Her Secret Rival

by Abby Gaines

  MEGAN PARKED her BMW in the broad sweep of the driveway outside her father’s front door, alongside Cynthia’s Volvo and Sabrina’s convertible VW Beetle.

  She forced herself not to hurry, not to worry about the fact she was last to arrive. Dinner with her dad wasn’t a competition, so it was stupid to feel, every time she got together with her family, that she had something to prove.

  She found her sisters in the farmhouse-style kitchen, out of place in a house that had never been a farmhouse but welcoming nonetheless.

  “Megan, it’s so good to see you.” Sabrina rushed to hug her as if it had been months, rather than a week, since their last dinner.

  “Why, are you looking for a lawyer to write you a prenup?” Megan joked.

  There was no way Sabrina would sign a prenup. She and Jake, her fiancé, were so nuts about each other, not even the most jaded attorney—or sister—would seriously suggest it.

  She hugged Sabrina back, then crossed the kitchen to kiss Cynthia on the cheek. Cynthia responded, but she seemed distracted.

  “I’m making gin fizzes.” Sabrina indicated bottles of gin and club soda, plus a pile of limes, on the counter.

  Megan realized she was very much in need of a drink. “Light on the fizz, heavy on the gin for me.”

  Sabrina’s wide smile reminded her of all the photos she’d seen of her sister in newspapers and magazines during her recent stint as Miss Georgia. Sabrina had inherited her pale gold hair and sparkling blue eyes from her mom, Jonah’s late, beloved second wife.

  Megan sniffed at the wonderful aromas coming from the oven. “Dinner smells great. I’m guessing Dad didn’t cook.”

  “Miss Perfect strikes again,” Cynthia said, with uncharacteristic irritation.

  Megan knew what her older sister meant. Sabrina was not only beauty-queen gorgeous, she was also a Cordon Bleu cook, her fiancé was the governor of Georgia and she worked as spokesperson for a charity that educated severely injured kids. It was enough to nauseate the most generous of sisters.

  But Cynthia was the undisputed genius of the family, and she usually tolerated Sabrina’s perfection with amused equanimity.

  “Cynthia, sweetie, I’m going to overlook that on the grounds that you’re stressed,” Sabrina said. “You can apologize when you’re feeling better.” A while back, Sabrina had called her sisters on their habit of gibing her; since then they’d both made an effort to give her the respect she deserved.

  “Sorry,” Cynthia muttered.

  “Cyn, you okay?” Megan asked.

  Cynthia took a healthy swig from the glass Sabrina handed her, and grimaced. “Fine. Dad said we should see him in his study.”

  “What about?” Megan asked.

  “How would I know?” Cynthia snapped.

  Megan caught Sabrina’s eye. Her younger sister shook her head, mystified. Cynthia was famously even tempered.

  The chairs in Jonah’s study were occupied according to an unspoken and unchanging hierarchy: Cynthia took the wing chair closest to the desk, Megan sat in the matching armchair (without wings). Sabrina set a heavily watered down gin fizz on their father’s desk, then curled up on the love seat.

  Jonah leaned back in his padded leather chair behind the mahogany desk. His hair had turned entirely silver since the heart attack, making him look even more distinguished than he always had. “How’s the Hoskins case going?” he asked Megan. “Who’s the opposing counsel?”

  “Travis Jamieson from Prescott Palmer.”

  “Jamieson?” Her father sounded perplexed rather than surprised.

  “Do you know him?” Megan asked.

  Jonah rubbed his chin. “Not really.”

  For the first time she could remember, she didn’t believe her father. Her stomach felt suddenly hollow. “Dad, if there’s something I should know…”

  “There’s nothing,” he said sharply. He looked Megan in the eye. “I’ve never met the man.”

  The truth. Megan let out a shaky breath.

  “I have some news—” Jonah addressed all of them “—that I want to share with you before it hits the grapevine. I’ve identified several people I consider possible candidates to head up Merritt, Merritt & Finch. A short list, if you will.”

  “Am I on it?” Megan’s mouth ran away with her.

  Sabrina made a little choking sound.

