Moonstruck Read online

“I’m ready. And if anything happens early on Boreman, you know you can call me in.”

  “I know,” the judge said. “Not to change the subject, but I spoke with a friend over at the ABA. He thinks you should chair one of the committees next year.”

  “Really?” Being a committee chair for the American Bar Association was a big deal. “What do you think? I don’t want to spread myself thin my first year in private practice.”

  The judge patted her hand. “Exactly what I was thinking. Give him a call. Tell him you’re honored, but that you want to focus on the job and the commitments you already have in place—you’ll keep up the charity work, of course?”

  “Absolutely.”

  The judge nodded. “Good. I’d shoot for the ABA in two to three years. And, frankly, you may want to focus more on state-based opportunities. If you’re looking for a judgeship, the most logical step is an appointment by the governor, then run for reelection after your term is up. But you won’t get appointed if he doesn’t notice you.”

  “Good plan,” Claire said, though her head was spinning. She did want a judgeship. But that was in the far future. And while she intellectually understood that everything she did now would impact that future goal, it was still hard to emotionally wrap her head around the fact that the literacy auction she was preparing actually impacted her chance down the road to reach that ultimate goal.

  The waiter appeared with their desserts and coffee, and after the judge took a sip of her coffee, she peered at Claire over the rim of the cup. “Now, let’s discuss the issue of you getting noticed.”

  Claire swallowed the bite of crème brûlée, then nodded. “Well, although I’m not doing it for that reason, it occurred to me that the literacy auction I’m doing in a few weeks serves that purpose. The right kind of publicity. Community involvement. That whole thing.”

  “Absolutely. But that wasn’t the kind of attention I was referring to.”

  Claire licked her lips, the serious gleam in the judge’s eye reminding her a little too much of her own mother’s power stare. “That picture,” she said. “From New Year’s Eve.”

  “And the ones that followed,” the judge said with a small nod.

  “Right.” She’d seen a few others that morning, but they had all been tame compared to that kiss. “Obviously I would have rather not had my picture spread all over the Internet, but there’s not much I can do about it. And,” she added with a lift of her chin, “I don’t regret the actual kiss. Just the hoopla that followed.”

  The judge nodded. “I made a few inquiries about your Mr. Coleman,” she said. “Quite the self-made man. He’s also rather notorious. Particularly for the constant stream of women on his arm.”

  “I know.”

  “I’ll be frank, Claire. It doesn’t look good.”

  Her stomach clenched, and she focused on her dessert. “I realize that. Presumably that’s why Mr. Thatcher wants me to come in this week. A chat, he said.”

  “I’d say that’s a safe bet.” The judge reached across the table to squeeze her hand. “So that’s my comment as your mentor. As your friend, though, I want to know how you feel.”

  “I like him,” she said. “Actually, I more than like him. And the truth is, despite his reputation, I think he likes me, too.”

  The judge nodded sagely. “Please don’t think I’m a prude. Personally, I’m glad you’ve found someone to go out with. To have fun with. But most people don’t have their dating relationships splashed all over the Internet.”

  “I know.” She drew in a breath. “But despite this little scandal, he’s a good man. And I like him. I more than like him.” She thought about Ty’s reputation for being a party machine, but she’d never once got the impression he cheated. Certainly his reaction to Joe’s tryst in the closet was proof of that. Everyone thought Joe was such a catch, and if she’d been locked in a clench with him, no one would have blinked. But the fact of the matter was that Ty was the better man. And yet he was the one who could damage her shiny reputation. It really wasn’t fair.

  “Will it lead anywhere?”

  Claire licked her lips. “What do you mean?” she asked, though she feared she already knew the answer.

  “If a relationship with a man like Ty will lead somewhere—a house, children, a family—then ultimately there’s no harm to you. You’re the woman he fell for, and by default you must be spectacular.” The judge’s eyes flashed with mirth. “Not fair, perhaps, but that’s perception.

  “But if it simply ends—if this is a tabloid romance between the two of you…” She trailed off and sipped her coffee. “Well, those types of stories can follow a politician around for years. So my question is, will this thing you have going with Mr. Coleman lead somewhere?”

