Perfect Partners (15 page)

Although she might be ready for that, she wasn’t ready to face Griff and explain why she’d left him so abruptly.

He circled her and settled himself back on the edge of her desk, putting distance between them. Had he sensed her unease?

“I think you’re right about this next appointment,” he said.

Chelsie figured he’d pegged her discomfort for what it was. Although he’d granted her a reprieve, she knew it was temporary. “How so?” she asked.

“I’d like to think I can handle this, but I’m not going to risk my client’s safety or security on ego. I’d like you to be there.”

She nodded, impressed with his ability to put someone else first. Impressed with him. “I’ll sit in.”

He shook his head. “Not just sit in. I’ll take my cues from you.”

She knew it was a big concession. “I’m glad you realize your client’s needs come first. You’ll be handling these cases alone in no time.”

“When, Chelsie?”

“There’s no time frame for these kinds of things. See how you feel after today and…”

He cut her off with an abrupt wave of her hand. “I meant when can we talk about us?”

His definition of temporary and hers differed greatly. She gripped the edge of her desk, unable and unwilling to delve into her heart and soul just yet. “Later.”

His eyes narrowed at her words. “Pick a time.”

A knock sounded at the door. She took a step forward, but he was faster, stepping into her path. His large body blocked her chance of moving forward and his waist came into sudden contact with hers. She let out a startled gasp. The knock came, louder this time.

“Just a second,” Griff called. He fingered the collar of her silk shirt. His hand grazed her cheek. “Pick a time.”

“Lunch,” she said through clenched teeth.

“Perfect.” He took two steps backwards, watching as she smoothed her skirt with what she knew were shaking hands. “Do you want to get that or should I?” he asked.

“I’ve got it.” She needed the few seconds to compose herself. Chelsie brushed past him and opened the door.

A woman, around Chelsie’s age, stood before them. “Hi. I’m early, but I had to take the bus and I wasn’t sure how long it would take.”

“Come in,” Chelsie said. “Welcome to Russell and Stuart.”

“Stuart and Russell,” Griff said from behind, but she heard the laughter in his voice.

“We haven’t worked out all the details yet, but come on in.” Chelsie waved the woman inside.

She entered, her eyes never leaving Chelsie’s face. Reassurance was important. Chelsie understood that firsthand.

“We can talk in my office,” Griff said, taking charge.

“Unless you’d be more comfortable out here,” Chelsie said, giving the woman choices she’d probably been lacking lately.

Their client looked from Chelsie to Griff and back again. “His office is fine, if you come.”

Chelsie nodded and the woman stepped back to allow Griff to lead her through the waiting area into his office. Despite the wariness in the woman’s eyes, Chelsie noticed the strong set of her shoulders, a notch of pride that hadn’t yet been taken from her.

Watching them precede her, Chelsie saw their surroundings as if for the first time. A worn couch, plush but unobtrusive beige carpet, a small reception area, a coffee machine and water cooler. Except for the massive oak desk he’d taken before leaving his old partnership behind, Griff’s private office looked much the same.

She suppressed a smile. Until now, she hadn’t realized how Griff had decorated to suit his new clientele. No luxuries to make those without feel out of place, but chic enough to allow people with money to believe they’d sought out an equal in their attorney. Much like the downstairs unit he and Alix called home, this place spoke of class that had nothing to do with status and everything to do with its owner.

Chelsie waited for the woman to seat herself before settling in the chair next to hers. Instead of retreating behind his imposing desk, Griff chose a spot on the couch. The woman seemed to relax a bit. Again, Chelsie had to commend his instincts.

“Would you like to take off your coat?” Chelsie asked.

The woman shrugged off an expensive-looking burgundy silk jacket.

“Mrs…” Chelsie paused. She had forgotten to check Griff’s appointment book for the woman’s name, if she had even given it.

“Amanda.”

