Bikini Season

by Sheila Roberts

  “She accepts,” Tanner said on her behalf, making Jonathan grin. “Megan, snap out of it.”

  She forced herself to blink. Then she rose from her chair and shook hands with both men. “Thank you. You won’t regret it.”

  “I always knew we wouldn’t,” Tanner said.

  “We hope you’ll join us Saturday night at a special dinner at Canlis,” added Jonathan.

  Canlis was the swankiest restaurant in Seattle. “Yes, thank you,” she managed.

  She left Tanner’s office on wobbly legs. Back in the safety of her own windowless office, she allowed herself to rejoice. “I made it! I made it! I made it!” She needed to call her mother. Then she needed to go shopping for a dress for Friday.

  But first she needed to find Pamela. Buzzing with adrenaline, she made her way down the hall to Pamela’s airy office. She threw the door open. “Let’s go shop …” The sentence died unfinished. Oh, no.

  Pamela raised a tearstained face from her hands. “I didn’t make partner.”

  Megan rushed over and sat down on the corner of Pamela’s desk. “That’s impossible. How could you not?”

  Pamela shook her head and stared at her desktop. “While I’m personable and hardworking, there were other personable, hardworking candidates who showed more promise,” she said, her voice mimicking Green’s. “In other words, I’m not smart enough.”

  “You were smart enough to get hired by a prestigious firm,” Megan argued. “And can bring in the clients.”

  Pamela scowled. “Not enough.”

  “You brought in two clients in six months, and just last month you hooked Puget Cruises, for God’s sake.”

  Pamela shook her head. “They changed their minds and went with another firm last week.” Now her mouth puckered like she’d just tasted something sour.

  “I don’t understand. You had Nick Wallace eating out of your hand.”

  “He wanted to do more than eat out of my hand.” Pamela covered her face and began to cry again. “I blew it. I could have had him and I blew it.”

  “You mean you could have had him if you slept with him. You shouldn’t have to prostitute yourself for the firm.”

  Pamela didn’t even hear her.

  Megan leaned over and put a hand on her arm. “You have more than one chance to make partner.”

  Pamela sniffed and nodded. “I know. I just wanted it so bad. You know? And you, oh, I didn’t ask. Did you?”

  Megan bit her lower lip. Her good news tasted like ashes.

  Pamela looked at her, wide-eyed. “You made partner?”

  Megan sighed and nodded.

  “Oh, that’s great.” Wearing a Miss America runner-up smile, Pamela jumped up and hugged her. “They’re lucky to get you.”

  “Thanks,” Megan murmured. Then she excused herself and went to her office to think.

  She thought all afternoon. Then she thought all the way home on the bus. She was a partner now. She didn’t have to take the bus. She’d have her own special parking spot in the First Orca Trust Tower.

  Big deal.

  Her mother called that night, anxious to hear the news.

  “Yes, I made partner,” Megan told her.

  “Darling, that’s wonderful! I’m so proud of you.”

  “I’m proud of me, too,” Megan said.

  Making partner at a prestigious firm, it was a huge accomplishment. And okay, so Pamela didn’t make it. It was a shark-eat-shark world, but she’d still be okay. She’d find another big client, and by this time next year, she’d be a partner, too.

  Megan had a salad and Perrier for dinner. She left the champagne she’d bought sitting in the fridge. She’d drink it later. She’d celebrate later, when she felt more like it, when her good fortune had really sunk in. That was the problem of course, she hadn’t fully digested just how lucky she was. She took a hot bath, then fell into bed.

  The next day everyone at the firm was full of congratulations. Ashley, Pamela’s old buddy, had made partner and was strutting around like a peacock.

  “What did you expect,” whispered James the receptionist. “She’s sleeping with Waters.” Then he looked speculatively at Megan, as if trying to decide who she’d played.

  “I’m sleeping with all of them,” she said, making his jaw drop.

  In her office, she found flowers waiting, along with a card from Tanner that read, “Always knew you could do it.”

  She and Tanner would be equals now. And she was going to have a new office, hopefully one with a window.

