She approached the open door and peered inside. Victor stood before a miniconference table, a mug of coffee in his hand as he examined a variety of photographs. “Victor?” she called softly, not wanting to startle him.
He turned and smiled at the sound of her voice. “Come in, Rebecca. I was just trying to decide which of these would best sway the court into believing my client’s husband is hiding assets. What do you think? This thirty-thousand-dollar piece of horse flesh he ‘gifted’ his brother, or this receipt for a little five-carat bauble the tabloids reported he gave to his leading lady last week.”
She stepped into the office that had more masculinely elegant furnishings. “Why not both?” she suggested, coming to stand next to her boss.
“Because?” Victor challenged, indicating a chair at the table.
“Simple,” she said and sat. “I would attempt to establish Cristina Howard as the poor wife of a philandering husband.” She glanced at the blowup of the exclusive jewelry store receipt. “Go for the sympathy angle, Victor. No matter how sexist is it, especially since you have a woman judge. Another woman can easily relate to a woman who’s worked two jobs to put her husband through school. I doubt that it’d matter Mr. Howard chose acting lessons over med school.”
“Good choice,” Vic said, lifting his mug in salute.
When she’d first started at Denison, Ross & Furnari, Victor Furnari had been a brutal taskmaster, constantly throwing challenges in front of her. It hadn’t taken long for her to prove herself, and as a result she’d been given the esteemed honor of second chairing his trials. After Victor had taken ill during a particularly difficult case, Rebecca had stepped in and won the case and many that followed, resulting in her eventual status of junior partner. She loved her job, despite her father’s reference to her ambitions as wasted Martinson talent.
“So what brings you up here today?” He sat in one of the conference chairs and faced her. “Certainly not a burning desire to discuss the Howard divorce,” he added with a chuckle.
She gave him a thin smile. No, her purpose for breaching the walls of Mahogany Row were much more important than the divorce of one of Hollywood’s hottest actors. “I need to take a leave of absence.”
His salt-and-pepper brows pulled into a curious frown. “For how long?” he asked, setting his mug on the table.
“I’m not sure,” she said. She wasn’t certain her outrageous plan would see fruition, but she had to try. “I was thinking four weeks.”
“Four weeks?” His frown deepened when she remained silent. “Are you asking me to grant your request without asking for an explanation?”
She gave a humorless chuckle. “I had hoped.”
Victor stood, crossed the room and closed the door. “You’ve worked for me for a long time,” he said coming back to sit across from her. “You know whatever happens in this office stays in this office, but I can’t go to the other partners for approval without an explanation.”
This was one part of her plan she’d been dreading. There were court appearances to reschedule or shift to the associates under her supervision. She had a bench trial for support modification scheduled for next week, but she was confident Lee, or even Jillian, could handle the case without any problems. No, she dreaded telling Victor why she wanted, needed, the time away from work. If she were in his position, she’d definitely expect an explanation. The dread settling in the pit of her stomach stemmed from her admiration and respect for Victor Furnari. Could he understand the fear and desperation of a seventeen-year-old girl who hadn’t been given a choice? Would the compassion she’d always admired be extended to her?
She stood, nervous energy making her edgy. “First of all, I’m not certain I’ll need the time off,” she said, and moved to the window overlooking the Los Angeles skyline. “I won’t know until later today.”
She turned and rested her backside against the window frame, gripping the ledge with her fingers. Victor leaned back in the chair, his elbows resting on the arm, tapping his fingers together as he waited for her to continue.
“I may be a match for a child who needs a bone marrow transplant.”
Victor shrugged. “Okay, but donating marrow isn’t a month-long procedure. It’s not like donating a kidney, but only around a week-long recovery process at best.”
“I’m aware of that. But this is more complicated.” She pulled in a deep breath. “The child is my daughter.”
He didn’t say anything for a moment, just looked at her with shrewd hazel eyes. “I didn’t know you had a child,” he said carefully.
“I don’t. Not legally,” she said and wrapped her arms around her middle. Legalities were the least of her problems. Right now the issues plaguing her were much more emotional. “She was given up for adoption when I was seventeen. Her adoptive father came to see me about an hour ago.”
She explained what little she knew about Sam Winslow and her daughter’s life-threatening illness, even going so far as to share with Victor the less painful details of the events surrounding the child she’d been forced to give away. He remained silent, until she said, “I want a chance to get to know my daughter.”
He stood suddenly and crossed the space separating them. Gently he laid a hand on her shoulder in a silent offer of comfort. “I’ve known you since you were fresh out of law school. You’re a very intelligent woman, Rebecca, and an excellent attorney. I’m talking to you as a friend, not your employer. Meeting this little girl is not the move of a smart person. Don’t do this.”
She knew he was right. The analytical part of her understood she was courting disaster, but her heart spoke another story, even if it meant she would accomplish nothing more than a broken heart. “I have to, Victor,” she said quietly.
He shoved his hands in the pockets of his trousers. “For God’s sake, why?” he asked, his voice filled with frustration.
“Because I didn’t have a choice. For some reason that I’m not willing to question, I’ve been given a chance now, and I have to take it.”
“Rebecca—”
“I can’t turn my back on her,” she argued, before he could issue further opposition.
He sighed. “I’m not saying you have to. Do whatever is required medically, but don’t go anywhere near this child. You know the risks.”
True, she knew the risks, but she was willing to take them. And all she had to do was convince Sam Winslow she was entitled to at least meet the daughter she’d been forced to give away fourteen years before. “I have to, Victor. She’s my daughter.”
He shook his head, his gaze filled with concern. God, she thought, if only her own father had been as compassionate, she might not even be having this discussion right now.
“No, Rebecca,” he said gently. “She’s Winslow’s daughter. And since you’re determined to go through with this, then you’d better remember that.”
Chapter Two
As the afternoon eased into early evening, each time the telephone on her desk rang, Rebecca jumped. The lab had sent someone within an hour of Sam’s departure, and she’d been waiting for his phone call ever since. Five hours later and still no word from Sam Winslow.
She’d prayed she’d be a compatible match, but, from the Internet research she’d conducted while indulging in a microwave lunch at her desk, she knew her chances weren’t all that high. A twin was the most likely, then a sibling, lastly a parent. But she could still pray, and she did.
Her research had told her a great deal about aplastic anemia as well. From what the medical journals reported, the disease was indeed as serious as Winslow indicated. Melanie, her daughter, could very well die. She didn’t know any