Just Business Page 4

  “It’s good to see you again.” She wasn’t sure why Dillon was here.

  After a pause, Dillon said, “You too. I’ve been thinking about you. I know you told me you didn’t want to go out to dinner with me, but I’d like to ask a favor instead.”

  “A favor?” What on earth kind of favor could she do for a woman she barely knew?

  “I need a date,” Dillon said.

  “You need a date? Come on, Dillon, you can get a date anywhere.” Her heart was still pounding at the thought that Dillon had come to her. Dillon lifted the cup to her lips, and Callie watched every inch of the movement. She had sensed that Dillon wanted to kiss her the other night, and she had wanted to be kissed. So why did she dive into her car like a teenager?

  “Yeah, well, let me start over. I’ve been invited to a dinner party this weekend, and I’d like for you to accompany me.”

  Dillon tried not to peek at her watch. She had dozens of things to do today, and she hoped trying to convince Callie, when any of a dozen other women would say yes, wasn’t a waste of time.

  “A dinner party?”

  “Yes. The hosts are Bill Franklin and his wife. I’m trying to buy some property from him and he suggested we meet in a more social atmosphere. It’s Saturday. Are you free?” Dillon vaguely remembered Callie mentioning something about a second job, but she couldn’t recall exactly what.

  Callie quickly ran through the calendar in her brain. She was scheduled to work the day shift on her second job and would be off by five o’clock. Most weekends the only things she had going were laundry and visiting Michael. However, she wanted to keep an escape route if something happened that might sway her one way or the other.

  “I think I’m available. I’ll have to check, though. Why did you ask? I told you it wouldn’t be a good idea for us to go out.”

  “You did, but we’re not going out. We’re going to a party.”

  “What’s the difference?” Callie hadn’t seen this invitation coming. She thought Dillon would invite her to something a little more intimate, not something involving a group of people.

  “Well, one concerns just you and me, and the other entails a room full of people.”

  Dillon’s dimples deepened, and Callie was drawn into them just as she was the first time she saw them. “I know the difference between two people having dinner and a party.”

  “I thought maybe you just didn’t want to be alone with me, so this way you have the safety of numbers.” Dillon looked at her empty glass and signaled the waiter for a refill.

  “Should I be afraid to be alone with you?” Callie didn’t think so, and she was generally a good judge of character.

  The waiter refilled their glasses with tea, and Dillon tore open two sweetener packets. “No, not at all. I just thought you might be more comfortable with other people around.”

  The clinking of the teaspoon in Dillon’s glass was almost hypnotic. “I’m not afraid to be alone with you. I said I didn’t think it was a good idea that we went out.”

  Dillon fought down her irritation. This wasn’t going as she had planned. “Look, Callie, we all have some sort of baggage. For some of us it’s Gucci and for others it’s Samsonite. Either way, it doesn’t matter. We all have some. I will admit that yours is a bit more interesting than most, but that doesn’t make me not want to have dinner with you.”

  Dillon wasn’t getting any traction, so she changed her approach. “Callie, it’s just dinner. I won’t know anyone there other than you. We can form a united front. Make people think we’ve known each other for years. Heck, maybe even pretend we’re madly in love.” Callie’s head popped up at her last statement. “Come on, let’s have some fun.”

  “All right, I’ll go.”

  “Great. Franklin lives in Westwood Estates, so I’m sure it’s a dressy kind of thing.” She pulled out a pen and passed it and a napkin to Callie. “Write down your address and I’ll pick you up around six thirty. Drinks at seven, dinner at seven thirty.”

  Dillon contained her sigh of relief as Callie wrote her address on the napkin. Part one of her plan was complete. Well, it was at least penciled in. Something could happen between now and Saturday night, and if it did she would fall back on plan B. However, she was confident she wouldn’t need a plan B.

  Callie was still smiling when Dillon left her at the door of the shop. Ross was waiting for her inside and she knew he would grill her. She wasn’t up to twenty questions so she preempted them.

