Match Made In Paradise by Barbara Dunlop (the best books to read .txt) 📗

flute a small wave of emphasis. “Who got there, looked around and said, ahh, Paradise, that’s the right name?”

Marnie’s grin widened. It felt strange to chat amicably with Hannah after the bitterness of the court case.

Marnie had later learned that Hannah’s mother, Alastair’s ex-wife Theresa, had been the driving force behind the hostility. Still, it was unsettling to have Hannah’s attitude turn on a dime like this. Marnie kept expecting Hannah to voice some sharp disagreement or have an angry outburst liked she’d done a couple of time in the courtroom.

“Silas is picking them up in Fairbanks?” Hannah asked after a moment of silence.

Marnie nodded. “I’m not sure he’s thrilled to be dropped into the middle of the whole undertaking. But he can’t say no to Mia.”

Hannah took a sip of her own champagne. “Mia made it sound like his boss was the real grouch.”

“Most of the guys can’t wait to mix and mingle. The entire town is in desperate need of more estrogen. But his boss Brodie thinks it’ll be disruptive to his airline’s operations.”

“It probably will.”

“True, and he’s skeptical that any of the women will settle down in Alaska.”

“Even if they do meet their perfect match?” Hannah asked.

“Even then.”

“What do you think?”

Marnie had to agree with Brodie—even though they’d chosen women who skewed toward outdoor pursuits. “Would you leave LA for Paradise, Alaska, population four-hundred?”

“With gravel roads, a single restaurant and an average winter temperature of ten-below?” Hannah grimaced.

Marnie lifted her flute in mock toast to their evident agreement. “Exactly.”

They both drank then pondered for a moment.

“I hear the guys are super sexy,” Hannah ventured.

“I suppose they’d keep you warm at night,” Marnie allowed.

Hannah stretched out her fingers and gazed at her perfect coral manicure. “I’d miss Celeste’s esthetics talents . . . and my friends at the club . . . and where would you even wear your Castille or your Faux?”

Marnie couldn’t afford either of those fashion designers, but she understood the point. “I have a dozen pairs of perfectly good shoes that would not survive gravel roads and muddy pathways.”

Hannah’s sculpted brows furrowed. “Mia’s been wearing those brown leather boots all the time up there, waterproofed, I think.”

“Barely a heel.” Marnie had seen them in pictures, splattered in mud. They looked tragically practical, reminding her of a time in her life she preferred to forget.

“No calf elongation whatsoever.” Hannah glanced down at her own shapely legs beneath the shimmer of her slim, steel blue cocktail dress. Her stiletto peep-toes had obviously been dyed to match the dress, and they looked terrific.

“I’m only five-feet-two.” Marnie needed all the help she could get in the heel department.

Hannah stepped back to take in Marnie’s four-inch t-straps. “Those are really nice.”

Marnie turned her ankle sideways. “A little platform under the toe helps. Keeps the arches more comfortable when you’re standing.” She’d learned back in law school that she needed to add to her height if she wanted anyone to take her seriously.

In front of a judge, she always wore slacks to help camouflage the lift of her shoes. She tied her hair back too. The bright copper color seemed to distract male judges, also male opposing attorneys. She’d never figured out why. It was just hair, and plenty of people had hair that color.

“I take it Alaska’s not on your bucket list?” Hannah asked.

“My bucket list includes places like London and the Mediterranean.”

As for Alaska, Marnie would see the women safely to LAX tomorrow morning and onto the plane. Then she planned to take a little time for herself to recover from the flurry of activity. She hadn’t booked any client appointments for tomorrow or for Friday either, planning to extend the weekend, kick back and relax.

Thinking about it, she could use a new manicure herself, maybe a pedicure too. Maybe she’d do an entire spa day.

“I guess we leave the outdoorsy stuff to the hang-gliders and the parasailers.”

“I’ve played beach volleyball,” Marnie offered with a thread of humor.

She could also navigate by the stars and survive a week in the wilderness with nothing but a pocketknife and a pound of dried beans, but she didn’t say so. And she’d sure as hell never do it for fun.

“Tennis for me,” Hannah said. “But that’s mostly because the Turquoise Racket Club serves such a great brunch.”

“I feel like an underachiever,” Marnie said.

“You? You’re one of the best lawyers in LA!” Hannah paused. “I mean, you beat us without breaking a sweat.”

Marnie sent her a sidelong glance, wondering if this was it, if Hannah was about to express her hidden hostility.

“And we had ourselves a top-notch team,” Hannah continued offhandedly. “Brettan LaCroix spared no expense.”

“There wasn’t much they could do with an iron-clad will.” Marnie was still tense, still on alert for an argument.

“Mia was a highly flawed defendant. Half the city hated her. The rest thought she was a shameless gold-digger.”

“She wasn’t.” Marnie reflexively defended her friend.

“Turns out not. And you never gave up on her. And you represented her brilliantly. So, I’m saying, you’re not an underachiever.”

“Oh.” Marnie sorted through the conversation in her mind. It didn’t seem like Hannah was going to get hostile after all.

“You should come and see us next week,” Hannah said.

“For what?” Had Marnie missed something in the exchange?

“To look at giving us some legal advice. You worked with Mia for years, so you know our business.”

After a stunned moment, Marnie gathered her wits. “I specialize in family law.”

“And it’s a family business.”

Marnie supposed you could frame it that way.

“So, will you take us on?” Hannah asked.

“Uh, sure, yeah, I’ll come by next week.” Who would say no to a new client who owned a mansion and a fashion empire? Not Marnie, that was for sure.

Hannah raised her glass again, and Marnie silently toasted to the most unlikely business relationship in the city.

*   *   *

“I’ve said it all along—distraction, disruption then fallout.” Brodie Seaton, owner of West Slope Aviation ended his sentence on a firm note of conviction. Then, obviously confident his message had been delivered, he leaned back against