Amy wrestled with her wild mane of hair as she tried to pull it back into a ponytail. Finally satisfied that she could see, she started the engine. It purred to life like a contented cat. As she was typing in the address to her new, albeit temporary, home on the portable dashboard GPS, a gift from Jeff, she saw a shiny black Lincoln Town Car drive past her and park next to a bright red Jeep Cherokee. As she waited for traffic to slow, she watched the car in her side mirror, saw a man in a dark suit wearing a chauffeur’s cap get out and open the passenger door in the back. She gasped as a tall, handsome man with snow-white hair, despite his relatively young age, got out and strode forward. “Damn!” Amy fumbled with her cell phone and pressed the number one on her speed dial.
“Pick up, Jeff! C’mon, pick up.” And then she heard his voice, and she calmed down.
“What? You’re missing me already?” The words were lame sounding, but still music to her ears.
“Listen to me. I was leaving the parking lot, and your father was just arriving. He’s entering the building now, Jeff. Now.”
“Are you sure?”
“Of course I’m sure. I even recognized his driver. Your father, the Speaker of the House, is now in the building. Okay, I’m outta here. Have a good flight, Jeff. Send me a text when you land, so I know you arrived safe and sound.”
“Okay, Mother.” It was meant to sound funny, and it might have come across that way if the tone hadn’t been so brittle and brusque. Amy didn’t bother to respond. Wilson “Buzz” Lambert, the Speaker of the House of Representatives, was not her problem. Not any longer. He was Jeffrey’s problem. She would never forget the day Buzz, of all people, called her a gold digger, among even other lessthan- flattering names. Never.
Amy cracked her window, then slid a CD into the portable player that Jeffrey had installed for her. She smiled. She loved Bon Jovi. So did Jeff. Scratch Jeff. She had to stop including Jeff in her thoughts. It was just her now. Amy Jones. She felt a momentary thrill of excitement at her maiden name. Amy Jones. Look out, world, here I come—a little late to the game I intend to be playing, but I’m here now. And when the game is over, the whole world will know about who I am and how I won.
Jeffrey Lambert, CEO and principal shareholder of Lobo, son of the Speaker of the House, Wilson “Buzz” Lambert, was thinking almost the same thing as his now ex-wife. I’m here now, inside the building, and what do I do? Such a stupid question he thought as he ended his call with Amy and scrawled his signature to finalize the trust fund he’d set up for her. Sweat beaded on his forehead. He suddenly felt stupid to have thought he could get in and out of Washington without meeting up with good old Buzz.
“Is there any way I can leave here beside through the door I just came through, Ms. Baylor?”
Margie Baylor banged down on the stapler, looked up, and pointed to a door to the left of her office. “That door will take you to the outside corridor that leads straight out to the parking lot.”
Jeff’s mind raced. He wished he could take the time to explain to this nice lawyer, with the panicky look, why he was acting like he was, but he simply did not have the time. “I don’t want to go to the parking lot. Is there another way?”
“I’m sorry, but that’s it. You could take the steps or the elevator to the basement, walk up one flight, which will bring you inches from the revolving door at the entrance. There’s usually a line of cabs waiting. Well, maybe not a line of cabs, but at least one or two. Is everything all right, Mr. Lambert?”
“No, everything is not all right. I understand my father is in the building, and I want to avoid him. He’s a pretty forceful kind of individual and is probably right now trying to intimidate your receptionist and your office manager with his bluster. Look, I just need to get out of here!”
Margie laughed. “Our people do not know or recognize the word intimidate. We’re women! I assure you that if anyone is going to be intimidated, it will be your father. Nikki trained us well. Like I said, we’re women!” She pointed to the side door, and said, “Go!” Jeffrey didn’t need to be told twice. He literally flew through the doorway.
“Never a dull moment at the Quinn Law Firm,” Margie mumbled under her breath. She pressed a button on the console and spoke quietly. “I need you to take these papers over to the courthouse and have them filed. I’d like you to do it now, Judy.”
“Yes, ma’am, I can do that. There is someone here to see you. He doesn’t have an appointment.”
Margie’s mind raced. She knew who it was. “And what is our rule here at the Quinn Law Firm, Judy?”
