Anything You Can Do (7 page)

Bailey took her time chewing and swallowing then leisurely sipped her iced tea, drawing out the pleasure of the encounter, of the preliminaries to winning. "On the contrary," she said, tenting her fingers beneath her chin. "My client asked my advice, and I told her we should let the jury decide. Obviously this is another case of a corporate entity trying to take advantage of the little man."

"Your client can
scarcely be considered
little.
"

"Personal insults are uncalled for."

"Perhaps, but relevant all the same." He leaned forward over the table toward Bailey. "If your client is indeed having back problems, which I doubt, I'd say she should start to solve them by joining a health club, not by trying to defraud an insurance company."

Bailey leaned forward, too, invading his space, refusing to take the defensive, though his comment about Candy, echoing her own feelings, was something of a jolt. She'd hate to think she had
anything in common with this arrogant, pushy man.

"I don't think discrimination against out-of-shape people is going to go over too well with a jury, since, by law of averages, several
of them will be couch potatoes."

"What makes you think this case will ever get to a jury? Your client is a fraud, and our investigator will prove it."

"If that's your intent, I suggest you change investigators. The man is a total idiot. He gets drunk on the job, makes a pass at my client, can't keep his story straight."

"Our investigator would have to be a total idiot to make a pass at your client, not to mention half-blind."

The movements of Austin's lips as he spoke seemed to fill Bailey's field of vision and absorb her attention to such an extent, she had to concentrate to hear his words. She realized with a start they had both gradually risen from their chairs, and his face was only inches from hers. Her heart pounded, her breathing came shallow and rapid.

His lips had stopped moving. It was her turn to speak. She forced her gaze from his lips to his eyes. Bad move. Electrical currents leaped and sparked in those eyes, holding her as surely as if she'd grabbed a live wire.

"Poor eyesight in a detective is another valid reason for having the man disqualified," she managed to say. "Are you wearing contact lenses?" Oh, jeez! Why had she said that?

"What? What does that have to do with anything? My vision isn't in question."

"No, just your judgment." But the fight had gone out of her. Suddenly very aware of Austin's warm breath on her face, Bailey fell back into her chair.

He sank back too, apparently a little confused, as well he might be. She couldn't believe she'd asked that last stupid question. Fortunately, he'd thought she was referring to his vision when she'd actually been questioning the vivid color of his eyes. She really had to keep vagrant thoughts like that out of her head or risk losing her edge.

"Where's Gordon?" Austin suddenly asked, and Bailey noticed for the first time that the chair Gordon had occupied was empty.

"Maybe he finished early," she suggested guiltily.

"His bowl and glass are gone," Austin observed.

A quick scan of the small room revealed Gordon sitting a couple of tables away. Upon being discovered, he smiled and waved
. Bailey motioned for him to return, and he sauntered over.

"Is it safe?" he asked, resuming his seat.

"Gordon, how can you possibly expect to be a successful lawyer when you can't stand a little controversy?" she asked him.

"Simple, my dear. I don't. In years to come, I'll probably set a record as the oldest associate at Hoskins, Grier, as well as the lawyer with the fewest ulcers."

Bailey shook her head fondly. "You're hopeless."

"Unless, of course," Gordon continued, "management should change at the old place and someone come in with streamlined, efficient ideas."

"Then what would you do?" Austin asked, sounding suddenly solemn.

"I don't know. Travel, maybe. Write a book. Paint."

"Not likely since the terms of your trust fund require you to practice law." Austin's gaze never left Gordon's face, and Bailey wondered if he knew something she didn't.

"You're such a
stickler for facts! Okay, I'd open my own firm and hire you two enthusiasts to carry the work load while I play." He rattled the ice in his plastic tumbler, tossed a piece into his mouth, and crunched. "Or maybe I'll discover the ever elusive reason for working and then become a better lawyer than you two put together. That is to say, a more successful lawyer, not a more aggressive one, since that would not only be undesirable but impossible."

What a strange thing for him to say, Bailey thought. Why would he call her aggressive?

As Austin walked back to his office after lunch, he found that a smile kept sneaking onto his face for no reason. He hadn't won the argument with Bailey, though he hadn't lost either. Still, he should be upset because she had rejected the settlement offer. In all honesty, though, he had to admit he'd known she would. She was tough, a w
orthy adversary. Battling with her certainly got his adrenaline pumping, not to mention the effect she had on his hormones.

Inside the building, he punched the button to call the elevator, and his smile slowly dwindled. He had to meet with Daniel Lewis,
third in overall seniority in the firm and managing partner of the Kansas City branch for fifteen years, and that wouldn't be nearly as much fun as sparring with Bailey.

A few minutes later Austin entered the
corner office and faced the older man. Even seated behind the desk, Lewis was obviously tall. Of course, some of that was probably an optical illusion created by his gauntness and long, drooping facial features. He reminded Austin of a skinny basset hound, but his tenacity was that of a bulldog.

"Have you started negotiations with Stafford Morris yet?" Austin asked without preamble, taking a seat without invitation.
He knew Lewis resented this intrusion into what he considered his territory.

"I've talked to Stafford."

Probably about where to go for lunch
, Austin thought wryly. "And what was his feeling about a merger?"

"Negotiations take time."

Austin's fingers drummed silently on the padded arm of the chair. "As we discussed before, perhaps I should help with the negotiations since you and Stafford are friends."

"I've been doing business with Sta
fford Morris for a lot of years."

"Tell you what. Why don't you arrange a meeting to include me, just as an observer? Shall we say next week?"