  “You?” Cynthia said, evidently shocked that Megan should want to usurp a position that until recently had been hers. “But you don’t have any commercial or criminal experience.”

  Gee, thanks, Cyn.

  The gleam in her father’s eye said he was ready for this battle. “Your sister’s right.” He steepled his fingers. “I hope to make an appointment by the new year, and to that end I’ve had preliminary discussions with Henry Whittington, Jack Loveridge III and Robert Grayson. They’ve each expressed an interest in the position.”

  All excellent lawyers, eminently qualified. If Dad hired any of those men, he’d have no need to consult Megan, to strategize with her. Heck, she’d be lucky if she ever saw him again, apart from at this weekly dinner.

  “Dad, please—” she threw her pride to the wind and got ready to grovel in front of her sisters “—please at least consider me.”

  “You know what I think about that.” Jonah slopped his gin fizz. He shook the drops off his hand, then took a slow sip. “Besides, sweetie, you work too hard.”

  Megan groaned inwardly—not that red herring again.

  “You need some balance in your life,” Jonah said.

  “Dad, you’re the workaholic in this family.”

  “And look where it got me.” Her father thumped his chest.

  “I’m a lot younger than you, and I’m in perfect health.”

  “You’re setting up the habits of a lifetime right now,” her father said. “In ten years’ time, you won’t be so young, or so healthy, and you’ll be a sitting duck for a heart attack. You need more work-life balance.” He looked as if he wanted to wash his own mouth out with soap, the way he had Megan’s when she’d tried swearing when she was ten years old. The words work-life balance were a heresy to most lawyers.

  “Cynthia’s a workaholic, too,” Megan said. “Do you tell her she needs more balance?” They all knew the answer to that.

  “You’re not your sister,” Jonah said. “Cynthia has exceptional stamina.”

  “That’s right.” Cynthia traded a quick smile with Jonah.

  Personally, Megan thought her sister looked exhausted, but she wasn’t going to get anywhere by going head-to-head with her. “Dad, I have balance. I…I go to the movies with friends.”

  “Since The Sound of Music?” he demanded.

  She rolled her eyes. “Of course.” Although now that she thought about it, the last movie she’d seen might have been Die Hard. The first one.

  “I go to the gym twice a week and I take a vacation every year.” Her lawyer’s instincts warned her not to give her father another excuse not to consider her for the job.

  “How long since you had a date?”

  “Three weeks,” she said triumphantly. Thank goodness she’d accepted the offer of dinner from the opposing counsel she’d defeated in a recent case. She’d just about fallen asleep in her tiramisu, the evening was so dull, and so had he, but it still counted as a date. But if he’d kissed her good-night, she’d forgotten.

  Her father grunted. “You need a steady boyfriend.”

  A nonlawyer boyfriend would dump her when he realized her attention was never fully on him, and any boyfriend who was a decent lawyer couldn’t give her the attention she wanted.

  “It would be nice if you found someone,” Sabrina said. “You deserve a wonderful guy, Megan.”

  Sweet sentiment, lousy timing.

  “I’m looking,” Megan said. “Actively looking.” Heck, she would promise to date a trapeze artist and have contortionist sex, if it would elevate her to Dad’s short list.

  Megan read doubt in her father’s face, suspicion in Cyn
thia’s, sympathy in Sabrina’s. The room felt stifling, and she pushed herself to her feet.

  “In fact, I have a date tonight. I’m going to the Hawks game. With a guy.”

  “What guy?” Cynthia and Jonah demanded simultaneously.

  “Basketball?” Sabrina eyed her black suit and white blouse.

  “Uh-huh. I need to go home and change.”

  THE MOMENT Megan got into her car, she phoned Travis. “I hope you didn’t give away those Hawks tickets.”

  “Are you kidding? It’ll be a great game, I’m on my way now.”

  “I’ll see you there.”

  Silence at the other end.

  “Unless your girlfriend is with you,” she said, suddenly mortified.

  “No girlfriend.”

  Warmth rushed through Megan. “Really? Even though you’re so keen to get married?”

