When It Hooks You Page 4

  “I’ll be ready for him,” Trish responded.

  Adam followed Sharon toward the door to the north wing, but before crossing the threshold, he turned toward Trish. “It was a pleasure meeting you.”

  She nodded her agreement and didn’t even try to wipe away her silly grin. Oh, how she enjoyed flirting with someone new. Maybe she’d luck out and the new attorney coming in at one would be equally entertaining. “Clifford Walsh,” she murmured to herself as she gathered his orientation materials. The name had a nice flow to it. So did Adam Helms.

  The last thing she grabbed for the new guy’s introduction to the firm was a hardcover book—the biography of Burton Masters, the law firm’s founder. He’d started the company with one client and a dingy office on the south side. By treating each new client as if they were his only one and carefully cultivating a culture of like-mindedness, he built River South Partners into a nationally recognized firm. Its hub was Chicago, but River South was able to serve a wide range of clients throughout the country via satellite offices and alliances with other independent commercial law firms.

  After an extensive interview process, Clifford Walsh, graduate of Duke Law School, had been chosen to join the family. At twelve fifty, the elevator dinged, and a dark-haired man of average height stepped around the troublesome foliage. He wore a charcoal gray suit cut in the close-fitted European style. Trish gasped. “Cliff?”

  He stopped his forward motion, his arms falling to his sides as he gawked. “Trish the Dish? No way! What’re you doing here?” His voice rose to a high pitch on the last note.

  “I work here, silly.” She came around the desk to teasingly tap the stiff rise of hair that converged over his forehead. His nearly black hair against his ivory skin had always made him look to her like a singer in an alternative band. He was definitely the kind of man who could pull off guyliner if he ever chose to, even wearing a conservative suit. She gave him a big hug. Cliff had been a year behind her at the University of Iowa, and their friend groups had often overlapped in the vast Venn diagram of campus social circles. When she pulled back, she asked, “Did you change your last name?”

  “No.” He quirked his thick eyebrows in question.

  “Your file says Walsh. I thought your last name was Ford—that’s what your frat brothers called you.”

  “So you thought my full name was…” He gestured for her to complete the sentence.

  “Cliff Ford.”

  He tilted his head, pressing his lips together and widening his eyes, urging her to think harder.

  “Cliff Ford,” she repeated to herself. “Ohhh—Clifford!”

  “Ding, ding, ding.”

  “That’s why they called you Ford? Not a very clever nickname.”

  “Sweetheart, I don’t think you’re in a position to get judgmental about cleverness if you’re just figuring this out now.” He swooped the ends of her hair up and let the strands slip between his fingers. “This lovely golden color goes far deeper than the roots, doesn’t it?”

  “How dare you!” She flipped her hair behind her shoulder in faux indignation.

  “Who’d you think you were friending when you approved a certain Cliff Walsh on Facebook?”

  She swished a hand dismissively. “I’ve got hundreds of e-friends. Can’t pay attention to all of them. Are you going by Clifford now?”

  “Nah, I thought the long form would make me sound more dignified on my résumé. But you know me; I’m a casual kind of guy.”

  “Mind if I call you Cliffy?” She jokingly straightened the knot of his pink paisley tie.

  He narrowed an eye in warning. “Only a few good men have earned the right to call me that.” He’d never directly told her, but Trish had always suspected Cliff was gay. The one wooden, awkward kiss they’d shared in college—on a dare—had been the most convincing bit of evidence. She was glad to see he’d become more comfortably open with his sexuality.

  “Speaking of your résumé—impressive, dude. I had no idea you were such a smarty pants.”

  He jerked his head back. “Okay, now I think I should be the one who’s offended.”

  “No! It’s good to be a closet intellectual.” She mentally kicked herself for the closet reference and rushed to explain in a different way. “People who derive too much personality from their high intellect tend to be a yawnfest. You, my darling, are the whole package. Sparkling personality, smarts, and a smashing sense of fashion.”

