Unconditionally Mine

Jon took another sip of coffee. Normally, this would be his cue to back off. But she’d stirred things up, and there was no quick way to calm those things down.

The clerk assembled a panel, calling out numbers like lottery picks. One by one, those selected gathered their things and stumbled out of the room. The room fell silent again with Julia Roberts’s laughter for pleasant background noise.

“Why defend criminals?” she asked.

“Criminals are just people who’ve made bad choices.”

“Or they’re selfish and stupid people with complete disregard for others.”

“Callous disregard,” Jon said. “Sounds better.”

She moaned. “You really are a lawyer.”

“One of the best.” He handed her a business card. “Next time a client tries to sue you, you’ll be glad you know me.”

She laughed at the joke and took the card. Another panel was assembled and time passed. It was easy talking with her. She was sharp; nothing he said went untested. But a pattern was emerging. She’d fire questions at him but carefully avoided revealing anything about herself.

“You’ve tried cases at this courthouse?” she asked.

“No. Federal court.”

“Are your clients killers?”

“Alleged killers, you mean,” he said. “And no, they’re not. They’re alleged Ponzi schemers, tax evaders and embezzlers.”

“Can you name some of your clients?”

“Don’t think I don’t know what you’re doing.”

“What’s that?”

“The one-sided conversation. I invented that trick.”

“All I’ve done is ask a few questions,” she said defensively. “If you weren’t so careful, you wouldn’t mind.”

“Careful? No one’s ever accused me of that.”

“Not an accusation,” she said. “An observation. You’re careful with words.”

“I’m good with words.”

“You’re not at all modest,” she observed.

“Not even a little,” he said. “I’ll note that we have a past that you’re trying to bury. So who’s being careful here?”

She held him in her soft brown gaze. “But if you can’t remember our past, does it exist?”

“And if a tree fell in the forest...?”

The clerk returned to the microphone, this time to announce an extended lunch break. He invited her out to eat.

“I’m going to pick up a salad at the medical campus across the street,” she said. “You’re welcome to come with.”

They rode the elevator to the courthouse ground floor. Outside, the aroma rising from the hot-dog carts made him nostalgic for New York City. With a hand on her elbow, he steered her across the street toward the parking lot. His Porsche was parked in an open lot reserved for jurors. Its steel-blue glaze matched the hazy Florida sky.

She yanked her arm free. “We can walk to the salad place. It’s not far.”

“We’re not going to the salad place. I heard there are seafood restaurants along the river not far from here.”

She came to a full stop in the middle of the street. “I’m not getting in your car.”

She really didn’t trust him. He wondered what he’d done to her? And why couldn’t he remember? He was sharper than this.

“I’ll bring you back in one piece,” he promised from the sidewalk. “How else will you collect your fifteen bucks?”

She stood rooted in place, stubborn. A patrol car turned a corner and signaled a warning for her to move out of the way. This was her chance to escape; all she’d have to do was turn and run. They locked eyes, engaging in a mental arm-wrestling match. Another whirl of the police siren propelled her into motion. Picking up the pace, she made her way toward him. He watched in quiet fascination as the wind tossed her hair and her body moved under a fitted blue dress.

“Let’s go to Garcia’s,” she said. “It’s the best.”

* * *

He let her take charge at the restaurant. She chose the table on the terrace overlooking the bloated river. She ordered on his behalf with the assumption that he, the guy with the questionable Spanish skills, would not know how to order Latin food. He watched her come alive in the fresh air, pushing her sunglasses to the top of her head, eyes glistening, gesticulating madly as she talked. Over ceviche and cerveza, she kept the conversation light and he played along. At some point, she lifted the weight of her hair off the nape of her neck to better feel the breeze. When she leaned forward to reach for a napkin, the deep V-neck of her dress revealed more than she might have wanted—and he remembered everything.

The party.

Champagne.

The woman in the kitchen.

That evening, she’d worn her hair in a knot and was dressed plainly in a black shirt and pants. She’d managed to calm his ex down. And Viviana wasn’t a woman who was easily calmed. More importantly, she’d compared him to a shot of rum. He would’ve gone for whiskey.

