The Cost of Happiness: A Contemporary Romance (2 page)

“I find that hard to believe, but then I’m biased in Libby’s favor.”

Jack lifted his shoulder from the doorframe. Dan stopped him. “Come in a minute. I want to ask you something.”

“Sure.” Jack took a seat. Dan got up, shut the door, then went back to his desk.

“Libby mentioned something in passing yesterday.” Dan got right to the point. “Are you thinking about running for office?”

“What? No, of course not.”

Dan’s stomach fell.

Jack’s scowl, famous and alarming in certain situations, signaled his annoyance. “What’s this about? Did Lib tell you I was?”

Dan put his hands on the desk. “Not exactly. But you have to admit, it makes sense. Your reputation here can’t get any better, you’ve got tremendous name recognition. You must appeal to every demographic except career criminals, and they can’t vote.”

“Run for office, though? Do you want to get rid of me that much?”

Dan shook his head, but the fact was, he did want Jack to leave. Dan had a good shot of replacing Jack. Being the US Attorney would be a coup. Laboring in Jack’s shadow bothered him. Too much like competing with—

“Ah, you want my job.” Jack’s voice softened, sounding satisfied and smart.

Dan shrugged. “It’s the obvious next step. I can move to another district, but I like it here.” He leaned back in his chair. “You’ve done a great job whipping the office into shape. Someone should get the benefit of that. Why not me?”

Dan meant that as a joke, but Jack didn’t smile. He drummed his fingers on the chair’s arm. “I don’t think you should count on getting my job, even if I did leave.”

What? Dan’s shoulders stiffened. “You don’t think I can do it? Or you know that Justice will bring someone else in. Or—” Dan pointed at his boss. “—You have no intention of leaving.”

Jack paused. He looked like he was selecting his words with some care. “I’m not planning to leave, but that’s not the point. You do great work here. I have to ask, though. Would being the boss suit you? I get the impression you enjoy competing for my approval too much to want to be the guy doling out the kudos.”

What the hell—? “What are you talking about?” Dan heard the hostility in his own voice, but couldn’t turn it off.

“I’m like an older brother. You want to beat my conviction rate, get better results, show me up. It’s not a bad instinct, and I’ve used it to push you.” He flashed the Blackjack smile—the one the TV cameras loved—to show he meant his comments to be friendly.

“Only I never can beat your record, can I?” Dan turned away from all that Blackjack charm. Some goals were unattainable. He could hear his father telling him that.
Don’t bother taking calculus, Danny. Your brother’s scores on the AP exam can’t be beat
.

“Probably not.” Jack stretched his legs out, crossed at the ankles.

Dan got the message. He’d never be as good as Blackjack McIntyre. At least not while they were in the same office.

Jack went on, “I’m glad this subject came up now, though. I’ve always thought you would leave eventually. You don’t strike me as a career prosecutor. A lot of other legal fields are more complex and challenging. Have you thought about making a career change?”

“That bad, Jack?”

His boss frowned. “What do you mean?”

“Am I that bad that you need to push me out?”

Jack stood. “You’re nuts if you think that’s what I’m doing. My message is simple. I don’t think you’d like my job even if you got it. I do think you’d excel at a different style of legal practice. As for pushing you out? I’d be crazy to do that. You’re the best of the AUSAs, and you know it.”

He was gone before Dan could formulate a response.

Over the weekend, Dan thought hard about what Jack had said. He’d been right. Dan was the best of the AUSAs. Although, even if Jack did leave, that wasn’t a lock on Dan getting the promotion. The Department of Justice could bring in someone from the private sector, or hire an interim US Attorney, or promote one of the other AUSAs. Plus, Jack’s suggestion that Dan didn’t want the job so much as want the promotion—something to think about there as well.

Honestly? Dan craved the title. Daniel Howard, US Attorney for the Eastern District of Pennsylvania, had a certain ring to it.

Face it—Dad would be impressed. It might not be an endowed chair in Mathematics at MIT, but it was pretty damned cool.

Oh, God, Jack had been right about that too—Dan was still competing with his older brother. Christopher Randolph Howard, math genius. A nice enough guy, as brothers went. Not Chris’s fault that he was Dad’s only child from his first marriage. Not Chris’s fault that he looked exactly like Dad’s first wife, who’d died tragically young of a brain tumor. Not even Chris’s fault that he was the perfect academic, racing through high school, undergrad and his PhD program with absurd speed. Then Chris solved some stupid ass theorem that no one had cracked in three hundred years. Still not his fault, although Dan could make a case for why it was obnoxious behavior in a sibling.