  “Her name is…” She hesitated as she looked at the name embossed in gold on the business card Dillon had given her, with her cell phone number jotted down on the back in case Callie needed to contact her. “Dillon Matthews, and I met her the other night. We danced a few songs, had a cup of coffee, chatted for a while, and I never expected to see her again. She asked me to go to a dinner party with her, I agreed, and there’s nothing more to say.”

  “Dillon Matthews?” Ross asked.

  “Yes.” Callie answered hesitantly. Ross had that look in his eyes he got when he was on to something. She handed him the business card.

  “Dillon Matthews owns this building. Shit, she owns the entire block.”

  Ross took the card from Callie and turned it over in his pudgy fingers. He whistled. “Very nice, classy.”

  Callie’s stomach lurched. “What? Christ, I had no idea who she was. She said she planned to buy some property from the man who’s having the dinner party, but it was more a social occasion than anything else.”

  Ross handed the card back to her. “I hope you have something very nice to wear, because I don’t think it will be your everyday affair.” He moved behind the counter again and began to tie a red ribbon around the neck of a vase.

  Callie groaned. Her wardrobe consisted primarily of jeans, Dockers, and two pairs of dress slacks, none of which was appropriate for what she imagined the evening would require. Her Visa card was almost maxed out, but maybe, just maybe she could squeeze out another couple of hundred for the black dress she saw on sale a few days ago at Saks.

  “What’s a woman like Dillon Matthews doing in a bar like the Incog?”

  The shortened version of the name of the bar where she met Dillon pulled Callie back from the inside of her closet. “What did you say?”

  “I said that Dillon could have her pick of women. She’s rich and a knockout. If I were a lesbian, I’d be after her. Why is she going to the Incog to get a date?”

  “Ross,” Callie said. “Jeez, it sounds like you think every woman that goes there is desperate and can’t get a date anywhere else. What does that say about me? I was there.”

  Like all bars, the Incognito had its share of women who drank too much and were looking for love in all the wrong places, but she had often seen couples who simply wanted to get out for a night with their friends and go dancing. Callie knew it wasn’t the best place to find someone, but she had met her share of losers in the grocery store as well.

  “Oh, no, sweetie.” Ross began to recover from his snafu. “That’s not what I meant at all. Perfectly good people go to bars, but you have to admit they’re few and far between. I was just wondering what she was doing there.” The phone rang and his attention was immediately diverted.

  Callie had to admit she had wondered the same thing. Why was Dillon there? Callie had assumed she was looking for some casual sex, but when Callie offered, she declined. Dillon obviously found her attractive, and even though Callie might not have wanted to have sex with her, Dillon obviously didn’t think she was a beast. She had invited her to dinner and tracked her down to ask her to a party. A social gathering where everyone would know she was Dillon’s date. Dillon was intriguing, and for the first time in a long while, Callie had something to look forward to.

  But she was wary, also. She returned to the corsage she had abandoned. Why would someone like Dillon pursue her? Her resolve had faded far too easily under Dillon’s charm when she invited her to the dinner party. The rose Callie had been about to use in the co
rsage had wilted, so she chose another one. If Dillon was always this persuasive, Callie would have to be careful because she could very easily fall for her. In fact, she felt as if she had just stepped off a cliff into a deep ravine with no bottom in sight.

  Chapter Five

  The road to Lompak symbolized the isolation of the prison itself. Callie could see for miles in every direction, but the only way to get anywhere was to stay on the long, straight highway that never seemed to end. The drive there usually took three hours, and she had made this trip so many times she had memorized practically every road sign.

  She dreaded these visits with her brother. Her heart ached when she saw him wasting away in such a cold, hard place, where hatred grew daily. He was clearly trying to hide the details of his existence in close proximity with eight thousand men with nothing but time, and occasionally each other, to kill, but she had to do something. Michael was her brother. He had saved her from a vicious attack, possibly worse. She always left feeling sad and angry. She stayed depressed for two or three days afterward, and just when she began to feel better she got back on the road to Lompak. In some ways she was as trapped as Michael, but there was absolutely no comparison.