“The attorneys only see clients with appointments. Mr. Lambert is insistent, Ms. Baylor. He asked me to tell you he is the Speaker of the House.”
“All our clients are treated equally. One more time, what is our rule here at the Quinn Law Firm, Judy? Tell the Speaker to make an appointment.” That said, Margie hightailed it out the same doorway Jeffrey Lambert had just gone through. She did exactly what she told Jeffrey to do. She rode the elevator to the basement and walked up a flight of steps to the lobby and was through the revolving door in minutes. Outside, a cab was at the curb. She climbed in, and said, “Take me to the courthouse.” She leaned back against the cracked leather seat. Sometimes, you just had to do things yourself. It was important to Jeffrey Lambert to have the trust documents filed today. As his attorney, it was her job to make sure it happened.
This whole thing—the ever-so-friendly divorce, the unwanted trust, and the Speaker of the House showing up at the eleventh hour—was enough to boggle her mind, and yet people said the law was boring. She sniffed. Those people didn’t know anything about the all-female Quinn Law Firm. Not a damn thing. Nikki’s mantra, to which they all subscribed, was “Take no prisoners.”
* * *
While Margie’s cab crawled through traffic, Buzz Lambert was railing at her secretary, demanding to see the head of the firm.
“I’m sorry, Mister Speaker, but rules are rules. I have a job here that I love, and I want and intend to keep this job. I will, however, call Ms. Quinn to see if she has time to meet with you. Take a seat, please,” said Judy.
“Don’t you dare to tell me what to do, young lady. It works the other way around—I tell you what to do. Is it necessary for me to remind you who I am? I need to get back to the Hill.”
“No, sir, you have already told me four times who you are. But it just doesn’t matter. You are not my employer, and you do not set policy for the Quinn Law Firm. Now, either you sit down or you leave, or I will be forced to call security. How do you think that is going to look on the evening news? I can just hear the news anchor: ‘And now a story about the Speaker of the House, Buzz Lambert, being escorted by security out of the building housing the Quinn Law Firm. Calls to the Speaker’s office asking for comment on the incident have not been returned.’ I am calling Ms. Quinn now.”
Buzz couldn’t believe that this slip of a girl was telling him, the man two heartbeats away from becoming the president of the United States, what to do. And yet, here he was, sitting down. He seethed like a fire-breathing dragon as he waited.
“Ms. Quinn instructed me to escort you to her office. She said she can give you five minutes, not one minute longer, as she has a client who is due to arrive momentarily. Here at the Quinn Law Firm, we do our best not to keep our clients waiting. Follow me, sir.”
Nikki was standing in the open doorway to her office. She nodded to Judy that she should return to her own office, that she could and would handle things from here on in. “Mr. Speaker, I’m Nikki Quinn. This is my firm. I don’t care who you are or why you’re here, but do not ever try to bluster your way in here and try to intimidate my employees. We do not tolerate that kind of behavior. You have five minutes, so talk fast. I have a client who is due to arrive any minute.”
“Where’s my son? Where’s that gold digger he married? Jeffrey’s mother told me they were getting divorced and that you were handling the divorce.”
“I have not the slightest
clue as to the current whereabouts of your son. I assume that he has finished what he came here to do and has departed. Likewise for his wife.
“And as a lawyer yourself, you should know that I cannot discuss my clients’ business with you. This might sound trite, but I would bet dollars to donuts that you have your son’s phone number and access to a telephone. Perhaps you should try calling him to find out where he is, instead of coming here and disrupting my law firm. I think we’re done here, Mr. Speaker.”
“This isn’t the end of it, lady,” Buzz blustered. He couldn’t remember the last time anyone had talked to him like this blond floozy. Even men didn’t dare talk to him like she had.
His face red and mottled like the old bricks on the building, Wilson “Buzz” Lambert turned on his heel and marched down the hall, his back ramrod stiff.
The fine hairs on the back of Nikki’s neck moved. So her gut was right, and right now her gut was telling her that the Speaker’s words were true. This wasn’t the end of the Lambert divorce, not by a long shot.
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The Most Wonderful Time Page 35
