When the law offices of Ernst, Scargill, and Peterson threw a Christmas party, they spared no expense, that much was certain. Even in today's lackluster economy, the firm pulled out all the stops.
The location of the festivities rotated from one office to the next. This year it was Richmond's turn. Partners and top earners from all the offices were flown in, at company expense, on Friday afternoon to enjoy a luxurious weekend at a posh, exclusive hotel.
Will glanced around the hotel ballroom located near the historic Shockoe Slip district. Despite his jaded disposition, he was impressed. Garlands of evergreen plaited with red-berried holly leaves decorated the room's many arches and grand Ionic columns. Scotch pine trees twinkled with dancing white lights, while an orchestra of eight set the mood for this grand holiday celebration.
Fellow partners, attorneys, and special clients gathered under the huge multi-crystalled chandelier. Dressed in their holiday finest, they danced to Christmas tunes, or ate tasty appetizers, or chatted with friends at this champagne reception. Dinner was scheduled for eight o'clock.
Chatting with Kevin Ballantine, Will watched everyone else having a good time. He felt more like Scrooge than Santa Claus.
"Swell gig," Kevin commented as he munched on an hors d'oeuvre, and then washed it down with whisky.
"As usual." Will also downed his whisky--plain. He was in no mood for food. He hadn't been for days now.
Raising bushy red eyebrows, Kevin wagged a stubby finger at him. "Play nice, m'laddie. I see our sainted trio, Ernst, Scargill, and Petersen, looking our way."
Will shrugged. He didn't have to kowtow anymore to the powers that be, especially to his former father-in-law. Truth be told, he was in a lousy frame of mind. He shouldn't have come to this party.
But Stella had insisted.
He finished his drink and signaled to a server for another.
"Hey, hey, take it easy." Kevin stretched out his hand, slowing Will from his descent into oblivion. "Getting plastered in front of the senior partners is not the way to win friends and influence people."
Will loosened his tie with its ridiculous image of a reindeer emblazoned upon it. An early present from Stella.
"I'm not plastered. Just feeling no pain." He scanned the groups of nearby revelers. "Where's your wife?"
Kevin had recently married and just as recently, had become a partner at the firm. As a result, his rough-around-the-edges demeanor had considerably softened.
"Naomi?" He raised up on his toes to look over the crowd. "I don't see-- Oh, there she is. On the dance floor with that guy from Honolulu." He flared his nostrils.
Will withheld his laugh. By the look of things, Kevin was ready to punch out his wife's hapless partner. Then what Kevin had said finally penetrated.
"Honolulu?" As he looked over the dancers, he asked, "Who's from Honolulu? Nathan Lawai'a?"
"Nope." Kevin's ruddy face had deepened in color. He reminded Will of a bull getting ready to charge. "That new partner, Jack Fairweather."
Will zeroed in on Fairweather, dancing with the petite Naomi. He narrowed his gaze. He had no doubt Fairweather would continue his pursuit of Andrea.
And speaking of Andrea, where the hell was she?
Kevin stomped his foot. "I'm gonna cut in. Excuse me." He charged off.
Will couldn't blame his friend for hitting the panic button. Talk of Fairweather's philandering ways had preceded the man's arrival. And also talk of his partner status. Once Will had delivered the news to Randolph that there'd been no foundation to those malfeasance rumors, Fairweather's promotion had been given the green light.
Sipping his whisky, Will walked slowly through the room, exchanging pleasantries with new and old acquaintances. He did all this by rote. Foremost on his mind was Andrea. Since Randolph was present and accounted for at this reception, Andrea had to be here as well.
Someone tapped him on the back. Will turned around. George Ziegler, Randolph's current fair-haired favorite, lifted his fluted champagne glass in greeting.
"Hello, Will. How's it going?"
"It's all good, George." Will continued to dart his gaze around the room. "Enjoying the party?"
"Naturally. Holiday cheer, and all that." Ziegler took a drink. "I wanted to tell you, I met your wife."
"Stella?" Will immediately searched for her long blonde hair and swathed-in-violet figure. She didn't seem to be in the ballroom. Perhaps she was still talking with that Texan client he'd introduced her to.
Ziegler grinned, looking like a Cheshire cat. "No, your first wife, Andrea."
Hell. Will nearly dropped his glass. Obviously Randolph was engaging in his matchmaking schemes, the same as he had with Will.
He refrained from commenting.
"Quite a beauty," Ziegler added. "A real knockout."
The word knockout only called to mind what Will wanted to do to Ziegler. He submerged this violent urge by finishing his drink.
"Where is Andrea?" Will hoped his voice remained steady. "Randy told me he needed to speak with her."
A lie, but Ziegler wouldn't know the difference.
The man pointed toward the orchestra. "The big man's found her. They're dancing now. It looks like they're doing the cha-cha."
Will turned his gaze toward the front of the ballroom. He skipped over Randolph's silver head to focus on Andrea.
Dear God! He gulped down his desire. She wore a navy blue dress--modest by today's standards. Sleeveless and V-necked, but not cut too low. Her slim waist was accented by a wide sequined belt, and the flirty hem ended right above her knees.
Will licked his lips. Yeah, it was a modest dress, but damn, did his pulse race. She looked ravishing.
Setting his empty glass on a side table, he straightened his reindeer tie. "Thanks, George. I think I'll pay my respects."
His sights set on Andrea, Will didn't see anyone else. He reached his goal just as the music ended.
Andrea looked up at him and smiled.
"Will, there you are." Randolph slapped him on the shoulder as a greeting. "We were just talking about you."
"Nothing bad, I hope." Will spoke to the older man but his gaze was riveted on Andrea.
"Of course not." Randolph flitted his gaze from Will to his daughter and back.