  Claire drew in a breath. “I don’t think so,” she whispered. “I’m really afraid that it can’t. Not in the end. Not with what he wants to do. What he wants to be.” She might desperately want to go down the path with him, but she was a smart woman, and she could see the end of the road from here. They’d have fun together for the next couple of months. Mind-blowing, fabulous, amazing fun. But then it was all going to fizzle out. He’d be in Paris or Hong Kong or who-knows-where, and she’d be here. And ten years from now when she was in front of the Senate for an appointment to a Federal District Judgeship, someone would mention the fling and shoot her chances all to hell.

  Just the thought depressed her.

  “Claire…” The judge’s voice was gentle, and not for the first time Claire said a silent thank you to the universe for giving her this woman, who had managed to become a friend, a surrogate mother, a role model and a boss all rolled into one.

  “It’s just…” She sighed, frustrated. “It’s just that I don’t want to give him up, you know?”

  The judge’s smile was wistful. “I know.”

  “How can I do it?” she asked, more to herself than to the judge. “How can I break away from something I want? From someone I want?”

  “You think about what else you want,” Judge Monroe said. “And then you decide if they mesh.”

  “And if they don’t?”

  “Then, Claire, you have to decide what you want more.”

  TY STIFLED A YAWN as he walked the perimeter of Heaven with Xavier, his landscape artist. The sun was barely peeking over the horizon, and he considered himself lucky that he’d found a guy willing to work the kind of hours Ty needed to put in to get the club off the ground in time. He’d spent most of the night at Decadent, then come over here about three to go over the checklist for the interior of the club until his dawn meeting with Xavier. After the landscaper left, he’d swing by his office for a few hours, check in with Lucy, then meet with the project’s publicist to discuss the current campaign. He didn’t intend to steal any of Joe’s ideas, but the other man had definitely got Ty thinking, and he wanted to tweak the program a bit.

  “We can do annuals along the walkway,” Xavier was saying, “but I think you’ll be happier with perennials. I brought some photos of a few other places I’ve done. Thought we could go over that and see if we’re on the same page. Other than that, we’ve got the gravel and flagstone being delivered tomorrow, along with several yards of topsoil. Except for figuring out the border, we’re all set.”

  “Then let’s see what you’ve got,” Ty said, following the man to his truck.

  After pouring over dozens of photos of flowers, they finally decided to go exclusively with native plants, which Xavier assured him were not only beautiful but durable and low maintenance. “Tomorrow then,” Ty said, as the landscaper drove away.

  He locked up, running mentally through his checklist, then got into the Ferrari and headed toward the office. He’d gone only three blocks when he realized he’d pushed the speaker on his phone and was dialing Claire. He hadn’t even realized what he was doing—hadn’t even realized she’d been at the forefront of his thoughts. But she had been. Hell, how could she not?

  He shook his head, half exasperate
d, half amused and more than a little in love.

  Yeah, he thought. In love.

  And honestly, it felt pretty damn nice.

  After a few rings, her voice mail picked up. He listened, soaking up the sound of her voice, until the beep. “Hey, it’s me. Sorry. I wasn’t thinking about the time. Hope I didn’t wake you.” He clicked off, smiling, and counting down the hours when he could see her again.

  Unfortunately, the smile disappeared when he reached his office. “Your mom called,” Lucy said. “And that guy you said was going to call about the thirty-minute appointment? He’s really not happy that he’s not getting his time.”

  “He’ll have to learn to live with disappointment,” Ty said, thinking of his mom. He’d have to call her back. As unpleasant as that reality was, he couldn’t see another way around it.

  Damn.

  “He’s in your office,” Lucy said, the words sending a cold flash of anger down his spine.

  He closed his eyes and counted to ten. “Dammit, Lucy, what the hell were you thinking?”

  “I’m sorry,” she said, sounding genuinely contrite. “He blew past me. I swear. The only way to keep him out was to call the cops, and I didn’t think you’d want that…”

  “No,” he said. “You’re right. I’m not mad at you. But I am a little bit miffed at my current guest.”

