Suddenly One Summer
Page 26
She’d had a bad feeling he was going to say just that.
* * *
TWO DAYS LATER, Ford was at his desk in the Tribune newsroom, finishing up the first part of his series on the Cook County probation department. Fueled by the second cup of coffee he’d had that morning, he wrote for nearly three hours straight, banging out the entire story before lunchtime.
Just as he was finishing up with some editing, his phone rang. He checked the caller ID and saw that it was Nicole.
“Unfortunately, no luck,” she told him.
“You’re sure?” Yesterday, he’d begun his search for Peter Sutter. They didn’t have much to go on, just the name and a vague description—brown hair, between the ages of twenty-five and forty—but Nicole believed she would recognize him from a photograph.
Ford hoped she was right about that, because if she couldn’t ID the guy, this was going to be a hell of a lot more complicated than it already was.
His first step, on the off chance they’d get lucky, had been to check Facebook, Twitter, and LinkedIn. He’d run searches for all Peter and Pete Sutters in Chicago, and then had e-mailed Nicole profiles of the three guys with brown hair who’d popped up.
“I’m sure,” she told him. “Do these men honestly look like the type I’d go home with? Even when drunk, I have my standards.”
“This isn’t Match.com, Nic,” he said. “I don’t care whether they look like your ‘type,’ just whether they might look familiar. Besides, for all you know, these guys are totally cool in person.”
“The second one’s Twitter profile says, ‘Angry son of a bitch. Don’t like what I say? Go fuck yourself.’”
“Okay, not him.”
“Call me stuck-up if you want, but I’m telling you, we’re looking for a Peter Sutter who is cute.”
“Cute. Got it,” Ford said, pretending to take notes. “Eye color, height, address, phone number, and profession all unknown. But definitely a hottie. Based on that, I should have the case cracked by dinner.”
Her tone was sweet. “Have I told you how awesome you are for doing this?”
“Yeah, yeah,” he grumbled. “Save it for when I find the guy.”
He hung up with his sister and wrapped up his probation department piece, then headed out to grab a sandwich. It was a warm and sunny late-June day, so he decided to walk across the river to one of his favorite delis. He grabbed a table outside and caught up on e-mail as he ate, not realizing until he’d finished his chips that he was only half a block away from the law offices of the illustrious Victoria Slade.
He could easily picture her in some sleek, sophisticated office, doing . . . whatever the heck high-powered divorce lawyers did on a Friday afternoon. Probably sassing someone, if their interactions thus far were any indication. Undoubtedly while wearing another one of those sexy suits she seemed to like so much. And high heels.
Hmm.
Actually, now that he thought about it, he really should drop by and update her on his plans for phase two in the search for Peter Sutter. Seeing how she’d been so worked up about being kept in the loop and all.
That decided, he threw away the remnants of his lunch and headed along the river. Her office was located in a glass skyscraper, and after checking the tenant listing, he took the elevator up to the thirty-third floor.
He saw the door marked with her firm’s name in bold gray letters, and walked into a sunlit, elegant lobby with white leather chairs, hardwood floors, and floor-to-ceiling windows.
A receptionist greeted him from behind a curved white desk. “Can I help you?”
“Ford Dixon. I was hoping to see Victoria. I don’t have an appointment.”
The receptionist nodded. “Let me see if she’s available.”
Ford walked over to check out the view of the Chicago River while he waited. Moments later, he heard footsteps coming from the hallway behind the receptionist. He turned around and saw a man with wire-framed glasses and dressed in a slim-cut navy suit heading his way.
The man held out his hand in introduction. “Mr. Dixon? Will Coffer, Ms. Slade’s assistant. I was told you wanted to speak to her.” His gaze was polite but sharp. “Ms. Slade doesn’t generally take walk-ins. Can I ask what this is in regards to?”
“I’m working with her on a case and thought I would stop by to give her an update.”
“Dixon . . .” Will cocked his head. “As in, the Nicole Dixon matter?”
“That’s the one.”
“You must be the brother. Victoria’s new neighbor.” He suddenly appeared quite curious as he looked Ford over. “She’s very busy today. But follow me—I’ll see what I can do.”
He led Ford down a hallway, passing several offices along the way. The place buzzed with an energy that was palpable—not unlike the newsroom before deadline. Phones were ringing, one lawyer paced in her office while practicing some kind of speech or argument, and a younger man, probably an intern or paralegal, hurried by them carrying a stack of files almost as tall as his head.
At the end of the hallway was a second, smaller waiting area outside a large corner office.
“Feel free to have a seat,” Will said. “She’s with someone right now, but I’ll let her know you’re here.”
From his vantage point in the waiting area, Ford could see Victoria in her office. He’d guessed right about her outfit—today she wore a camel-colored suit with a white silk blouse and high heels.
She leaned against her desk as she spoke to a woman in her midtwenties who was also dressed in a suit.
He watched as Victoria nodded encouragingly as she talked, looking surprisingly . . . approachable. Friendly, even.
Then she turned as the associate left her office and spotted Ford sitting out in the waiting room.
She folded her arms across her chest. “You are not my one thirty appointment.”
So much for friendly.
He stood up and walked over. “I was in the neighborhood. Thought we could talk.”
She looked over at her assistant. “How much time do I have?”
“Mr. Ulrich just arrived,” Will said.
Ford peered down at her. “Guess I’d better talk fast.”
“Quite fast,” she emphasized.
Her office was large and airy, with a bold glass-and-steel desk and a view of the city and the river. He took a seat in one of the chairs in front of the desk, wanting to get one preliminary matter out of the way. “Nicole mentioned that she dropped by your office yesterday to sign a retainer agreement. She said you agreed to take on the case pro bono. I thought this was going to be a reduced-fee arrangement.”
