Free Me Page 3

  “I’m thinking we might need to talk about you more.”

  The waiter returned with my drink. I gulped half and set the glass down with a thud. “Diane was gone for half a day, and the ship nearly sank.”

  “Ah, I see now. A man with a law degree should be able to keep his practice afloat for at least an afternoon.”

  I pointed at him. “Exactly.” I took another swallow of my drink. “I also realized that I’m not sure if my secretary has taken a day off the entire time she’s worked for me. I’m thinking since I don’t remember, she probably hasn’t.”

  Patrick’s mouth fell open. “How has she not quit?”

  “I have no idea.” I tapped the end of my fork a few times. “No worries. She’ll be back first thing in the morning.”

  “And will spend three days fixing the mess you managed to make in a few hours.”

  “Aren’t friends supposed to tell you everything is going to be okay? I’m pretty sure you should have already told me I’m an amazing boss.”

  “I called you a brilliant legal mind earlier today. That’s the only compliment you’re getting until I need something else from you.” Patrick’s face brightened with a sly grin.

  “We should do this more often.” I felt my own cheeks fill out.

  “You always were a glutton for punishment.”

  “Guess I can’t call you to be my wingman anymore.”

  Patrick’s eyes narrowed. “I’d better be your first choice.”

  “You’re in a serious relationship.” I glanced at my watch. “What time do you need to leave? I’d hate for you to be late.”

  “Shut up.” His eyes lifted toward the ceiling, and I grinned.

  “Next thing I know, you’ll be canceling plans with me. I’ll be going to the Knicks games by myself. Sitting alone at the bar.” I put on my best pout.

  Patrick leaned across the table and punched me in the arm. “It’s not serious.”

  “Fine. Fine.” I held up my hands, though my face said I didn’t believe him. This was serious for him, but I didn’t care one way or the other as long as he was happy. I just couldn’t resist giving him a hard time.

  “Just wait until you settle down. You will never hear the end of it from me.”

  “I’m not the one vehemently opposed to it.”

  “Says the man who hasn’t had a girlfriend since his first year in law school.”

  I lifted a shoulder. “Tell me what’s on your mind. We aren’t here to gossip.”

  “In this case, I’d rather gab all night than think about what I’ve taken on.” Patrick reached for his whiskey, staring into the amber liquid for a moment.

  “I’ve never heard you like this.” I propped my elbows on the table.

  “In our work—well, mine—there’s a certain amount of turning a blind eye. I’ve defended guilty people and won, and never felt a bit of remorse. But if this guy did what they say he did . . ." Patrick trailed off, swallowing hard.

  “Why take the case when you’re so obviously averse to it?”

  He flexed his hand and balled it into a fist, irritation with himself evident. “I owed someone at the bureau a favor.”

  I looked at him skeptically. “Defending a case you don’t want to take seems a little excessive.”

  Patrick darted his eyes away, his cheeks coloring slightly. “I couldn’t say no.”

  “Where do I come in?”

  “I need you to help me figure out how to get this guy a reduced sentence.”

  “Don’t you mean get him off the charges?” Patrick always went for the win. That didn’t include less jail time for his clients. That meant freedom. But I’d never known him to have such a revolted response to a client. And that was saying something. He represented scum that I wouldn’t want to be anywhere near, yet he didn’t want him to get off?

  “No.” No hesitation.

  “What the hell is this about? It must be pretty bad for you to react this way.”

  “One of the worst things I’ve ever heard of.” Patrick leaned forward at the same time I did.

  “I just need something so it doesn’t look like I’ve botched the case on purpose.”

  My brows rose. What had he gotten himself into? “Are you going to?”

  He cleared his throat. “I’ve thought about it.”

  “Can’t you turn the case over to someone else? Come up with a conflict of interest. Hell, even a crisis of conscience. Anything to get you out of defending him.”

