"I'll help you with that work later," she offered. "Let's go eat. I'm starving. And you need a break. You can't work continually. Wears your brain out."
"You're one to talk! How many times have I tried to pry you out of your office? Now it's my turn. Go away and let me concentrate."
He returned his attention to the legal tome in front of him, and Bailey moved away from the door.
"You look nice today," he called after her.
Great, she thought. I look nice today. But it's a cinch this blasted makeup won't last through the night and into another day.
Maybe she should treat this like any other incident in her life and take the bull by the horns. Call Austin and see if he wanted to…what? After last night, even asking him to go for a run might sound suggestive. A noon date, with its connotations, was clearly out of the question.
She marched back into her office, slumped in her chair, and ground her teeth. Okay, so she couldn't count on Gordon to help. How else could she arrange for an accidental meeting? Maybe she could kind of wander through the area restaurants at lunch, and if she saw him eating, he might ask her to join him. If he didn't—and he might not after the rude way she'd acted the night before—well, she'd cross that bridge when she came to it. No point inventing problems before they arose.
*~*~*
Half an hour later Bailey stood in front of the counter at a deli down the street from her office, ready to give up her quest. She looked from the prepared sandwiches, squashed in their cellophane wrappers, to her reflection in the mirror behind the counter. The sandwiches pretty much reflected the way she looked and felt, except they were cool in their refrigerated case and she couldn't recall ever having been hotter.
She'd never before realized there were so many places to eat within walking distance of the office, and not a sign of Austin in any of them. Just as well, she thought, staring back at the creature in the mirror, the one with a shiny, flushed face, flattened hair, and raccoon eyes.
"Chicken salad sandwich," she told the clerk as he approached her. Accepting the shapeless lump, she gave the man a ten-dollar bill.
"Well, hello."
Bailey jumped at the sound of the voice behind her and whirled to see Austin. He looked cool and crisp in his white, short sleeved shirt, tie loose at his throat, jacket draped over his shoulder. She felt frumpy and disheveled.
"Hi, yourself. Out for a little lunch?" Great conversation, stupid, she berated herself. What else would he be doing in a deli at this time of day?
"Yes," he answered politely. "Care to join me?" They both looked down at the sandwich she was clutching so hard her fingers were making indentations.
"Your change, ma'am," the man behind the counter announced, extending a pudgy hand beside her face.
"Oh!" Distractedly she folded the dollar bills and the sandwich and dropped everything into her shoulder bag. Only when she saw the puzzled look on Austin's face as his gaze followed her actions did she realize what she'd done.
This wasn't going at all well. She had to get out of there. "Well, got to run," she stammered. "Nice to see you again."
Proud of herself for at least remembering her manners, she stretched her dry lips into a smile. In an attempt to maintain some semblance of poise, she wheeled away from him in a ballerina-type twirl, but somehow both feet ended up in the same spot. She staggered forward, caught her balance on a table, and race-walked toward the door, afraid to look back.
"Bailey!"
Austin's voice was the last thing she heard as she plunged out the door. The steamy heat slapped her in the face about the same time she realized her polite gesture was meaningless since she hadn't even replied to Austin's invitation. In addition to being a total klutz, she'd been unconscionably rude—again. She definitely had no business trying to play this boy-girl game. She'd best get on with the things she knew how to do or, at least, was capable of learning.
But even as she beat a retreat to the sanctuary of her office, an irritating thought niggled at her, a thought that she wasn't going to give up. Whether running, swimming, or making love, the way Austin set all her senses spinning, made her feel she'd just conquered Mount Everest, was enough to keep her trying to win at this game she knew nothing about.
*~*~*
The incessant ringing of the telephone finally broke into Bailey's concentration, and she realized it was the night number. She switched the "ring" selector on her phone to "off." She had better things to do than play receptionist.
"Why doesn't somebody answer the damn phone?"
Bailey started at the unexpected voice.
Gordon drooped in her doorway.