No wonder he’d forgotten! That whole week had been emotionally charged. He’d made the decision to move to Miami only minutes after receiving the offer for a lateral move as a partner. He’d acted on his instincts. And when Viv tried to turn a summer thing into a more permanent one, those same instincts told him to nip that in the bud. Still, even during that windstorm, he’d noticed this woman bent over a table, tense over having to pour from a respectable bottle of champagne. The opening of her loose blouse had offered the same gorgeous view as now. How could he have walked away?

Sofia pointed to a pelican perched on a dock, its damp feathers coated in mud. “Poor little guy.”

“I have a question for you,” he said.

“Yes?”

“How do you like your rum? With Coke, ice or like I like it, neat?”

She went still. “You remember.”

“Every little thing.” He leaned back in his seat. “You never thanked me for helping out with the champagne.”

“I never asked for your help,” she said evenly.

“And women wonder why chivalry is dead.”

“You weren’t being chivalrous. You were showing off.”

“Okay,” he said. “You got me.”

“Just curious. How’s your friend?”

“She’s fine,” he said. “You don’t have to worry about her.”

She shook her head as if she’d lost all faith in mankind. “You never thanked me for defusing that bomb.”

He thanked her with a tip of an imaginary hat. “You have my undying gratitude.”

She shrugged a slender shoulder. “Just doing my job.”

Now he better understood her reticence. “You think I’m a jerk,” he said. “A woman cried and you bought the whole act.”

“Was it an act?” she asked.

“I think so,” he said. “Does that make me a jerk?”

“I don’t know what it makes you. I don’t know you that well.”

He leaned forward. “Let’s get to know each other, Sofia. Really well.”

She mimicked his move, resting her arms on the table and leaning in. “That’s not going to happen, Jon.”

“How significant is this ‘other’ of yours?” he asked.

If he’d taken a second to think, he might not have asked the question, not so bluntly anyway. But now that it was out there, he had to know.

“Well...” She scooped ceviche with a cracker.

“I’m listening.” He wiped his hands on his cloth napkin and gave her his full attention.

“We’re engaged.”

The blow left him winded—and inexplicably angry. “That’s pretty significant. Why didn’t you say that earlier?”

“That option wasn’t on the jury questionnaire. It was a choice between Married, Single or Significant Other.”

“You could’ve penned it in,” he said.

She gave him a quizzical look. “For the benefit of the court?”

“You’re not wearing a ring,” he observed.

She dropped the cracker and drew her hands onto her lap. “I don’t wear it every day. It wouldn’t be practical. It’s really big.”

“Oh, is it?” he asked.

He’d hammered every syllable. Then he watched with some satisfaction—no, he watched with life-sustaining satisfaction as color drained from her cheeks. She raised her glass to her lips, took a couple of gulps of beer and once she’d regained her composure, she suggested they leave.

“I don’t think there’s time for seafood pasta. Maybe we should head back.”

“There’s always time for seafood pasta.”

Their waiter arrived with a fragrant bowl of linguine loaded with shrimp, clams, mussels and calamari. He had to be the luckiest man alive.

There was time for pasta followed by better coffee than they could hope to get at the courthouse snack bar. There was also time for a slow stroll back to his car and for more questions.

“Why don’t you tell me more about what you do?” he asked.

“If I thought you’d believe it, I’d say it’s all very glam and fun.”

“Then tell me how it really is.”

“Long hours. Demanding clients. Some days it’s a three-ring circus.”

“Why do you do it?”

He held open the car door for her. She stopped and gave him a thoughtful answer. “When everything comes together, it’s like magic. Then you blink and it’s over. You’ve got to pack up the circus.”

“But you know you’ve made magic.”

She smiled and ducked into the car.

Jon drove slowly, which was against his very nature, in an effort to stretch their time alone together. They made it back to the courthouse just in time. His plum spot in the parking lot was taken. He squeezed into a space between a boxy Scion and a sporty BMW.

“Look at that,” she said. “We’re parked next to each other.”

He turned to the Scion.

She poked his arm. “That’s what you think of me?”

The BMW then... It was a white convertible with a black cloth top. It suited her. And then it hit him how badly he’d wanted to impress her with his credentials, career and yes, his car. He had to laugh.

“What’s so funny?” she asked.

