Unscripted Page 9

  The farther they walked from the Chambers entrance, the more deflated Megan felt. Danny and Greg remained silent, their expressions almost morose. Annie was something else entirely. She half skipped a few paces ahead of them, humming what she had told the Chambers duo. Tick tock. Tick tock.

  Greg asked, “You think they bought it?”

  “Hard to say,” Danny replied.

  “At least they listened.”

  Megan told them, “If they decline, you can still dump me and go back in, say it was all my idea, try to resuscitate—”

  “Are you kidding?” Annie danced back within range. “That was more fun than a day at the beach. And I love the beach more than champagne.”

  “Doesn’t mean they bought it,” Greg said.

  “Listen to you,” Annie scoffed. “We went in there planning to ask for crumbs. What does Megan do? All but tell those clowns we want a Bentley.”

  Danny watched her skip on ahead. “Annie has a point.”

  Annie returned and gave Danny a butterfly hug, all wings and feather-light touch and speed. “You did good bringing this lady along, D-Byrd.”

  “Actually, she was the one who found me. In jail.”

  Greg winced. “Will that ever stop hurting?”

  “Not for years,” Danny assured him.

  “D-Byrd.” Megan smiled. “Nice tag.”

  “My idea,” Annie assured her. “You know, like T-Bird. Vintage cool with a sort of growl under the hood.”

  Danny asked, “What do you mean, ‘sort of’?”

  Annie gave him another lightning-fast embrace. “I’ve never hugged a felon before.”

  “Point of order,” Megan said. “You’re not hugging one now.”

  The Chambers parking lot was a multistory garage attached by an outdoor walkway to the main building. Only the top execs and their personal guests could park in the smaller basement area—another perk her former boss occasionally enjoyed. Megan was recalling that and a number of other items she would never miss when she realized Danny was unlocking the door to a truly appalling ride. “What are you driving?”

  “I found this in the hotel garage,” Danny said. “My car was in the company name and is tied up in the bankruptcy, remember?”

  “That’s not a car. It’s a health hazard with four tires.”

  He fired the engine, revved it a couple of times, and shrugged. “It got me down here.”

  “That doesn’t mean it will get you back.”

  Annie asked, “How many miles does it have?”

  Danny squinted at the fractured dash. “Seven million.”

  “My dad isn’t using his car,” Megan said. “He can’t since his heart attack. Maybe he’ll loan it to you.”

  Annie said, “Just until your Bentley arrives.”

  Danny cut the motor. “For real?”

  “Can’t hurt to ask. Come to dinner tonight.” Megan pretended not to see the round-eyed look Annie shot Greg, though she felt her face go crimson. She finished lamely, “My folks want to welcome you to the neighborhood.”

  19

  MEGAN SPENT MOST of the drive north reliving her dialogue with the two Chambers executives. All she could see now were her possible mistakes. There was a very real chance she did not have the experience to use such tactics. She feared Rand and the accountant were back there now, gathered with senior Chambers decision makers, preparing to chop her off at the knees. If that happened, Chambers would circumvent her, shutting her out of any future discussions. Which meant one of them—Greg or Danny or Annie—would soon be phoning Megan. They would repeat the caustic response passed on by Chambers and apologize for needing to let her go.

  Every time she felt a faint sense of hope over Annie’s song and dance, she mentally turned back to the morose expressions shared by Greg and Danny. She wondered which of the three would wield the blade. Probably not Danny. She still represented him regarding the hotel’s ownership. Not to mention her instrumental role in freeing him. No, it would be one of the others. Greg was the obvious choice, but Annie might handle it with a humming sympathy. Megan drove through Santa Barbara hoping desperately that it wouldn’t be Danny.

  By the time she took the Buellton exit, no one had called. Ditto when she turned down the road leading to Thrashers Ridge. Her heart raced in a frantic battle to stamp down on hope when she parked.