"What are you doing here?" she asked. "Did you fall asleep in the library?"
"I've been working. Are you aware that the phone has been ringing forever?" He leaned against the doorframe, a familiar pose, except now he looked exhausted instead of casual.
"The receptionist goes home at six," Bailey informed him. "If the noise bothers you, either turn your phone off or answer the blasted thing. Those are your choices. Hanging around and complaining is not on the list."
"I tried to answer it, but all I got was a dial tone."
"Punch in seven-two. It came out in a memo when we got the new system three years ago. I think it's quit ringing, though, so your question is moot." Bailey closed the file in front of her, and her voice softened. "You look terrible. I don't believe I've ever seen you tired before."
Gordon shoved his hands into his pockets and smiled. "I think I've found out what makes you so grumpy. Work. Come on, I'll walk you to the parking lot. That way, if anyone attacks us, you can save us. I'm too weak. "
Bailey stood and took Gordon's arm. "Let's go, old buddy. I'll keep you safe from the monsters."
As they left the building, it occurred to Bailey that if she and Gordon were there, Paula was home alone. "How about we stop by my place and have a couple? I'm sure Samantha and Paula would love to see you."
Gordon brightened momentarily then shook his head. "I'm dead. All I want to do is make it inside my front door and pass out on the carpet."
Bailey paused beside her car. "What brought all this on, Gordon? Did Stafford come down on you? His ire has never bothered you before."
Gordon shrugged. "It's time I made something of myself."
Bailey stretched up to kiss his scratchy cheek and surprised herself by saying, "There's nothing wrong with the old Gordon. I kind of like him. Don't force yourself to be something you're not."
Gordon shook his head. "I wish you people would make up your minds," he grumbled. As he walked away, he called over his shoulder, "Tell your roommate—tell her I'll see her tomorrow."
Well, Bailey thought as she turned her ignition key, I'm not the only one having an early midlife crisis.
She arrived home to find Paula and Samantha watching television. Paula was polishing her toenails and had just finished Samantha's, as Bailey discovered when the dog leaped into her arms and lay back, feet in the air, showing off her pedicure. Obviously this midlife crisis was contagious, an airborne microorganism likely.
Paula immediately muted the sound on the television. "You got a phone call," she sang out.
"Good. That means they haven't turned off my service." Bailey grabbed a beer from the refrigerator, kicked off her shoes, and joined Paula on the sofa.
"Austin phoned to see if you wanted to go for a drink. I told him he could probably catch you at the office. Did he get you before you left? You ought to call him back if he didn't."
Bailey hated herself for the surge of delight she felt at Paula's news. "Did he say I should call back?" she asked, keeping her attention focused on rubbing Samantha's tummy.
"Not exactly," Paula admitted, "but it's a perfect excuse."
"If I wanted to phone Austin, which I don't, but if I did, I would simply do so. I don't need an excuse to call someone."
"Suit yourself." Paula turned the sound back up on the sitcom unfolding on the television screen."
&
nbsp; Bailey reached for the remote control and muted the noise again. "What, exactly, did he say?"
Paula turned to face Bailey, her eyes dancing. "First he asked for Gordon, but I could tell it was just a ruse."
"How could you tell it was just a ruse?" Bailey interrupted, her happiness fading at the knowledge he had really been calling to find Gordon.
"He sounded unsure of himself. That's not like Austin. "
"No," Bailey agreed, "it's not like Austin to be unsure of himself. But it is like Paula to read in things that aren't really there."
"Not so. Anyway, to continue, hopefully without interruption, I told him Gordon wasn't here, then he said if you and I weren't doing anything, maybe we'd like to go for a drink. I told him you weren't here, but he should try the office, and I gave him the night number."
Bailey thought of the ringing phone she hadn't answered. The delight came surging back.
"I'll treat for dinner if you'll do my makeup tomorrow," Bailey offered. Just in case he called again.