  “I really am sorry, sir.”

  “It’s okay, Lucy.” It wasn’t, of course, but that wasn’t her fault. He could see well enough what had happened—Joe had barreled in and completely terrified the poor thing. “Buzz me in five minutes. Use the intercom. Tell me security’s on its way up.”

  “You want me to call security?”

  “No. Just say they’re coming.”

  She nodded, and he went in.

  “Joe,” he said. “This is a surprise.”

  “It wouldn’t have been if you had taken the meeting like we discussed.”

  “Good point,” Ty said, settling in behind his desk. “What can I do for you?”

  “You can give me the thirty minutes you promised me. I’d like the chance to prove to you that Power Publicity can get you to the top.”

  “I think I can get there on my own with a team I choose based on my own requirements. But I appreciate your concern for the health of my company.”

  “Dammit,” Joe said, the last hint of professionalism dropping. “What the hell happened? We talked, it was good and then suddenly you’re kicking me to the curb without a hint of a goddamned explanation.”

  “Let’s just say that I was less than impressed with the way you treated your girlfriend,” he said. “Fooling around in the storage closet? Not the kind of behavior I want from the man who’s watching my public profile.”

  Joe’s jaw dropped. “You’re not giving me a chance because of that? For goodness’ sake! Bonita forgave me, but you won’t?”

  “I’m surprised to hear that she did, actually,” Ty said cooly. “But I’m not Bonita, and no. I won’t.”

  Joe nodded, a muscle in his cheek twitching, his dark features seeming ominous despite the shafts of sunlight streaming in through the window. “Fine. Fair enough. Whatever.” He stood. “But this isn’t over, Coleman. Mark my words. This isn’t over.”

  He left, slamming the door, and as Ty released a frustrated breath, Lucy buzzed in. “It hasn’t been two minutes. Do I still need to announce security?”

  He chuckled. “No, Lucy. I think it’s fine now.”

  “Oh. Good. Your mother’s on the line.”

  “Thanks.” And the day was going from bad to worse….

  “As if that’s the way I want to see my son,” she said the moment he said hello. “Splashing that nice girl all over the Internet. Honestly, Ty. Sometimes you just don’t think.”

  He cringed, hating the way she could turn him into a little boy again. “Great to hear from you, too, Mom. It was so nice seeing you at Christmas.”

  She paused, stumbling over her words, because they hadn’t seen each other at Christmas. The topic hadn’t even come up. Now she sighed, low and long. “You need to settle, Ty. You need to stop playing and settle down.”

  “What part of my career do you think is a game, Mom? The part that pays my bills? The part that lets me endow scholarships? The part that lets me travel? Or maybe it’s the part that paid off your mortgage?” He’d thought that would help. Thought that maybe if he showed his parents that he was financially solvent—and responsible—that they’d stop looking at him as a cutup. But it hadn’t happened. He didn’t understand why his relationship with his parents was so completely screwed up, but he knew he hated it. More than that, as much as part of him wanted to simply run away from the relationship word all together, part of him craved a real one. A healthy one.

  Claire.

  He couldn’t imagine her making him feel like an idiot or a failure or a man less than he was. And he sure as hell couldn’t imagine her making their children feel that way.

  Children? Where in the name of God did that come from? He forced the thought away, choosing instead to tune back into his mother’s backpedaling, telling him that they appreciated the money, of course they did, they just wished that he’d earned it by a “less-sleazy means” than those “damned clubs. Honest labor, Ty. With your difficulties you should have gone into construction.”

  “Excuse me for living my life the way I want to.”

  “You want to be all over the papers? Want your girlfriend looking like a slut in front of the whole world? And a senator’s daughter. Poor thing. She must be mortified.”

  Because that hit a little too close to home, Ty shifted. “Listen, Mom, it’s been great talking to you, as always, but I’ve got another call on the line.” He hung up, then sank down into his chair and closed his eyes, hoping to hell that this would all turn out all right. He never thought he’d say it, but his mother was right—that bullshit with the blogs couldn’t be easy on Claire.

