sidewalk, dazed. Marc looked back over his shoulder as he walked away. “I’ll call you later.”
“You said you washed my number,” Brendan shouted.
A laugh left Marc, echoing off the building walls. “I lied!” he called over his shoulder, then darted across the street.
Chapter Five
Brendan had only just removed his jacket and tie, and poured himself a tumbler of Glenlivet, when the doorbell buzzed. Pausing, he set down the whisky and moved across the floor in his socks, nearly slipping on the freshly polished hardwood. He hit the speaker on the buzzer. “Who is it?”
“Brendan, it’s Cal Whitehead. Is this a bad time?”
Brendan smiled at the familiar voice. “Cal, I’m buzzing you up.”
After buzzing Cal in, he quickly went to the kitchen bar and poured a second glass of whisky for his friend. Cal Whitehead was like an uncle to him, his father’s former law partner. He was a judge in Providence now, but had once worked the criminal circuit in Boston. Cal was the one that suggested to Brendan’s father that he should branch out into Providence. And more importantly, he’d planted the idea in the old man’s mind that he should put his son, Brendan, in charge. Brendan felt he owed Cal a lot more than a whisky, but it was the best he could do at the moment.
A knock came minutes later and Brendan opened the door, whisky in hand. Cal stood grinning in the doorway, holding a flowering plant. Cal was a large man, well over six feet, and despite the receding hairline and glasses, nothing about him suggested docility. Beneath the shirt and tie was a solid, muscular physique that he kept up with running and home gym workouts, and as Brendan understood it, he could be so intimidating in the courtroom that he’d made hardened criminals weep with a glance.
But for Brendan, Cal’s smile was warm and genuine, a glint of humor in his eyes. “I got you a plant.”
“I got you a Glenlivet,” Brendan said.
“Then let’s trade, I think I’m getting the better deal.”
Cal handed Brendan the plant, and Brendan handed him the whisky, then waved him inside, shutting the door.
“Oh wow,” Cal said, moving around the loft with his drink. “Nice place, Brendan. Looks great.”
“Thanks. I love the space.” He set the plant down, then picked up his drink and went to join Cal, who stood at the bookshelf, perusing the photographs.
“How are things at the new office?”
“Good,” Brendan said. “Coming along. Have you talked to Dad lately?”
Cal’s eyes slid sideways and he smirked. “He called me an hour ago. Asked me to come check on you. He said you sounded lonely on the phone.”
“What?” Brendan laughed. “He did not!”
“He did,” Cal said, moving to the furniture in the center of the space. Sitting down on the sofa, he crossed his legs and took a sip of whisky.
Brendan walked over and joined him, sitting in the adjoining chair. “He has got to start trusting that I can take care of myself. I’m not a kid anymore.”
“He’s your father,” Cal said. “He’s always going to worry about you. It’s not a bad thing, Brendan. To have parents who care. Not everyone does.”
“I know. But as you can see,” he gestured around him at the loft. “I’m doing just fine.”
“Glad to hear it. You’re a smart young man and a good lawyer. You’ll do great. I told him that.”
“Thanks, Cal.”
“So your father tells me you got laid.”
Brendan slapped his forehead. “He told you that? Oh, man.” He laughed and fell back in the chair. “What is his problem ?” His cheeks heated with embarrassment.
Cal let out a belly laugh. “So who’s the lucky girl?”
Brendan remained quiet for a moment, staring at his fingers, then he met Cal’s eyes. “You know this city pretty well, right?”
Cal shrugged. “I know it well enough.”
Brendan hesitated a moment, then leaned forward, elbows on his knees. “I met this...person. Up on Federal Hill, at one
“You said you washed my number,” Brendan shouted.
A laugh left Marc, echoing off the building walls. “I lied!” he called over his shoulder, then darted across the street.
Chapter Five
Brendan had only just removed his jacket and tie, and poured himself a tumbler of Glenlivet, when the doorbell buzzed. Pausing, he set down the whisky and moved across the floor in his socks, nearly slipping on the freshly polished hardwood. He hit the speaker on the buzzer. “Who is it?”
“Brendan, it’s Cal Whitehead. Is this a bad time?”
Brendan smiled at the familiar voice. “Cal, I’m buzzing you up.”
After buzzing Cal in, he quickly went to the kitchen bar and poured a second glass of whisky for his friend. Cal Whitehead was like an uncle to him, his father’s former law partner. He was a judge in Providence now, but had once worked the criminal circuit in Boston. Cal was the one that suggested to Brendan’s father that he should branch out into Providence. And more importantly, he’d planted the idea in the old man’s mind that he should put his son, Brendan, in charge. Brendan felt he owed Cal a lot more than a whisky, but it was the best he could do at the moment.
A knock came minutes later and Brendan opened the door, whisky in hand. Cal stood grinning in the doorway, holding a flowering plant. Cal was a large man, well over six feet, and despite the receding hairline and glasses, nothing about him suggested docility. Beneath the shirt and tie was a solid, muscular physique that he kept up with running and home gym workouts, and as Brendan understood it, he could be so intimidating in the courtroom that he’d made hardened criminals weep with a glance.
But for Brendan, Cal’s smile was warm and genuine, a glint of humor in his eyes. “I got you a plant.”
“I got you a Glenlivet,” Brendan said.
“Then let’s trade, I think I’m getting the better deal.”
Cal handed Brendan the plant, and Brendan handed him the whisky, then waved him inside, shutting the door.
“Oh wow,” Cal said, moving around the loft with his drink. “Nice place, Brendan. Looks great.”
“Thanks. I love the space.” He set the plant down, then picked up his drink and went to join Cal, who stood at the bookshelf, perusing the photographs.
“How are things at the new office?”
“Good,” Brendan said. “Coming along. Have you talked to Dad lately?”
Cal’s eyes slid sideways and he smirked. “He called me an hour ago. Asked me to come check on you. He said you sounded lonely on the phone.”
“What?” Brendan laughed. “He did not!”
“He did,” Cal said, moving to the furniture in the center of the space. Sitting down on the sofa, he crossed his legs and took a sip of whisky.
Brendan walked over and joined him, sitting in the adjoining chair. “He has got to start trusting that I can take care of myself. I’m not a kid anymore.”
“He’s your father,” Cal said. “He’s always going to worry about you. It’s not a bad thing, Brendan. To have parents who care. Not everyone does.”
“I know. But as you can see,” he gestured around him at the loft. “I’m doing just fine.”
“Glad to hear it. You’re a smart young man and a good lawyer. You’ll do great. I told him that.”
“Thanks, Cal.”
“So your father tells me you got laid.”
Brendan slapped his forehead. “He told you that? Oh, man.” He laughed and fell back in the chair. “What is his problem ?” His cheeks heated with embarrassment.
Cal let out a belly laugh. “So who’s the lucky girl?”
Brendan remained quiet for a moment, staring at his fingers, then he met Cal’s eyes. “You know this city pretty well, right?”
Cal shrugged. “I know it well enough.”
Brendan hesitated a moment, then leaned forward, elbows on his knees. “I met this...person. Up on Federal Hill, at one
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