Paula leaned back on the sofa, laughed, and wiggled her red toenails in the air. "We never grow up, do we? We just get older." She turned to Bailey. "Let me paint your toenails, too. Men love painted toenails."
Bailey jerked her feet up under her and held Samantha protectively. "You're crazy. Go put your shoes on or I won't be seen in public with you."
But when Paula left the room, she stretched out one foot and tried to imagine it with crimson toenails, tried to decide if men—one man in particular—might find them appealing.
Nuts, she chided herself. You're losing your mind and all sense of decorum and going totally nuts.
*~*~*
When Bailey arrived in her office the next morning, the first thing she did was turn the ring switch of her phone back on. A few minutes later when it shrilled at her, she jumped involuntarily then snatched it up.
"Bailey Russell."
"You sound awful damn happy for this hour of the morning," Stafford Morris growled. "Come see me."
The connection was broken.
Probably another lease for Larry Haynes. Doing that man's work ought to be worth a partnership if she did nothing else.
She stopped by the kitchen for a caffeine refill then moved on to the big corner office. Paula looked up from a document she was proofing when Bailey came by.
"I've been summoned to the lion's den," she said in answer to Paula's questioning look. "If I don't come back, take care of Samantha, but leave her toenails alone."
She knocked on the door, then opened it and entered.
Just as she was closing it, he growled, "Close the door."
This could be serious.
When she left fifteen minutes later, she had to do a visual check to be sure her feet were touching the floor. Winking at Paula, she floated on down the hallway.
She was being offered a partnership at the end of the month. The official announcement would be made at the fiscal-year-end party, but she was unofficially invited to attend a special partners' meeting before work the next morning. Stafford Morris had actually said he valued her input and wanted her to be involved in the meeting. Words of gold!
When the phone rang again a few minutes later and she heard Austin's voice, her already intense excitement spiraled skyward.
"I thought maybe we ought to get together and go over certain aspects of the Candy Miller case," he said, his tone distant.
"Sure," Bailey agreed, feeling a little confused, her excitement whorling away. Was that the reason he had tried to call her the night before? "My office or yours?"
"Actually, I thought we might meet somewhere neutral. How about Reilly's?"
"Good," she agreed, smiling to the ceiling. Meeting in a bar didn't sound very business-oriented. She allowed her mind to linger on Sunday night, on the wild, ecstatic feelings his touch, his lovemaking, had evoked in her, and for the first time, she dared to anticipate those feelings again.
CHAPTER 8
Locating Austin was easy even in the after-work crowd at Reilly's. Admiring his dark hair, good looks, and aura of self-assurance, Bailey was surprised everyone in the place wasn't looking at him. At that thought, twin thrills zigged along her spine—one of exultation that this "hunk" was waiting for her and one of fear that he couldn't possibly be interested in her.
As she walked toward his table, a waitress paused beside him. He looked up at the woman, smiling as he spoke. Bailey experienced a pang of something she reluctantly had to admit was jealousy. Hesitating a moment, she took a deep breath and plunged on. No use kidding herself. Her normal confidence took a vacation when it came to male-female relationships, especially when Austin was the male.
But the smile he turned on her when he saw her approaching went a long way toward restoring it. Now that was a smile, not the imitation he'd given the waitress.
"Hi," he said, standing up and pulling out a chair for her. "I ordered you a glass of white wine. Didn’t mean to make decisions for you, but I was afraid we might not see another waitress for a while. We can send it back if you'd rather have something else. "
She could use something a little stronger—say, a dozen tequila shooters. "Thank you," she said. "White wine will be fine." Great, she thought. You've sunk to lousy poetry. A surefire way to impress the man.
The waitress returned, set a beer in front of Austin and a glass of pale liquid in front of Bailey. She immediately took a shaky gulp then set the glass down so abruptly, the wine sloshed onto her hand. Smooth move, klutz, she berated herself. Maybe if she sort of waved her hand around unobtrusively while she talked, it would dry and Austin wouldn't notice.