“Okay.” From experience, Chelsie knew that being on a first-name basis gave her clients the impression of anonymity while they decided whether they trusted her enough to tell all. “You called us, Amanda, so what can we do for you?”

“I know I set this appointment up with Mr. Stuart…”

“I can leave you alone if you’re comfortable now,” Chelsie offered in a soft voice. Inspiring trust was the only way to insure a client’s confidence.

“No!”

“Okay. Why don’t you start at the beginning?”

The woman gripped the edges of her chair until her knuckles turned white. “I have a little boy,” she whispered. “If it weren’t for him, I don’t know if I’d be here.”

Chelsie nodded. “I know this first step was difficult. How old is your son?” Chelsie asked.

“Three. And I don’t want…”

Silence surrounded them, but Chelsie waited. She hoped Griff would take his cue from her and do the same. He leaned forward in his seat, but remained quiet.

Slowly, the woman unbuttoned one sleeve of her cotton blouse, lifting the cuff to reveal angry bruises on her arm. Proof that spousal abuse crossed economic and social boundaries. How well Chelsie knew that.

“I’ve lived with this for so long, but I couldn’t bear it if he hurt my little boy.”

Though she felt the heat of his gaze, Chelsie refused to look at Griff. He knew when they’d become partners he’d be taking on cases like these, and she’d promised her expertise from the beginning. But that had been before she’d revealed her own personal history. Now that he knew she fell into the category of the abused, Chelsie couldn’t cope with his pity.

She forced herself to focus on Amanda, to look at the bruises, so similar to the ones Chelsie’s own husband had left on her arms.

“It takes courage for you to be here, Amanda. Where’s your son now?” Griff asked.

“With a friend.”

“Okay. What do you want from us?” Chelsie asked. The words, the decision had to come from the woman herself. No one could force her to press charges or file for divorce or any of her other options unless she wanted to. Chelsie had learned that from personal experience as well.

“I left three days ago, when I first called you. I’m staying with a friend, but I can’t put her in such a compromising position much longer. Every time the phone rings, I jump. Each time someone hangs up or breathes heavily, I think it’s him.”

“You have options,” Chelsie assured her. “The first is to continue to stay with friends or relatives, but I tend to agree with you, and I don’t recommend that for now.”

The other woman nodded.

“The second is a much more difficult decision, but wiser in the long run. There’s a women’s shelter. I volunteer there, so I know it well. You’d be safe and your friends wouldn’t be in any danger. Once we decide how to proceed, depending upon the course of action we take, you could always return home or to a friend or family member.”

Amanda’s face went pale at the mention of the shelter. Chelsie had been right. The concept drove reality home. Sometimes, facing the truth, realizing you had to rebuild a life alone, was more difficult than an actual physical beating.

“Do you have any money?” Chelsie asked. Despite the woman’s expensive clothing, whether she’d managed to leave with any personal belongings or cash was anybody’s guess.

“Not much. I still have my credit cards, though.”

“No. No paper trails.” Chelsie took the woman’s hand. “We have to do things my way. Not only for your safety and your son’s, but also for the courts. Agreed?”

Amanda nodded. Griff rose and seated himself behind his desk, pulling out a legal pad and pen.

“We’ll need some information,” he said, refocusing on work.

After drawing a deep breath, Amanda nodded. “Okay.”

“I need your full name.”

The other woman looked towards Chelsie, who nodded in encouragement. “Amanda Davis…” She hesitated before continuing. “Amanda Davis Sutton.”

Chelsie’s vision blurred and she sucked in a deep breath. Coincidence, she told herself. A brief glance told her Griff was jotting down pertinent information.

“Your husband’s name?” Griff asked.

“Jeffrey Sutton.”

Chelsie glanced at Amanda, hoping she was wrong. The other woman met her gaze and nodded almost imperceptibly.

Jeff Sutton. Nausea roiled in Chelsie’s stomach. The one slice of dried toast she’d managed to choke down for breakfast threatened to come back up. She swallowed over the lump in her throat and asked, “How long have you been married?”

