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“It’s a rental,” Al said. “But if I wanted to buy it, I could. Is that a problem?”
To her credit, CC met her stare head-on. “With you being wealthy, no. But I’m not gonna lie and say imposter syndrome isn’t playing a symphony in my head right now.”
“Do you want to know what I’m most proud of in this office?”
CC’s gaze slid to the Central Park photo on the wall. “That?”
Al smiled and held up two fingers. “Close second.”
“Did you take the photo?”
“No, but it was the thing I bought with my first summer associate paycheck.” She crossed to the bookcase and retrieved the faded green Dom Perignon coffin off the middle shelf. “This is third. First bottle of the good stuff Ezra and I ever bought. Found it on the cheap in a corner liquor store near the courthouse the day we were married.” She opened the box and withdrew the yellowed slip of cardstock nestled beside the empty bottle inside. “But this is number one.” She handed the business card to CC.
CC flipped it over, a divot forming between her brows. “A family attorney in New York City? Was he a mentee or something?”
She shook her head. “Remember Noah from the kitchen?”
CC nodded. “Ezra’s husband.”
“Before that, he was Tyler’s childhood best friend. He and his father lived across the hall from us, and for too long, we missed the abuse his father inflicted on him. Because Noah was gay. When we found out, I gave him that card so he could emancipate himself, we gave him a stack of bills, and Ezra got him out of town. Thirteen years later, Noah gave that card back to me the day he married Ezra.” She leaned against the desk beside CC and slipped the card from her hand. “Noah came home to us. All of this”—she gestured at the wet bar, at the big TV, at the house—“it’s superficial. What matters most are people, and the love you share, and the home you create.” She splayed a hand over her heart, over the card. “Here.”
CC remained silent a few long moments, curling her fingers around the edge of the table, staring out at the pool. Al was getting used to these pauses with her. CC took the time to arrange her thoughts and consider her words, something Al could appreciate. She’d been better at it earlier in her career; she cared less about it these days.
“Do you still love him? Ezra?” CC asked, and Al appreciated the frankness too, that CC had considered and asked the question so many tiptoed around.
“I will always love and need Ezra. This is our family. But our romantic and sexual needs diverged in recent years.”
“I’m glad you still have that. The love and friendship.”
“I’m sorry someone broke yours.”
The seeming non sequitur caused CC to whip her head to the side, bringing them nose to nose. “My what?”
“Trust.” CC’s brown eyes widened, not so non sequitur any longer. Al’s suspicion had been right. Was the rest? “Makes being an exhibitionist sub hard, I imagine.”
Her eyes widened further, then fluttered closed. A deep breath later, the tension in CC’s frame eased on a chuckle. She hung her head. “I haven’t even broached the scene since I moved here.”
“Six years?”
CC angled her face, smiling. “Now you sound like the honking geese. And no, I’ve not gone six years without sex.”
“Just not with the sex you need.”
She shifted her gaze back toward the house. “Our family is close. Not big like yours, but close and accepting. I’m a lesbian, Colby is pan and poly; our parents never blinked, no matter who or how many partners we brought home. So I trusted other people. Too easily, it turned out.”
“That trust burned you?”
“I thought there was room for me somewhere there wasn’t, professionally and personally.”
“Ah.” So on top of how overwhelmed any person would feel being thrown into one of Al’s family gatherings, the situation had set off a particular trigger for CC. “And all this looks awfully crowded.”
Her smile was sheepish, and a lovely blush creeped up her neck. “You invited me here. I should be grateful.”
Al scooted closer and laid a hand over CC’s on the table. “It’s just you and me here.” A crash rang out from the house on the other side of the pool. “And three giant chefs in my kitchen, but ignore that.”
CC laughed, the last of her tension evaporating, and Al swooped into the opening, pushing off the table and moving to stand between CC’s legs. She reached out her hand and brushed back the long red strands that had tempted her the past two weeks. CC had blown her curls out straight tonight, the silk and shine like a Broadway theater curtain. “I’m not going to argue your imposter syndrome,” Al said. “Lord knows I’ve had my bouts with it. Any woman in our profession has. Which is why we have to lift each other up. Why it hurts all the more when women are the people who break our trust and break us down.” She curled a finger under CC’s chin and lifted it, waiting for CC’s gaze to meet hers. “I won’t break yours, CC. I won’t break you.”
“I’m starting to believe that,” CC said, so soft, so inviting; it was all Al could do to lower her hand and step back. To not steal the kiss she so badly wanted. She couldn’t stifle the groan of frustration that escaped, though.