  Callie pulled into the large parking lot and into a spot in the first row. The lot was usually full when she arrived, but today was Friday, obviously not a high-volume visiting day. She signed her name three times, showed her identification four times, had her purse searched twice, and was finally seated on a hard round stool bolted to the floor. The thick glass that separated her from her brother was scratched, and several people had carved their initials into the counter near where her hands now rested.

  The seat to her left was empty, but a woman with an ass too large for the stool sat to her right. Even though she was practically shouting into the phone she held in her chubby hand, Callie could barely understand what she was saying. Something about his “sorry ass” and her having to get a job while he sat on his butt all day playing cards and talking smack. Callie wondered why the man on the other side of the glass even agreed to see her if all she did was give him shit. She suspected if he refused he would be in even deeper shit when he got out.

  Michael came in, an expectant look on his face, and sat gingerly on the stool across from her. His black hair had been cut short and his complexion was paler than a week ago. She reached for the phone that hung limply on the thick partition and gave a mocking illusion of privacy. The handset was sticky, and she tried not to think out what germ or bodily fluid she was touching.

  On her first visit she pulled a travel-size bottle of hand sanitizer from her purse and wiped down the phone that was in a similarly disgusting condition. Michael immediately told her never to do it again, as it would cause him problems. The other inmates would think she considered herself better than everyone else, simply because of her hygienic actions, and because she was his sister, he would get the reputation as well. She gritted her teeth, thinking about the large bottle of disinfectant waiting for her in the car.

  “Hey, buddy.” She greeted Michael with her favorite nickname for him.

  “Hi, Callie. What are you doing here today?” She typically visited him on Saturday, unless she had some news regarding his appeal.

  “Can’t I come visit my brother when I want to?”

  Michael’s voice softened a little and he dropped his sad brown eyes. “You know I don’t want you to see me like this.”

  He had been trying to convince her to stop visiting him. She always ignored him and prayed he wouldn’t make her promise not to come again or, worse yet, refuse to enter the visitation room when she did make the trip.

  “Michael, I love you. You’re my brother, and you’re here because of me.” This was her sentence too.

  “For God’s sake, Callie. When are you going to get over this? It’s not your fault those two creeps broke into your house, or that they broke your nose and hit you so hard your eardrum burst, or that Miller smacked his head on the edge of the nightstand and died. You aren’t to blame for anything, and you certainly aren’t responsible for my actions. How many times do we have to have this argument?” His voice grew louder as he spoke.

  Callie knew Michael was right, but more than reinforced glass separated them now. He had enough crap to deal with. He didn’t need her guilt as well. She reached down and turned up her positive-attitude meter.

  “I have a date tomorrow night.”

  His eyes slowly lit up. He had been badgering her to get on with her life, and his reaction clearly showed his joy that she had done just that. On previous visits she had thought about lying to him, but she respected him enough not to.

  “Well, it’s about time. Tell me about her.”

  Callie smiled as she thought of Dillon. “She’s funny, smart, and confident without being arrogant, and very polite.”

  “And?” her brother prompted.

  “She’s hot. I mean really hot. Her body looks like it was sculpted from marble with all the right muscles and curves in all the right places. She’s got dimples when she smiles and the grayest eyes I’ve ever seen.” Callie felt herself blush.

  “Now, that’s what I wanted to know.” For the first time in months, Michael laughed.

  Callie spent the next twenty minutes sharing her life with him. They talked about the flower shop, her boss, and Dillon. The one thing they didn’t talk about was his case. Michael had told Callie that if she didn’t have any good news about his appeal, he didn’t want to hear anything at all.