  “I can’t.” Patrick sagged in his seat, pressing his palm into his forehead. “I’ve gotten murderers off, but this . . .” Though his glass was empty save the ice cubes, he picked it up and tipped it to his lips anyway. “I’m supposed to look out for my client’s best interest, but this is too much even for my conscience.”

  “Get yourself fired,” I said.

  He brightened before his face fell. “I can’t do that. I have to do my best.”

  “That’s why you’re so damn successful.”

  “Remind me to never solicit an FBI agent for sex.” He wadded up his napkin and tossed it on the table.

  What? “That’s what you did?”

  “It was a long time ago. I was shit-faced. She showed mercy on me, even gave me a lift back to my place. Since she let me off the hook, I owed her a favor.”

  “Why the hell would she cash it in on this scumbag?”

  Patrick’s eyes met mine. “He’s her brother.”

  Chapter Five

  Trish

  “Tell me all the things.”

  Gemma studied an eggplant carefully before putting it in her basket.

  “It’s a lot.” Something about saying that out loud felt like a weight off. “I couldn’t be doing any of this without you.”

  I fussed with Ella’s stroller. Somehow, she was sleeping despite all the noise of the farmers’ market.

  Gemma stopped scrutinizing vegetables and looked at me. “You could.”

  I appreciated her confidence in me, but if it weren’t for her, I’d likely still be spending my days hiding away at Paths of Purpose. There were times I wanted to do that, but building a future for Ella and having something to work toward was more fulfilling than I’d realized it would be. I’d had nothing for so long. This dream was overwhelming sometimes, but it was mine. How could I properly thank Gemma for giving me that?

  “How are you balancing time with the little one?”

  This was one of the things I loved about Gemma. She was kind, but she didn’t waste time. When I was with her, we accomplished a lot.

  I glanced down at my daughter. “We’re making it. She’s with me in the kitchen all morning while I prep the food. She stays in the daycare at Paths until I get home. And we spend Sundays together.”

  I felt guilty for the hours apart, but it was a sacrifice I was willing to make because in the big picture, this was all for Ella.

  Gemma made a satisfied grunt. “Is the kitchen at Paths still working out for your food prep?”

  I picked up a pear. This would be nice as a sweet side dish. “It’s great. That kitchen is huge. There’s plenty of room for Miss Nece and me to work together. Eventually, I may need my own space and more help, but for now, it’s perfect.”

  She’d suggested using the kitchen at Paths almost as if she’d intuitively known I didn’t stray far from the shelter. Until she’d shown me Delores the first time, I hadn’t set foot out of the safety of Paths since Ella and I had arrived. I was eager to be out in the world again and scared at the same time.

  But hiding away was really no different than what I’d been through in the years before I’d been rescued. Only I’d made the choice to do so at Paths. That wasn’t how I wanted to spend my life. And it wasn’t what I wanted to teach my daughter. So here I was, pretending I knew what I was doing out in the real world when I didn’t have a clue. I’d figure it out.

  “I’m expanding my own prep kitchen, so when you need to grow, you’re more than welcome to use it.”

  I gaped at her. She’d been so generous with her time, her money, her experience, and her resources. Even though she’d been this way from the time we first spoke after her presentation at Paths, it never ceased to astound me.

  She had her own chain of food trucks in the surrounding tri-state area that was growing at a rapid pace, yet she always made time for me.

  “Thank you,” I said quietly. “For everything.” My eyes stung, but I focused on the display of fruit in front of me. I cleared my throat and attempted to get back to business. “The vendors you set me up with have been a dream to work with too.”

  She grinned. “You should’ve seen me with my first truck. I came here every day to select vegetables for quality and freshness, but it took so much time.” She picked up a few onions and set them aside. “Once Pop caught on, he set me up with ordering, and I never looked back.”

  “Where is he today?” I looked around for the man who ran the largest stand at this farmers’ market.

  She shrugged. “Not sure. I wondered why it was so quiet around here.”

