Love in Bloom, page 2
Wren felt a mixture of relief and loss after he left, and she didn’t like it. Not one little bit. She didn’t realize she’d been relaxing on him until he’d moved. He’d served as her own personal recliner.
Miller Lynch was a dangerous man. Not in a criminal way, but in a he-has-the-potential-to-steal-everything-she’s-worked-so-hard-for way.
Wren didn’t know him that well. She’d made it a practice to avoid him as much as possible. But she knew the type. Heck, she’d married the type. Intelligent, attractive, successful, crazy ambitious. In their group of friends, everyone knew Miller had one goal: to make partner by the age of thirty-one. She’d already helped one man make that goal and she’d lost herself in the process. No. No way. She’d worked too hard and come too far to lose herself again. She wasn’t going down that road again, no matter how tempting it may be.
Wren played with the ring on her middle right finger trying to decide what to do. If she stayed, she’d be forced to spend more time with Miller, but if she left, she wouldn’t find out about Emily, and she’d be going home to an empty, lonely apartment. Lonely, but safe. She politely covered a yawn with her left hand. That does it, Wren decided. Let’s go while the going’s good. She drained the last of her Riesling, told Rica and Krista to text her with an update, said her goodbyes to the men, and skedaddled before Trouble returned.
2
September
“I knew he was having an affair!” Mrs. Nelson tossed the manila envelope at Miller. “And here are the pictures to prove it.” She sat down in the chair across from Miller’s desk and smiled triumphantly as she leaned back into it. Ring’s gone. Looks like a reconciliation is off the table. He didn’t blame her if the pictures showed what she said they did.
Miller tried not to cringe as he released the clasp at the back. He hated this part of the job. He hated to see the infidelity, the bad decisions that damaged lives, and he really hated to look at the photos with the injured party sitting across from him.
Sure enough, the photos showed Mr. Nelson getting out of his car, walking into the house, and being greeted by a young busty blond wearing a little bit of lace. The photos showed that the scraps of lace didn’t last long. As Miller flipped through the photos he marveled at the stupidity of people. Of men. “Looks like they were too busy to close the curtains. That will work in your favor.”
“Ironically, these may be the only photos in existence that show my husband smiling,” Mrs. Nelson said.
“I’m sorry.” Miller shoved the photos back in the envelope and set it aside.
“Don’t be. He did this to himself, to us.” She took a deep breath. “What happens next?”
“Well, normally this wouldn’t impact the settlement, but I’ve reviewed your prenup and there is a stipulation on infidelity. These photos are your bargaining chip. What would you like?”
“Everything,” Mrs. Nelson purred.
“I can’t promise you everything, but I’ll do what I can to get you close to everything,” Miller reassured her. “As I mentioned at our last meeting, it would help if we had an idea how long this affair has been going on and if we had another source of evidence.”
“I know he’s sent her flowers. I found the charge on the credit card statement, but he dismissed it as a business expense.” Mrs. Nelson rummaged through her large Prada handbag to find the credit card statement. She handed it to Miller. He saw the charge from Wallflowers highlighted amongst the grocery and gas station purchases.
“If you find anything else, let me know. In the meantime, I’ll follow up on this charge, see if there are any others, and let your husband’s attorney know what we’ve found.”
“Thank you, Mr. Lynch. So far, you have lived up to your reputation.”
Miller stood as Mrs. Nelson left the room. This case was shaping up to be a good one. He didn’t like cheating spouses, but he did like making them pay. And he liked the additional billable hours this one would bring.
He hoped it would placate the penny-pinching partners when they reviewed his pro bono work. While Miller billed a lot, he also gave away more hours in free work than the partners liked. Miller couldn’t help it. If someone needed his skills, he didn’t want to turn them away just because they couldn’t afford Anderson, Anderson & Swanson.
This case also gave him a good reason to visit Wallflowers. He had a hunch, however, that Wren would not be happy to see him.
