Page 23 of Dial L for Lawyer
"You look perfect." His eyes sweep over me, lingering just long enough to make heat pool low in my belly. "Stop fidgeting."
"I'm not—" I force my hands still. "Whose boat is this?"
"Leonard McKelvin. Pharmaceutical fortune. He's been a client for six years." Caleb pockets his phone and offers me his arm. "He's expecting us."
The gangplank might as well be a tightrope over lava. My nude Louboutins—another resale triumph—weren't made for whatever wood this is. Teak? One wrong step and I’m headline news: marketing exec drowns in last season’s heels.
"Relax." Caleb's hand covers mine on his arm, steady and warm, and I hate how much I need the contact. "You've pitched to boardrooms full of executives."
"Those executives weren't worth nine figures."
"Leonard's barely worth two billion. It's practically middle class."
I choke on a laugh. "You're such an ass."
"There’s my Morgan." His smile touches his eyes. "Come on. He doesn't bite."
Leonard McKelvin looks like Santa Claus if Santa discovered Botox and personal trainers. Silver beard, twinkling eyes, and a handshake that manages to be firm without trying to prove anything.
"Finally!" He beams, looking between us like he's won something. "Six years I've been telling this one to bring someone, and he always shows up alone like some brooding Byron character."
"Leonard." A woman glides up, all cheekbones and champagne silk. "Don't embarrass them immediately."
"My wife, April," Leonard introduces. "Darling, this is Serena Morgan. Caleb's finally brought a date."
April air-kisses my cheeks like we're in a European film. "Ignore my husband. He's been trying to set Caleb up with his niece for three years."
"She's an orthopedic surgeon," Leonard protests. "Very accomplished."
"Very married," April corrects. "As of last month."
"Details." Leonard waves dismissively. "The point is, we're delighted you're here, Serena. What do you do?"
"Marketing," I say, keeping it vague.
April links her arm through mine before I can elaborate. "Come, let the boys discuss their boring contracts. You can tell me how you met our perpetually single lawyer."
She whisks me to the upper deck where Lake Michigan stretches endless and dark. The city skyline shrinks as we motor north, and I try not to calculate how much fuel this thing burns per minute.
"Leonard adores these evening cruises," April says, settling onto a cream. "Says it helps him think."
"Where are we heading?"
"Mackinac Island. It's a thing," she says, as if the island exists in some alternate plane. "Mostly for the fudge and the horses, but Leonard claims it's where his soul was forged."
She uncorks a bottle of Chasselas and pours two glasses. "You’re not from money, are you?" April asks as she hands me one. It's not judgment—just a hunch confirmed by my momentary hesitation at the edge of the boat, my awe at the cut crystal, my inability to decide whether to sit or stand.
"Not even remotely," I admit, and her laughter peals out over the water.
"Don't you love it, though?" April leans back. "The way these men create mythologies out of their own appetites? They collect houses and colleagues and women and lawyers, and every last bit of it is about the old need to win. I married into it and even I still find it exhausting."
"I'm more comfortable in a boardroom than at a black-tie event," I admit, "but I do love watching the rituals from the inside. Even the really weird ones."
She studies me over her glass. "You'll fit in here. Leonard says Caleb only respects people who can skewer him in debate or hold their liquor. I suspect you can do both."
"So why is Caleb such a fixture here?"
April's smile turns knowing. "Leonard likes people who challenge him. Your Mr. Kingsley is the only lawyer in Chicago to ever say no to him. Twice." Her voice drops conspiratorially. "He fired our last guy for telling him what he wanted to hear. Caleb's the only one who acts like he's not afraid."