  “Why, thank you.” He gave a playful bow. “Let me have a look at you, you saucy little vixen.” He grasped her fingers, lifting them high so she could spin underneath the arch of their arms, showing off her slender curves in a plaid knee-length pencil skirt and gauzy, white, button-down blouse. “Put a pair of horn rimmed glasses on you and you’re every straight boy’s wet dream.”

  “You’re not forgetting you’re here for your first day on the job at a prestigious—and slightly stuffy—law firm, are you?”

  His expression sobered, his deep brown eyes going a bit wide. “I sort of did, actually. That’s what you do to me.” He stood straight and smoothed a hand down his tie. Trish noted that the previously sharp edges of his milky-white cheek bones had rounded. He’d put on a few pounds since college. It looked good on him. “Guess it’s time to turn back into Yawnfest Clifford now.”

  “Don’t you ever.” She gave him a peck on the cheek. “I’m going to see if they’ll let me take you on the tour. Give me a sec.” She dialed an administrative assistant in the main office. “Blake, this is Trish. Would you mind covering reception for about half an hour? Thanks. Tell Cassie she’s off the hook on the new guy tour. I’ve got this one.”

  While they waited for Blake, Cliff asked, “So what’s up with you? Weren’t you a communications major? What are you doing working reception at a law firm?”

  She shrugged. “This gig pays a hell of a lot more than anything I was offered in media. It may not be my dream job, but I like it here, so I stick around.”

  “Lucky me.” He smiled.

  Trish was thrilled to have a long-lost friend around, especially since she’d soon lose Lyssa to Massachusetts. She was so giddy about the new development, she didn’t realize until the end of the workday that she’d missed her chance for last-minute flirting with Mr. Adam Helms. He must’ve departed while she was away from her desk giving Cliff the tour.

  Chapter 5

  THE REST OF APRIL and half of May passed before Trish saw Adam again. As soon as he reappeared at River South, dressed rather brightly in an azure blue suit, her first instinct was to tease him about not being able to hide anywhere in that getup. Instead of following through on that impulse, she stuck to her plan and immediately lifted the receiver of her office phone.

  “Good morning, Michael. Mr. Helms has arrived.” She grinned brightly and waggled her eyebrows as Adam approached.

  “Eager to have me gone, are you?” The deep tenor of his voice and his direct gaze sent an unexpected pulse though her.

  “No. I’m demonstrating how truly excellent I am at my job to make up for the bad impression I made last time.”

  “I wouldn’t say bad.” A small smile played on his lips.

  “Would you like something to drink? Coffee or wat—”

  “Adam!” Michael boomed from the corporate doorway. “Good to see you.”

  Adam walked around Trish’s desk toward the bulky attorney, extending his hand to meet Michael’s. Without considering what she was doing, Trish inhaled, capturing the retreating remnants of Adam’s cologne.

  The two men moved toward the doorway, and Trish felt ripped off. Since when did Michael retrieve clients himself—and so quickly? Before Adam disappeared, he glanced back at Trish. His honeyed eyes lowered to pointedly skim over the lapels of his jacket before giving her one more quick look. Something in that small motion told her he’d purposely selected the bright color that morning. He’d worn it to tease her.

  She didn’t realize she was smiling until a few minutes later when Cli
ff strolled in. Perching at the corner of her desk, as had become his habit during the past few weeks, he asked, “What’s the goofy grin about?”

  “Nothing. Just amused by certain people’s fashion choices.” She was also impressed by the dashing way in which Mr. Helms sported those choices.

  “Fine. Be cryptic.” Cliff bounced the manila file folder he held off his lap and looked around the otherwise empty lobby.

  “You need something?” Trish asked.

  “No. I was thinking…it’s always so busy around here, we rarely get a chance to do anything more than grab a quick lunch. We should do something after hours, on a weekend. Go out to dinner.”

  “That’d be great.”

  He stood and tapped the folder on her desk. “How’s this Saturday?”