Miller turned to watch the sheets of rain blow past the front windows. Luckily, Wallflowers was in the same downtown building as Anderson, Anderson & Swanson. He shouldn’t get too wet running next door and he didn’t think God would strike him down, even though he was a lawyer.
Miller hurried as the cold, fat drops pelted him. He pulled Wallflowers’ front door closed behind him and looked around. The only thing the two businesses had in common was the wall they shared. Anderson, Anderson & Swanson reeked of staid, conservative professionalism while Wallflowers was light and whimsical and smelled of spicy carnations. There was color everywhere he looked.
Wren’s small flower shop was perfect. There was a cooler in the corner with ready-to-go arrangements and small bouquets, and the opposite wall had locally made gifts: fragrant candles, note cards featuring the beauty of Haven, jewelry, chocolates, and other items. It was warm and welcoming, unlike the lady scowling at him from behind the well-worn counter separating the retail area from the work area. Yep, not happy, so probably not agreeable, either. Best to treat her like a hostile witness. I’ll ask simple yes or no questions, if necessary.
“Hello, Miller,” she greeted coolly as she set down the small knife in her hand. Her fingers were slim and quick as she pulled a pen out from her stubby ponytail and picked up an order pad. “What can I help you with today?”
Find common ground. “When was the last time you inhaled?” Miller asked, hoping to thaw her out and build some rapport.
“Excuse me?” Her eyebrows almost hit her hairline.
“The last time I did was at Bobby Jenkins fourteenth birthday party and we all had headaches afterwards.” Miller smiled.
Wren followed his gaze to the helium tank used to fill the Mylar balloons and the look of relief on her face was priceless. He bit the inside of his cheek to keep from laughing.
“I’d like to say it was that long ago, but I think we each took hits off of it last Christmas after we’d closed. It made us sound like elves.” The corners of her full lips itched upward. “Since it’s close to closing time, I’ll throw in a free drag of helium if you buy a balloon bouquet. If you buy a dozen roses, I’ll give you two drags.”
Not quite common ground, but close enough. Now let’s see if she’ll help my client. Miller strode over to the counter and leaned down so his elbows rested on the surface. He hoped meeting Wren eye to eye instead of towering over her would help. She leaned toward him, chewing on her pen’s top.
“Now tell me, Counselor,” she all but purred, “will it be one drag or two?” She sounded certain of a sale.
“Unfortunately, neither.” Her voice had shot through him like a shot of well-aged whiskey. He straightened up and braced his palms on the countertop. He needed some distance so he could think clearly. “I need a favor.”
Wren stopped chewing her pen and narrowed her eyes. “Go on.” She set the pen and order pad down on the counter.
“I’d like you to give me a customer’s purchase records.”
“No.” She crossed her arms in front of her Wallflowers T-shirt. Miller focused on her tight smile instead of the way her shirt pulled tightly across her bust.
“You don’t even want to know who?”
“No.” Wren turned and busied herself straightening up behind the counter. Miller didn’t say anything as he studied her. She’d rolled her low-cut baggy jeans above a pair of canvas flower-patterned sneakers. The jeans were more serviceable than fashionable, but they still didn’t hide her assets. Her movements were quick and fluid as she ignored him. He hoped he wouldn’t have to wait too long for her to give him an opening. Wren just kept cleaning. Tighter than Fort Knox. Miller broke first.
“We’ll compensate for your time and expense.” Miller knew money convinced most people. She stopped cleaning and turned toward him. Miller kept his face neutral, not wanting to show that he knew he’d won.
“No, thank you. If there’s nothing else, please leave, Counselor.” Was it the air conditioner kicking in or Wren’s icy tone that gave Miller the chills? He needed the records. Pictures were damning evidence, but showing that the Nelson affair had been going on for a while and that Mr. Nelson spent joint-account money on the mistress would be the final nail in the coffin. He needed Wren to cooperate.
New tactic. Let’s try an easy leading question.
“How about a compromise? Can you tell me if Don Nelson has ordered flowers from you? He’s about—”
“Late fifties, full head of salt-n-pepper hair, trim, likes to wear polo shirts, and has a smile so bleached the astronauts on the space station can see it?” Wren leaned back against the counter and acted bored.