  He was the first person she told when she realized she was a lesbian, and he had been her biggest supporter ever since. They would go out together and cruise girls, teasing each other about not having to compete for the same girl. Michael preferred blondes with a few extra pounds on them, and Callie was attracted to dark-haired, strong women.

  The buzzer rang in her ear, signaling she had only five minutes before their time was up. The prison policy allowed no more than thirty minutes per visitation. After that, the line went dead whether they had finished their conversation or not.

  At the one-minute mark the buzzer rang again, and she told Michael how much she loved him and thought about him every day. She promised to describe her date in detail and begged him to be careful. She had just finished when she heard the familiar dead silence on the line. They sat there for a minute before the guard tapped Michael on the shoulder, indicating it was time for him to leave. Again by mutual agreement, Callie left the room first.

  She managed to keep her tears in check through the exit processing, and only when she was in the safety of her locked car did she let them spill onto her cheeks. She could hardly bear the pain of seeing Michael in such a horrendous situation. Her father had left when Michael was a child, and her mother had her own demons to bear. At times like this she felt as if it were her and Michael against the world.

  Callie often wished she had settled down earlier and had someone in her life to help. She had a lot of good friends who were her support system, but they weren’t the same as a partner. A woman who loved her, who would be there for her no matter what she needed. The weight of what she was up against constantly wore on her, but Michael depended on her and she wouldn’t let him down.

  Chapter Six

  The house Dillon was looking for was the next one on the left, and she turned on her blinker and pulled into the wide drive. Callie’s neighborhood was a little run-down, but the yards were neat and free of clutter. The residents obviously had pride in their homes, if not a lot of money. The recently cut grass in Callie’s yard was trimmed to razor-sharp edges. The flower bed running parallel to the driveway was lush, and the smell of fresh gardening mulch filled Dillon’s nostrils when she stepped out of the car. The click, click of the cooling engine mimicked the sound of her heels tapping on the sidewalk as she approached the front door. She pushed the doorbell, suddenly nervous.

  She had been so busy at work that she hardly had a chance to think about this evening with Callie. She had to make a last-mi
nute trip to San Francisco and would have been late tonight if her flight had been delayed any longer. Dillon hated flying commercial, preferring to charter whenever possible. The time it saved her from waiting in security lines and sitting in airports or on the tarmac was “priceless,” as the Visa card commercial said.

  The front door opened and for a moment Dillon wasn’t sure the woman standing in front of her was the same one she’d asked out. June Cleaver she was not. Callie was absolutely dazzling. Her hair was up and away from her face, revealing high cheekbones lightly brushed with makeup. Her blue eyes were bright, clear, and so refreshing Dillon wanted to drown in them. She was wearing a plain black dress held up by straps no thicker than a piano wire. Her shoulders were tan and begged to be caressed. The dress accentuated the curves and planes of her body as if it were made specifically for her. By the time Dillon’s gaze traveled up Callie’s body she was met with a look that was part relief that Dillon liked what she saw and annoyance that she had looked at her like that at all.

  “I’m sorry for staring. But you are absolutely gorgeous.”

  “Thank you. Please come in. I have to grab one more thing and then I’ll be ready.” Callie caught a hint of Dillon’s cologne and recognized it as the one her brother used to wear. She liked it on him and really liked it on her. “Do you want something to drink?” When Dillon shook her head she said, “Please make yourself at home. I’ll just be a minute.”

  She left Dillon in the living room and walked down the hall toward the bedroom. Once inside her knees almost gave out and she practically fell on the bed. She really didn’t need anything other than a minute to pull herself back together. Dillon was the most attractive woman she had ever seen. The clothes she had on at the bar did nothing for her compared to the tan trousers, pale blue shirt, and navy jacket she now wore, all of which Callie suspected were made of raw silk. Tall and elegant and decidedly butch, she was androgynous yet feminine enough to pull off either look with ease. Audrey would say that she was absolutely yummy. Callie had another word for it. Stunning.