  “He delivered my things himself the other day and said he handpicks everything for me.” I smiled to myself. It was as if kindness was contagious. “And Mrs. Quinn switched over to Pop as our vendor at Paths too.”

  “He’s a good man. Did I tell you he was how I found Hartford Ranch?”

  I nodded. The ranch specialized in raising animals in a humane and natural environment. Gemma had instilled in me the importance of quality from farm to plate. It was a value we shared now, and the meat from Hartford Ranch was one of the reasons my food truck was so successful. In a city that raced at the pace of New York, fast food often substituted for much-needed vitamins and minerals. I wanted people to eat well. It was another thing stripped from me . .
.

  “I hope to visit there someday. Maybe when Ella is a little older and can enjoy it.” And we won’t have to hide. Which was absurd, considering operating a food truck was a risk in and of itself. We were probably a lot safer visiting a ranch than serving the public in New York City. My hope was that hiding in plain sight in a city of millions would keep me concealed.

  “Let me know when you can work it out, and I’ll tag along.” Gemma handed her stuffed basket to the cashier.

  “How do you do it?” I asked.

  “Do what?” She pulled her wallet out of her bag.

  “Everything. You’re doing so much more than I am, yet sometimes I feel like I can’t handle it all.”

  Her features turned sympathetic. “I’ve been where you are. And this is still so, so hard. But this dream is what I want. It’s what I’m meant to be doing. And I have a lot of help. I’ve learned along the way not to be afraid to ask for it when I need it.”

  “I keep thinking I’ll get it all together soon. Or at least I’ll know what I’m doing. But most of the time, I feel like I’m running from moment to moment,” I said honestly.

  Every day, I was up before the sun. Ella and I prepped food with help from the ladies at the shelter occasionally. I spent the afternoons on my feet and the evenings inventing new creations while preparing for the next day. My menu rotated five main dishes and sides to keep things simple for now, but the cakes allowed me to be creative. It was exhausting yet energizing. Because I wanted this to be successful. It had to be.

  And I loved everything about having my own business.

  “We made a plan, and you’re sticking to it. There will be some rough patches, but you’ll adapt and push through.” She leaned in toward me. “Want to know a secret? Success comes from getting up and going after it.”

  I did that. And even if sometimes I felt like I didn’t know what I was doing, I was proud of what I’d accomplished in such a short time.

  I paid for my own produce, and we wandered toward the street.

  “Delores holding up okay?”

  “She’s great,” I said. “I still can’t believe how different she looks from when she was yours.”

  Gemma had given me Delores when she’d purchased a new truck. She’d had it painted and outfitted to fit the concept we’d planned together.

  “She looks better than when I had her.” She paused when we reached the street corner. “I’m headed out to Seattle for a few months.”

  I shoved down the unease at being on my own with the business and put a big smile on my face. “You got everything worked out?”

  “Yeah. We’re taking this thing bi-coastal.” She could barely contain her enthusiasm. I’d been honored she’d shared her plans to expand to the West Coast with me. She hadn’t been sure it would happen, but she’d been determined. And seeing Gemma that way had made her more real to me.

  “That’s wonderful,” I said, genuinely happy for her.

  “I’m only a phone call away. Nothing changes. When you need me, I’m here.” She leaned down and tickled Ella’s ribs.

  Ella screamed.

  We laughed. It was just my little girl’s thing.

  “I appreciate everything.” I gripped the handles of the stroller tightly. “Oh, and I’ll send over my spreadsheets with the financials at the end of the week.”

  Gemma never asked me to be accountable, but she’d funded my entire venture. I wanted her to see I used her money wisely. Plus, she had more experience with bookkeeping than I did. Sometimes she saw places I could trim that I didn’t.

  “I’ll take a look, but so far, you’re profitable. We can definitely grow that.” She shifted her bag from one hand to the other. “I better run.”

  I checked my watch, uncomfortable with goodbyes, even if they were temporary. “Me too. Thanks for making time for me.”

