Borrowing Trouble Read online

  Because this isn’t awkward at all.

  “Marisa!” Before I could fully turn to the welcome, I was enveloped in a bear hug from Jimmy Brannon.

  Now this is officially weird. Jimmy Brannon is hugging me. With both his arms. This is not the Jimmy Brannon I’ve known for years. And he knows Trip and I are sleeping together. I bet his mom knows. Great. I’m a slut who is sleeping with their son.

  “Glad you could join us for dinner.”

  “Thank you so much for inviting me, Jimmy.”

  “Our pleasure. Please, sit. Let’s visit some before we eat.” Jimmy held out his hand, gesturing toward a large cream sofa dotted with needlepoint pillows. “Trip said he took you down to St. George this weekend.”

  “Yes, it was lovely. It was very kind of him.” I lowered myself demurely onto the sofa’s soft cushion and remembered to keep my knees together and ankles crossed so that my silk navy wrap dress didn’t show too much leg.

  This must be what it feels like to go to the White House. So proper. Trip passed me an overly generous glass of white wine. Bless him.

  “What did y’all do down there? Anything special?”

  I froze at Bitsy’s question and looked at my wine. Oh dear God. My cheeks began to flush.

  “Played checkers, rode bikes, flew kites, drank beer and ate oysters. You know, beach stuff,” interjected Trip, flopping on the sofa next to me.

  “Did he make you stay at the cabin or did you get to stay at one of the houses?” she asked with a sympathetic and knowing look in my direction.

  “We stayed at the cabin. It was nice.”

  “Well, I hope he let you have the bedroom with the view of the water. If you go again, you should stay at one of the houses. All of the bedrooms have en suite baths.”

  Wait. She thinks we sleep in different bedrooms? The conversation just needs to end. Now.

  “Uhm, Mom, so how is your event coming for St. Jude?”

  Bless you again, Trip Brannon, for changing the subject.

  “Oh, it is going well. It’s at the Brooks Museum and the catering is all set. The committee is still struggling with the floral design and tablescapes.” She turned toward me and offered, “It is in November, just before Thanksgiving, so we’re trying to strike a balance between fall and it leaning too harvest-themed. You know how hard that can be.”

  I nodded in agreement. Of course I can totally commiserate with this very challenging situation, I thought sarcastically.

  “You and Trip will sit at the table with us. Even if he’s out of town for work, we would love for you to join us. And we should go out just the two of us before then for lunch and a little shopping.”

  Crap. I’m supposed to go shopping with her? I hardly even go shopping with my mom. Now I’m supposed to go shopping with his mom? Need to get her thinking about something else before we end up at a day spa.

  I opened my mouth and the words fell out. “That would be so nice. I noticed all of the lovely art in your home. Did you know that Erica Levitz is my best friend? Her pastel looks so perfect above your fireplace.”

  “I didn’t know that! What a small world.”

  “Yes, we’ve been friends since junior high.”

  “She is very talented and we like to support local artists.”

  “Is the photographer also local?” I asked, gesturing to three stacked black and white portraits over a side table. “Trip, is this the same artist who did the ones in your kitchen and the ones outside your dad’s office?”

  “Ha!” exclaimed Jimmy. “Yes. And that photographer is certainly local. In fact, he’s in the room.”

  “Wow, Jimmy. That’s a really amazing hobby to have. It looks like you shoot on actual film. How long have you been interested in art photography?”

  “Not me,” said Jimmy, clinking the ice together in his otherwise empty tumbler. “That’s all Trip.”

  “I didn’t know Trip was into photography!” I turned my head to look at the person next to me who I still didn’t truly know.

  “Yes, he even took several classes at Brown. Cost me a pretty penny. Those pictures might be the most expensive in the house. Anyway, I’m hungry and when I walked through the kitchen earlier, Ophelia was working on a pot roast. Let’s go eat.”

  Chapter Five

  I slapped the speaker button on my office phone Thursday during lunchtime. “Marisa Tanner,” I spoke into the air before shoving the last bite of my pimento cheese sandwich into my mouth.

  “Darling, it’s John. I hear that you’re up to no good and I’m to keep my eye on you.”

