Shoulders back, she pushed open the door, stepped out, saw herself in the mirror above the sink, and groaned. Makeup certainly had a short half-life.
Waiting for Bailey to return, Austin leaned back in his chair, his heart racing. Damn the woman! She had him incredibly aroused just by touching his leg. It was a good thing there weren't any bushes around to throw her behind or he'd probably lose control again.
Though he wasn't sure she would be so receptive this time. She seemed bored with the whole evening, didn't even want another drink.
He still didn't understand her recent actions—running away from him, physically and emotionally, after making love on Sunday night; appearing totally confused but no longer angry at lunch on Monday; and now, seemingly eager to meet him here, allowing his leg to touch hers, then bolting from the room. She was a very frustrating woman, weaving—no, make that crashing—her way into the core of his being then retreating frostily.
Lifting his glass, he drained the last few sips of his beer, his mind registering peripherally that it had gone flat and stale. He usually left that last half inch, but Bailey had driven him to unusual behavior.
Across the room he saw her coming back to the table, elegant litheness moving through the chaos.
His fist clenched tightly. He would take charge of the situation, force sense from this chaos. With a macho gesture, he raised his beer glass to his lips and tossed his head back. As Bailey reached the table, he set it back down, hoping in the dim light she hadn't noticed he'd tried to drink from an empty glass.
After an hour of excruciatingly painful mundane conversation, Austin had to admit he was floundering. Bailey totally unnerved him, sitting there all prim and proper in her navy blue pinstripe suit when he knew what was under it. He'd seen her cool eyes become slits of passion, had kissed her full lips and held her firm, sweaty body against his. However hard she tried to pretend it hadn't happened, he knew it had.
He shifted uncomfortably in his chair. "Would you like to go somewhere else?" he asked. "Maybe we could find someplace to dance." He could hold her body next to his again, and who knew what might happen then?
"Dance?" She looked confused, almost frightened.
Her eyes darted across the room, then back to him and down to her empty tea glass. "I don't dance," she finally said, her tone cold.
Right, he thought. She could run like a gazelle, swim like a mermaid, make love like—there was no metaphor for that, for the way her body moved so smoothly with his. No woman that coordinated, that graceful, would be unable to dance.
"Religious preference?" he asked sarcastically.
"No. Lack of training and talent." Her eyes met his, defiant, challenging. She sat upright in her chair and crossed her arms.
He knew that body language. She was shutting him out and, as usual, he had no idea why, but he wasn't about to let her know that. He emulated her posture. "How amazing that a beautiful woman like you can't dance."
He almost got her that time. She blinked twice, rapidly, then regained her composure. Austin waited, a strange intoxication pervading his being. He could almost predict what she would say now, and that was exciting, to think he knew her so well. She'd make some snide remark such as how they ought to report that amazing fact to Ripley's Believe It or Not.
"Not all of us are skilled in all things," she said. Austin dropped his gaze to the table and took a deep breath, trying to regroup. He'd been wrong. He didn't know her after all.
"I'm sure you have a busy schedule tomorrow," she continued in that same distant tone, "and I need to get home and feed Samantha."
She opened her bag and pulled out her wallet. With another jolt, Austin realized she intended to pay for her own drink.
"No!" He grabbed her hand, and for an exhilarating instant he could see green sparks shooting from her eyes. "My treat," he insisted. "You can have me over for dinner next time."
Blast! Of all things to say to a woman who couldn't cook!
She shrugged and withdrew her hand from his grasp.
"Then thank you." Her eyes dripped green icicles.
*~*~*
"He hates me," Bailey informed Paula an hour later as the two of them perched cross-legged on Paula's bed, sipping hot chocolate. The scene, reminiscent of so many in high school, was vaguely comforting in spite of the chunk of granite that had settled in her abdominal region after the disastrous evening with Austin. "Even though I was so nice to him, it would have turned your stomach. It did mine. He hates me."