  “Go figure,” he said. “I have your ticket here, I’ll meet you outside the gear store at seven.”

  “Seven, outside the store,” she repeated, as she pulled out into the traffic.

  “It’s a date.”

  “It’s not a date,” she snapped, beset by the ridiculous thought that he could have read her mind, or overheard what she’d said to her father.

  “Figure of speech,” Travis said.

  TRAVIS REALIZED two things when he met Megan outside the gear store at the arena, having executed a hasty juggle of his plans for the evening. First, he’d pictured her in his mind way more often than their professional association justified. Second, he’d pictured her in a variety of scenarios, but in none of them had she worn hip-hugging jeans, a tightish long-sleeved T-shirt and a baby-blue fleece jacket. The overall effect was undeniably cute.

  She caught him staring. “What’s wrong?”

  “A Knicks cap?” He flicked the brim of her ball cap. “You’ll be lynched by fans from both sides.”

  She shrugged. “I’m used to being the odd one out. I’ll handle it.”

  “Yeah, but I’ll have to look after you.”

  She frowned up at him from beneath the cap. “This is not a date.”

  “It’s a business meeting.” He feigned shock that she could even consider the possibility. “With hot dogs.”

  “Those things are bad for you,” she said. But he caught a wistful note in her voice.

  “Only if you eat more than six in one sitting.” He was rewarded with a look of revulsion from her.

  He was looking forward to tonight, and not just for the great basketball. The casual atmosphere of the arena was ideal to ask Megan a few questions.

  He bought the hot dogs. One each. There would be fancier food served up in the club area, but for Travis, hot dogs were game food. Megan took hers without argument, then they headed for their seats.

  It wasn’t easy working their way through the crowd—the game was a sellout. As they reached the more expensive section, Travis realized half of Atlanta’s top lawyers were here. The other half were probably being entertained in the private corporate suites.

  The Hoskinses owned two fine seats—Megan’s smirk said she knew just how lucky they were. Travis grinned and held her hot dog while she stowed her purse at her feet.

  The game got off to a fast start, the Hawks’ star player setting the pace with two slam dunks and a jump shot in the first quarter.

  “They needed that,” Megan said. The team’s recent five-loss streak had been headline news.

  “I didn’t pick you for a basketball fan.”

  “And yet in our meeting with the Hoskinses, you thought I’d want to go the game.”

  “I wanted to go to the game,” Travis corrected her. “I often come along with my dad.” He scanned the field. “Our seats aren’t usually quite as nice as these.”

  “I—” she broke off to applaud a layup shot by a player who’d just transferred into the Hawks from Chicago “—I’m still surprised you didn’t bring a girlfriend.”

  “Your level of interest in my lack of a girlfriend seems excessive.”

  “Purely professional,” she said snootily. “When a good-looking guy tells a divorce lawyer he wants to get married and settle down, said divorce lawyer can’t help calculating the odds of the marriage lasting.”

  “So cynical, for one so young,” he marveled.

  “Just planning my future income stream.”

  “You think if I got a divorce I’d hire you to represent me?”

  “I’m not sure you’d be that smart,” she said. “But your wife might.”

  He laughed. “Who’ve you chosen to represent you when you get divorced?”

  “Who said I want to get married?”

  “Do you?”

  She fixed her gaze on the Hawks, huddled in a team time-out. From the cheaper seats, a couple of fans booed and yelled at them to hurry up, only not in such polite terms. “I’ve seen a lot of unhappy marriages, starting way back with my parents’.”

  Travis knew Jonah Merritt had married twice, but he didn’t know the details. “Your folks split up?”

  “Acrimoniously,” she said. “I was only three, so I don’t remember the ins and outs. But the bitterness lasted a long time.”

  “And that’s put you off marriage.”

  The guy the other side of Megan put his fingers to his lips and issued a piercing whistle. Megan winced. “I’d need to be more certain than the average starry-eyed bride that I’d chosen the right guy. And I’d want an ironclad prenup.”

  “Ouch,” he said. “How unromantic.”

