Her cell phone chimed with a notification and the loud sound almost jolted her out of her chair. For as important as it was, especially when she was out of the office, she could never put eyes, or her hands for that matter, on that phone quickly. She picked up folders, moved aside stacks of paper and finally found it practically buried on her desk. The text was from Grace:
Dinner is at six
“Crap!”
She was running late. To appease her friend and to hopefully head off all the questions she knew would undoubtedly come her way if she had declined, she agreed to dinner with Grace and Clinton tonight. In the next fifteen minutes she performed a partial clean-up of her office and a passable organization of the Vega file. Tossing the police reports from the congressman’s murder into her briefcase she grabbed her purse and headed out.
Thirty minutes later Victoria had showered and changed into jeans, a blouse and one of her favorite pair of pumps. Then, shewas off to the prestigious single family home development of Judge and Mrs. Clinton Ramsey.
“Besides my wife, you’ve got to be the sexiest prosecutor in Clark County,” Clinton said kissing Victoria on the cheek as he welcomed her into their home.
“Don’t let your wife hear you talking like that, she’s liable to hurt us both.” She joked right along with him.
Clinton was a tall, slim man, with strong arms and an even stronger temperament. Lawyers and defendants alike feared the moment they learned their case was being heard in his courtroom. More traffic citations were paid through Clinton’s verdicts than any other traffic court in the county. And he loved his wife to pieces. Victoria could hear it in his voice each time he said her name, could see it in his eyes whenever he looked at her. It was that all-encompassing love that was meant to last forever. The love she’d seen between her parents. The kind of love she feared she’d never have a chance to experience for herself.
“She’s gorgeous and she knows it. Besides, you’re her best friend so you know you’d have to look good too for her to tolerate you,” Clinton continued. They walked toward the den where Grace was no doubt sitting in her favorite chair, feet propped up and the television tuned in to whatever reality show she was currently addicted to.
“You’re right about that. Grace has always been stuck on the glitz and glamour of fashion.” And she loved the shoes Victoria was wearing, had often offered to buy them from her. So when Victoria entered the den she didn’t think anything of the first word to slip from Grace’s lips.
“Bitch.”
“I love you too, dear,” Victoria said waltzing her four-inch fuchsia peek-toe heels right over to her friend and kissing her soundly on the cheek.
“Sit down, Clinton’s cooking on the grill. We have about ten minutes alone to talk before he comes back with the food,” she told her pointedly.
“Make that fifteen. I’m going down to the cellar to get a bottle of wine,” Clinton said rubbing a hand over his wife’s belly before leaving the room.
“That is one fine man,” Grace said watching her husband leave the room.
“And he’s going to be a great father,” Victoria noted. “You’re so lucky.”
“You could be lucky too if you’d stop being so picky all the time,” Grace snapped.
She was indeed sitting in the antique rocking chair Clinton bought her for her birthday three months ago. The seat cushion had been hand-sewn for her in a bright yellow satin material. She’d changed out of her work clothes to a loose fitting maternity dress that hugged her swollen breasts and flared out softly around her girth. Her hair was free at the moment—Victoria didn’t figure that would last long as Grace’s body temperature took shift changes that alarmed Victoria each time she witnessed them. And the woman still managed to look absolutely beautiful.
“I know you are not calling me picky. Who had her ten-point husband criteria typed and framed by her twentieth birthday? And if I’m not mistaken you never once swayed from that criteria when you were dating.”
Grace nodded. “But at least I dated. When’s the last time you’ve been out with a man?”
“Just this afternoon at lunch to be exact,” Victoria automatically replied.
“Ah ha! I knew it. You and Ben Donovan are dating. If I could jump out of this chair I’d come over there and shake you for not telling me.”
“If you jump out of that chair Clinton’s going to be heading to the delivery room instead of to the wine cellar.” Victoria laughed as Grace had actually shifted in the chair like she meant to move all that body with any sort of swiftness.
Most likely uncomfortable now and visibly a little winded, Grace sat back in defeat. “Don’t try to change the subject. What happened at lunch and when are you going out with him again?”
“We talked about work and we’re probably not going out again.” Victoria reached over to the end table that separated the sofa from Grace’s chair and snagged the remote. She began channel surfing as she knew Grace’s total attention was now on her and what she wasn’t telling her.
“The minute after I deliver you and I are going to fight.” Grace declared. “What do you mean you’re not going out again? I told you years ago you two made a cute couple.”
Victoria sighed and flipped past an infomercial. “We’re so totally opposite. He’s rich, I’m not. He’s defense, I’m prosecution. He’s all glitz and glamour while I’m…I’m?—”
“A little on the glamour side with your three hundred dollar shoes and high-end salon treatments,” Grace added.
She shook her head. “That’s no comparison to the women he’s probably used to dating.” On the rare occasions the society pages drew her attention, she’d seen some of those women pictured in newspapers with him at his family’s many charity functions. Ben and his cousins were known for their dating prowess. And the women were always picture-perfect gorgeous. The last thing Victoria wanted was to become one of the growing number.
“He’s wanted you for eight years. And he still does. I could see it clearly in his eyes today. How long are you planning to ignore that?” Grace asked.
