Page 4 of Three Sweet Nothings (The Blindfold Club)

Chapter

TWO

ONE MONTH LATER

Spoons. I was actually getting ready to write a motion about spoons.

Keith and Elizabeth Gillespie had been in the process of divorcing for more than two years. Their union had begun forty-three years ago, and I was certain they’d despised each other at least that long. So why had they gotten married in the first place? Keith said the sex, even now, was fantastic.

They fought over everything as I struggled to separate their assets. Last month it had been the window treatments. Now it was a set of collectable spoons from a trip they’d taken to Rome. In 1997.

Two years ago, I’d been at a top-tier firm in Manhattan, arguing cases that mattered. Now, I’d been handed the Gillespie’s joke of a divorce, a case from the bottom of the barrel. Punishment for not coming to James, Franklin, and McCreary after I’d graduated law school as my parents expected me to. It’d been five years and they still weren’t over it.

I spun in my office chair, turning to glance out the floor-to-ceiling window. I stared at the black tinted windows of another high-rise. If I leaned forward in my chair, there would be a break in the buildings and I could see a sliver of Lake Michigan.

“Kyle.”

My father stood in my doorway, one hand on the door frame. Robert McCreary’s hair was graying and had gone completely white at the temples. It made him look trustworthy, when the truth was he was a shark.

“What’s your schedule for New Year’s Eve?”

My parents wanted to spend the holiday together as a family? That’d be a first.

“I don’t have anything yet. Why?”

“Your mother double booked us for a fundraising event and a midnight cruise with the partners.” He didn’t pause long enough for me to protest, since I knew what he was about to say. “We need you to go to the fundraiser for us.”

“Uh, pass.”

He stepped into the office, pulling my door shut. “The school’s unveiling their new McCreary theater, so a McCreary has to attend for the press release.”

I bit back the swear word I wanted to let loose. It wasn’t like they could ask Payton. She didn’t even hyphenate her new last name with her maiden one, as if she couldn’t wait to get rid of it.

And my parents wouldn’t forgo anything with their precious partners. The plain expression on my father’s face said he wouldn’t take no for an answer.

I scrubbed away the wrinkle that was developing on my forehead. “All right, all right.” The old me would have just gone with it, but not anymore. If I was giving up my holiday to perform a symbolic ribbon cutting, I deserved something in return. “But I get my pick from the client list next time I have an opening.”

Displeasure was an ugly expression on my father’s face. I didn’t blindly accept his demand, and it was as if I had insulted him. He didn’t have a choice, though. His grimace faded into resignation. “Agreed.”

As he exited my office, my focus returned to my computer screen. I’d done what I could to ensure this was the last goddamn motion I ever wrote about spoons.

Soldier Field was thick with Bears fans, anxious for football. After taking an escalator, two elevators, and following a winding hallway, I arrived at the box suite. I’d taken Julius’s case pro bono, which allowed me to keep it under the radar from my parents, and as a thank you, Julius had invited me to watch the game with him. The Chicago Bears versus their arch rival the Green Bay Packers.

Tickets would have cost a fortune, but not for Julius. He’d played football in college with Tariq Crawford, a cornerback for the Bears. At least a third of the fans I’d passed coming up here had Crawford’s number on their jerseys.

I hung my coat in the space just inside the door and stared through the deep room out the glass to the stadium beyond. Players warmed up on the field, which was starting to yellow from winter.

The suite was half-full with people, more women than men, and a few children sat at a side table, engrossed in their tablets while adults mingled by the marble-top bar. Fancy-looking appetizers waited under heat lamps, while a black and white portrait of George Halas looked on.

Julius was already seated in the tiered leather seats facing the sloping window. He looked at ease as he stared at the field, and I wondered how many times he’d seen this view before.

“Hey,” I said.

“You made it.” Julius came to his feet and gave me a strong handshake. He was a bear of a man, who could look intimidating if you didn’t know him. His dark skin had a sheen on the dome of his shaved head, but when he flashed a warm smile, it became contagious.

I’d helped him through negotiations with the FBI. His club continued to operate under the FBI’s supervision, and as long as he fully cooperated, he received immunity, along with all of his staff. Including my sister.

Once his case was over, he’d stopped being a client and had become my friend. Payton had been right; it was impossible not to like Julius.

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