  “I’ve got a deposition tomorrow and I’m up to my neck in documents getting ready for that. Can I call you next week and we can chat then?”

  “No phone call necessary. I will see you at Cal’s at seven o’clock. However, to ease the pain, drinks are my treat.”

  I leaned back in my desk chair and stared at the ceiling. “There is no way I’m going to be able to avoid this, is there?”

  “No. You are an adult and this was your decision, so no whining or trying to make me into the bad guy. I’m not.”

  “Okay. See you at Cal’s at seven.” I switched off the speakerphone and stared past my computer monitor to the Branco building that dominated my view.

  I guess I made my bed and now I have to sleep in it, even if there wasn’t much sleeping last night.

  ***

  “Well, hello Miss Tanner!” John rose from a barstool and pulled out a neighboring stool for me.

  “Hey, baby!” called Cal from behind the small bar tucked in the back of the package store that was only a few blocks from my condo. John grazed my cheek with a kiss and then plunked himself back on his stool with a shit-eating grin plastered on his face.

  “Please be kind. It’s been a long week.”

  “You are in so much shit, young lady, and I’m delighted!” boasted John.

  “What’s she done now?” asked Cal, placing his meaty hands on the bar and leaning over to look me up and down with feigned suspicion. “Before you answer that, Marisa, what do you want? I’ve got a Wiseacre Oktoberfest on tap.”

  “Sounds good.”

  “Okay, so, what’s she done?”

  “Oh, just decided to sleep with Trip Brannon.”

  I blanched. “John!”

  “Well, Marisa, it’s true,” replied John, his eyes lighting up. “And, last time I checked, truth is an absolute defense to any defamation claim. So, I will repeat myself so there is no doubt that you understand the severity of what you decided to do – You are sleeping with Trip Brannon, who will one day own your biggest client.”

  “Okay, I’m after that beer.” Cal quickly toddled down to the wall of taps and I wished I could follow him in escape.

  “You are not my father,” I said, sitting down but avoiding John’s direct gaze.

  “No, I’m not your father. I don’t care a bit about who you sleep with. I do care about you and your career.”

  “Listen, I know how serious this is and I’ve thought through it.”

  “Okay,” said John, raising his hands in surrender. “I’m not going to beat you up about it, but I’m not avoiding the elephant in the room. Especially when it’s accompanied by a big stinking pile of manure. When Harry called and your partners made me a decadent offer to make sure your personal decision doesn’t mess up the firm’s business, I said yes. You may not see it this way right now, but I’m doing you a favor.”

  “I don’t need your favors.” Cal placed a golden pint in front of me and wordlessly turned his attention to other patrons.

  “Okay, who do you think advised Jimmy regarding Trip’s proposed waiver?” My eyes grew wide. “Yes, I knew about that. From Branco’s perspective, I didn’t have any qualms about Jimmy signing it. You do excellent work. However, as your friend, I am more than a little worried. Then, Harry calls and suddenly I’m back in private practice with my top goal being to make sure your dalliance with Trip doesn’t derail anything.”

  “It
isn’t a dalliance,” I muttered, taking a sip of beer.

  “So, what is it?”

  “I don’t know.” I sighed, still avoiding eye contact with him. Is this what going to confession feels like?

  “Well, I’ve known Trip since he was a child and, as I’ve told you before, I’m fond of him. He’s a good man. He just doesn’t have much of an attention span and that’s where I worry. Are you going to be able to work with him after your little affair ends? Are you going to be able to sit together in a tiny airless room mediating a lawsuit all day and make comfortable small talk? And, sure as shit, when he does get married, you know that his wife isn’t going to want a former flame to be the company’s lawyer.”

  I kept my eyes forward and took a long sip of beer. “Are you done?”

  John took a quiet sip of his martini before thoughtfully savoring an olive. “Yes. You’re an adult.”

  “Okay, my turn. I have no idea how this will pan out. I don’t. We get along really well. I didn’t ask him to get the waiver. He did that without asking me. I called him on the carpet for that little move.”

  “That sounds like Trip,” nodded John, returning to his gin.