  “I know you’ll miss working so close to me,” said a voice from the doorway.

  She turned to see him smirking at her. “Oh, I definitely will. Thanks for the flowers.”

  “My pleasure.”

  “And thanks for pushing me through.”

  “You pushed yourself through.”

  She shrugged and turned back to survey the flowers.

  “I haven’t seen you on the track. Are you still running?”

  “Yes, but under cover of darkness.”

  “Keep it up. It’s a good stress reliever,” he said. “Now hurry up and get out of here, will you? I want to move in someone new to torture.”

  He was about to leave. “Tanner,” she said.

  He stopped and looked over his shoulder.

  “Do you ever wonder if you made the right decision going with a big firm?”

  “No,” he said. “I like big cases and big battles. And I’m not into tilting at windmills. A big firm is where the action is.” He smiled, that same smile he’d showed her at the track. “You belong here. You’re going to do great.”

  He started to walk away again. “Tanner.”

  He turned and raised an eyebrow.

  “Is it true that Ashley is sleeping with Waters?”

  Tanner frowned. “You’re just moving into Olympus. It’s a little soon to start questioning the gods.”

  “That wasn’t an answer,” she said as he shut the door. She sat down at her desk and picked up a pen and began absently tapping it on the desktop. Was she moving into the wrong neighborhood?

  Twenty

  Erin sat at her desk at Great Events, Inc., looking at her computer and envisioning her wedding reception. It would be fine, lovely. Not everything she’d once dreamed, but close enough. And she could live with that. The flowers would be fabulous, that was for sure. Hopefully, by June she’d be able to enjoy them with a clear conscience.

  She still had to figure out what to do for music, though. A band was probably out of the question.

  Band! Oh, no! Her heart thudding sickly, she frantically whipped around her computer mouse and opened the document marked “Entertainment.” There it was, the list of bands from last year, bands she should have already sent contracts to weeks ago. Here Gregory had put her in charge of the Heart Lake Slugfest because of her hometown connection and now she was totally blowing it. It wouldn’t matter that she’d already lined up a hot local radio personality to emcee the slug races or that she’d pulled in new sponsors for the vaudeville show if she didn’t have any bands in the beer garden. No bands in the beer garden, less customers; less customers and all the restaurants participating would lose money, and then they wouldn’t want to do it next year. And it would all be her fault. The beer garden would be a bomb and Gregory would kill her. How had this slipped past her? How? How? How?

  The wedding, of course. It was consuming her. But that was no excuse. This was her job, her future, and she couldn’t screw it up. If she didn’t have music for the Slugfest her name would be slime here at Great Events.

  Don’t panic, she told herself. You still have time. You already got a verbal yes. This is just a teeny technicality. Oh, what power a teeny technicality had to make a girl sweat!

  She grabbed her phone and called the cell phone for the leader of the first band on the list, all the while wishing she hadn’t gotten rid of that stash of Cheetos in her bottom desk drawer.

  “This is Shay,” he said.

  “
Shay, hi. This is Erin from Great Events. How are you doing?”

  “Fine. We’re booked solid, man.”

  Fine for him, not for her. “Well, I hope you’ve still got the Slugfest on your calendar. I’m going to be e-mailing your contract today.”

  “Dude. I thought you were going to send those out in January.”

  “Something came up.” I got engaged and all my brains fell out.

  “Well, sorry. We just finished booking a tour in Canada. We’ll be gone that whole month.”

  “Oh.” Crap. “Can we get you for next year?”

  “Sure. But you gotta send the contracts sooner.”

  “Oh, I will,” Erin promised.

  She went to the next band on the list. They’d broken up. “We didn’t have a contract anyway,” said the leader.

  “But we had a verbal agreement,” Erin protested. Surely Megan would say that could be just as binding as a written one.

  “Sorry,” he said.

  The next band she called had broken up, too. Great, now she was down to one band.

  And, lucky for her, Stupid Bitch was still together.

  But not interested. “You never sent the contract. We took a gig in L.A.” said the lead singer. And his tone of voice added, “Stupid Bitch.”