  “Er, no can do. Lyssa moves to Boston next week so we’re going out for a last hurrah in Chi-town. You should come with. You haven’t gotten to see her yet, and it might be your last chance for a while.”

  “Nah. Sounds like a besties-only type of thing. I’ll catch her when she’s back in town visiting. How about next weekend? Friday?”

  Trish ticked through her fairly empty social calendar. “Sure. It’s a date.” The happy spark that flashed across Cliff’s face made her realize he was probably lonely as he re-acclimated to the Chicago area. He worked so many hours that it had to be difficult for him to meet anyone new. “Why don’t we make this a double date?” she suggested. “I’ve got the perfect guy to bring. He’s cute, smart, great personality. I know him from the gym—so you can add hot body to the list.” She winked. James had been single for a few months now, and Trish knew for a fact he was in the market for a new guy. He and Cliff might not be a great long-term match, but who needed one of those?

  “I’m sure he’s a peach.” Cliff’s sardonic tone was less than enthusiastic.

  “Oh, sorry. I wasn’t thinking. If you don’t have enough people in the area yet to be able think of someone to bring, don’t worry about it.”

  “Puh-lease, I’m not that pathetic. I used to live around here, y’know. I’ll just have to think over my options and make a few phone calls.”

  “Okay. I’ll check with James and let you know.”

  “Fab. See you later.”

  Trish kept busy the rest of the day. As she shut down her files and applied pink lip gloss for the L ride home, she figured she must’ve again missed Adam’s exit. Then the door opened from the corporate wing, and he emerged—with his jacket slung over his arm and his tie loosened enough for the top button of his white shirt to be unfastened. His shoulders drooped and his expression was dull, completely devoid of its spark from earlier.

  “Long day?” she asked.

  He attempted a smile, but it came out as more of a twitch. “You might say that.”

  They moved together toward the elevator and got in. “Do you have a long flight ahead of you?” Trish asked.

  “Yes, but not until the wee hours. I’ve got a room booked at the O’Hare Hilton so I can catch a few hours of decent sleep first.”

  “What about dinner?”

  “Room service, I suppose.”

  “No,” Trish said when the door opened to the ground floor. They stepped out of the elevator, and she wrapped her fingers around the firm muscles at back of his thin arm. “I’m kidnapping you for an hour. After the hard day you’ve obviously had, I can’t in good conscience surrender you to crappy room service at an airport hotel. You like martinis?”

  “Yes.” He let her pull him along, but his tone held a note of caution.

  “Are you adventurous with appetizers?”

  “I suppose.”

  “Then I’ve got the perfect place.” She took a decisive right turn on the sidewalk. “It’s even close to the Blue Line so you can catch the train to your hotel.”

  After a brief pause, Adam nodded.

  “Oh. You probably don’t take the train like us common folk, right?”

  He let out a soft chuckle. “I happen to be a big fan of public transportation.”

  She smiled and let her arm drop from his since he wasn’t putting up a fight. They passed the next two blocks in silence, soaking up the warmth of the late spring day while people rushed past them in both directions. Trish stopped in front of a set of revolving doors. “This is it.”

  He gestured her through and followed her up the short escalator to the martini bar. It was set in a large, open space painted in pale shades of yellow and white. Upholstered chairs sat in sets of two at small, round tables. The bar was only about half occupied. She asked Adam’s martini preferences and ordered the extra-dry house specialty for both of them along with a few small plates of cheeses and spicy seafood creations.

  The drinks arrived, and Adam took a long, slow sip. When he finished, he leaned back and let his eyes droop closed. “That was heaven.”

  Trish pressed her lips together in a satisfied smile, not disturbing his quiet moment. The taut line of his mouth softened. She couldn’t quite hear it, but she swore he was humming along with the instrumental melody that floated in the background. To her, he looked elegantly aristocratic. Despite Adam Helms being a major client at her law firm, she knew very little about him. Unless one of the paralegals ever needed help drafting a letter or organizing his files, Trish wouldn’t be privy to any information except for the time of his appointments.