“I really am a show-off.”

It didn’t take long for her to connect the dots. She opened the passenger door. “Yeah, you are.”

* * *

He blinked and it was over. The minute they returned to the jury room, she was selected for a panel. He’d swear her eyes clouded with regret. “It was nice meeting you again, Jonathan-Gunther-defense-attorney-single-no-kids.”

It was great that she’d memorized his stats, but that goodbye sounded too final. “How can I get in touch with you?”

She shook her head, lifted that huge purse and left the room.

* * *

Jon exited the courthouse at three-thirty without having ever been selected for a panel. He’d spent the afternoon in the quiet room replying to emails, but mostly counting the minutes until he could camp out in the parking lot and ambush her. Now he skipped down the courthouse steps and stopped short when seeing from across the street that her car was gone, and his car looked lonely for a friend.

The note tucked under his windshield wiper didn’t catch his eye until he’d started the engine. He got out and grabbed it. Two words beautifully penned on the back of his business card in that unmistakable indigo ink: Thank you.

Chapter 3

Sofia wasn’t clear when chatting had crossed into flirting, or even how he’d roped her in, but here she was, tied up in knots. The man was magnetic—clever, witty and fun. When the time had come to leave him, she couldn’t pull herself away. Then the case for which she’d been picked was dismissed. She had the choice of leaving early (forfeiting her fifteen bucks) or returning to the jury pool. Her brain opted to leave; the rest of her wanted to rush back into the auditorium to be with him. Although she’d managed to follow the other elated jurors out the door, she couldn’t resist leaving something behind. He must think her nuts, going on about her engagement one minute and leaving him a note the next.

She was nuts.

Driving in circles, finding her way out of the parking lot, she wondered what had gotten into her. The first time they’d met, she was able to dismiss him pretty fast. But things had been different then. She had really been engaged, and now she was only pretending to be. Not pretending, she reasoned. She and Franco had privately ended their engagement. They simply hadn’t gone public with that information yet.

Who was she kidding? Nothing about their situation was simple.

She drummed the steering wheel. What to do now? It was only two thirty. She had a meeting at five. Leila Amis, a Realtor and friend, had recruited her to throw an open house for a new listing in Miami Beach. Part of her business had always focused on providing local Realtors with the services they needed. With the influx of foreign investors, Miami’s luxury real-estate market was thriving. Sofia was being offered more and more work. She could head back to her office to start on a concept or...

Was Jonathan Gunther built like a boxer under that suit? Looked like it.

For the love of God, Sofia!

In need of a lifeline, she called Leila, who barely gave her a chance to say hi. “Hey! I know we agreed to meet at the house.” Her voice poured through the car speakers. “Any chance you can swing by the agency later to pick me up? My car is in the shop. It broke down on I-95 this morning. They towed it away. It was a mess.”

Sofia looked up and around to better situate herself. She was at the junction of I-95, and all she’d have to do was head south to Brickell. “Any chance we can do this now? I’ve got time to kill.”

“In that case,” Leila said, “I’m going to put you to work.”

* * *

Brickell was two things: a trendy neighborhood lined with luxury condo buildings and the center of Miami’s financial district, if one in fact existed. Joggers, dog walkers and professionals in business suits mingled on the sidewalks. The afternoon sunlight set the buildings’ mirrored surfaces on fire.

Leila and her boyfriend, Nick, ran a boutique real-estate agency from one of the newer buildings. Sofia pulled up and spotted Leila out front chatting with the doorman. In a former life, Leila used to be a pageant queen and it showed in the way she walked. Sofia watched as she approached and elegantly lowered herself into the passenger seat. She wore a fitted cream jumpsuit that flattered her deep brown complexion.

“First stop,” she said, “the downtown Hyatt. I have to meet with a client—five minutes, tops. Then we’ll head out to South Beach—can’t wait for you to see the listing. The photos I sent you don’t do it justice. Then maybe we could stop somewhere for drinks? Catch up a little.”

Sofia eased back into the slow-moving traffic. “Or we could shop for a new car. Don’t you think it’s time for an upgrade?”

Leila had been driving the same Mazda Miata for as long as Sofia had known her. She’d won it at a pageant, but her sentimental attachment to the thing bordered on ridiculous.

