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“Oh, Noah,” his aunt said, her lips curling into a sweet smile. “That’s a beautiful idea. Don’t you all think?”
Noah’s father beamed.
Uncle Phillip’s right eye twitched.
Phillip had never approved of his brother marrying someone of a “lower social class” as he no doubt thought of it. Combine that with the fact the woman was the penniless daughter of two Mexican immigrants, and well, that just didn’t do for a man of his family’s standing. Fast-forward thirty-some-odd years later, Noah had become one of Phillip’s favorite targets. To his uncle’s way of thinking, Noah’s “dirty blood” made him unworthy to helm Whitlow Group.
“So it’s settled,” said Cathy. “Ethan and Noah, you two work together on this and have a proposal together for our next meeting.”
“Of course.We’dlove to.” Noah layered cheer into his voice just to irritate his uncle. It was petty, but so was his uncle.
After twenty minutes of hashing out plans for the week, the meeting dismissed. Ethan stormed out like a petulant child. Cathy winked away next, followed by Phillip, until only Noah and his father remained.
“Your mother sends her love,”Papásaid. “She also wanted me to remind you aboutAbuela’sbirthday on Friday.”
“Already have it marked on my calendar,” Noah assured him.
Papáoffered the same amiable smile he had all Noah’s life, even when he’d made his parents’ life pure hell.
“Te amo, Mijo,”Papásaid, speaking easily in a language not of his birth but one he’d learned out of love for the woman he’d married.
“Y tú tambien, Papá.” And Noah did love his father right back.
“United Flight1037 to Cancún is now boarding.”
Emma Morgan didn’t quite spring from her seat in the George Bush Intercontinental Airport, but she made a close facsimile. In less than four hours, she’d be on the beach, and dang it, she’d earned this vacation. For the next two weeks, she was getting away from work, stress, the never-ending drama of office politics, but mostly, from the tragedies that followed her like stalkers.
She secured her eReader and cell phone in the front pouch of her messenger bag before stepping from the carpeted lounge to the hard tiles of the central breezeway. Her skirt danced around her ankles with every step, and she tightened her fingers around her shoulder strap to keep from fidgeting with the hem of her off-the-shoulder white top and tugging it down.
“It’ssupposedto show your midriff,” she mumbled, parroting her best friend. They’d spent the previous weekend shopping, and as much as Emma had hated every minute, she’d needed some new threads. Even she’d had to admit that suits, yoga pants, gardening shorts, and oversized T-shirts wouldn’t fly at the beach.
Her feet rooted to the spot. On a monitor mounted above the walkway—between Jack in the Box and theHouston!Store—Channel 11’s mid-day news broadcast arrested her attention.Turmoil and Tragedy in Court for Whitlow Group, the chyron read. Emma latched on to a single word: tragedy. Whitlow Group was her law firm’s oldest and largest client, and one of her firm’s partners was supposed to be in court with them right now.
She forced her feet to carry her forward. When she reached the monitor, the anchor’s voice barely rose over the shuffle of feet and the ping-ponging voices bouncing around the terminal. “Minutes into the hearing, Whitlow Group’s attorney collapsed. It’s unknown what happened, but they transported the attorney in question to the hospital via ambulance.”
The screen split into a side-by-side view. The left side stayed on the anchor while the right switched to an exterior shot of the courthouse as paramedics pushed a gurney into an ambulance. Emma could just make out the face of the man being loaded.
David.
Emma pressed a palm to her breaking heart. David Reynolds was her firm’s founding partner. She’d learned so much from him since he’d hired her. He’d taken the time to shape her, mold her, teach her, especially in the past year. If he didn’t pull through—
No, she wouldn’t go there. David would be okay. He had to be. She’d already lost too many people close to her. She couldn’t lose him, too.
On the overhead intercom, a final boarding call for United Flight 1037 to Cancún urged Emma to get a move on.
“Crud, crud,crud!” She dug her phone from her messenger bag and dialed her office. Two rings later, a cheerful female voice sounded over the line.
“Emma Morgan’s office. How may I help you?”
“Gwen, it’s me. I just caught a news report about David collapsing in court. What’s going on?”
“No, ma’am. Ms. Morgan is not in the office today. Is there something I can help you with?”
Gwen’s chipper voice had Emma’s instincts jumping to full alert. Gwen Gregory had been Emma’s legal secretary for four years. The young woman might be her own wonderful brand of crazy, but she was amazing at her job. If this was her response, something was up.
A lightbulb went off. “Did someone order you not to call me and tell me what’s going on?” Emma asked.
“Yes, ma’am. That’s correct. Unfortunately, Mary Clark is also out of the office, but I could refer you to another of our partners for help if you’d like. I’m sure Brad Ackerman wouldloveto assist you.”
