Let's Make It Legal (8 page)

“There’s not a thing wrong with Sydney Wells. She’s attractive, intelligent and good company. And you’re right. I
am
attracted to her, and not just a little bit, either.”

Janet looked stunned.

John’s anger evaporated as quickly as it had formed. “Let’s not fight, okay? I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have snapped at you.”

“I... it’s okay. It’s none of my business who you date. I know that.”

“Aw, Jan, I know you worry about me.” He pulled her close for a quick hug. “But you don’t need to. And you don’t need to worry about Sydney, either, because even though she
does
interest me, I won’t be seeing her again.”

* * *

Sydney knew she needed all her wits about her during this trial, but the day after her dinner with John, she found her mind wandering, and she had to force herself to stop thinking about him and about their evening together.

All day Tuesday, she couldn’t wait to get back to the office to see if he’d called her. Anticipation rippled through her as she accepted her message slips from Norma. But when she hurriedly sorted through them, there was no message from John. Among the messages was one from her father, however. She knew he wanted an update on her day in court. Thrusting thoughts of John from her mind, she picked up the phone.

“Hi, Dad,” she said when he answered.

“Hi. How’d things go today?”

“Good. Real good, I think.”

“Who testified today?”

“The defense experts.”

“The Bartlett woman?”

Her father was referring to one of the state social workers—a woman that had worried Sydney because from everything Sydney had been able to see, the woman sounded very credible—and she was going to testify that, in her opinion, Kara would be better off with her mother. “Ada Bartlett will testify tomorrow.”

“You worried?”

Sydney shrugged. “Not really. I think I can punch a few holes in her testimony.”

“I know you can!”

They talked a few more minutes, then her father said, “It’s really going to be fun when this trial is over. I have a feeling the offers are going to come pouring in.”

“Dad--”

“I’m so proud of you, Sydney.”

After they hung up, Sydney sighed. She wondered what would happen if she didn’t win the case. Her father would be awfully disappointed. She would be, too, but not for the same reasons.

Still thinking about her father, she forgot about John for a while, but that night she thought about him again. She decided he had probably not called her today because he thought it was too soon. Yes, that was it. He would call her tomorrow.

But on Wednesday there was no message from him.

And on Thursday, when she returned to her office from court, and again there was no message, she asked Norma twice if there were any others that she might have forgotten to give her.

Norma gave her a funny look. “No, Miss Wells, that’s it. Were you expecting one in particular?”

“No, no. Not really.”

Sydney told herself she didn’t care that he hadn’t called, but a funny little ache tightened her chest.

John, I thought you liked me!

Why didn’t he call? Surely she hadn’t imagined the interest sparking his eyes. When he’d told her she was beautiful, she was positive he’d meant it. And when he’d taken her hand, she could have sworn he’d felt the same awareness she’d felt.

So, if that were true, why didn’t he call? God, what was wrong with her that she couldn’t even get to first base, let alone home plate, with a man who interested her?

Why don’t you call him?

Sydney swiveled her chair around to look out her twenty-third-story window. Now that the clocks had been turned back, and Houston was once more on standard time, dusk fell early. It wasn’t even six o’clock and already the sky had purpled in the east.

Why didn’t she call him?

After all, she was a woman of the nineties. Didn’t women of the nineties go after what they wanted? They sure as heck didn’t sit around waiting for things to happen. They made things happen.
She
had always made things happen.

So call him.

Sydney chewed on the end of her pencil, a habit she’d been trying to break for months, with no success. She watched as low-hanging clouds scuttled across the sky. It was supposed to rain tomorrow, she remembered.

Should she call him?

Why not? If you’d been to someone’s home for dinner, you’d call and reciprocate or at least call and thank them, so why should the rules be any different because he’d taken her to a restaurant?

That was it. She’d call and ask
him
to dinner.

But what would he think if she did? Would he think she was going after him?

So what if he does?

Yes. So what if he did? Wasn’t the direct approach better than playing those silly games men and women played? Besides, Sydney was no good at those games. Never had been.

