Anything You Can Do (13 page)

Samantha pawed daintily at a navy blue pinstripe lapel, tilted her nose into the air then curled into a ball on the jacket.

"Nobody likes a know-it-all." Bailey pulled out an old faithful black suit. If she left the top button on her blouse open, maybe it would lessen the severity.

She donned the outfit and studied her image in the dresser mirror. Eyes and hair sitting atop a black tube. Lips and face so pale as to be almost invisible.

Except—she peered closer—for a couple of freckles on her nose. Damn! The sun made her hair redder, but did it give her face any color? Not unless you counted the freckles.

A few minutes in the bathroom with her limited su
pply of cosmetics helped a little. The foundation was so old, she had to add water to be able to use it. The freckles still seemed to stand out, and the blusher made her look like a clown. She washed her face.

"
Paula!" She charged through the door to find her friend sitting at the dining room table, holding a cup of coffee in one hand, her head cradled in the other.

Paula
peered at Bailey through half-closed eyes then broke into a sleepy but smug grin. "Good morning. Did you have pleasant dreams last night?"

"Open your eyes. Look at me."

Paula shrugged. "I can see you."

"So what can I do? I look terrible."

Paula sat up straight, took a drink of coffee, and studied Bailey for a moment, then shrugged again. "You look like you always look, except your blouse is unbuttoned.''

Bailey threw her arms into the air. "So I always look awful, is that what you're saying?"

"Oh, now I get it," Paula drawled, staggering to her feet. "Come with me. I've got just the thing for you."

Thirty minutes later, hair fluffy from electric curlers, a brightly patterned scarf lending color to her suit, and soft shadows and mascara making her eyes large
and bright, Bailey studied herself in the hall bathroom mirror.

The makeup was okay. She still looked like herself, but like the new, improved version. Trouble was, she felt like the same old Bailey inside. If she looked pre
ttier, shouldn't she feel prettier?

Paula
appeared in the mirror behind her, straightened the scarf, and draped an arm around her shoulders. "Now you just need to act more like a lady and Austin will be bowled over by your new look and new outlook."

"What makes you think this has anything to do with Austin?" Was she so obvious?

"Oh, just coincidentally the morning after you make love with a man, you suddenly start worrying about your appearance."

Bailey's leg muscles seemed to wilt, and she sank onto the edge of the bathtub. She was being blatantly silly. This wouldn't do at all. She had to regain control, approach and deal with this strange attraction in a rational, intelligent manner.

She stood, leaned over the sink, turned on the water, and grabbed a bar of soap.

"What are you doing?"
Paula snatched the soap away from her.

"Getting ready to wash my face so I can go to work."

"Bailey, what's the matter with you? What's so horrible about being in love? I always enjoy it myself, even if it only lasts for a few minutes—until I get to know the guy with the great smile who turns out to have the personality of a cardboard cutout."

"Don't be absurd. How could I possibly love a man who argues with everything I say?" Bailey started to brush past her friend, to go to her own bathroom and wash her face, but
Paula grabbed her arm.

"Right. Making love with men you don't care about is something you do on a regular basis. Bailey Russell, you seem to forget you're talking to someone who remembers you from pre-training-pants days. So cut the garbage."

Bailey sighed then shrugged, deciding to admit to half the truth. "I saw myself in the mirror this morning and I didn't like it. Maybe I'm having a midlife crisis a little early, that's all. As for being in love, you, of all people, should know that's something I don't do very well."

"You haven't practiced much, that's for sure."
Paula plopped onto the side of the tub, patting the area beside her. "Sit here and talk to me."

Reluctantly Bailey joined her. "What's to talk about? I think I've always been a realistic person, capitalized on my strong points, worked around the weaknesses. While I'm a fairly good attorney and a decent runner, I'd have made a lousy opera singer. We all lack abilities in certain areas. Relationships with parties of the opposite sex is one of my areas
of deficit."

"And just why do you suppose that is?"

At least Paula hadn't come across with any reassuring cliches.

"How do I know why? Why don't I have a voice suitable for the opera? Why can't I
dance?"

"Think, Bailey. Use that brain you're so proud of. Consider that you're a beautiful, successful, bright woman."

"Okay, now you're getting into the con job. If I'm beautiful, how come men never ask me out? No, Paula, I'm not pretty like you, and I don't know what to say to interest a man. I gave up trying a long time ago, and I will not make a fool—a bigger fool—of myself with Austin. Now, I'm going to wash my face and go to work, and the subject is closed."

She stood up, but
Paula's voice stopped her from leaving.

"No, you're not pretty like me. I'm cute
. You're drop-dead gorgeous in spite of the way you dress and chop your hair. The reason men don't ask you out is because you're obnoxious."

Bailey whirled in amazement.
“I am not!"

Paula
shrugged. "Okay. Will you settle for competitive and intimidating? What man could possibly feel like he's a match for you except maybe Austin?"

"Austin and I are natural enemies. We can't be together five minutes without fighting."

"Not quite true," Paula disagreed. "What you two do is compete, something that's as natural as breathing for both of you. But lighten up a little. Try to hold it down to ninety percent of the time. Play nice once in a while."

Bailey stood in the doorway, trying to take in what
Paula had said, to decide if any of it had validity, if it mattered. 

"Go on and wash your face,"
Paula finally said, waving her hand dismissively. "The makeup isn't integral to the situation, anyway. Only if it makes you feel different about yourself."

*~*~*

Austin leaned across the conference table. "Right here in Article Three," he said, pointing with his Montblanc pen. Daniel Lewis, sitting at the other end of the table, scowled.