Leila quickly switched topics. “Took a day off?”

“Nope. Jury duty.”

Leila made a face. “How did that go?”

Sofia answered without thinking. “I had a good time.”

“At jury duty?”

Sofia scrambled to correct herself. “I had...a good book.”

Leila was quiet for a while, messaging clients. They arrived at the Hyatt and Sofia waited in the car, listening to the radio, for at least fifteen minutes. Leila wrapped up her meeting and they headed out to Miami Beach.

On the causeway, Sofia lowered the convertible top. The bay stretched out on either side of the strip. As the breeze tossed her hair, she felt a tinge of excitement. She was eager to visit this house. She’d thought the photos were spectacular and had instantly fallen for the house’s modern design and open layout. But Leila was right: there was nothing like touring a house to get a feel for it. Her father owned a construction company and all her life she’d toured homes at various stages of development. Even the most cookie-cutter of homes had a personality. Which reminded her of something. Nick and Leila had been renovating a house in Bayshore for the better part of a year. Some days it was all Leila could talk about.

“How’s progress on Barbie’s dream house?” Sofia asked, knowing she’d regret it.

“There’ve been some delays getting permits for the garage,” Leila replied. “It’s pissing Nick off. But did I tell you about the custom furniture?”

“Many times.”

Leila squealed. “I get a sneak peek of the living room furniture tomorrow.”

“Good luck sleeping tonight!” Sofia teased.

“I’ve got a question for you, smart-ass,” Leila said. “When’s the wedding? Forget car shopping. Why aren’t we out shopping for a gown right now?”

“Did my mom put you up to this?” Sofia asked.

“You put me up to this. What kind of maid of honor would I be if I didn’t ask?”

Sofia’s cousin, Mercedes, was her official maid of honor; Sofia’s mother had insisted on it. Leila had agreed to sign on as the de facto maid of honor. But none of that mattered anyway, since there’d be no wedding. If Leila wanted to plan a wedding so badly, maybe she should drop Nick a hint.

“I thought you wanted a summer wedding,” Leila persisted. “Summer is around the corner.”

“A summer wedding was a dumb idea,” Sofia said. “I’d melt in the heat.”

“What do you think about Christmas?” Leila asked.

“I’m not thinking, Leila,” Sofia said. “I’m focusing on my parents’ anniversary party.”

That was her go-to excuse, but a lame one. Everyone who knew her knew damn well that she could plan ten major events and a kids’ tea party all at the same time.

“When’s that again?” Leila asked.

“Next month,” Sofia said, tense. “Then I’m free.”

“Good.”

Leila’s phone chimed again. She typed a text message and said, “By the way, a client is waiting for us at the house. I promised him an early look at this property before it hits the market. Oh, and I’m taking Brie to a Heat game next week. It’s her birthday. Wanna come? Make it a girls’ night?”

Brie was Leila’s assistant, who’d been with her through tough times and now, it seemed, really good times.

“Sure,” Sofia replied absently. “Girls’ night!”

“We’re almost there,” Leila said. “Head north on Alton.”

“Will your client mind my being there?” Sofia asked.

“No, he’ll love it,” Leila said. “Hotshot lawyer. You know the type.”

Sofia shrugged off the cold hand of dread. Don’t be paranoid, she told herself. Miami was crawling with hotshot lawyers.

“Last house on the block. Pull up to the gate.”

They were still some feet away, but Sofia could see the property walled off from the busy street and overflowing with tropical flowers. She let out a low whistle. “It’s like an oasis.”

“Go ahead and park at the curb behind that Porsche,” Leila said. “I don’t have the clicker for the gate.”

Oh, no, no, no, no, no! Sofia hit the breaks and came to an abrupt stop, sending Leila lurching forward and her purse tumbling to the car floor.

“Hey!” Leila cried.

What were the damn odds? When she’d left the note on the windshield of that same Porsche, the plan was to never see the owner again. She’d made fuzzy choices all day, but on that point she’d been very clear.

“You know what?” Sofia said, trying to buy time.

Leila smoothed her straight black hair. “What?”

“I should go.”

“Go where? We’ve got work to do! I want to hear your ideas for the open house.”