She swiveled her chair around again, looked at the phone for a few seconds, then took a deep breath and picked up the receiver.

* * *

John was halfway up the stairs when the phone rang. For a second, he debated whether to take the rest of the stairs two at a time and grab the call upstairs or race down and get it in the office.

Down won.

“Appleton Legal Temps,” he said, snatching it up before the recorder could kick in.

“I was beginning to think no one was going to answer.”

He recognized Sydney’s voice immediately. Pleasure he couldn’t deny filled his voice as he said, “You caught me on the stairs. It took me a while to decide whether to race up or race down.”

“You mean your business phone rings upstairs, too?”

“Well, yes,” he admitted. “Although I turn the sound down in the evenings and mostly just let the recorder pick up any calls that come in.”

“And I thought I was a workaholic.”

“It’s not as bad as it sounds. Hardly anyone ever calls after hours.” After a slight pause during which she didn’t say anything, he added, “So how’s your week been? The new temp working out all right?”

“Yes, she’s working out fine.”

“How about the trial?”

“The trial’s moving along, and I feel pretty good about it, except that Kara’s mother testified today, and she was a darned good witness. Much better than I would have guessed.”

“Is that going to be a problem?”

He could almost hear her shrug. “I don’t know. It’s impossible to read this jury. Sometimes I think Kara’s case is a shoo-in. Other times I’m not so sure. Her mother made a very sympathetic witness. Even I felt sorry for her.”

“How much longer do you expect the trial to go?”

“Another couple of days, I think. Final arguments should come about Wednesday.”

John would love to hear Sydney give her final argument on this case.

There was another awkward little pause. Then she said, “Listen, John, the reason I called was to thank you for dinner Monday and to offer a payback.”

“A payback?”

She laughed, and to John’s ears the laugh sounded a bit forced, a bit false. “You know, reciprocity. I’d like to take you to dinner.”

“That’s not necessary.”

“I know it’s not necessary. I want to. Are you by any chance free tomorrow night?”

“Uh, tomorrow night? Tomorrow night is Friday.” He had something going on tomorrow night, he was sure of it. “Wait a minute.” He flipped the calendar page over. There it was. “I’m sorry, Sydney. I knew there was something. Tomorrow night there’s a musical at the kids’ school, and I promised to take them.”

“Oh, well, in that case...”

He could tell she didn’t believe him. Her voice had that hollow sound to it. Damn! Why had she called? Why had she put him in this position? He’d probably hurt her feelings. He
knew
he’d hurt her feelings.

“Could we make it Saturday night, instead?” he heard himself say.

“I hate to make you give up your Saturday night. I just thought—”

“I
want
to,” he interjected. He did want to. That was the problem.

After they’d settled on a time and a place, and John got directions to her condo, they hung up. As John slowly climbed the stairs, he had a feeling he might be sorry for his impulsive action a few minutes ago. It would have been much better to just let Sydney’s feelings be hurt. She would have gotten over it. A turndown of an invitation wasn’t that big a deal. This way, seeing her again, was likely to cause much bigger problems.

For both of them.

* * *

Sydney worked on polishing her final argument until three o’clock on Saturday. Then, to the obvious surprise of Norma, who had agreed to come in for the day, she packed up her briefcase and breezed out of the office.

“I’m going home, Norma. You can go, too.”

Riding down in the elevator, Sydney chuckled as she thought about the expression on Norma’s face.

Sydney pulled into the underground garage of her high-rise building at three-thirty. She waved at Pete, the daytime garage attendant. After a minute, he waved back, but she saw the expression of surprise on his face. She grimaced. Was she normally so preoccupied that a simple wave was enough to cause raised eyebrows?

Ten minutes later, she was unlocking the door to her eighteenth-floor condominium. Her Post Oak area building was twenty stories high, and each story had six condos. The four larger ones were corner units, the two smaller ones were inside units. Sydney had an inside unit, but it faced southeast, so she had a magnificent view of downtown Houston, which she loved, and a completely private patio, which she also loved.

She looked around the condo with a critical eye. Her once-a-week maid had been in yesterday, so the place was clean. She wondered what John would think of it and tried to see it through his eyes.