  He’d dragged her into the muck. He only hoped that she’d trust him to keep her from getting sucked under.

  9

  “MR. THATCHER WILL see you now.”

  The receptionist’s smile was both sweet and bland, which gave Claire no clue about what was going to happen in that office. Not that the receptionist would necessarily know her fate. It wasn’t as if the firm would have circulated a “beware the slut” memo.

  Then again, maybe they would, because she was certain that was the way that the firm now saw her, and all because of a few stupid pictures.

  “Claire,” Malcolm Thatcher greeted her at the door, his hand extended, as Errol Dain rose behind him. “Thanks so much for coming in today. We didn’t mean to bother you during your vacation.”

  “I thought I should come in now instead of waiting until next week,” she said. “I wanted to clear the air.”

  The two men exchanged glances. Yep, Claire thought. I’m here about those pictures.

  “Have a seat, my dear. The truth is that we simply wanted to let you know that we’re one hundred percent behind you.”

  “Definitely one hundred percent,” Dain put in.

  She nodded, but stayed silent, unable to allow the tiny bloom of hope to blossom.

  “Mistakes can happen to anyone.”

  “Anyone.”

  “Certainly we in the law understand that.”

  “It’s a question of intent,” Dain said. “Certainly you didn’t intend for those unfortunate photos to be made public.”

  “I didn’t even intend for them to be taken,” Claire said wryly.

  “Exactly,” Thatcher said, looking at Dain, who nodded as if Claire was a star pupil. “That’s my point. Had you known, you wouldn’t have gone there.”

  “So we’ll simply chalk this up as a mistake in judgment.”

  The hope in Claire’s stomach that had started to bloom curled up and turned brown. “Ty, you mean.”

  “I’m sure he’s a nice man, but obviously you have a reputation to protect.”

 
“As do you,” she said, her voice flat.

  “Of course.”

  “Right.” She smiled, then stood up. “Well, I think we’re all clear here. I…well, I guess I’ll see you both in July.”

  “Wonderful.”

  “We’re looking forward to it.”

  “You’re going to be a real asset to the firm, Claire. Someday, I expect you’ll be an asset to the bench.”

  She drew in a breath, ambition swirling within her. “That’s my plan, sir.” And with the kind of experience she could get at a firm like Thatcher and Dain, she knew she’d be well on her way.

  But as the men escorted her back to the elevator, she couldn’t help but think about what she was giving up. Ty.

  But there was no future in that man. And above all else, Claire was a woman who wanted a future.

  As the elevator doors slipped shut, Claire closed her eyes on a sigh, then did the one thing she’d been holding back for the whole damn meeting: She cried.

  SOMETIMES, CLAIRE THOUGHT, it sucked to be on vacation.

  She stood in front of the microwave, Hermione in her arms, and waited for the popcorn to quit popping. If she were at the office, her mind would be fully occupied, with no room to think about Ty or her future or stupid Internet pictures.

  Just Claire and the sweet bliss of being lost in the work without all the messy emotional stuff.

  Not that she didn’t have work she could do at home. With the literacy fund-raiser fast approaching, she had a pile of paperwork on her desk that needed to be updated, a to-do list a mile long, and a telephone waiting for her to burn up the lines seeking sponsorships and selling tables to corporate donors.

  Lots of work.

  Too bad she couldn’t focus on it, what with the way her mind kept wandering to Ty.

  Which probably meant it was a good thing she wasn’t at work. She’d be fired in five minutes for a serious lack of concentration.

  The microwave binged, sending the cat bolting out of her arms, and she jumped in surprise, then tensed when the phone rang. She’d ignored every one of Ty’s calls yesterday, letting the machine pick them up. It was the wimpy way, she knew, and on the whole, Claire was not a wimpy girl. But right then, she’d had no choice. Her mind simply couldn’t grasp the idea of picking up the phone and not inviting him over. She’d needed time to get her head wrapped around the concept that she had to nip this thing in the bud. As much as she loved being around him—as much as he made her feel alive—the simple fact was that he was ephemeral, and in less than two months he’d be little more than a memory. They both knew it, though they’d only ever talked around the reality.