  Danny arrived twenty minutes later. He was on the phone as he rose from that wretched Jeep. He was too far away for her to make out the words. But his face was creased with weary strain and his free hand pumped in time to his words.

  He cut the connection and carried his frown across the lot. “We’ve got a problem. What am I saying? If only we had just one problem.”

  Megan swallowed, hating how it had to be Danny to tell her. She had finally gotten used to the glass-half-empty emotional state. She was finally accepting that there would be no happy ending for her, no man who could put up with all her jagged edges. But standing there and waiting for Danny to say the words and wound her anew, she missed him already. Maybe in a few more years she could find a way to separate her professional existence from her heart. But all she could think at the moment was how much she secretly hoped they might have had a chance at . . . something.

  Danny went on, “Chambers wants another meeting.”

  “I . . . What?”

  “They were insisting on Greg coming in alone. Which forced our hand. I wanted you to be on point. But I couldn’t . . .”

  Megan had spent her entire adult life assuming she never cried. It was a defining trait. And yet here she was for the second time in two days, swallowing against the burning lump. Wishing she could turn away, just for a moment, and wipe her eyes. When she was certain her voice would remain fairly steady, she said, “You couldn’t tell him or Annie to take this step. They had to reach the decision on their own.”

  “Right. Greg has an attorney he’s used for two years—”

  “Wright-Patten. I know.”

  “He’s complained about them ever since he signed. Even so, his knee-jerk response was to bring them in. They’re the last firm we should be working with on this. They’d take a week to wind their watch.”

  “But you couldn’t tell him that.”

  Danny fought against the weary burdens dragging down the edges of his face. And smiled. “Annie did it for us. I wish you could have heard her hit those high notes. She didn’t actually strike Greg. But it was touch and go for a while.”

  “Remind me to thank her next time we meet.”

  “Which will be tomorrow. They’re back in LA packing. And fretting over what comes next.” Danny swiped his forehead. “We don’t have a story. We’ve got a fourteen-year-old actress who’s never stood in front of a camera. Emma has no idea what it means to work a sixteen-hour schedule.”

  “Danny, back to Chambers.”

  “Right. Sorry. It means you’ve got to turn around and head back to LA tomorrow.” He waved his phone. “I just heard that our project has been kicked up a level. The guy’s name is Lawrence Abbott—he’s number three on the programming totem pole. Greg and I have both checked. Nobody we’ve spoken with had a single nice thing to say about the guy.”

  Megan resisted the urge to rush forward and hug the man. “So . . . Greg agreed.”

  Danny looked momentarily confused. “To what?”

  “To my being made attorney of record for the project.”

  “Didn’t I already say that?”

  “No, Danny. You missed that point.”

  “Right. Sorry.” He rubbed his face. “Long day. Bad night.”

  She was so relieved her legs felt weak. “Of course I’ll go.”

  “Megan . . . we don’t have any ammunition.”

  “What’s the worst that could happen?”

  “Lawrence apparently likes to turn the screws.”

  “What does that mean?”

  Danny turned in the direction of the eastern hills. His neck corded up like he was going to yell the words. “He
’ll punish us for pushing. He’ll cut the budget. Again. Force us to take actors of his choice. ‘This or nothing’—apparently that’s a favorite phrase. ‘This or the door.’”

  It amazed her that he didn’t add how their current state was her fault. The only thing she could think to say was, “Go have a shower. Change your clothes. Then come have dinner with my folks.”

  20

  MEGAN WAS SURPRISED by Danny’s response to her parents. Gone was the confidence, the suppressed anger, the boxer’s readiness to battle the world. Instead, Danny entered her home with an uncertain tread.

  Equally unexpected was how her parents responded. Her mother showed him an almost courtly grace, grasping his hand in both of hers, smiling from the heart, and saying what a joy it was to have him join them.

  Sarah led Danny through the house and onto the broad rear porch. Her father closed his Bible, set it on the side table, and rose from his chair in stages. He then waited for Danny to walk over. Richard’s speech had become increasingly fragmented. He held Danny’s hand a good deal longer than politeness required and said, “Sorry.”

