Although both were in their mid-fifties, Rick’s appearance was weathered and worn, while Dean, with his dark hair and tanned skin, didn’t look a day over forty. Dressed in a tailored grey suit, a silk necktie, and manicured fingernails that gave Addison the urge to hide her own nails inside her pockets, it was obvious his physical appearance wasn’t just important to him—it was everything. Sitting in Luke’s truck in a parking lot next to Dean’s law firm, Addison watched Dean pace back and forth while talking on his cell phone. She wondered if it was Rick on the other end of the line, until Dean smacked his leg, threw his head back, and cackled like he’d just been given the world’s funniest punch line. “When he gets off the phone, I’d like to approach him on my own,” Addison said. “Not a chance,” Luke replied. “If you’re sitting here watching our conversation, I’ll be fine.” “I don’t like it, Addison.
