Free Primitive Secrets by Deborah Turrell Atkinson

college, but you had to make it from there. “ She put a hand to her mouth. “David resents me for having a job in Hamasaki’s firm, doesn’t he?”
    Lorraine looked quickly down at her lap. “Well, no one else went to law school. I don’t know what they expected.”
    Storm swallowed. “I see.”
    The older woman looked at Storm’s face. “It’s easy to forget how hard another person has worked.” She gave Storm’s knee a soft pat and stood up to leave.
    â€œUm, Lorraine?” Storm asked. “What happened to the man that came to see Uncle Miles? That Mike Oshiro?”
    â€œI don’t know, except that he looked very ill and he didn’t want anyone to see him in the office.” She frowned. “Miles might have sent him to see Meredith, but—” Lorraine was interrupted by loud knocking, then Cunningham opened the door and popped his head in.
    â€œAm I interrupting something?” He smiled and smoothed his hair. “You girls having a coffee break?”
    â€œWe wish,” Storm said. “I’m following up on some of Hamasaki’s business.” She smiled. “Thanks, Lorraine. Come in, Cyril.”
    Storm stood and started to roll her office chair back around behind the desk.
    Cunningham put his hand on her arm. “Don’t bother moving things around. Have a seat. I wanted to congratulate you on passing the bar.”
    Storm sat in her office chair and gestured for him to take the other chair. He scooted it closer to her. She gave him what she hoped was a professional smile: no teeth showing and dead-on eye contact. But he was sitting a little too close and he kept smiling. She could smell his aftershave. Too much cologne on men always made her wonder what they were covering up.
    â€œThanks,” she said. “Interesting meeting this morning, wasn’t it? I was a little surprised that Hamasaki moved the age of acquiring the trust up to forty years. The last time we talked, it was thirty-five.” She shrugged. “That was about four years ago, though.”
    â€œHe asked me to change it a few months ago.”
    Storm leaned back in her chair. Cunningham moved so that his knee touched hers. She tried to scoot the chair back without appearing obvious, but the wheels wouldn’t turn in the pile of the carpet. “You have any idea why David was so upset?” she asked, backpedaling.
    â€œNo idea.” His knee slipped between hers.
    Storm could feel her face burn. She stood up. “It’s probably the stress of losing his father.”
    â€œYes, I imagine you’re right.” He rose from his chair and put a warm hand on her shoulder. “I’d like to get together with you and discuss your aspirations with the firm. Losing Hamasaki as we did was a real shock to us all. We need to talk.”
    Storm stared at his blue eyes. She could see capillaries around the fading iris, red against the yellowing sclera. The odor of last night’s scotch was on his breath. Or had it been a more recent cocktail? She took a step back. “Good idea. Why don’t you call a meeting with Wo and Wang? I’ll make it fit into my schedule.”
    The smile faded from his face. “Fine. We’ll be communicating soon.” He turned and left the office.
    Storm shoved her chair back behind the desk and fell into it. She had noticed her stomach growling during her talk with Lorraine. Now it was roiling with disgust. Her lower lip quivered with despair, a combination of this morning’s ostracism and Cunningham’s behavior. She clamped her jaws together and glanced at her watch. After two and she hadn’t had lunch yet. What she needed was to take a walk and clear her head, maybe stop for a bite where, hopefully, she could be alone to think.
    On the way through the reception area, which was busy with staff returning from lunch and waiting clients, Lorraine handed her a sheet of