Page 45 of Liar's Point
“What do you mean?”
“Do you have a husband? Kids? Would this be for the entirety of your estate?”
“Oh. It’s just me.”
He nodded and made a few notes.
“As far as my estate... I don’t have a lot of assets right now. Very few, actually, at the moment. But if I were to have some in the future—”
“You want to make sure someone is looking out for Lucas’s best interests after your death.”
“Yes. Is that something you can write up?”
“Sounds pretty straightforward.” He set down his pencil and looked up. “My cousin has special needs, and I wrote a will for my aunt and uncle. I should be able to pull something similar together for you, no problem.”
“And everything we discuss would be confidential, I assume?”
“Yes. Our conversations are covered by attorney-client privilege.”
She nodded. Then took a deep breath. “And how much does something like this cost, typically?”
She held her breath, watching him, thinking about his Rolex watch and suede sofa. His storefront was simple enough, but she was pretty sure now that the black Porsche 911 parked out front belonged to him.
He was watching her closely, and she started to fidget again.
“Ms.Miller, what do you do for a living?”
Her stomach tightened. “It’s Cassandra. Or Cassie. I’m a yoga instructor over at the Banayan Tree.”
He rubbed his jaw and seemed to be debating something.
“Well,” he said. “I’ve got a sliding scale for some clients.”
Relief flooded her. “Really?”
He nodded. “And we can break things into payments, if we need to.”
Tears burned her eyes as his words sank in. “That would be amazing. Thank you. I can’t thank you enough.” A tear leaked out and she brushed it away.
He looked down at his notes. “I’ll just need some basic info about you and your brother.”
“Sure. Yes.” Another tear spilled out and splatted on the folder. She swiped at her cheeks as she handed him the file.
“Cassandra, are you all right?”
“Yes. Sorry. It’s just... been a long week.”
He gave her a crooked smile, and she realized it was only Monday.
“Thank you again. I truly appreciate it.”
“Sure,” he said casually. “I’m happy to help.”
***
Nicole plodded along the sand, wishing she had stuck with that January spin class. But she hadn’t. And the last time she’d been running was before Christmas.
A muscle cramped, and she clutched her side. Well, maybe it was before Thanksgiving. Either way, it had been far too long, and her body was loudly protesting her decision to jog on the beach in thirty-four-degree weather.