  “I always will. And Trish?”

  “Yeah?”

  “I’m proud of you.”

  Chapter Six

  Trish

  Andrew didn’t show up yesterday.

  I’d tried to convince myself I wasn’t disappointed but quickly abandoned the effort. Until he didn’t come, I hadn’t realized how much I’d wanted to see him again.

  The lunchtime crowd began to build. Some of my early regulars came and went before the deluge of New York City’s finest arrived. They provided a pretty decent distraction from Andrew, but he was never far from my thoughts.

  “Hey.” Sonya bumped her hip with mine. “I said order up.”

  “Right.” I shook the cobwebs from my head.

  “Everything okay?”

  “Fine.” I grabbed the ticket from the machine and set to work filling the order while Sonya operated the cash register. She’d volunteered to come back again today to help me after we were so slammed yesterday.

  “If you skip this chocolate cake, you’ll regret it the rest of the day,” she said.

  I glanced at the officer she was trying to upsell. By the look on his face, she’d succeeded. “You’re right. Pack me a slice to go.”

  She slid a piece in a box as I set his container of food at the window.

  “Thanks,” I said.

  “We’ll see him again tomorrow,” Sonya informed me.

  The officer blushed a little and laughed. “Probably.”

  “Definitely,” Sonya said.

  He grabbed his food, and the next customer came up. I recognized the woman, though it had been a while since I’d seen her.

  “Grandma Carter, I have just the thing for you.” Sonya looked over at me. “She’ll love those chicken things you made. The sun-dried tomato and mozzarella one.”

  “Coming right up.”

  The two of them spoke in hushed tones about something. They looked up to no good. Then again, Sonya was always causing trouble.

  “Just box up the whole cake,” Grandma Carter said.

  “But some of it’s missing. We don’t have another whole one.” Sonya motioned toward the glass dome which housed a coconut cake.

  “Why the hell not?”

  I stifled a snicker. The lady was blunt; I’d hand that to her.

  Sonya looked at me, perplexed. “Why the hell don’t we have more cakes?”

  “I’m already baking two more a day than I was a week ago.”

  “Still not enough.” I snapped my head up to find Mr. Hardaway at the window. “And you can’t sell her the rest of my cake.”

  Sonya mouthed, “Oh, shit.”

  “Mr. Hardaway, you should have come by earlier,” I said.

  All I got in response was a grunt and a glare.

  “This gives cake wars an entirely new meaning,” Sonya said.

  “I thought this was fast food,” Grandma Carter complained, shifting back and forth on her feet. “Old people aren’t meant to stand up this long.”

  “Don’t bother explaining that to her,” Mr. Hardaway said, jerking his thumb in my direction. “She has no respect for the elderly. Otherwise, she wouldn’t be giving you my cake.”

  Grandma Carter gave him an unimpressed look. “Ever heard ‘you snooze, you lose’?”

  Sonya quickly turned her back to them and pressed her fist against her mouth. We looked at each other, both of us trying not to laugh.

  “Mrs. Carter, I’ve packed up your lunch to go.” I handed her a paper bag with twine handles through the window.

  “Want me to bring this home later? You’ve got your hands full,” Sonya said.

  Grandma Carter leveled her with a look. “Hell no. I can’t trust you not to sell the rest of my cake.” She rummaged around in her bag, muttering to herself, “Whoever heard of selling someone a cake almost halfway gone?”

  She slammed her money and a black velvet box on the counter and snatched the bag with her cake from where it rested.

  “How long are you in town?” I asked before she left.

  “As long as I feel like it.”

  She shuffled off. Sonya, Mr. Hardaway, and I stared after her. I felt a little stunned, chancing a glance over at Sonya, who looked a second away from laughing.

  “She strikes again,” I said, motioning toward the jewelry box.

  Sonya squeezed her eyes shut. “Don’t look at me, or I’ll lose it.”