Free Balancing Act (The Santa Monica Trilogy Book 3) by Jill Blake

Considering the outcome of her most recent meeting with Mrs. Callahan, the last place Angie wanted to be was alone with Zach beneath the twinkling fairy lights.
    “There are some lawn chairs up ahead,” he said. “Think you can make it that far, or should I carry you?”
     
    ~
     
    Zach chuckled at the speed with which she whipped off her heels and tromped through the damp grass barefoot.
    She settled onto one of the cushioned lounge chairs lined up at the edge of the property, where during the day it no doubt commanded an amazing view of the country club grounds below. Briefly, he wondered if the chaise was strong enough to hold two. After a glance at Angie’s less than friendly expression, he decided not to risk it.
    “So,” he said, lowering himself onto a neighboring chair. “Any progress with your client?”
    She crossed her ankles and readjusted her wrap until it covered her from the base of her throat to just above her hips. Too bad. He’d been enjoying the view afforded by her low-cut gown. So much so that he missed Angie’s response and had to ask her to repeat it.
    “She needs to discuss things with her husband.”
    Zach tapped a finger against his tuxedo-clad thigh. “Is that code for ‘I’m going to play hardball’?”
    Her lips twitched. “No. It’s code for ‘back off while they think about their options.’”
    “Fair enough.”
    They sat for several minutes without talking. Behind them, the faint sounds of laughter and a dozen different conversations carried on the breeze. An old Cole Porter tune drifted over from the outdoor speakers. He found himself humming along. Sentimental clap-trap, and yet, sitting here in the dark, with a beautiful woman who by turns intrigued and challenged him, he couldn’t help but think the lyrics absolutely perfect.
    “Nice,” Angie said, once he fell silent. “Did you take lessons?”
    He laughed. “Nah. I played around with the guitar a little, but nothing formal.”
    “Really?” She tilted her head, as if observing him from a new angle would provide some hidden insight. “When was this?”
    “As a kid. One of Dad’s subcontractors played in a band on weekends. Let me tag along if they had a local gig.”
    “You mean to bars and stuff?”
    “Yeah.”
    “How old were you?”
    “Fourteen, fifteen.” He shrugged. “Somewhere around there.”
    Her brows shot up. “And your parents let you go?”
    He scratched his chin. “Sure. Why not?”
    “Oh, I don’t know. Underage kid in a bar? No parental supervision? Sounds a little dangerous to me.”
    “I was tall for my age.”
    “Oh, sure, that makes it okay.” She rolled her eyes. “When I was a teen, my mom wouldn’t even let me go to a friend’s house after dark unless she knew the parents personally. And even then, I had to be back by eleven sharp.”
    “What happened if you stayed later?”
    “You know my dad’s a judge, right? He probably knows half the police force and sheriff’s department. Believe me, once you get picked up from a party by a uniformed cop and driven home in a squad car, you never lose track of time again. Ever.”
    Zach grinned. “I would have loved to see that.”
    “Yeah, I bet. So how’d you get to hang out at bars so young?”
    He leaned forward, elbows resting on his knees. “Back then Dad and Roger were still flipping houses. Sometimes they’d have five, six projects going at the same time. During the summers, I’d go with them. But during the school year, there’d be days I didn’t see Dad at all.”
    “What about your mom?”
    “She wasn’t exactly what you’d call maternal.”
    Angie’s gaze sharpened, but she kept quiet, waiting for him to continue. As far as he was concerned, she could keep on waiting. The day his parents had finally gotten their divorce, Zach wasn’t sure who’d been more relieved: him or his dad.
    The breeze picked up and Angie shivered.
    “Cold?” He unbuttoned his jacket. Offer it to her, or use the opportunity to