  I took another drink from my pint glass. “Yup. He can be very focused.”

  “And then suddenly he’s not, and he’s on to something else.”

  “I know. I know.”

  “As long as you know that.”

  “I do.”

  “Okay, cheers to the end of that awful discussion,” concluded John, lifting his nearly empty glass. “We needed to have it and we needed to have it over drinks.”

  “Agreed and cheers,” I replied somberly, clinking my glass to his.

  “Last thing on the topic and then it’s behind us. Be good. And, if you can’t be good, be careful. And, if you can’t be careful, name it after me.”

  “Ha.”

  “So, on to business. Jimmy still won’t pull the trigger on calling the FBI on Amelia Duquette.”

  “Trip won’t talk with me about it. Flat out refused. Only told me that I’m not to do any work on any of those sham lawsuits unless he tells me otherwise.”

  “He doesn’t want you involved.”

  “Well, that’s too bad because I’m involved.”

  “You are. You’re a witness.”

  I swirled my half-finished beer. “You’re right. I hadn’t thought about that. The plaintiffs lied to me. I guess my assistant is a witness, too.” I took another large swallow.

  John nodded. “It seems that she very well might be. And since the firm is front and center on this, we’re not handling the Duquette issues. I’ve helped Trip hire a New York firm.”

  “You what?”

  “Listen, Branco is still your client, Marisa. I’m not stealing them from you. They aren’t pulling their work. But it’s my job to continue to look out for their best interests. And their best interest is you not blurring the line between witness and lawyer. Not to mention witness, lawyer, and girlfriend.”

  “Fuck,” I muttered, downing the remains of my beer. “So I’m to be kept in the dark and completely shut out?”

  “Yes. The files now contain evidence of the conspiracy. The originals will be taken from your cabinets tomorrow and you’ll be left with copies.”

  I felt my face grow hot with anger. “Fucking Amelia Duquette.”

  “Here, here. Now, let me get you another drink while I tell you about my latest spearfishing dive. You aren’t going to believe the size of the red snapper I shot.”

  Chapter Six

  By Friday afternoon, I was exhausted. My interactions with some of my partners had been chilly since Tuesday’s arduous meeting.

  Wonder when the chill will thaw? When I lose the business? When I marry Trip? Stop it. Don’t think that. Too fast. Go slow. This is not a race. Just enjoy where we are. I haven’t seen or heard from him since yesterday morning, so maybe we’re already cooling off.

  Instead of working myself into a new panic, I exhaled deeply and picked up a deposition transcript to review. Focus on work at work. Focus on work at work. I repeated my new mantra as I tried to get my head back into the game.

  “Need anything?” asked my assistant Jane, sticking her head into my office, as the sunlight began to turn golden. “That FedEx from Connecticut that you’ve been waiting on is here. I’ve had the receptionist keep an eye out for me and she just buzzed and said you got a delivery. I’ll bring it around. I’d like to head out a little early to beat traffic.”

  “I’ve been waiting on that Palmer stuff all day. Thanks. I’m glad it’s here. Otherwise, I’m good. Have a great weekend,” I said, waving my hand and turning back to my computer.

  “Marisa,” said Jane a few minutes later.

  “Just toss it on a guest chair. I’m in the middle of a thought,” I called over my shoulder.

  “Hhhmm. I’m not tossing this anywhere.” I swiveled and found my assistant’s legs growing out of a large crystal vase overflowing with fragrant white Asiatic lilies.

  “Whoa. That’s not a FedEx.”

  “I seriously don’t know how I haven’t dropped this or run into a wall. It weighs a ton. Where should I put it?”

  I swept aside a pile of papers on my desk and took the arrangement from Jane. He sent flowers. The teenage girl in me wanted to jump up and down in excitement. The thirty-six year old woman in me was just relieved that over twenty-four hours of silence didn’t mean he’d moved on.

  “Are you going to make me guess who they are from because I only need one guess,” teased Jane.

  “No, no guessing and no gossiping about this either.”

  “You don’t have to tell me, but that ship has sailed. All of the staff is in a flurry over you. You’ve been quite the topic of gossip all week and this just caps it off. Have a good weekend with the hottie client. I’m out of here.”