  What to do now? She didn’t know any other local bands. Who did? Who could get her in touch with a band as of yesterday?

  Desperation dug around in the back of her brain and came up with Dan Rockwell’s name. He had said he knew a great band. Oh please, oh please, oh please, let him still know them. First wedding flowers, now a band. At this rate she was going to have to name her first child after him.

  Erin looked up the number of the Heart Lake Safeway and called it. It was late afternoon on a weekday. He should be at work by now. Please be there, please be there, please be there.

  Miracle of miracles, he was. She barely waited for him to say hello. “That band you know, are they booked in May?”

  “So you decided to go with the band after all,” Dan said. “Good idea. Except I thought you were getting married in June.”

  “It’s not for my wedding,” she told him. “Actually, it’s a much bigger gig. I need a band to play in the beer garden during Slugfest. If they want the job it’s theirs.”

  “Whoa, that is a sweet gig. But don’t you want to hear them first?”

  Like there was anyone left to choose? But he was right. She should go through the motions of giving this band, whoever they were, an audition. And if they sucked she could always kill herself.

  “Okay,” she said. “Do you know your friend’s phone number?”

  Dan rattled it off. “They practice on Fridays. I’ll bet you could go over to Gary’s this Friday and listen.”

  “Thanks,” Erin breathed. “Thank you so much.”

  “You’re welcome. See ya Friday,” he added, and hung up.

  Wait a minute. What was that about? She called the store again and asked for Dan. “What do you mean, see you Friday?”

  “I said that?”

  “Yes.” And, grateful as she was, she had no intention of hanging out with Dan Rockwell on a Friday night. Adam wouldn’t understand. Anyway, it seemed best not to encourage Dan in any way, shape, or form.

  “Oh, well, I just meant if I happened to be there I’d see you.”

  “Don’t you have to work?” Or something.

  “I have Friday nights off. Remember?”

  “I forgot,” she said. She’d been trying to forget as much of their Valentine’s Day close encounter as possible. Then she felt it necessary to add, “I won’t be there long. I’m sure I’ll be doing something with Adam later.”

  “Sounds like a waste of a Friday night to me.”

  “That shows how much you know,” Erin said firmly. “Anyway, thanks.” Maybe, if she was lucky, by Friday she’d have a band signed for Slugfest and she could live another day.

  On Thursday night Megan took Pamela out for drinks after work and proposed partnership.

  Pamela leaned back in her chair and looked down her nose at Megan. “Are you insane?”

  “No, I don’t think so.”

  “Why would you want to blow the chance of a lifetime?”

  “I don’t think I am. I think I can make a go of this. If,” she added with a smile, “I have a rainmaker.”

  Pamela frowned and took a sip of her grapefruit martini. “In case you didn’t notice, this cloud dried up. I guess Ashley had the right idea,” she added bitterly, glowering at the contents of her glass.

  “Ashley wouldn’t know an idea if it served her a summons. And a potential client can slip off anyone’s hook.”

  Pamela shook her head. “It sucks.”

  “And it could continue to suck for a long time. Did you ever stop to think about that? Do you really want to stay at Wise Ass and Greed, begging for crumbs?” Megan demanded.

  “Do you really want to leave Wise Ass and Greed and starve?” countered Pamela.

  “I don’t think we will. Anyway, I don’t like the way they go about picking their partners. I’d rather starve than align myself with that.” She patted her middle. “Besides, I can afford to starve for a while.”

  Pamela just shook her head.

  Megan leaned forward, pleading her case. “This could be a chance to really do something important with our lives. Do you remember why you wanted to go into law in the first place?”

  “To make lots of money,” Pamela said, and toasted Megan with her martini glass.

  Megan fell back against her chair. “Okay. Stay. Who knows? Maybe if you beg, Green will toss you my leavings.” She pulled some bills from her wallet and set them on the table. “Good luck. You’re going to need it in that shark tank.”

  “The whole legal profession is a shark tank.”

  Megan stood up and gathered her purse and jacket. “If you change your mind, let me know.”

  Pamela looked up at her and smiled. “I won’t, but I admire your guts. Good luck.”