“Four and a half years.”

Griff continued to take notes. He hadn’t yet appeared to notice anything amiss.

“Your husband’s occupation?” Chelsie asked. She forced the question from somewhere deep inside her.

Amanda choked on a laugh. “Attorney.”

“For what firm?” But she already knew. This was no coincidence. And judging by the woman’s penetrating stare, Amanda knew that, as well.

“Stevens and McLaughlin, downtown Boston.”

Chelsie stood. Her gaze darted from the bruises on Amanda’s arm to the rest of her well-dressed but well-covered body. The nausea threatened again. “Excuse me,” she murmured. “I’ll be right back.”

*     *     *

Her fault
. And this time, a flesh-and-blood child’s welfare was at stake.
Her fault
. The litany in her brain refused to subside.

Chelsie ran, barely making it to the bathroom in time. Afterwards, she washed her face and drank a glass of water, but she couldn’t stop shaking or control the erratic beat of her heart. The cold sweat that had begun earlier now left her chilled.

With no choice, she dried her eyes and walked back into Griff’s office, ignoring his concerned expression.

“I’m sorry.” She glanced at Griff. “Have you gotten the rest of the information?”

He nodded.

“Good. Amanda,” Chelsie said gently, “have you given any thought to what comes next?”

“I’d like to look at the shelter, if you don’t mind.”

“Not at all. I’m free from now through lunch, if that’s okay.”

“Fine.”

Griff cleared his throat, but Chelsie refused to acknowledge their change in plans.

“Okay. Aside from where you’ll be staying, what are you willing to do?” Chelsie asked.

“Anything necessary to protect myself and my child.”

“A restraining order would be a start. Documentation of the history of abuse and pictures of any current bruises would also help. Friends’ affidavits, things that would support your case in court—if you’re willing to press charges.”

The other woman dropped her head in her hands, but when she looked up, Chelsie saw a determination she herself hadn’t had when faced with similar questions. Maybe if she’d come to her senses sooner, if she’d left Jeffrey after the first time or immediately after realizing she was pregnant, she never would have lost her baby.

Or her future, she thought, glancing at Griff.

“Whatever is necessary,” Amanda reiterated.

“Good.” Grasping her purse, Chelsie gestured towards the door. Amanda stood.

Griff rose from his seat, but Chelsie refused to even glance in his direction. She couldn’t deal with his questioning looks. Not now. He walked over and placed his arm around Amanda’s shoulders, leading her into the waiting room. “I’d like to speak with my partner. Will you be all right?” he asked.

“Fine.”

He nodded. “Help yourself to coffee.”

“Thank you.”

“You’re welcome. We’ll be right with you.”

Griff turned to Chelsie. Before she could make an excuse to avoid any discussion, his hand firmly grasped her wrist. “Inside,” he whispered.

Anxiety caused her to plant her feet firmly in the doorway.

“Now, please.”

Faced with the choice of upsetting Amanda with a scene or dealing with Griff, Chelsie turned and walked back into his office.

NINE

“I
can’t help if you won’t talk to me.”

Chelsie stood with her back to Griff and stared out the window. A slight breeze blew the branches on the trees and she wished she were outside enjoying the end of summer, instead of being inside, subjected to an early frost.

“What happened back there?” he demanded in a no-nonsense tone.

She shrugged. “Something I ate didn’t agree with me. I’m okay now.”

He cleared his throat and she heard him restlessly pacing the carpet behind her. Though her half-answers might frustrate him, she had no choice but to stall. With a client waiting outside, she couldn’t get into personal matters, but with personal intruding on business, she realized she couldn’t put off the inevitable much longer.

“Are you sure it didn’t have something more to do with the subject matter?” he asked, his voice softening.

“Two days ago, you wouldn’t have asked me that question.”

“Two days ago, you hadn’t confided in me. Two days ago, we hadn’t made love.”