A Magical Christmas by Heather Graham

not give a rat’s ass about his wife’s opinions.
    “Since you’re doing the family thing, come out for drinks tonight,” Trent persisted.
    “I’m kind of busy—”
    “Ah. Hard time from the wife, huh?”
    Trent’s tone was unbelievably irritating. So was his inference.
    “We’re going out of town. I’m kind of busy.”
    Trent threw up his hands. “She’s got you by the balls, my friend.”
    “I happen to love my wife,” he heard himself say defensively.
    “Right. So if she loves you, what’s a few drinks with the guys after work before the holidays?”
    Trent had a point there. The rhythm of his life should have been much better. Both of them waking up each morning, getting it all together without anger or recriminations. He should be able to call her and say he’d be an hour late, he was having a drink with the guys. Lots of men did it; hell, lots of women did it. But there was always a difference. It was okay for Julie to have lunch or dinner with a client. He should be shot if he everassumed it was more. On the other hand, drinks with the guys sounded like an orgy.
    Trent lifted his hands and squeezed, laughing at Jon. “By the balls, buddy, by the balls.”
    “Trent, you just wish somebody—anybody—had you by the balls, old pal,” Jon got in.
    And just then, before an annoyed Trent could reply, old man Bentley stuck his face into the room as well.
    “Jon, we’ve got the possibility of picking up a new client.” His voice was excited. “No real meetings until after the holidays, but she’s going to be down at our watering hole in the Grove this evening. I’d like you there.”
    Trent grinned at him. “Sanctioned drinks,” he said cheerfully.
    “Who’s the client?” Jon asked.
    The excitement in Bentley’s voice grew. “The model, Trish Deva. She’s suing her ex. It’s a great case, Jon. A great case. Megapublicity. Sex, drugs, and rock and roll. If we win this one, we’ll set a precedent.”
    Bentley left. Trent chuckled softly. “It’s work, Jon. Be a man. Put her in her place.” He hopped off Jon’s desk, ready to follow Bentley out.
    “Go to hell, asshole,” Jon said pleasantly. He didn’t know why he was letting Trent get under his skin so badly. He stood. “You’re living in a differentplace. When my wife plays tennis, she narrows her concentration to focus on the balls that bounce back and forth over the net. I like to keep the play fair.”
    “What the hell’s that supposed to mean?” Trent demanded.
    “You know damned well what it means. We have different marriages.”
    Trent came striding back into the room. Jon was startled to see that he had unnerved his friend. “Are you so certain about that, buddy, huh? That’s a nice-looking piece you’ve got at home.”
    “Julie is my wife, not a piece.”
    “A pretty, delicate little blonde who’s kept a great body through three kids. How the hell do you know what she’s doing all the time?”
    “Trust. It’s called trust,” Jon told him. His words were solid. He felt a chafing at his collar.
    That was it. Trust. Julie didn’t trust him anymore. She’d never trust him again.
    She’d thrown him out of the house at the time.
    But that hadn’t been supposed to matter. They weren’t supposed to sleep with each other during the separation, but he should have known they weren’t supposed to sleep with other people either.
    The hell with her.
    “Trust? Trust? Yeah, oh, yeah!” Trent laughed. This time, he walked out of Jon’s office. Stilllaughing. He paused in the hallway. “See you at the old watering hole, buddy. And I’m sure Julie will trust you with Trish. One of the most beautiful women in the world. With insatiable appetites, so the tabloids say.”
    His laughter rang down the hall.
    Jon rubbed his temples. He picked up his telephone receiver and had his secretary call Julie at work.
    “Julie.”
    “Yes?” Always that guarded note in her voice now.
    “I have to work late.”
    A very long