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I raise my voice to speak over them. “You need to know, because if he can’t grab me, he might try to do something to you.”
Dad sputters, then yells. “The hell he will.”
Mom says, “Where’s this bodyguard of yours?”
“He’s in his vehicle, watching the house.”
Mom gets up. “I have to see for myself.” She takes off at a fast clip toward the front door.
I trail her out to the sunroom, facing the street. The black SUV sits right where Liam dropped me off, behind the fire hydrant, so there is plenty of space if he needs to exit quickly. He looks like he’s writing emails, or maybe playingAngry Birds.
“The black SUV?” Dad comes up behind us, casually dropping an arm over Mom’s shoulder.
“Why don’t you invite him in?” Mom smiles, always the hostess.
“He can protect her better from out there,” Dad tells her as we move back to the porch. “Let’s sit down and Micki can tell us what she needs advice about.”
“First, do you want protection, too?”
“No.” Dad’s face has turned a blotched cherry red.
“Well…” Mom’s expression is doubtful.
“He hasn’t made a move, Alice.” Dad sounds assured and reassuring, but the shadows I see in his eyes tell a different story.
When Mom shuffles her feet against the floor, he snarls, “Stop fidgeting, Alice.”
She looks shocked at his tone and hurriedly rises from the couch. “I’ll make a pot of coffee. And we can try those macaron cookies I got at Trader Joe’s. A little French treat for Micki’s Parisian adventure.”
When she comes back with the coffeepot, three mugs, cream, and a plate of macarons on a tray, we settle in. I take a deep breath.
“You know I’m in the running for partner?”
Mom nods while Dad says, “About time too.”
“Yeah, anyway, there is another candidate besides me.” I stop, overcome with the memory of Hayden’s threats.
“You mean that cretin Hayden Forbes-Cartwright? He’s been a pain in your butt since you started there.”
“Hayden, pooh. You’re the best candidate.” Mom, always the cheerleader.
“Anyway, I have significant challenges—Hayden, a few partners who already want him, and our new client doesn’t like me.”
“Why not?”
“New client?”
Mom and Dad speak at the same time.
“Congressman Simon Greenberg.” The sourness in my mouth squirts out like verbal lemon juice.
“You mean the insider trading thing?”
I jerk out of my pity party, but I can’t force any words out.
“Jerk. I don’t understand how he gets elected.”
“Really, Des,” Mom says. “Just let Micki tell us.”