"Well," she said, flinging her hand out, "what's new with our little insurance case?"
Austin's expression was confused for a moment, and an absurd happiness sang through her veins. Paula had been right. He hadn't called her to talk about the case. She battled with her lips to keep them from bursting into a sappy grin.
"Nothing significant," he finally answered.
What should she say to that? It was her turn, and her mind was a blank. Nervousness had stolen her happiness. "Done any more running lately?" Way to go! Now he'll think you're being suggestive. "Alone, I mean." No, that was worse! "In the daylight." Oh, jeez! "Hot weather for running."
She grabbed her wine and took a huge drink, filling her mouth. Anything to stop it from talking. She was making a total fool of herself. The man would never want to see her again.
"No, I haven't done any more running, not since we—not in the last couple of days," he answered. "Been really busy at the office. How about you?"
"Yes. Me, too. Really busy." Such eloquence. She badly needed a new mouth or at least a new brain to control the old one.
"Why don't we have some dinner?" Austin suggested. "You haven't eaten yet, have you?"
Sure, they always serve seven course dinners at law offices, Bailey started to say, but remembered Paula's advice and managed to stop the sarcastic words before they escaped. "No," she replied, smiling and reaching for her wine.
A large gentleman staggered backward from the burgeoning crowd, into their table, splashing more wine on her hand. As she and Austin grabbed the table to steady it, the man grunted and disappeared back into his group.
The incident caused them to shift just enough so Bailey's knee was pressing against Austin's. Her heart began to hammer. Even through the layers of clothes, she could feel excruciatingly wonderful tingles.
Nevertheless, she started to move away from the accidental touch then stopped. Maybe it wasn't an accident on his part. He'd think she was rejecting him if she pulled away. But if it was an accident and she didn't move, then what would he think of her? On the other hand, he certainly wasn't moving.
With a forced laugh, she waved her dripping hand in the air. "Some people are such knees—such heedless people!"
Oh, jeez! She hadn't really said that. Please, God, she hadn't really said that.
"No harm done," Austin replied.
Jus
t how did he mean that? Harm done to, and by, whom? Her leg froze. She couldn't have budged it if someone had yelled, Fire.
Austin half turned in his chair to signal the waitress, but his knee didn't move.
Bailey had never before realized there were so many nerve endings in her knee, and that they led upward into so many other, seemingly unconnected, parts of her body. She was suddenly very aware of the tips of her breasts pushing against the soft fabric of her bra. Her breathing came rapid and shallow, a far cry from her normal slow, deep, athletic respiration.
Finally the menus arrived, she opened hers and pretended to study it intently though the print refused to focus.
"What are you having?" Austin asked, closing his menu.
She always got the same thing, but at the moment, she couldn't remember what it was. "Oh, anything. Whatever you're having. I'm easy." She flinched inwardly as she heard the last words escape from her treacherous mouth.
But Austin didn't seem to notice. He appeared relaxed and in control as he lifted his glass of beer to his lips. Was it possible he hadn't noticed the contact? His leg seemed to move slightly, press closer to hers. Or maybe it was only her imagination conjuring up what she wanted to happen.
"Excuse me, I have to find the ladies' room," she blurted out, leaping up from the table.
"More wine?" he asked, indicating her almost empty glass.
"No. Iced tea." If she couldn't control herself on one glass of wine, she'd better not have any more.
In the ladies' room she closeted herself in a cubicle and leaned against the wall. Maybe she could just stay there forever. This was worse than high school, more humiliating. Because, she realized, it was more important. Being popular in school mattered, but not as much as impressing someone special, making that person like you. And, heaven help her, she wanted Austin to like her. She wanted him to look at her again the way he had that night in the park.
She drew in a deep breath and thrust her chin forward. She'd never reach the finish line with an attitude like that. She would go back out there and be so sweet and so clever, he'd forget the first part of the evening. She could do it. Her motto had always been: If someone else can do it, so can I, and do it just a little bit better.
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