Shopping for an Heir (Page 44)
Carrot dangled.
“What?” Kari gave her full attention. “Was Amanda there?”
Carrot bitten.
“What is with you and your Amanda fascination? What the hell did she ever do to you to make you hate her so much?” Suzanne had never understood this. Then again, Suzanne didn’t take business personally the way Kari did.
“She sniped a bunch of accounts from Fokused Shop-rite.”
“Sniped?”
“You know.”
“You mean her company presented their proposal and they won?”
“Yes.”
“That’s called competition, Kari. Not sniping.”
Kari bared her teeth.
“You are unhinged about this woman.”
“And now Consolidated Evalu-Shop got bought out by Anterdec. They’re going to be a formidable force.” Kari leaned in and whispered, “Are the floor mats at the entrance clean? I can’t see from here and I have to answer that question on my app.”
“Stand up and look!”
“If I do that I lose visual on Mr. Washboard Abs.”
“Mr—oooooh.” Suzanne’s voice trailed off to a hush as the employee who had been watering plants out front now changed lettering on a tall sign.
“I could rub my clothes all over that and get nice and wet.”
“KARI!”
“Don’t blow my cover!”
“I’m going to blow chunks if you keep talking like that.” Suzanne gulped down half her now-warm Americano.
“What are you going to do with Gerald?”
Suzanne gave her the stink eye.
“I don’t mean it that way. Get your mind out of the gutter.”
“Get yours back on your job. You’re not timing the intervals between customers,” Suzanne pointed out. “Or measuring the curtains or whatever you’re supposed to evaluate.”
“I wish they’d ask me to see how easy it is to get an employee’s phone number.” Kari sighed. “You want a cinnamon bun? I have to buy one for the shop.”
“I’ll eat a few bites.” Suzanne patted her stomach. “But not much.”
Kari looked down at the swell of her hips, compared herself visually to Suzanne, and sighed.
“How do you live with so few carbs?”
“How do you live with so few morals?”
Kari cracked up, but her eyes tracked a guy walking past the big windows in the cafe. He wore a kilt, soccer cleats, and a tuxedo jacket.
No shirt.
“I love this neighborhood,” she said with a sigh, looking away when the guy was gone.
“You love men.”
“Guilty. So do you.”
“Man. I lo—am attracted to one man. Not men.”
“Just say you love Gerald, Suz. C’mon.”
She said nothing.
“Are you seeing him tonight?”
“Yes.” The giddy feeling that bubbled up every time she thought about another night, a breakfast, the domesticity of so many hours together in her home, made her feel lighter than air.
“And?”
“And what?”
Kari made an O with her index finger and thumb, and took her other finger and performed a vulgar gesture.
Suzanne smacked her hands down.
“You’re sick.”
“I’m sex-deprived.”
Suzanne finished her coffee and stood, looking at Kari. “I have a client meeting and too many billable hours to log today. Thanks for the coffee.”
“No ‘thank you’ for the advice?”
“What advice?”
Kari started to form that finger circle again.
Suzanne left, shaking her head.
The amusement ended abruptly four blocks away, when she got to the office and found a very pissed Norm Phelps at her desk, scowling.
“He called. He’s donating.”
“He who?”
“Gerald Wright.”
“Already?”
“Called fifteen minutes ago. Asked for the firm’s help in figuring out how to meet international and domestic law to forfeit the relic to a cultural institution.”
Oh, my.
“Did you know about this?” Phelps’ words came with a scorch mark.
“I suspected.”
“You could have warned me.”
“Why are you so invested, Norm? It’s just an inheritance case.”
“We have a buyer for the relic.”
“We have two, technically. James McCormick has thrown his hat into the ring,” she reminded him.
“The other buyer is determined,” he snapped.
She shrugged. “And you think McCormick isn’t? My client will make his own decisions. I can’t sway him.”
“You can make sure he’s well informed.”
“I’ve already done that.” She frowned at him. “Are you implying otherwise?”
“No. But maybe you haven’t spent enough time with him, going through the ins and outs, giving him a detailed sense of what the benefits of selling might entail.”
“Why would I need to do that? It’s cut and dried. Sell, make fifty to sixty million. Donate to a cultural institution. There isn’t an in-between.”
“He’s just a chauffeur! His income is nothing. Why the hell would the guy choose any option but the wealthy one?” Norm ran a nervous hand through his hair.
“Not everyone is motivated by money.”
“You sound like a second-year law student who’s too earnest for her own good. Not a grizzled partner in a major Boston law firm, Suzanne.”
“What bug crawled up your ass and died, Norm?”