Lust on the Rocks (40 page)

Sex, the annoying little voice in her head piped up.  Hot and heavy and with the most handsome of men—
that’s
what landed you in this predicament.

Oh butt out, will you
?

“Great,” she muttered.  “Now I’m talking to myself.” 
Just great
.

The entire drive home was spent weaving through objection and compromise.

You don’t want the same things from life.  Your futures aren’t compatible.

You love him, give it a chance.  You can make it work
.

He’s Catholic.  You’re not.

Frustration boiled over.  Why was it so damn difficult to cut him loose?  They were together a matter of
months
.  It’s not like they had years of memories to wade through.  They were in, they were out. 
Bam
.  The prospect of new lovers should be tempting and enticing,
not
distasteful.

But try as she may, Sam couldn’t shake the feelings of loss cascading through her heart.  She never realized how well she could rationalize her wants, ignore life’s realities…

Until Vic, a man whose memory refused to fade.

Sam pushed through the door of her condo and shoved it to a close behind her.  She plunked briefcase and purse onto the kitchen counter, stopped and turned.  Standing alone in her home, the calming white décor beckoned her mind to relax, to let go of all things busy and assume a blank state of mind.  Her gaze skimmed the smooth wood floors, moved easily past the stone patio and sailed outdoors into creamy purple skies.  Mellow and blue, they lacked even a hint of orange glow. 
Where had this relationship tripped her, blindsided her
? 
When did it become this all-consuming beast that wouldn’t let go
?

It was madness.  Half of her believed Vic was her perfect match while the other half knew such a man didn’t exist.  She wasn’t even looking for a partner!  Yet part of her felt trapped by the fantasy of what-if while the other ached for new horizons, new beginnings.

Even if it meant marriage? 
Are you serious
?

Sam shuddered to think she was actually considering it.  Even to Vic, the prospect of marriage was not on her agenda.  At all.  She crossed arms over chest.  Not even a little bit.  Marriage would do nothing but interfere with her career, her ambition.  And despite the fact she may be slipping into insanity at the moment, even her heart knew kids were out of the question.

Releasing her arms, she walked through her living room, glancing from glass sculpture to candle, from sleek furniture to expensive artwork and thought,
please—
do you know how fast a kid could destroy this room?  The image of a small boy with a toothy grin swinging from her cool blue anemone-like chandelier was stark and sudden.  
Oh my God—
think
about the injuries they could sustain!  Like a giant screen, the scene rolled out in her imagination.  Kicking his legs as he hooted, the boy swung up, the cord broke and he crashed to the tabletop, rolling off and onto the floor.  Sam shook her head with a burst of nervous laughter. 
Do you know what I would do to that child
?

Images of the youngster screaming at her hip as she hauled him upside down and into his bedroom came to mind and she laughed aloud.  “Children,
hell—
I don’t have near that kind of energy!”  Spending time with kids on a volunteer basis was one thing, but 24-7?  That’s like Superwoman powers.  It was only a year ago when Blake had his stroke and she had to step in and help her sister Patty with the kids.  Racing down halls, whipping through the bathroom, tearing up the kitchen—their morning routine alone was enough to wear her out by 8:00am! 

Sam enjoyed a chuckle at the memory.  Getting the kids to school while her sister sat vigil by Blake’s side had convinced her once and for all that Patty was definitely Supermom material.  But not her.  She’d keep her ambitions to Super lawyer.

Breathing in deep and full she allowed the momentary pleasure to carry her gaze back outside.  Lingering along the horizon, the familiar view of the ocean pulled the tension from her body, unlocked her pensive mindset and begged her to let go.  Let go of what isn’t meant to be.  Let go of what could never be.

Vic needed commitment—fifty years’ worth.  He needed family and kids, a supportive loving wife at home to be there when he needed her most.  His image slipped in and she could see him standing in Diego’s office, his expression guarded, his gaze tortured, as
though cutting him free was not the selfless act she imagined, but a prison sentence.