“So, you do know him,” Miller confirmed.
“No. I just described about five of my regular clients. Listen, Counselor—”
“It’s Miller. Remember?”
“I’m not giving you information. People trust me with their orders. Ordering flowers is not like ordering from Amazon. People give a bit of themselves with each order. They send their heart. If they can’t be there for their uncle’s surgery, the flowers make a good stand-in. I’m sorry. I’d like to help you, but I can’t, and smooth talking won’t help you.” She crossed one denim-clad leg across the other and crossed her arms as though she didn’t have a care in the world. She even had the audacity to look sorry about not helping him.
“Doesn’t sound like a can’t to me. Sounds like a won’t,” Miller pointed out.
“Doesn’t matter what you call it, it still isn’t going to happen.” She shrugged her narrow shoulders.
“I wouldn’t be so sure. I’m pretty good at turning a can’t into a can and a won’t into a will.”
Wren studied him. “What are you going to do? Subpoena me?” She gripped the edge of the countertop behind her.
“I’d rather not, but if I have to, I will.” Miller looked her in the eyes. He didn’t want to, but it looked like this was the only way he’d get the records. He’d hoped to maintain a friendly relationship with Wren, but from her narrowed eyes and ramrod straight back, he guessed that wouldn’t happen. No friends-and-family discount for me then.
Wren walked around the counter, past Miller, and thrust open the front door. “Goodbye, Counselor,” she said through clenched teeth. Miller hesitated, hoping there was a way to salvage the situation, but he could tell that keeping her client’s information confidential was a matter of honor to Wren. She wouldn’t willingly betray their trust. Knowing this would make submitting the subpoena that much harder. He nodded his head in goodbye as he left. She pulled the door closed behind him.
Miller sprinted back to the office, avoiding most of the puddles, but the splashed water soaked the bottoms of his suit pants. The visit to Wallflowers was the last item on his calendar for the day. Miller shoved files into his briefcase, eager to get home and change into dry clothes. He had a busy night ahead of him—pizza, Twins’ baseball, and a hot date with a subpoena draft. “Stubborn woman,” he muttered as he turned off his office light and closed the door.
Wren grabbed the pan of frosted chocolate brownies in one hand and her maxi skirt in the other and scampered up Jackson’s sidewalk. She was late, and she hated to be late. She’d like to blame it on the brownies—she could say they hadn’t cooled down quickly enough and she’d had to wait to frost them—but the truth was Wren had dilly-dallied all day long getting ready for Jackson and Emily’s barbeque. She hadn’t wanted to go and she didn’t want to be here.
She’d much rather be in her cramped apartment above Wallflowers, standing in front of her easel and blending the paints on her palette. A few hours of painting would soothe her soul instead of the thrashing it was about to take.
She liked Emily. They’d become fast friends since Wren had moved to Haven a few years ago. But the thought of watching so much happiness and love made her sick to her stomach. Wren knew that just because her marriage had ended in divorce didn’t mean everyone’s would. She truly wished the best for Emily and Jackson, and she was happy they were happy, but she still didn’t want to spend her evening surrounded by so much happiness. It brought back too many sad memories for her.
Instead of wallowing in self-pity, she focused on her current source of frustration: Miller Lynch. She’d thought it had been an idle threat, but less than a week after she’d turned him down, he’d subpoenaed her work orders. Leave it to a lawyer. She’d told him no, but had he listened to her? Oh, no. He ignored her and played his lawyer card to help his client. Didn’t her rights count for anything? Every time she thought about it, her blood pressure spiked.
Wren took a deep breath and reminded herself it would do her no good to get wound up when Trouble would also be at the party. In Knoxville, she’d been a prisoner of the high-society ladies-who-lunch-and-sit-on-social-committees. While there had been a few genuinely nice people in her old crowd, she knew most of them would stab a friend in the back as she threw her under the bus. You always had to watch your back and your step. Protect yourself and trust no one.