"You haven't told me one thing that would substantiate that theory," Paula replied.
"You weren't there to hear the intonations, see the gestures. Anyway it doesn't matter. I don't care." Even with Paula she should salvage some of her damaged pride.
Paula raised an eyebrow in disbelief, and Bailey averted her gaze. "So why did he ask you to meet him if he doesn't like you?" she asked, ignoring Bailey's last comment.
"I don't know." Bailey leaned over the edge of the bed to catch Samantha in mid-leap. The little dog wriggled from her grasp and nestled into the pillows between the two women. Bailey tangled her fingers in the soft fur, soaking up the undemanding love. "I don't pretend to understand the man's motives," she said. "Maybe he's up to something underhanded."
Paula sighed exaggeratedly. "If you'd only apply the same principles to having a relationship that you apply to everything else, you'd have Austin or any other man you choose eating out of your hand. Pull out all the stops, don't quit until the race is over, give it the Bailey Russell effort."
"The race is over, and I could care less. The subject of Austin is closed." She would put him out of her head as well as out of the conversation. She'd had enough of making a fool of herself over a man. Okay, so this particular man made her feel all tingly inside when he touched her, and being with him, competing with him, even when she lost, made her feel as if she were bursting with sunshine and fire. So what? She'd been doing just fine before she met him, and she'd do just fine without him. His only position in her life would be opposing counsel. "It's your turn," she told Paula. "Tell me what's going on with Prince Charming."
"Ah, Prince Charming." Paula leaned back against the headboard. "Prince Charming has been far too busy with duties of his kingdom to pay attention to an ordinary commoner."
Bailey sipped her chocolate, but it had gone cold. "Are you saying he's working too much and ignoring you?"
"Except that we know Gordon never works too much. Gordon does the minimum and smiles a lot."
Bailey set her cup on Paula's nightstand and leaned back against the pillow. "Not true," she said, delighted to be able to disagree after having her earlier comments debunked. "I have personally observed the man at work as well as the ill effects of this hard work. I told you how tired he was last night."
"Bailey, dear friend, you never have lived in the same world as the rest of us. Did you know I had an affair with Ron Sims?"
Bailey sat bolt-upright in bed and studied Paula's face for signs of teasing. "Your old boss? A lawyer? No way. You did not." She hesitated. "Did you?"
Paula's head tilted back, her eyes toward the ceiling.
"It happened right after Chuck and I got divorced. Haywood isn't exactly brimming with eligible men over the age of eighteen. I guess mostly it was an ego trip since I'd always been an outsider looking in on Ron's social life." She raised a restraining hand. "Before you go making something melodramatic out of it, let me say emphatically that at no time did I ever fancy I loved the jerk. When he told me he was engaged to the mayor's daughter, I heaved a sigh of relief. But the creep thought we'd just keep carrying on together. I didn't like his attitude. So I left."
"I see," Bailey mused, finally understanding Paula's sudden decision to move to the city.
"I don't like attorneys," Paula continued. "Never have. And I was right, you see. Okay, I admit I lost my head temporarily. Gordon didn't seem like a real lawyer at first, but he is. Maybe he hasn't found someone else on his social level to marry, but he
's using his work as an excuse to divert him."
"You think Gordon's working this hard to avoid you?" Bailey asked in amazement. "You're nuts. No wonder my life is suddenly so weird. I've been taking advice from a fruitcake. Just because you had a bad experience with a slimeball, you make these sweeping assumptions. This isn't like you."
"Why? Because I've learned when to throw in the towel?"
"Just a minute ago you were on my case not to quit before the end of the race and a bunch of other drivel in that vein. Put those red toenails in your mouth, did you?" she gloated.
"I'm not as competitive as you are. I never have been."
"You didn't have to be. You just had to be you. Every guy in high school was after you."
