do for a living? What’s your family like?”
Sharon’s question snapped Zoe out of her reverie and into a panic. The last thing she wanted to do was talk about herself or her family. Mind racing, Zoe responded in avoidance mode. “My mother passed away several years ago and my father is a stuffy
businessman who works too much. As for my career, I’m an entertainment reporter for
The New York Review.”
One of Sharon’s brows inched upward. “Really?” She let out a short bark of laughter. “This is ironic and actually quite funny. Declan and his father have always hated reporters. I expect you’re just what he needs. A nice dose of new perspective.”
“Hey now,” Declan inserted. “Zoe here hates attorneys.”
Amusement danced in Sharon’s eyes, the sadness lingering but deeper below the surface. “Smart girl. She should. Attorneys are trouble.” She gave Zoe an approving nod.