“If I throw the ball, will you chase it like that?”
I turn in my seat and give the woman walking across the patio a smile. Cordelia Cooper – CC or Cordy to her friends – is a striking woman. She's also my personal attorney. She actually started as my father's attorney, fresh out of law school. But after his passing, when I told her my plans for my father's organization, she asked to stay on with me – and she and her husband actually moved out to California just after I did.
Though she's only a few years older than I am, she has something of a big-sister feeling toward me. She's protective. Encouraging. And she'll call me on my bullshit. When I told her I didn't expect her to uproot her entire life for me, she said she was ready for a change from New York anyway.
I like and respect Cordy a lot. She's straight-forward and doesn't sugarcoat things. She's one of the very few people I feel genuinely comfortable around. One of the even fewer people I feel like I can be myself around.
Plus, she's already familiar with the Rossi family business. She doesn't necessarily like it, but she's trustworthy, a damn good lawyer, and a very good friend. She got my father and some of his guys out of sticky situations more than a few times. But she's always done things by the book and has never compromised her ethics or morals. She's been very clear from the outset that she would never do anything illegal – which is something I admire.
She knows that it's going to take me a little while to fully implement my plans, but she approves of the changes I'm making to the organization and wants to see this through with me.
Tall, blonde, and with the body of a lingerie model but she's also a woman who will take you apart with her sheer brainpower. Easily one of the most intelligent women I've ever met. And if you got on the wrong side of her, she is ruthless.
“I might,” I say. “But it'd help if you came bearing treats.”
“Well, you're in luck then,” she says.
She fishes into her bag and pulls out a small box and sets it on the table between us as she takes a seat. I open the box and feel my stomach grumble in response.
“Chocolate chip scones, huh?” I ask. “You're the best, Cordy.”
She laughs. “Yes, because you're five years old, apparently.”
I shrug. “Nothing wrong with being a kid at heart.”
She laughs. “No, I suppose not. Take the simple pleasures where we can find them.”
“Exactly.”
Ella and Fitz run up to me, their ears flopping, tails wagging, big smiles on their doggy faces. I ruffle their ears and nuzzle them. My dogs are one of those simple pleasures I take great joy in. I've always had a soft spot for dogs. For animals in general, really.
Probably because I was never allowed to have a pet growing up, I don't know. I'm sure a shrink would have a field day with me.
“Anybody ever tell you that you spend way too much time with your dogs?”
I look at Cordy and smile. “You. Every time you come over.”
“And yet, you never take my sage advice,” she says. “Because every time I come over, here you are with your dogs.”
Ella and Fitz look at Cordy, still wagging their tails, their bodies still wiggling. She just smiles and shakes her head.
“How can you ever get tired of those faces?” I ask.
“I worry about you, Rob.”
“Why worry?” I ask.
“Because you never leave your house, for one thing.”
I shrug. “I have everything I need here,” I reply. “Besides, this place has so many rooms, I haven't even explored them all yet. Makes me feel like I'm Indiana Jones or something.”
“Always the smartass,” she says and then her face grows serious. “Come on, Rob. You're worth more money than God. You should be out – I don't know – living the billionaire playboy lifestyle or something.”
“Oh?” I ask. “And what does that entail?”
“Well, being that I'm neither a billionaire nor a playboy, I couldn't say with any certainty,” she says. “But I imagine it would entail buying stuff we mere mortals can't afford. Hotels. Cars. Something.”
“I do that,” I say. “I bought that yacht just last year.”
“Yeah? And when's the last time you were on it?”
I look at her and grin. “Last year.”
She pours herself a cup of coffee from the pot on the table and sighs. “You're rich, you're good looking – you should be knee deep in panties, Rob. When I walk into this house, there should be at least a dozen bimbos passed out on the floor. Instead, it's always you and your dogs.”
“My dogs are great,” I say, giving them both a good scratch. “I never have to wonder what their ulterior motives are and I never have to worry about either of them stabbing me in the back.”
She sighs and takes a sip of her coffee, then looks at me as she sets her mug back down. “You need a woman, Rob. Plain and simple, you need a woman in your life.”
I shrug. “I've got you.”
“You know what I mean.”
I take another sip of coffee and then throw the ball again. “Why is it so important that I have a woman in my life?”
“It's more just the idea of you getting out and being social,” she says. “Locking yourself away in this house all day, every day isn’t good. While it's a really nice house – living here like a damn hermit isn't healthy.”
She looks at Ella and Fitz who come bounding back to me, waiting for their praise and their treats – which I happily give them.
“You need social interaction,” she says. “With – people.”
I sigh and look at her. “If I go to something social, will it get you off my back about it?”
“It couldn't hurt.”
“Fine,” I say. “I'll find something to do. Go to a club or something. Who knows, maybe I'll even buy it if it makes you happy.”
“See? Spoken like a billionaire playboy,” she says. “There's hope for you yet.”
I laugh and take a bite of the scone she'd brought, savoring it. Ella and Fitz stare at me with those soulful eyes of theirs – they're masters of manipulation. But this is a treat they can't have.
“Sorry, kids,” I say to my dogs, who cock their heads as they listen to me. “Chocolate in these. I'd like to give them to you, but I can't. Chocolate is bad for you guys.”
As if they understand my words – and I half-believe that they do – they whine for a moment before bounding off into the yard again, bumping and nipping at each other.
“Okay then,” she says. “The sooner you get out to the club and interact with some other adult people, the better.”
I sit back in my seat and laugh. “Okay, fine,” I say. “Now, if we're done discussing my social calendar, how about we talk a little business?”
Cordy nods and takes a sip of her coffee. “First order is that we should finally be seeing some progress on the permits for the condos you want to build out in Palm Springs,” she says. “The right wheels have been greased and things are moving forward.”
“Finally,” I say. “Christ, this is a painful process.”
“Doing things the right, legal way often is,” she remarks dryly.
“Remind me again why I'm doing all this?” I ask, running a hand through my hair.
“Because you're a good man, Charlie Brown.”
“If you say so.”
“I do.”
We spend the next hour going over bits of business and signing about ten thousand documents. She's right, doing things the right, legal way is difficult. But, when we're done, I'm glad. I feel a little bit lighter. It's a pain in the ass, but I know I'm doing the right thing.
“One more brick torn out of that wall,” Cordy says.
“One more brick,” I say. “Feels like there's a million more to go.”
She reaches across the table and takes my hand, giving it a gentle squeeze. “Hey, you're doing good here,” she says. “Your mom would be really proud of you.”
My smile is rueful. “Yeah, but my dad is probably spinning in his grave right about now,” I say. “The Rossi family, going legit.”
“Oh, the horror.”