Her spirit flinched.  But it had to be done.  She couldn’t change who she was, though sadly, there was a part of her that wanted to do just that.  Be whoever she had to be to stay with him.  She wanted to replenish his life with joy, share the fairytale of happy-ever-after.  For as sure as she was breathing, Sam knew she loved Vic.  Loved him with all her heart.  Tears pricked her eyes as she stared out over the water, the distance, and felt an emptiness slither into her soul.  And she always would love him.  Sam breathed in, then blew the breath out in one long controlled exhalation.  But she and Vic weren’t meant to be.  Their future wasn’t to be tied together by marital vows or physical passion.  Theirs was a moment in time.  Penetrating to the core, it was an affair she would remember for a lifetime.

A heavy tear slid free as she urged herself to stop pining and let go.  Jess was moving on and now it was her turn.  It was time for her to move on and move forward and away from Vic.  Sam brushed the moisture from her eyes.  She wiped her cheeks dry and ignoring the faint rumble in her stomach, marched right past the kitchen and into her bedroom.  She needed a session of yoga.  She needed to get back to the business of her life and stay true to the woman inside.  Toying with a fantasy lifestyle would only disappoint.

Stay true to yourself.  Life is good.  Life will always be good.

I love you
. 
Doesn’t that mean anything
?

Sam’s heart softened at the thought of Vic.  Of course it did.  Of course.  But eventually the truth will find you.  It will knock on your door and ask where you’ve been.  What have you been up to?  If you answer with truth, the sun will continue to shine and the breeze will blow balmy and light.  But if you’re hiding behind a façade of make-believe, you’d better hope your doors are locked.

Chapter Thirty-Six

Sam watched as Mr. Rouse he took his seat in the witness stand.  A tall wiry man, he bore an air of indifference crucial in a star witness, indispensable to her case.  Dressed in khaki suit and non-descript blue tie, his wire-rimmed glasses gave him an air of detached intelligence, objectivity.  No longer an employee of the company, she was confident he would hold strong.

He’d better
. His presentation had to be irrefutable in the eyes of the jury.

Or Perry’s counsel would rip him to shreds, claiming disgruntled ex-employee, hell bent on making trouble.  But he wasn’t.  Rouse was her slap in their face.  She glanced across the room and suppressed a smile.  Harry Goldman and his team of legal eagles were coiffed, poised and ready for the kill.  Seated between Goldman and two others, was Scaliano.  Like an Italian mobster in his gray pin-striped suit, purple tie and lavender shirt.  His hair was a slicked back salt and pepper, his complexion a mottled brown.  The man looked guilty.

Behind them the courtroom gallery was sparsely occupied.  A few curious onlookers, but mostly today’s spectators were comprised of press members.  It was their job to be here, like it or not.

Well, Sam mused sardonically, time to wake up boys and girls.  Goldman and his cohorts were about to board a rollercoaster to hell.  It was the testimony of this witness that would prove Perry—more specifically Scaliano—cared nothing for the health and welfare of its membership.  She planned to use Mr. Rouse to illustrate the man’s greed like an artist on canvas and paint him as the corrupt, felonious, self-serving man he was interested only in money.

And today, she intended to strip him of as much of it as possible.  Rolling through the preliminary name, title, and purpose of his visit to the courtroom, Mr. Rouse calmly doled out dry, simple responses.

“Are you currently employed by Perry Fitness?”

“No, I am not.”

“Fired?”

“Quit.”

“You simply moved on in your career?” she pried, standing erect before him, beneath the wary gaze of the judge.  The man presiding over this case was not one of her fans, which meant she must tread lightly as she delivered the lethal blow.  “Or is there a reason you left?”

“I quit, because I no longer wanted to work for the company.”

“Bad blood?”

“Not on my part.”

“Okay.”  She pivoted and returned to the plaintiff’s table, careful to make reassuring eye contact with Mrs. Albright—more careful to avoid the same with Vic.  For some reason, having him in the courtroom was like a cramp in her side, distracting at best, painful at worst.

Especially when she was seated because despite the barricade Diego’s body posed, she could feel Vic’s presence, detect drifts of his cologne.