Sitting next to him,
Stafford Morris nodded slowly. The man actually seemed to be considering the merger offer. At least he hadn't rejected it outright, and he hadn't blown smoke in Austin's face even once.

Morris flipped through the papers then folded them and stood. "I'll read through your offer," he promised, "and submit it to the other partners for consideration."

Austin nodded agreeably. "Certainly. I think you'll find it advantageous for both firms. You have some good attorneys, some old-line clients, but you're not taking new ground like we are. The legal field is changing. It's a business, has to be run like a business. We plan to be so large that we'll handle all our clients' needs, have a department for everything. One-stop shopping."

Stafford listened quietly then took a cigar out of his shirt pocket and lit up. Squinting through the smoke, he grinned around the rolled tobacco, leisurely took it from his mouth. "I'll look it over. Daniel
—" He nodded to the older man. "Good to see you. Give my best to Rose."

At the elevator Daniel Lewis was distracted by another
associate, and Austin seized the opportunity. ''This merger would be very interesting for me," he told Morris. "I applied for a position with your firm when I got out of law school. Gordon and I came in together."

"I remember," Morris said evenly. "You were all wound up and ready to conquer the world. A lot like the young lady I'd just hired, Bailey Russell. I knew one of you was enough, and I was right. It takes
Gordon to balance with her."

Austin wasn't sure he was hearing right. "You're saying you hire lawyers on the basis of personality?"

Morris blew smoke just to the right of Austin's ear.

The man was smiling, not with his mouth, but with all the rest of his face. "A law fi
rm's like a family. Everybody has a different role, but they all have to work together. It's not a machine you can plug available parts into." The elevator doors opened and Morris stepped on, turned, and lifted one hand in a wave to Lewis, but his words were for Austin. "You were too damned pushy then. You're still too damned pushy."

The doors closed. After several seconds, Austin blinked, turned, and headed back to his office.

He had lost out on the job because he would have clashed with Bailey, because Morris considered him as pushy as she was, not because he wasn't bright enough or didn't have enough honors or good enough grades. He had been rejected because he tried too hard. He needed to think about that for a while.

Slumping into his chair, he pulled up to his desk and stared sightlessly at the papers in front of him. It was not, he believed, possible to be "too damned pushy" in the legal field. Morris was wrong about that. An
yway, the man was as pushy as they came. He apparently just had a problem with perception.

Austin leaned back in his chair
and lifted his feet to his desk. So he hadn't really lost on getting that job. Morris had made a judgmental decision based on his skewed perception of the problem.

M
aybe not so skewed after all. Morris was right about one thing. He and Bailey couldn't seem to get along. But that had to be her fault, not his. The other women he'd dated hadn't acted like her. They didn't argue with him every time he opened his mouth. They didn't try to win at every game or sport. They didn't have some smart answer for everything. They didn't make him feel vital and alive. They didn't have big green eyes, soft, full lips, fiery hair, a sleek body—

Austin caught himself smiling. Okay, so Bailey wasn't a typical female, and he got pretty irritated with her sometimes. Nevertheless, there was definitely an attraction. And, damn it, he knew she felt it too, in spite of her inexplicable actions after the most incred
ible lovemaking he'd ever experienced, actions that had kept him awake half the night trying to figure out what had gone wrong.

He flipped forward in his chair. If he was pushy, then so be it. He'd call Bailey and ask her outright what the problem was. He snatched up the phone and dialed the number for Hoskins, Grier. But when the receptionist answered, he swallowed twice then asked to speak to Gordon.

Well, that should prove Stafford Morris was wrong. He couldn't even push himself into a confrontation with Bailey.

"Busy for lunch?" he asked when Gordon answered.

The three of them at lunch, that would be a safe situation. He could work up from there.

"I'm trying to get a brief put together, so I guess I'll just have my secretary bring me a sandwich today."

Austin hesitated then laughed. "Very funny. You working on a brief? Ha ha. How about we go over to the hotel and have a leisurely lunch? I guess your prickly friend will be there too. Bailey, I mean. And that's fine. I don't have a problem with that."

"Austin, I'm not making a joke. This thing's been on my desk forever, and I need to finish it. It's time for me to get serious about my career, make something of myself. I'm thirty years old and what have I done with my life?"

Since it was unlikely somebody was holding a gun to Gordon's head to make him say those things, there must be a logical reason. "If you're worried about the merger, don't be."

"I'm not worried about the merger. Look, you've always worked this hard. It's about time I got started. Anyway, when
Paula finds out her Prince Charming is not only an attorney but an unsuccessful attorney, she may not be very charmed."

The man was serious. Since Austin had been preaching to Gordon for years about buckling down, he couldn't understand the bleak feeling that settled over him, as if he'd just lost a friend.

"Good for you," he said, though his words sounded phony even to himself. "So how about a few drinks after work?"

"I'll probably be staying here late. Maybe another time. "

Austin hung up the phone, feeling suddenly alone. He drummed his fingers on his desk, shuffled a few papers, then decided to wander over to the deli at lunch and see if Bailey was there. Maybe check out a couple of the other local places if she wasn’t at the deli. An accidental meeting would work.

*~*~*

Bailey couldn't believe what she was hearing. She'd finally found Gordon in the library, taking notes from a law book. That was strange enough, but then he'd actually told her, with a straight face, that he was going to work through lunch.

Of all
days for him to have a psychotic attack! She'd worn the bloody makeup to work and even received a few scattered compliments, but if Gordon wouldn't help her get within Austin's viewing range, how would she ever know if he approved? And how could she possibly be nice to the man if she couldn't get within speaking distance of him?