"Well, this isn't high school. I'm thirty years old, not sixteen, and I'm not the head cheerleader anymore. I made a slight judgment error, and now it's time to retreat and go to Plan B."
"That's the Paula I know," Bailey approved. "What's Plan B?"
"Some more responses to my ad came today, and I've spent the evening making phone calls and writing letters—letters which will get mailed this time. I already have three dates for tomorrow night."
Bailey collapsed back against the pillow and raised her arms in a silent appeal. "I was right. You're nuts. Though I suppose there is safety in numbers. But do they know this is going to be a group date?"
"Don't be absurd. I have them lined up in three different lounges within walking distance, an hour apart."
Bailey frowned. "I don't think you're acting wisely."
"Fine." Paula raised one foot and inspected her scarlet toenails. "Then you know exactly how I feel about your actions."
Samantha crawled out of her nest between the pillows, looked disgustedly from one person to the other, shook herself, leaped off the bed, and stalked from the room.
Bailey and Paula exchanged glances then burst into laughter.
"Sometimes," Paula said, "I don't like your dog's attitude."
Bailey went to bed, but she lay awake for a long time, staring into the darkness, cuddling Samantha close, and fighting a losing battle to keep Austin out of her thoughts. Austin the lawyer, self-possessed and competent, Austin the athlete, muscled thighs pumping as he ran beside her, but mostly Austin the lover, naked before her, flesh sweat-damp and shimmering in the moonlight, heart throbbing beneath her hand.
She sat up, turned her pillow over, lay back on the fresh, cool side. She had to get control of her errant emotions. But Austin's image intruded again, exciting her even in his absence.
She flipped on the lamp and reached for a book, selecting a thriller, hoping that would divert her thoughts.
*~*~*
The next morning as she sat in a partners' meeting for the first time, Bailey tried to regain her former excitement over that achievement. Looking at the six men gathered around the conference room table, she reminded herself that she would be the first woman partner. That was something to be proud of.
But her victory felt oddly hollow. Surely, she told herself, this lack of enthusiasm couldn't be the result of her problems with Austin. Surely she had more control than that.
She stared at the few drops of sludge left in her cup.
Maybe a little more caffeine…
"Stafford," she said, "I'm going for more coffee before we get started here. Anyone want me to bring them some?"
Seated at the head of the table, Stafford waved his cigar at her. "Sit down. Paula's on her way with coffee and rolls."
Good, Bailey thought, settling back into the chair.
Surely caffeine and sugar would improve her mood, banish her distressing memories of the night before.
"What we're here to discuss," Stafford boomed, interrupting her thoughts, "is a merger offer from a larger firm."
That was one way to wake up, Bailey thought, accepting a copy of the offer. First you learn you're going to be a partner, then you're not sure with which firm or how far down the roll. She listened with a growing sense of horror as Stafford hit the high points, named names.
Austin Travers.
Somehow it didn't surprise her that her nemesis in one area of her life was intruding into another.
"Take a couple of minutes to skim over this. You can read it in detail later. Then tell me what you think," Stafford ordered.
A couple of quick knocks sounded on the door, and Paula squeezed in, balancing a large tray holding a pot of coffee and a huge plate of sweet rolls.
"You're a lifesaver," Bailey said as Paula set the tray in the middle of the table.
"Can I get you anything else?" she asked the room at large.
"Looks like we're set," Stafford answered, and Paula turned and left the room.
Secretaries always served coffee, but this time Bailey felt strange about it. Paula was her friend. Paula was a part of any group she was a part of. Paula didn't serve food like a waitress and then disappear.
"I think we ought to consider the offer," Hollis Montgomery, the only partner under the age of forty, announced. "That guy they sent over from St. Louis is doing some good things with that firm. They're on the move, streamlining their operation. It's a real chance for us to grow."
"I don't like it," Edmund Bradshaw, second in seniority to Stafford, droned. "We're doing all right by ourselves, been doing all right for a lot of years."