  She shook her head. “Don’t tell me you’re a hearts-and-flowers guy. Naïveté doesn’t qualify you to work at Prescott Palmer.”

  Travis scowled, but she met his gaze full on. “Yeah, you’re right,” he conceded. “I’m not sappy…but my parents have a great marriage. I want the same.”

  “I’m sure if you put a notice in the Law Journal you’d get dozens of applicants.”

  “No doubt your interest is still purely professional,” he said, “but it seems you rate my attractions fairly high.”

  “I’m a reasonable judge.” She scanned him. “I like to think I’m impartial.”

  Travis wasn’t so sure about her impartiality, judging by the sparkle in her eyes. “I don’t envisage my future wife being a lawyer,” he said, to himself as much as to her.

  “Let me guess, you want a doctor in the family to help you with those malpractice suits?”

  He couldn’t remember the last time a woman had made him laugh as much Megan did. “I’m thinking more a…homemaker.”

  Now it was her turn to laugh. Travis saw the moment she realized he was serious; her chin jerked back.

  “Don’t start on the chauvinist thing,” he warned. “I know it’s not politically correct, but you’ll have noticed we at PPA seldom are. I don’t care if everyone else rates their marriage on combined earning power, I’ve seen what works for our family.”

  A million questions jostled in Megan’s eyes. But she pointed to the basketball court. “That was a foul.”

  She said nothing else until the end of the second quarter. They moved out into the aisle to stretch their legs.

  “Megan,” a man called.

  Travis heard her groan under her breath as Robert Grayson, a partner in one of the larger downtown law firms, picked his way down the crowded steps to them.

  “Hi, Robert,” she said, her voice neutral.

  Grayson kissed her cheek. “I talked to your dad the other day. He seemed well.”

  The words were innocuous, but something in the searching glance he gave Megan put Travis on alert.

  “I heard,” she said with a tiny nod.

  Grayson smiled. “How about you and I have dinner soon?”

  Travis froze. Did Megan really know this guy? Know the things about him Travis did?

  “Uh, maybe…” She glanced around as if she’d rather be anywhere else.

  Travis stepped closer, so that his arm brushed hers. “We’re pretty busy the next few weeks,” he told Grayso
n.

  The other man raised his eyebrows.

  “Robert, this is Travis Jamieson,” Megan said.

  Robert offered a hand, so Travis shook it. “Jamieson…” The guy was obviously wondering if he should recognize the name.

  “From Prescott Palmer,” Megan said.

  “You’re with PPA?” Robert looked at Megan for confirmation.

  Travis waited for her to clarify that they were working the same case, that this wasn’t a date. She didn’t say a word. That was weird, because he’d have bet money she would hate to be linked socially with a guy like him.

  “I’ve been there ten years.” Travis stared directly at Robert until the other man’s distaste transformed into an awkwardness Megan wouldn’t understand.

  “We really should get together, Megan,” Robert insisted. “I’ll have my assistant call yours.” He kissed her cheek again, which had the bizarre effect of curling Travis’s hands into fists.

  As he left, Megan glared after him.

  “What was going on there? That was about more than dinner,” Travis said.

  She bit her lower lip in a way that made her seem curiously vulnerable. “I guess it won’t hurt to tell you—it’ll be all over town in a day or two.”

  “Lawyers are terrible gossips,” he agreed. He took her by the elbow to steer her back to their seats.

  “You’ve probably heard my dad plans to retire.”

  “Uh-huh.” He stepped over someone’s beer, and waited for her to do the same. They continued to edge along the row, squeezing past knees and backpacks.

  “Dad’s come up with a short list of people to replace him.”

  His head snapped around. “Already?” His urgency clearly surprised her. More calmly, he added, “I heard your father only decided a couple of weeks ago his heart can’t take a return to the office.”

  She nodded. “Dad’s a fast worker, even after a heart attack. He’s made the search for his replacement a priority.” She didn’t sound happy about it. “I guess Robert wants to discuss the prospect of working together. He and I used to date.”

  Travis stopped, and she bumped into him, soft curves brushing against his arm. He shook off the distraction. “Did he hurt you?” he demanded.