  Danny seemed confused. “For what?”

  Richard motioned to the oxygen tank, the plastic tubes that snaked up his back and plugged into his nostrils. His voice was muted, almost robotic. “My state.”

  Danny shrugged, clearly uncertain how to respond.

  Sarah asked, “Danny, will you have something to drink?”

  “I’m good, thanks.”

  “Dinner will be just a few minutes. Megan, why don’t you give me a hand.”

  But Megan lingered in the doorway and watched as Danny turned toward the screens and said, “Wow.”

  Her father asked, “You like gardens?”

  “Never been around them much. Not like this.”

  “This is Sarah’s gift. One of many.”

  Megan sensed her mother step up beside her in time to hear Danny say, “I was raised in the Arizona foster-care system. The families who took me, they weren’t into flowers.”

  Megan listened to her father’s raspy breathing. “It was bad?”

  “Some, yeah. Awful. But the last guy, he was great. A Marine.” Danny glanced at the Bible on the table by her father’s chair. “He was a believer. It didn’t take.”

  Her father shrugged. “There’s time.”

  Danny smiled and stared out the rear screen. “You know the names to all of these?”

  “Most.” Another few breaths, then, “What happened to your parents, Danny?”

  “My dad was a gambler—my mom used to say he was addicted to losing. Which was pretty much the pot calling the kettle black. The state took me into care when I was six.”

  “I’m sorry.”

  Danny nodded. “My mom passed away when I was twelve. When they brought me the news, I went totally off the rails. I mean, it was touch and go before. But the week after they told me, I went looking for the worst trouble I could get into. Me and JR, my best friend, we stole a gun from our foster folks’ closet and robbed a bank.”

  Megan heard her father make an unfamiliar sound and thought for a moment he was choking. Then she realized he was laughing, so hard he had trouble drawing breath.

  “How old was your buddy?”

  “Thirteen.”

  Richard gripped Danny’s upper arm and motioned toward the rear door. “Let’s go sit in the shade.”

  Danny took it slow, allowing her father to lean on his strength. The screen door slapped shut behind them. Megan heard Danny say, “They sent us to juvie. Fourteen months. It was the best thing that ever happened to me . . .”

  Sarah took a long breath and touched Megan’s arm. “Come away.”

  Megan shrugged off her mother’s hand and followed the men into the back garden. She stood at a distance and watched as Danny helped ease her father onto a bench beneath the Lebanese cedar. They faced a quilt-work of dahlias and sat there in silence for a time, until her father said, “What happened in juvie?”

  “I woke up to where I was headed. It scared me. Bad.”

  “Remarkable,” her father rasped. “So young, with so many reasons to stay angry and blind.”

  Danny responded by leaning forward and planting his elbows on his knees. “JR came out kind of half broken. And it was my fault. I was the one who knew where the old man kept his gun. I led. JR followed. They split us up when we got back to juvie. That lasted maybe five months. Then we ran away and met up. Twice. Soon after, the old Marine offered to take us. JR never did tell me what happened to him. But I know . . .”

  “You can’t blame yourself, son.”

  Danny remained as he was, crouched like he was ready to spring up and fling himself away. Instead, he said to the ground, “Megan told you how we met?”

  “Beverly Hills Jail. Because your best friend stole everything.” Richard patted Danny’s shoulder. “I’m sorry, son.”

  Danny’s gaze remained planted on the ground. “The only reason I’m not angrier with JR is because he at least waited this long to pay me back.”

  Megan stood there long enough to be certain her father was not going to respond. Then she turned around and walked toward the house.

  After dinner, Megan stood to one side and observed the almost formal farewells. She had spent much of the evening in observation mode. Listening to her parents talk with her new client as if they had been friends for several lifetimes. Danny was more than just at ease with them. When he spoke, it was with the quiet confidence of a man who knew he belonged. The stains from jail time and bad sleep and new stress lessened considerably. His fatigue was still there, of course. But it no longer defined him.