Strains of Irving Berlin's "White Christmas" added to the holiday cheer already floating about the ballroom.
Randolph took Andrea's hand and placed it in Will's. "Why don't you two dance? I've got to go talk with Petersen about a trivial matter."
Will grasped her hand. His ardent wish was to never let her go.
She tilted her head at her father. "Don't you mean an important matter, Dad?"
"You being back is an important matter, my dear. Everything else pales in comparison." Randolph shooed them away. "Now, go. Dance."
"Gladly." Still holding her right hand, Will curved his left arm around her waist and swung her into a slow two-step.
She felt like heaven.
Andrea pulled back to place more space between them. "Wilson, you're too close."
"You feel pretty good to me," he murmured into the softness of her hair. "I'm dreaming of something other than a white Christmas."
Although he couldn't see her expression, he knew she was smiling. "You've had too much to drink."
He moved so he could gaze straight into her eyes. "Possibly."
Those eyes, usually warm, tropical blue, had deepened to match the navy of her dress. "Wilson," she warned. "I'm telling you, we're dancing too close. I can feel..."
She blushed. "Well, you know."
He executed a turn before replying. "I'm happy to see you, Andrea."
Her blush intensified. She raised her head to whisper into his ear. "People are going to talk, Wilson."
He sighed. She was right. Her nearness so intoxicated him, he was throwing all caution to the wind.
Loosening his hold, he whispered back, "There. Is that better?"
Her lower lip trembled. "Yes."
"It's not better for me," he grumbled.
She removed her hand from his shoulder to flip back her long hair. "You're being bad. Changing the subject, what are your holiday plans?"
He shrugged. "I have no idea. They're unimportant. Ditto to what your father said."
For a brief second, he felt her breasts against his chest as she exhaled. "My father has been wonderful. He truly does enjoy having me around."
"He's not the only one."
"Wilson!" She blinked rapidly. "You're making this very difficult for me."
"Am I?" He moved his right hand closer, with hers in tow, then brushed his lips against her smooth skin and the tops of her knuckles. "I'm sorry, sweetheart. You're right, I've had way too much to drink."
He mentally slapped himself to attention. "I'll change the subject. What are your holiday plans?"
Her eyes seemed to thank him. "I've got two aunts and their families in Vermont. My father and I are flying to Manchester to spend a week there."
The song "White Christmas" was ending, as was his dream of holding onto Andrea forever. He pretended not to hear the ending chords of music. "What will you be doing after Vermont?"
She took a step away from him. "What we talked about. You know, me heading for home."
Hell.
And if that didn't make him feel bad enough, a tap on the shoulder caused him to turn around.
"Sugar." The word was laced with venom.
The Wicked Witch of the West glared at him. At least she was the Wicked Witch of the West to him. Now he'd have to introduce Stella to Andrea.
Double bloody hell.
* * * *
Andrea knew exactly who the angry woman was. At Wilson's house, she'd seen pictures of Stella. The photographs didn't do his wife justice. She really was beautiful. And yet her firmly pressed lips and her tightly clenched jaw showed she had quite a temper.
"Hello. How very nice to meet you." Andrea took matters into her own hands. Dear Wilson couldn't be relied upon to handle the introductions. He had a temper as well, as evidenced by the whiteness around his mouth.
She extended her hand. "I'm Andrea."
The woman gave her a limp shake. "I must say I'm findin' this terribly awkward."
"No, no, these things happen all the time." Andrea's laugh was artificial to her own ears, but hopefully, she sounded genuine to Stella. "First wife, second wife--who can keep count nowadays?"
As she laughed again, she thought furiously. She couldn't allow husband and wife to be alone. In Wilson's condition, he was sure to say something he'd regret in the morning.
After all, he'd called her "sweetheart," hadn't he?
"Wilson." She blinked her eyes, praying that he'd listen to her. "Why don't you get Stella and me some champagne?"
She audaciously took the woman's arm. "And while you do, Stella and I will go off to the side here. This'll give us a chance to chat."
He slightly inclined his head, probably to show he realized what she was doing, and left to procure the champagne. For a moment, Andrea allowed her gaze to follow him. She memorized the way he looked in his steel gray suit before turning back to Stella.
Clearly reluctant, Wilson's wife followed her. The band began playing "Winter Wonderland" as they made their way off the dance floor.
Once out of the dancers' way, Stella pulled her arm free. Her breasts, pushed up and bulging, bounced with the force of her action. In fact, they almost bounced out of her strapless orchid dress.
An idle question teased Andrea. Was this how Wilson liked his women to dress?
"Look," Stella moved over to a vacant corner of the ballroom. "I know you're the daughter of the head of the company, n'all, but I don't appreciate you comin' on to my husband. Especially since you were once married to William."
"William?"
Stella tapped her high-heeled silver shoe against the parquet wood floor. "Did you forget his name already, honey? My husband, the man you were dancin' with."
Andrea pressed her lips together to keep from grinning. Poor Wilson. His wife didn't even know his name.
She smoothed down the taffeta material of her dress. "Actually, his name is Wilson. He just prefers to be called Will."
The woman's pink lips parted, revealing super white teeth. "Honey, I don't care who your daddy is. You keep your mitts off my man. Do you hear me?"
Stella stormed off. Where to, Andrea didn't care. That woman was poison. Unfortunately, she was also the current Mrs. Struthers.
The dinner bell rang out, signaling that the guests should sit at their assigned tables. Suddenly overladen with sadness, Andrea headed for table number one. Other than her father, she didn't know anyone else seated at that table.
Which was a good thing. It would be easy to make small talk with strangers. But as soon as dinner was over, she'd make her excuses, call a taxi, and get out of Dodge.