She’d dropped her superficial cold persona when she’d left Tennessee, but maybe now it was time to put it back on. It might be the only way to get through this evening without embarrassing either herself or Emily.
Armor up! she reminded herself as she put on her ice-maiden face and stepped onto the deck. Groups of people were scattered around the large deck, which overlooked the Poplar River. It was a perfect early fall day—bright blue sky, warm sun, and a gentle breeze. Ideal for an outdoor party. Wren caught the smell of burning wood and sweet barbeque sauce in the air. Her stomach grumbled, reminding her she’d forgotten to eat lunch again.
Wren nodded “hello” to a few of the women as she moved toward the long food table. Emily breezed up to her, the picture of happiness. “I’m so glad you’re here!”
Wren handed her the pan of brownies. “I wouldn’t have missed it for the world.” The lie slid off her tongue like melted butter.
“These look delicious, but you didn’t need to bring anything.”
“I know, but my momma always said to never show up empty-handed. Is there anything I can do to help?”
“No, I think we’re good. Jackson is babying his grill, because, you know, there’s fire involved and women can’t be trusted with that.” Emily rolled her eyes. “Let’s set these down and go get something to drink. Running around all afternoon has made me really thirsty.”
They made their way across the large wraparound deck toward the makeshift bar. A few bright yellow fall mums added spots of color to the otherwise manly-looking deck. Emily’s touch, no doubt.
Tables were scattered here and there, but it looked like it wouldn’t be a very large party, maybe twenty to thirty people. Crap, thought Wren. It was much easier to maintain her facade in a large group of people where everything was shallow and quick. Fewer guests meant longer, more detailed discussions with people. Intimacy. Wren doubled her resolve. This evening was important to Emily, which made it important to Wren. If it got too bad, she’d plead a headache and leave early or, at the very least, escape to the oversized lounger she’d seen tucked into a corner of the deck on the other side of the house. Cowardly, yes, but sometimes self-preservation was all that mattered.
“Hello, Wren.” She startled when she heard the deep, smooth voice. She’d been so busy surveying the scene and plotting how to survive the evening, Wren hadn’t seen the danger right in front of her. Trouble stood behind the bar.
“Counselor.” Wren hoped her voice sounded steady. Cool and calm. Be the ice maiden, she reminded herself.
“Another water, Emily, or are you needing something stronger?”
“I’d like something stronger, but I’d better stick with water.” Miller loosened the bottle cap and handed it to her. “Wren, grab something to drink and mingle. I need to go check on Croix and Krista.”
“They’re fine,” Miller said as he pulled off his sunglasses and stuck them into his shirt. “They don’t need a referee.” Wren didn’t know what they were talking about, and Emily must have noticed her confusion.
“They were arguing when they arrived, so I gave them the job of prepping vegetables. The kitchen is tiny, and I thought the close proximity would force them to solve their issue.” Emily cringed. “I gave them knives.”
“Bickering is their version of foreplay and if they ever figure that out, our world will be a lot more peaceful,” Miller said.
“Go check on them,” Wren encouraged. “And if there’s any blood, I’ll help you clean it up and get rid of the body.”
“A true friend,” Emily said. She gave Wren a one-armed hug before running off to check on the potential crime scene.
“What would you like? We have beer, hard cider, lemonade, and water.” Miller pointed out the various bottles and cans on ice.
“I’d like you to rescind the subpoena,” Wren asked sweetly.
Miller moved several of the bottles in the ice bath. “Sorry, we don’t seem to be stocking that this evening.”
“If not this evening, how about first thing Monday morning?” the ice maiden persisted.
“Nope, not then either. But I can guarantee it when hell freezes over.” Miller winked.
“That’s not much of a compromise, Counselor.”
“The name’s Miller, remember? And I’m not compromising or rescinding. So, what can I get you?”
“Nothing. There’s nothing I want or will ever want from you,” Wren said through her forced smile. She grabbed a bottle of hard cider and walked away, reminding herself to unclench her jaw. If this kept up, her planned fake headache was going to be a real one.