And every time she leaned over to consult with Diego, there were those black penetrating eyes, just over his shoulder, plowing into her with questions about them.  The man made no attempt at polite indifference.  He didn’t look away, or avert his gaze.  No.  To the contrary, his eyes fired questions at her.

What happened to us
? 
Why are we over
? 
Can’t we try again
?

Sam could hear his thoughts as if they were spoken aloud and where she could turn down the heat on his curiosity, she found it damn near impossible to turn down her reaction to his smile.

Throughout the proceedings he’d branded her with quick grins.  For scoring with the jury or earning points with the judge, and when she sunk one in the hole, his admiration simmered, smoldered, just beneath the propriety of the courtroom.

Add the encouragement she felt in his every tacit nod, his gratitude built from a foundation of grief and she knew what this meant to him.  At times she wanted to reach out and hug him, murmuring close to his ear, “this one’s for you.”

For Anna
.

She would have to shake herself back to the present when that happened, and remind herself they were in a court of law, their personal relationship far outside this jurisdiction.  But drawn by his presence, Sam bucked common sense and continued to sneak peeks in his direction, most met by a smile, the current one quiet and knowing.

She bit back a curse.

And groaned inwardly.  To say the man was a distraction wasn’t the half of it!  Sam snatched a piece of paper from the table and strode back to the witness stand, putting as much distance as possible between the two of them.

She swung her glance toward the jury.  Bored expressions stared back.  From experience, she understood their focus was wandering.  They were growing tired with the standard name, rank and serial number.  She indulged in a private smile.

Time to rise and shine.

Sam settled the crisp sheet of paper on the ledge in front of Mr. Rouse.  “Are you familiar with this letter?”

He glanced over it and looked up.  “Yes.”

“Mr. Rouse, can you explain to the jury what it details?”

“Of course.  It’s a recommendation letter from the American Heart Association.”

“A recommendation?”  Sam feigned a dose of mild shock.  “To my reading, it was a very generous offer on their behalf,” she implied, purposefully vague.

He shrugged.

“Do you recall the reason you declined?”

“Yes.  I was instructed to do so.”

“Instructed?”  She angled toward the jury, determined to catch their instant first impressions.  “By whom?”

“Upper management.”

“Did they give you a reason?” she pressed, and studied the faces staring intently at her witness.  Men and women, young and old they were with her alert and listening—right where she wanted them.

“They did.”

“It had to be a good one for you to decline more than two dozen Automatic External Defibrillators...”  She stole a glance toward Goldman practically bridling on objection, though she had given him no reason to do so—yet.  “Free of charge, no less.  “

“It might set precedent for all the clubs and
that
costs money,” came the expected reply.

Let the fireworks begin, she mused.

“Objection!  Hearsay.”

A ripple of gasps fanned out across the gallery as Harry Goldman jabbed a finger in the direction of Mr. Rouse.  “Your Honor, the witness is making statements of opinion!  He has no knowledge of such intent and cannot be allowed to continue to speculate as to what his management was thinking.”

Sam was pleased to note Goldman was too late.  In the jury box, shock and suspicion dripped from their faces, eyes rounding, others narrowing, but all settled in on Scaliano.

His eyes said it all.  Black, intensely guarded, he knew this was it.  He knew what the man was about to say.

Judge Lowry leaned toward the witness and peered at him over thick tortoiseshell bifocals.  “Mr. Rouse, was the statement made directly to you, or are you inferring the reason from, say, management discussions?”

Unaffected, he looked up at the judge.  “I was told to refuse the offer.  When I asked why, my manager said, ‘If we put them in one club, we might have to put them in all the clubs.’”

“Objection overruled,” the judge declared, impatience curling the edge of his words.  “You may continue,” he directed to Sam.

She circled back to her witness and drenched her voice in sarcasm.  “And that would be a bad thing...” she led him to elaborate.

“When you consider the time involved, the money—”

“What about the lives involved?” she demanded, her tone growing angry and impatient.  “What about the members you promised to serve?  Don’t they count for anything?”  She waved to the jury but quickly pulled back her theatrics.  Drawing close, she pressed him further.  “You could have saved a life, Mr. Rouse.  Doesn’t that mean anything to you?”