"What's wrong with doing better than all right?" Eugene Lawson queried.
"How much better do you want to do?" Milton Chandler asked. "Between our salaries, bonuses, perks, and side investments, everybody’s been worried about tax shelters, not about meeting the mortgage payments."
Bailey studied Stafford Morris' face as the debate continued. He looked uninvolved, almost bored.
He already knew what everyone would say, she realized. Six partners. That's why I was invited. To break the tie. But on which side was he counting her? She'd have to try to think about this objectively.
"What's your opinion, Stafford?" she asked, her first comment since the discussion had begun.
"I agree with everybody," he growled around his cigar, his eyes squinted against the spiraling smoke. "There's advantages and disadvantages, and which ones are important will be a personal call for all of us." Without raising his head, he blew a stream of smoke toward the ceiling. "How about you?"
She nodded slowly. "I need to think about all the ramifications."
That pretty much told her which side he was going to come down on. Stafford was comfortable where he was, big fish in a little pond, king of the mountain. Which meant he probably expected her to vote against the offer too. Another aspect of the situation she'd have to ignore in making her decision.
"Be back here Monday morning," Stafford said when Hollis Montgomery slammed his fist onto the table in response to Edmund Bradshaw's latest statement. "We'll fight some more and then take a vote."
Bailey returned to her office feeling more disoriented than she had at the beginning of the meeting in spite of the coffee and rolls. Falling into her chair, she spun it around and looked out the window at the parking lot next door. The rectangular cars sat quietly in tidy, rectangular rows.
Until recently she'd thought her life was like that, tidy and symmetrical. Bad enough her personal life had gone down the tube with all her time and thoughts centering on Austin, but now her career, which had been proceeding on schedule, was suddenly an unknown element. And she would cast the deciding vote. That was a hell of a thing to put on somebody's shoulders who wasn't even officially a partner yet.
Leaning back in her chair, she crossed her arms and chewed on her bottom lip. Her instinct rebelled at the thought of merging with another firm. But on the other hand, maybe she'd grown into the situation here and could just as easily adjust to another. In a bigger firm, there was certainly greater potential for advancement and growth.
Not that Stafford Morris had ever tried to stop her personal expansion within the firm. They'd fought tooth and nail over a lot of things, and he had been known to pull
rank on her. But in the overall picture, she had no real complaints. She'd pretty much been allowed to carve her own niche.
Conversely, stories she'd heard via the grapevine about the new and improved Kearns, Worley firm indicated the niches were carved before the insertion of attorneys. She could see that. Pushy as Austin was, he'd enjoy molding people to his specs, but she'd be damned if he'd get the chance to mold her.
Bailey kicked at the credenza behind her, spinning her chair back around to her desk. Damn! Her personal feelings were intruding on a business decision. She couldn't let that happen.
Pulling a yellow legal pad from the middle of one of the stacks on her desk, she ripped off the top pages and drew a line down the middle of the first blank sheet. On one side she wrote "Pro," on the other, "Con," and began making her lists.
She muttered an expletive as both sides rapidly filled.
She didn't want this responsibility. If Stafford knew her decision could be influenced by personal factors...
Or maybe the crafty old fox did know. That would be just like him, to stack the deck.
The pencil lead snapped, and Bailey realized she had been pushing a hole into the paper. She tossed the paper and pencil into the midst of the mess on her desk.
This was all that blasted Austin's fault. He made the offer. Because of him, she was in this unenviable position.
Then it hit. She straightened as energy surged through her. Austin was asking for a merger, and the decision was in her hands. She was back in familiar territory, not the unexplored terrain of the night before. She could talk to him now. Grabbing the phone, she punched in a number she hadn't realized she'd memorized.
"Austin," she greeted when he came on the line.
"Bailey! Hello." His voice sounded excited on the first word then dropped to an intimate tone on the second.
"So we may be in this thing together before long," she said, then explained that the offer had been presented that morning.
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