  I extracted the card from the envelope fastened to the vase’s neck with a simple peach ribbon. Please have dinner with me tonight.

  This is excessive. Lovely, but excessive.

  I fished my cell phone out of my purse and dialed Trip’s number. “Trip Brannon.”

  “It’s Marisa. Thank you for the flowers.”

  “You are very welcome. Are you available for dinner tonight?”

  “Sure.”

  “I send flowers and I get a ‘sure’ out of you? I’ve got to step it up,” he teased.

  “Let me amend my answer. Dinner would be wonderful. What were you thinking?”

  “About you, naked.”

  “Well, I teed that one up for you, didn’t I? Let me amend my question, as well. What were you thinking about for dinner?”

  “I stand by my original answer. You, naked.”

  I pinked and shifted my weight from foot to foot. “You are naughty, Mr. Brannon.”

  “Not any more. I’ve made an honest woman out of you and we’re going to have a very nice dinner in a very public place.”

  “Trip,” I groaned. “I think we’ve already ticked that box at Folk’s Folly.”

  “Can you trust me not to paw at you through a dinner?”

  “Not really,” I said, packing my purse and briefcase to leave.

  “Okay, based upon history, that’s a fair statement. Nevertheless, I’ve booked us a table at Flight. I’ll even sit across from you rather than next to you, if that makes the offer more appealing.”

  “So now you’re ready to negotiate, but you haven’t heard any of my demands. Flight is fine. I like wine bars, as long as I can order the chocolate cake and do not have to drive home.”

  “Sold.”

  “Hear me out, Mr. Brannon. You may not like the other terms.”

  “Please, enlighten me to your proposal.”

  “I signed up for a 5K race tomorrow morning that I intend to run. I will be sleeping in my own bed and will not be drinking to excess. You will pick me up from my condo at seven. You will drive or we will take a taxi. We will not be having your father’s driver take us around on
dates.”

  “Okay, any other requirements, Miss Tanner?”

  “One. I don’t intend to be sleeping alone in my bed.”

  “Those are some imposing conditions. You’re driving a hard bargain.”

  “Well, I’ll throw in a pot sweetener for you.”

  “What’s that?”

  “No panties.”

  “We have a deal. I’ll see you at seven.”

  A huge smile was plastered across my face as I ended the call, placed my purse on my shoulder, and swept up the ridiculous floral arrangement in my arms.

  ***

  At seven on the nose, I buzzed Trip into the building. I propped the door open and continued the hunt for the mate to my brightly printed satin J. Crew pumps. “Marisa?”

  “I’m looking for my shoe. Just a second,” I called from my bedroom. Where is the other one? I was digging under my bed through my stash of shoe boxes when I heard Trip’s footfalls.

  “Jesus, Marisa!”

  “Found it!” I trumpeted. I grasped the shoe by its four-inch heel and stood up, smoothing the skirt of my black Diane von Furstenberg wrap dress.

  “Please do not crawl under any table at dinner. Your bottom was nearly exposed.”

  “Thinking about that pot sweetener, eh?” I teased, slipping on my shoes and bringing my face closer in line with Trip’s.

  “Only for the last two hours,” he replied, pulling me in close for a deep kiss.

  “And no crawling under the table at dinner? Am I hearing this right?”

  “Yes, you did hear that right. I’m not into exhibitionism.”

  Yeah, right. I cocked an eyebrow at him and crossed my arms.

  “Much. Now, let’s go before I renege on our compromised agreement and have you for dinner instead.”

  Chapter Seven

  After signing the charge slip for the delicious meal of small plates paired with half-pours of a variety of wines, Trip looked across the high-topped table into my eyes. Unflinchingly, he began. “So, Miss Tanner. Let’s reflect on where we stand in fulfilling the terms of our agreement. You’ve had two tasting flights of wine and the specified chocolate cake. I have not touched, pawed, or groped you throughout the course of the evening. I’m sober and will drive you home where I fully intend to toss you into bed and ravish you until approximately eleven o’clock when I will leave you alone to get a full night of sleep. I am a man of my word, Miss Tanner.”