"I'll see what I can do."

That meant about a fifty-fifty chance.

"Fine. Don't forget our meetings with public relations firms on Tuesday and Friday."

With a vague nod, Lewis turned his attention back to the papers on his desk, dismissing Austin. As he left the office, he heard the older man mutter, "Public relations for lawyers. Humph!"

Returning to the tiny cubicle he was using as a temporary office, Austin flopped into the creaky chair and made an effort to unclench his teeth. Damn it, he'd been chosen for this job because of his proven abilities. But these people were fighting him at every turn, making him prove everything all over again.

Picking up a pencil, he tapped the eraser end on the scarred desktop. Well, if he had to, he would, starting with this merger. The firm had approved the merger by majority vote. Now it was
his job to see that the deal was consummated.

However, while the idea of taking in Stafford Morris' group had its merits, he'd recently come to realize there could be a problem. The pencil snapped in his fingers. What about Gordon? Kearns, Worley expected all their employees to maintain a
consistently high level of productivity. Somehow he'd have to protect Gordon or make him work harder.

He tossed the broken pencil into the trash. Protecting him would probably be the easier way to go.

*~*~*

"Can't do lunch today," Gordon advised Bailey on Friday when she called him. "I'm taking
Paula over to the newspaper office to pick up her replies to her personal ad so she won't have to wait for them to be mailed."

"Good thinking," Bailey responded. "If she gets any, take them away from her and burn them."

"Mm, well, got to run. Okay if I come by tonight?"

"Of course. You know where the spare key is if I'm not there. Some of us have to work."

"Paula'll be there," he reminded her.

Bailey breathed a sigh
of relief as she hung up the phone. Good old Gordon. He'd see that Paula didn't get involved with any nuts as a result of her impetuous ad.

When she finally made it home after an extra long day, she found the two of them on the white sofa in her living room, reading, discussing, and grading
Paula's replies.

"That one is a definite
No Way
, " Gordon advised as Paula's hand hovered uncertainly over the three stacks of letters on Bailey's glass and brass coffee table.

"I don't know,"
Paula demurred. "Sipping wine in front the fireplace, walking in the rain—he sounds kind of sweet. I think the
Maybe
stack."

"You're both nuts!" Bailey exclaimed, picking up Samantha and heading f
or the kitchen. "All those letters belong in your
No Freaking Way
stack. Sipping wine and walking in the rain—they're probably all wet, drunk mass murderers, and married besides." She scowled over the pass-through bar from the kitchen into the living room. "And you, Gordon! I can't believe you're aiding and abetting this insanity."

"Ignore her,"
Paula said, dropping the letter in her middle stack.

"I usually do," Gordon drawled.

"I suppose you'd rather I went to a bar to meet somebody." Ripping open a cream-colored envelope, Paula raised an eyebrow in Bailey's direction.

"I'd rather you joined a nunnery," she retorted. "Go back to school. That's
where you met your ex-husband."

"Right. In grade school."

Unable to argue with that, Bailey turned her attention to scooping dog food into a royal blue bowl with SAMANTHA in white letters. "Come see what I cooked for your dinner, sweetheart," she said, placing the bowl on the white kitchen tile.

The dog pranced over, sniffed, then looked at Bailey with an aggrieved expression.

"Okay, so it's only dog food out of a can. You ought to be glad. What if you actually had to eat my cooking?"

"Hey, listen to this,"
Paula called.

Bailey scratched Samantha's head and, leaving her to her repast, crossed the
room to join Paula.

"
Dear Cinderella
," Paula read from the ivory paper. "
My faithful servant brought me the copy of your note, and I hastened to reply lest you be overwhelmed by an army of unreasonable facsimiles. For, of course, I am the only real Prince Charming. Actually, I'm king now since my father retired and moved to Texas, but King Charming doesn't have quite the same ring, does it? Since the post office system is so mundane and totally unsuitable for use by such as we, may I suggest we maintain further contact via the secret royal chamber for missives. If you go to the park named Regency and travel twenty paces from the northeast corner of the rose garden, then turn and go twelve paces to your left, you will come upon a large tree. There you'll find said chamber cleverly disguised as a hole beneath the roots. Do respond soon as I shan't be able to attend to the duties of the kingdom until I hear from you. Faithfully, PC."

"You have to make a new stack for that one,"
Gordon declared. "
Definitely at Once.
"

"Absolutely,"
Paula agreed. "The kingdom might be besieged and lost, all because I didn't answer the man."

"You're going to write a letter to that lunatic?"
Bailey asked in amazement.

"At least he's a romantic lunatic."
Paula stood and raised her head haughtily. "Come along, Gordon. We'll find my laptop and compose a suitable reply."

Gordon stood and took
Paula's arm to escort her from the room. "A laptop sounds sort of mundane. Do you think maybe this letter should be handwritten on perfumed stationery?"

"Nah
. My handwriting is totally illegible. It's why I had to learn to type. Anyway, PC typed his letter."

"Dictated it to the court stenographer, probably." The pair went into gales of laughter as they disappeared into
Paula's room.

Bailey reached down and scooped up Samantha as the little dog strolled into the room. "I do believe you're the only sane friend I have," she told her.

Samantha snuggled in, twisting and turning before finally settling with a contented sigh in a fuzzy ball in Bailey's lap. Bailey stroked the soft fur and wondered why she didn't feel content. Usually Friday nights left her with a sense of accomplishment and an anticipation of the weekend. Saturday work was leisurely compared to the rest of the week so Friday evening started a time of relaxation, but tonight she felt unsettled.