  “I don’t believe in luck,” Megan said, and left the bar.

  She went home and drafted her letter of resignation. The next day she typed it up and submitted it, then started cleaning out her big, cherrywood desk in her new, fancy office.

  She was almost finished when Tanner entered. “What the hell do you think you’re doing?”

  She raised her chin. “I guess you heard.”

  “Yes, I heard,” he snapped. His eyes were flashing. Talk about gods. Right now he looked like he could hurl thunderbolts from his fingertips. “What are you thinking? Or should I ask what you’ve been smoking?”

  “No, you can ask what I’m thinking. And I’ll tell you. I don’t want to work in a big shark tank where I’m going to be poked and prodded to go trolling for big clients. I don’t want to work at a firm where hopefuls have to put up with getting propositioned by the resident Denny Crane, and where a woman who just happened to sleep with the right ‘god’ gets to enter Olympus while a woman with more merit has to remain below with the mere mortals and try to figure out which one of you can raise her up next time.”

  Tanner had stood there, jaw clenched, while she delivered her speech. When she finished, he gave his sardonic smile and applauded her. “That was a well thought out summation. Have you thought out an equally excellent business plan or are you just going to ride off on your white horse and hope that God is on your side?”

  Her chin went higher. “A little of both. I’m not stupid. I’ll find a way to succeed.”

  He shook his head and let out an exasperated breath. “I do believe you will. Waters once told me I was backing a dark horse, but I knew you were special.”

  He walked toward her, obviously ready to shake hands and wish her well. She stuck out her hand.

  He ignored it and snaked an arm around her waist, pulling her up to him. Then he kissed her, setting off three-alarm fires all through her body.

  She pulled away, blinking. “What was that about?”

  He
shrugged. “You don’t work here anymore. No danger of a sexual harassment suit. And I’ve wanted to do that for a long time.”

  Megan realized she was speechless. Hardly surprising. How could she know what to say when she didn’t even know what to think? One of the biggest sharks in the tank had just kissed her and turned her toes into curling ribbon.

  He smiled down at her. “Don’t look so surprised. Didn’t your mother ever tell you that brains are sexy?” he teased. He turned and sauntered out of her office, leaving her scrambling for a reply.

  All she managed as the door closed was, “No, she didn’t.”

  Twenty-one

  Gary Idol—that had to be some kind of stage name—lived on the outskirts of Heart Lake on a partially cleared lot that housed a modular home, a carport complete with a Jeep and a rusty, old Mustang up on blocks, a spotty lawn that was more dirt than grass, and two sort of German shepherds. It had rained off and on all afternoon. Erin took in the wet soil and the muddy, excited dogs and hoped she’d make it to the house with her clothes intact.

  She saw Dan’s truck parked next to a couple of other cars in front of the house and swore. Didn’t he have anything else to do?

  She pulled her car in back of his truck and got out. The dogs rushed her, barking and wagging their tails. She managed to just prevent one from jumping on her, but it did succeed in sliding a muddy paw down her jeans. Maybe Gary Idol couldn’t afford dog obedience school.

  “Fender! Martin! Down!” called a voice from the porch.

  The two dogs wheeled around and raced back to their owner, a guy in jeans and a sweatshirt with shaggy, dark hair. “Sorry,” he said as Erin approached. “They got no manners.”

  “No problem,” she lied. If it meant getting a band for Slugfest she’d let one of the animals take a chunk out of her butt.

  “I’m Gary,” said the guy. “Come on in. We’re just getting set up.”

  She followed him and one of the dogs inside, into a small living room covered with ugly brown carpet. Or maybe the room just looked small due to the fact that it was crammed with enough musical equipment to fill a shop. Two cute, blond-haired guys sat on a leather couch, fiddling with guitars; the one with a cigarette dangling from his mouth smiled and nodded at her. The coffee table in front of them looked like a garage sale special and was littered with beer bottles, cigarette packs, and an ashtray. The room smelled like dog and secondhand smoke. Yuck. She could just imagine what she’d smell like when she left here.