  As they stood by the door, Sarah said, “The Buick. Richard, where are your car keys?”

  Megan watched as her father fiddled the key off his ring and handed it over. Danny’s response was very subdued. Sarah hugged him. Richard shook his hand a final time. Danny offered them both a very solemn, softly spoken thanks. As he followed Megan outside, Sarah called, “Don’t be a stranger.”

  She and Danny crossed to the garage. Megan opened the doors to the second bay. For the first time in eight and a half months.

  Danny stared at the Buick. “I never talk about myself. But that’s all I did tonight. Talk.”

  She saw his wounded state and decided to tell him something that had occurred to her during dinner. “My favorite professor taught third-year contracts. He was a master at making the companies and the people and the conflicts come alive. I became his assistant for the second half of the year—unpaid, of course—and in return he used his influence to land me a clerkship.”

  Megan found it easier to talk if she turned away from Danny. She watched the moths circle the carriage lights. “This evening I thought of something he said once, and it really blew me away at the time. He said the best contract lawyers were the ones who heard the unspoken. The hopes and dreams and fears that both sides held, sometimes so tightly they didn’t even know it themselves. A good contract attorney has to be a mediator first and foremost. And the best mediator is someone who can translate conflicting emotions into some form of harmony. But to do that, they have to look beneath the surface. See the unseen. Hear the unspoken.”

  Danny stared at her now, so intently his dark gaze held a fire all its own. Megan heard herself add, “Daddy has been increasingly cut off. Your talking to him meant the world.”

  “Really? He didn’t say much.”

  “He talked more tonight than he has in weeks. You made him feel . . . needed.”

  Danny was silent a long moment. “It’s been a while since I was reminded to look beyond the problems of today.”

  “I don’t remember Daddy saying that.”

  Danny walked over and gave her a brief, strong hug. “It’s what I heard.”

  She stood at the point where the drive met the street long after the night swallowed the car’s rear lights. Feeling his arms.

  21

  MEGAN SKIPPED her pre-dawn run and left Solvang whe
n the sunrise was merely a faint grey wash over the eastern hills. She drove first to the San Luis Obispo offices, signed forms piled on her desk, and had a quick coffee with Sonya Barrett. Megan found a genuine sense of professional comfort in discussing her situation with the former Wright-Patten attorney. Even when she had to confess, “I’ll be entering Chambers without any ammunition.”

  “You have your clients’ backing and their confidence. That’s a lot.”

  “I wish I could hand them the world. They deserve it.”

  “Your affection for them is probably the best thing they could ask for, given the circumstances.” Sonya walked her to the elevators. “Lawrence Abbott is not a nice man. I once handled a dispute where he was part of the opposition. That was before he joined Chambers. Don’t go in there hoping to appeal to his good side. He doesn’t have one.”

  Several of Megan’s former colleagues at K&K had been as close to friends as they could afford, given the fact that they all competed for the same corner office. Gary Landis had been foremost among them, a running back from Iowa State. It was easy to forget that the massive build and easy grin and good-old-boy manner hid a fairly brilliant mind.

  When Megan called Gary on the drive south, he answered with, “Tell me we’re not breaking up the happy home, doll.”

  “Point of clarification,” she replied. “I’m nobody’s doll.”

  He laughed with the ease of a good-hearted kid. “The folks I like here at K&K are all walking around with black armbands. Nobody can explain why the best of the lot suddenly left the building. Off chasing Elvis is my guess.”

  “If you wanted to know so bad, why didn’t you call?”

  He lost his good humor. “We’ve been officially ordered not to have any contact with you.”

  “Wait, what?”

  “For real.”

  “Have you ever heard of them doing that with somebody else who left?”

  “No, but you’re the first senior associate anybody can recall who volunteered to walk the plank.”

  She pondered that a long moment. “Something more than my departure is at work here.”