Foreclosure: A Novel Read Online Free Page A

She grimaced. “Buzz kill.”
    “You work with him?”
    “How do you know Frank?”
    “I don’t. That’s why—”
    “So you wanted to meet Frank, maybe pitch some work to him?”
    He nodded. “I guess you could say that.”
    “And you seem like such a nice boy.”
    “You don’t think I’m up for it?”
    “I sure hope not.”
    Katherine sat back in her seat and crossed her arms.
    “I’m sorry if I brought up a sore subject.” He wished he could find a magic button to rewind the night by about sixty seconds. “You said you have a flight in the morning. Where to?”
    “The Bahamas. Tickets are half off on New Year’s. Which is why I’m here with you on New Year’s Eve.”
    But a rewind button would do him no good. “You going with Frank?”
    “You guessed it. He’s down there fishing now with a few buddies. We’re all getting together for the holiday. To celebrate.”
    “Celebrate what?”
    “Two thousand seven.” She chugged the rest of her drink, rolled her eyes, and shook her head.
    “Like I said, I’m awkward in conversation.”
    She nodded, ever so slowly, cleared her throat, and then moistened her lower lip with the tip of her tongue. “Well, are you awkward in bed?”

    David hit send on an email to Blake Hubert that attached a bullshit report no one would ever read. He had to give Blake some credit: his email reminding David that Blake needed the year-end litigation reports tonight could not have been more providentially timed. Five glasses of wine and a highball chaser following today’s events were nearly enough for David to indulge in his first one-night stand since he’d met Lana. But he knew he wasn’t ready for that. Not to mention how sleeping with Katherine might implicate his pursuit of O’Reilly. After reading Blake’s email on his BlackBerry, David told Katherine he was sorry, he had to go. Telling her he was getting over a difficult relationship didn’t help matters, but asking if he could call her when she returned from the Bahamas may have salvaged something. So did assuring her he just needed another week “to sort things out.”
    As Stevie Ray broke into the solo to “Life Without You,” David realized that dinner with Katherine, like most of his ventures outside the courtroom, in the end only reminded him that Lana was gone. And if he was honest with himself, he would admit that it hurt. Badly. But, he told himself, not as bad as it hurt last week, which was a little less than the week before. By the time the ache in his diaphragm had deepened, he realized he had lost himself in the song and was fighting a mild case of the spins. He reminded himself again that he was never honest with himself, and if he was, he’d also admit that this place was his prison. Which was just enough to remind him he needed another drink. And he had just the drink in mind.
    A moment later, he flipped the light switch in Alton Holloway’s corner office and took it all in: the three diplomas from an array of Ivy League schools. Photographs of Alton posing with Florida Supreme Court justices and teeing off at Augusta where, Alton was wont to brag, he golfed an 86 (while drunk). David ran his hand over the antique desk and wondered what sinister things Alton had plotted from this piece of furniture. Then he turned to the walnut cabinet behind his desk, the notorious cabinet known to house the firm’s deepest and darkest secrets—secrets that Alton refused to have electronically stored in this new digital age of e-discovery, and to which only Alton possessed the key. David tugged on each of the four cabinet drawers. They didn’t budge.
    Remembering his waning buzz, he turned to the redwood globe in the far corner of Alton’s office. He opened the upper crust of the earth and found an enticing assortment of delicious rare scotches and bourbons. And how nice of the partners to leave a clean snifter for him. He grabbed the nearest bottle, a 1997 Macallan Highland, and poured himself a few