  Her study of him ended when the waitress clinked their plates onto the table and he opened his eyes. While Trish busied herself with moving shrimp and a mussel to her plate, he lifted a palm to his forehead and wiped it all the way down his face.

  “That bad, huh?” Trish asked.

  “Isn’t it always?” He loosened the knot of his tie further, pulling it down another inch.

  “Did whatever it was at least get straightened out by the end of the day?”

  He ran his fingertips up and down the spine of his fork and sighed. “This gesture, this place, is lovely, so I hope it won’t come off as rude for me to say that I don’t want to talk about it. Not only have I been advised by legal counsel to keep quiet about certain aspects, I’ve spent all day dealing with it and am desperate for a mental break.”

  Trish nodded. “That’s fine by me. To be honest, I find legalese pretty boring.”

  “Yet you work at a law firm.”

  “Getting to do the fun stuff, like making people feel welcome, keeping schedules straight and files organized.”

  “That’s fun?” He looked over the cheeses and spread one onto a slice of gingered pear.

  “I guess. But you know what? I don’t really feel like talking about my job, either.”

  “What are we going to talk about, then?”

  “Your suits.” She arched an eyebrow in challenge.

  “You approve of the new color?”

  “I do. I’m also wondering where you manage to get such an interesting palette.”

  “I have poor fashion sense and complete faith in my tailor in Hong Kong. He makes it; I wear it.”

  “You have a guy in Hong Kong?”

  “In London, too. But he’s a bit more sedate in his choices.”

  “So you travel a lot.”

  Adam took another sip and nodded as he swallowed.

  “Where did that tan come from last time you were in?” she asked.

  “When was that?”

  “Near the end of April.”

  “Central America. Honduras and Guatemala.”

  She wanted to ask what he’d been doing there, but figured that might enter into the business talk he wanted to avoid. “So, where’s home when you’re not jet-setting.”

  His mouth tightened before he answered. “Maryland, I suppose.”

  “You suppose?”

  He shrugged. “I’m away more than I’m there, so I’m not really sure it can be called a home, anymore. How about you? Do you travel?”

  “Not as often as I’d like to. I’ve been to both US coasts and to Germany on a family trip during high school. I went with
friends on a vacation to Greece after college graduation. That’s it.”

  “How long has Chicago been your home?”

  “Forever. I grew up in the suburbs and have lived in the city since college.”

  “How long have you been with River South Partners?”

  “The same—since college, so five years.”

  “Interesting.”

  “What?”

  “You take a decidedly longer term approach to work commitments than to romantic ones.”

  Trish stopped mid-chew with her eyes slightly narrowed.

  “I’m sorry,” he said. “That’s information from a conversation I wasn’t supposed to hear.”

  She shook her head and swallowed. “It’s fine. I was just trying to recall exactly what you overheard.”

  “I heard that you no longer go on fourth dates.”

  “You’re an excellent eavesdropper…and rememberer.”

  “I don’t often hear women put time limits on relationships, especially women too young to be so jaded.”

  “I’m not jaded. I’m realistic about who I am.”

  “And you’re someone who doesn’t want to be in a committed relationship?”

  “I’m someone who doesn’t believe she’ll ever be lucky enough to meet another someone who’ll make her want to commit.”

  He swirled the olive in what was left of his drink, pursing his lips.

  “What?” Trish asked.

  He lifted his eyes to her, pausing to take her in with a long, appraising gaze. “You sound jaded.”

  “Am not!” She tossed her crumpled napkin at him. It bounced off his shirt and onto the floor. “I enjoy being single, and I’m going to stay that way until someone comes along to change my mind. There’s nothing wrong with that, is there?”

  “Not at all.” He leaned over the arm of his chair to pick up the napkin, laying it on one of the empty plates as he settled back onto his chair.

  “What’s your story?” Trish asked. “Do you have a girlfriend in one of those ports?” She’d noted he didn’t wear a wedding ring.