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“You’re welcome.”
He gave a sharp nod and turned on his heel. As he walked away, I couldn’t decide if I was disappointed or relieved.
Chapter Four
Andrew
Some of thebest food I’d ever eaten, and it came from a food truck.
It had been fourteen hours since I ate Trish’s meal, but I was still thinking about it. One of the guys in the office space next to mine had told me about her food truck, but I wasn’t expecting much when I went down last night.
I was a full believer in all the hype now . . . or maybe it was the woman behind the window.
She called to me in a way I didn’t fully understand. Skittish yet she had a resounding strength. I’d gathered that in about ten whole minutes of being around her. Trish had left a mark on me, but what exactly that meant I wasn’t entirely sure. I only knew I’d be at her food truck again this evening near closing time because I couldn’t stay away.
“Mr. Dixon? There’s a call from Patrick Whitley on line one.” Diane’s voice came through the phone speaker. She’d been my secretary for eleven years, knew how to screen my calls and visitors like a champ, and God love her, she brought me homemade trail mix every Monday morning. To keep my energy up, she claimed.
I turned down “Pretty Pimpin” which played from the music app on my tablet and pressed the speaker button on the phone. “Put him through.”
Dropping my feet from my desk, I set the file on my lap aside and picked up the phone when it rang.
“Whitley. To what do I owe the pleasure?” I leaned back in my leather chair and swiveled to face the windows.
“I need a huge favor from the most brilliant legal mind of our time.”
I laughed. “You must be really desperate, laying it on thick like that.”
Patrick and I met at Columbia Law School what felt like a lifetime ago. He specialized in criminal defense while I’d gone the path of real estate and property law, but we’d remained friends and often consulted with one another.
“Flattery is getting me nowhere I see,” he muttered.
“Dinner might.”
“Are you asking me on a date?”
“In your dreams. Now what’s this problem that requires my big brain?”
He hesitated. “Have you ever taken a case you shouldn’t?”
I sat up straight in my seat. Patrick was a good guy, but in the courtroom, he was a shark. I’d often marveled at his ability to keep a definitive wall between his work and personal feelings.
“Actually, yes.”
“You know what? Meet me at six. We’ll talk in person at Cipriani.”
“Sure— Wait. Can we make it seven?” I didn’t want to miss seeing Trish.
“I’m meeting Monica for drinks at eight, so no can do.”
“Who’s Monica?”
“A woman I’ve taken on four dates.” He sounded miserable about that.
“She hasn’t let you touch her yet,” I concluded with a grin.
“No.” Then his voice muffled. “I gotta run. Six?”
“Fine. Six.”