* * *
TWO DAYS LATER, Ford was at his desk in the Tribune newsroom, finishing up the first part of his series on the Cook County probation department. Fueled by the second cup of coffee he’d had that morning, he wrote for nearly three hours straight, banging out the entire story before lunchtime.
Just as he was finishing up with some editing, his phone rang. He checked the caller ID and saw that it was Nicole.
“Unfortunately, no luck,” she told him.
“You’re sure?” Yesterday, he’d begun his search for Peter Sutter. They didn’t have much to go on, just the name and a vague description—brown hair, between the ages of twenty-five and forty—but Nicole believed she would recognize him from a photograph.
Ford hoped she was right about that, because if she couldn’t ID the guy, this was going to be a hell of a lot more complicated than it already was.
His first step, on the off chance they’d get lucky, had been to check Facebook, Twitter, and LinkedIn. He’d run searches for all Peter and Pete Sutters in Chicago, and then had e-mailed Nicole profiles of the three guys with brown hair who’d popped up.
“I’m sure,” she told him. “Do these men honestly look like the type I’d go home with? Even when drunk, I have my standards.”
“This isn’t Match.com, Nic,” he said. “I don’t care whether they look like your ‘type,’ just whether they might look familiar. Besides, for all you know, these guys are totally cool in person.”
“The second one’s Twitter profile says, ‘Angry son of a bitch. Don’t like what I say? Go fuck yourself.’”
“Okay, not him.”
“Call me stuck-up if you want, but I’m telling you, we’re looking for a Peter Sutter who is cute.”
“Cute. Got it,” Ford said, pretending to take notes. “Eye color, height, address, phone number, and profession all unknown. But definitely a hottie. Based on that, I should have the case cracked by dinner.”
Her tone was sweet. “Have I told you how awesome you are for doing this?”
“Yeah, yeah,” he grumbled. “Save it for when I find the guy.”
He hung up with his sister and wrapped up his probation department piece, then headed out to grab a sandwich. It was a warm and sunny late-June day, so he decided to walk across the river to one of his favorite delis. He grabbed a table outside and caught up on e-mail as he ate, not realizing until he’d finished his chips that he was only half a block away from the law offices of the illustrious Victoria Slade.
He could easily picture her in some sleek, sophisticated office, doing . . . whatever the heck high-powered divorce lawyers did on a Friday afternoon. Probably sassing someone, if their interactions thus far were any indication. Undoubtedly while wearing another one of those sexy suits she seemed to like so much. And high heels.
Hmm.
Actually, now that he thought about it, he really should drop by and update her on his plans for phase two in the search for Peter Sutter. Seeing how she’d been so worked up about being kept in the loop and all.
That decided, he threw away the remnants of his lunch and headed along the river. Her office was located in a glass skyscraper, and after checking the tenant listing, he took the elevator up to the thirty-third floor.
He saw the door marked with her firm’s name in bold gray letters, and walked into a sunlit, elegant lobby with white leather chairs, hardwood floors, and floor-to-ceiling windows.
A receptionist greeted him from behind a curved white desk. “Can I help you?”
“Ford Dixon. I was hoping to see Victoria. I don’t have an appointment.”
The receptionist nodded. “Let me see if she’s available.”
Ford walked over to check out the view of the Chicago River while he waited. Moments later, he heard footsteps coming from the hallway behind the receptionist. He turned around and saw a man with wire-framed glasses and dressed in a slim-cut navy suit heading his way.
The man held out his hand in introduction. “Mr. Dixon? Will Coffer, Ms. Slade’s assistant. I was told you wanted to speak to her.” His gaze was polite but sharp. “Ms. Slade doesn’t generally take walk-ins. Can I ask what this is in regards to?”
“I’m working with her on a case and thought I would stop by to give her an update.”
“Dixon . . .” Will cocked his head. “As in, the Nicole Dixon matter?”
“That’s the one.”
“You must be the brother. Victoria’s new neighbor.” He suddenly appeared quite curious as he looked Ford over. “She’s very busy today. But follow me—I’ll see what I can do.”
He led Ford down a hallway, passing several offices along the way. The place buzzed with an energy that was palpable—not unlike the newsroom before deadline. Phones were ringing, one lawyer paced in her office while practicing some kind of speech or argument, and a younger man, probably an intern or paralegal, hurried by them carrying a stack of files almost as tall as his head.
At the end of the hallway was a second, smaller waiting area outside a large corner office.
“Feel free to have a seat,” Will said. “She’s with someone right now, but I’ll let her know you’re here.”
From his vantage point in the waiting area, Ford could see Victoria in her office. He’d guessed right about her outfit—today she wore a camel-colored suit with a white silk blouse and high heels.
She leaned against her desk as she spoke to a woman in her midtwenties who was also dressed in a suit.
He watched as Victoria nodded encouragingly as she talked, looking surprisingly . . . approachable. Friendly, even.
Then she turned as the associate left her office and spotted Ford sitting out in the waiting room.
She folded her arms across her chest. “You are not my one thirty appointment.”
So much for friendly.
He stood up and walked over. “I was in the neighborhood. Thought we could talk.”
She looked over at her assistant. “How much time do I have?”
“Mr. Ulrich just arrived,” Will said.
Ford peered down at her. “Guess I’d better talk fast.”
“Quite fast,” she emphasized.
Her office was large and airy, with a bold glass-and-steel desk and a view of the city and the river. He took a seat in one of the chairs in front of the desk, wanting to get one preliminary matter out of the way. “Nicole mentioned that she dropped by your office yesterday to sign a retainer agreement. She said you agreed to take on the case pro bono. I thought this was going to be a reduced-fee arrangement.”