The condo consisted of a large combination living/dining area, a small kitchen, a guest bath, two bedrooms—one small and one large—the master bath, and a tiny utility room just big enough for a stack washer and dryer, and a sink.

Lifeless, she thought, studying the impeccably decorated, but completely impersonal living area. When the decorator had suggested the black-and-white color scheme, with touches of red and yellow to give it “oomph,” as she’d called it, Sydney had agreed without much interest or enthusiasm.

“As long as it looks good, I don’t care what you do,” she’d said, giving the decorator carte blanche. Actually, if she’d thought no one else would ever see it, she wouldn’t have even cared if it looked good. She’d only bought the condo to give herself a tax break and to have a secure, safe place to live—somewhere she wouldn’t be frightened to come home to when she worked late.

Now, though, she saw what John would see. A place where there were no personal touches. A place where Sydney didn’t spend enough time to make it into a real home. A place without life.

A lonely place.

Sydney shook off the depressing thought and walked to her bedroom. She tossed her briefcase on the bed, shrugged out of her suit coat and walked to the closet. She slid open the mirrored door, flipped on the interior light and walked inside. After hanging up her suit coat and divesting herself of the rest of her work clothes, she stood in her underwear and surveyed the contents of her closet.

Dozens of suits in subdued neutral colors lined the long wall. They were color-coded and arranged according to seasons. Both the skirts and jackets hung on the top tier of a divided rack. On the bottom rack, at least a hundred blouses hung, also color-coded.

On the right wall of the closet were Sydney’s casual clothes, and to the left her dressy clothes. Her shoes were neatly boxed and labeled and stacked in rows on shelves.

She needed something dressy for tonight. The selection of dressy clothes was pitiful, she decided, thinking that was another sad commentary on her life, just as the parking attendant’s reaction had been.

She sighed. What should she wear tonight? She had made reservations at Brennan’s, one of her favorite restaurants. People usually dressed up to go to Brennan’s.

She eyed her small selection of dresses, finally settling on a black, long-sleeved, jewel-necked silk crepe with a self-belt. It was awfully plain, but it would have to do. It was the best she had, other than a cocktail suit with sequins, which she’d never liked and which was much too fussy, anyway.

By six-thirty, she’d had her bath and washed her hair. She’d tried curling it, with no success, and finally resigned herself to wearing it in the same simple style she effected for work. She’d experimented with eye shadows, but thought they all looked ridiculous on her, so ended up with the touch of blue-gray she always wore. She’d put on one of those new wine-colored lipsticks, but thought it made her look like a vampire, so she’d wiped it off and gone back to her same old rosy pink.

When it came to jewelry, she really wished she had something glitzy. Some big earrings with rhinestones or something. But she didn’t. Her entire jewelry collection consisted of six or seven pairs of sedate gold earrings, a thick gold chain necklace, a thin gold chain necklace, a gold circle pin, an onyx and gold bracelet and matching earrings, and small pearl earrings with a matching two-strand necklace.

She sighed.

She wore the pearls. A small black suede evening purse and two-inch black suede pumps completed her outfit.
Wait a minute. Why not wear your red shoes?
Suddenly Sydney smiled. Kicking off the suede pumps, she headed back to her closet.

Promptly at seven, Bruce, the lobby security guard, announced John’s arrival. “Send him up,” she said. She pressed her stomach to still the sudden flutter of nerves.

The doorbell chimed.

When Sydney opened the door, her breath caught. She had forgotten how attractive John was, how... sexy. And John in a dark, pin-striped suit was even better-looking and sexier than John in anything else she’d seen him in so far.

He smiled. “Hi.” His gaze swept over her. “Don’t you look nice.”

The approval in his warm, dark eyes made her insides feel like someone had poured hot liquid through her.

“Thanks. You don’t look so bad yourself. Come on in.”

He walked past her into the condo and headed straight for the expanse of picture-window and patio doors. Sydney had opened the floor-length white drapes, and nighttime Houston, with its glittering expanse of lights, beckoned.