“I don’t feel so well.”

“Have you eaten today?”

At first glance, the Porsche appeared to be sitting empty, but now the driver’s door swung open and Jonathan Gunther—all six feet and however many inches of him—got out.

I’m going to lose it today.

“That’s my client,” Leila whispered. “You’re welcome.”

Sofia shrunk behind the wheel. With the top down, there was nowhere else to hide. Drivers stuck behind her were honking, and Leila nudged her in the ribs.

“Sofia, you’re holding up traffic.”

Other than pushing Leila out of her car, what choice did she have? She pulled up to the curb but refused to cut off the engine.

Jon came around to the passenger side and leaned down low. He flashed them the smile of a Viking conqueror.

“Jon,” Leila said. “This is my friend Sofia Silva. She’s a real-estate event planner. Sofia is planning our open house.”

Those brown eyes pinned her in place. “Hi, Sofia. I’m Jon.”

Sofia nodded and said nothing.

“She’s not feeling so well,” Leila explained.

Sofia gripped the steering wheel. When did Leila become such a chatterbox?

“Something you ate?” Jon asked innocently.

“I bet she hasn’t eaten all day. This woman lives on coffee.” Leila frowned. “I think she should come inside.”

“She absolutely should.”

Sofia had the feeling of having walked onto the set of a comedy sketch. The best thing, the smart thing, would be to speed off, leaving these two jokers in the dust. And yet, when Jon held open the car door for Leila, and she stepped out and gave him the briefest of hugs, Sofia felt a twinge of...envy.

“You’d be doing me a favor if you stayed,” Jon said. “I need a pair of objective eyes.”

“Well, good luck with that,” Leila said. “Sofia’s already in love with the place. She thinks it’s an oasis.”

Like any true oasis, Sofia thought, it was proving to be an illusion.

“Sofia, are you in love?” Jon asked.

“No. I don’t fall that easily.”

“Good. I’d hate it if you did.”

“And I’d love it if we got around to seeing the house,” Leila said. “That’s what we’re here for. Come on, Sofia! Let’s go!”

Chapter 4

While Leila unlocked the gate, Jon couldn’t get over his luck. Why were they playing this game? He wasn’t sure. Jon was taking his cues from her, and she’d turned white with panic at seeing him again. This told him something: their encounter hadn’t been casual. It hadn’t been for him and now, obviously not for her, either.

The gate gave way to a lush green space filled with colorful flowers. A compact white house with modern lines and wide glass panels was tucked deep in the yard. Jon paid attention as Leila listed the pros and cons. Pro: the Alton Road location placed it at only a short bike, bus or Vespa ride away from Lincoln Road, the clubs and the beach. Con: the Alton Road location and its legendary congestion and chaos, which turned off most buyers.

“I mean if a kid kicks a ball into the street and chases after it, that kid will get flattened by a Lamborghini,” Leila said. “That’s all I’m saying.”

“Is this your best sales pitch?” Jon asked.

“I’m looking out for your best interests.”

A tax attorney at his firm had referred him to Leila’s agency. Jon enjoyed working with her. She was patient, never pushy and committed to finding him something reasonable and affordable. They were becoming fast friends.

“What did I tell you about being so ethical?” he teased.

The wide front door was unremarkable except for the exotic grain of the wood. Jon took hold of the industrial hardware. “I like this.”

“I thought you would,” Leila said. “This house is made for a man like you.”

“Meaning?”

The question came from Sofia who had trailed behind, admiring the spare landscaping as if lifted from the Luxembourg Gardens. Jon loved her curiosity—where he was concerned.

“It’s not quite the bachelor pad you need,” Leila explained. “But it has the look, you know?”

Jon wasn’t looking for a pad, but a sanctuary. He worked long hours and needed someplace comfortable and calm to come home to. He had a good feeling about this house. The street noise was an issue, but the high-impact windows would block out most of it. He didn’t have a kid to worry about, and he knew to look both ways before crossing the street, whether or not he was chasing after a ball.

Leila let them in and went ahead, switching on lights and pulling back drapes. Jon waited for Sofia who was, it now seemed obvious, deliberately trailing behind.

“It’s been a couple of hours,” he said. “Missed me?”