No, everyone loved Chris. Dan’s mother never resented her stepson. Dan’s sisters adored their older brother. Dad, of course, nearly genuflected when Chris’s name came up.

And then there was Dan. Just a lawyer. No big deal. Getting to be an AUSA was really hard, but his family only saw the word “assistant” in his title. Not very impressive.

He’d love to do something amazing. Win an argument in front of the Supreme Court, maybe, or head the bar association.

Or be the US Attorney for Philadelphia.

A job he didn’t even want. Damn Jack for seeing that because now Dan saw it too. He wanted the impressive title but not the job.

Time to figure out what job he did want. First step, return Wallace Leith’s call.

A week later, Dan joined the senior partner of Fergusson & Leith—generally considered to be the number two law firm in Philly—at a small table at The Four Seasons.

“Good of you to come across town to meet me,” Wally said. He was a vigorous seventy-something, his thick white hair and ruddy complexion giving him the appearance of a timeless Main Line patriarch.

“It makes a nice break from eating a sandwich at my desk.” And he didn’t mind having Wallace Leith courting him, either. Joining a large law firm might not be the answer to Dan’s problems. Then again, no harm in hearing what Wally had to say.

After they placed their orders, Wally got right to the point. “We want you to come work at the firm. Junior partner. It’s not an equity position, so I don’t want to mislead you. You’ll have to earn that on merit. But having gone up against you on a few white-collar cases, we’re impressed.”

“That means a lot coming from you, Wally, you know that.”

“So you’ll come? The money’s a damned sight better in the private sector, you know that.”

Dan waited until their server had finished arranging plates and refilled their water glasses. “That’s what you want me for, criminal defense work?”

Wally nodded.

“Here’s the thing. I like prosecution. Defense attorneys use the rules to find the flaws in the prosecutor’s case, which is fine. Keeps us on our toes, especially when we’re up against Fergusson lawyers.”

Wally took a sip of his water. “Go on.”

“The reason you hire a former AUSA is that we know what corners the prosecutor’s likely to cut. I don’t want to win a case that way. So I’m afraid the private sector doesn’t interest me. Sorry.” Dan took a bite of his pasta. After swallowing, he put his fork down. “Well, there’s one exception. It’s not criminal, though, which is what you want me for.”

“Tell me.”

Dan laughed. “I can’t stand those class action plaintiffs’ lawyers who piggy-back on the Feds. You know how it goes. The Federal Trade Commission investigates for three years, names the companies that violated the law, the companies pay the fines and then some plaintiffs’ lawyers get a class certified using the evidence the Feds gathered. The companies settle. Each customer gets fifty cents while the lawyers get millions for doing no work.”

Wally’s eyebrows rose. “We have a complex litigation section that defends our clients in class action lawsuits.”

Dan waved his fork in a tight circle. “Which Georgia Moran is doing a great job running. Just as Jack is going a wonderful job as the US Attorney.” He smiled at Wally. Let him figure out which Dan preferred—working for Georgia versus working for Blackjack McIntyre.

They ate in silence for a few minutes. When Wally next spoke, it was about the Phillies’ opening games. He didn’t mention getting Dan to join the firm.

Maybe Wally knew the seed was already taking root.

“Hey, you’re in 203, aren’t you?”

Meghan turned from her mailbox to see an angel standing on the shallow steps into their apartment building.

“Sorry?” Meghan said.

The angel laughed, flipping hair like liquid gold out of her eyes. “I’m in 201. I’ve seen you in the laundry room, but we’ve not talked much. Neither of us has needed to borrow sugar, hunh? I figure that’s because you’re super organized and never forget to buy sugar. And because I never bake.”

Meghan found herself smiling, bemused by this delicate female with the angel floss hair. “Actually, it’s because I had my finals to study for. And before that, Moot Court. And before that…” She screwed up her eyes dramatically. “You get the idea. Hi, my name is Meghan and I’m a crazed law student.” She held out her hand.

“Kassie, with a K. I’m studying retail at Penn.”

After they’d shaken hands, Kassie didn’t move, just kept looking at Meghan. What was the etiquette here? Was Meghan supposed to push past her neighbor to get in the building?

“Oh, sorry. I’m blocking your way.” Kassie still didn’t move. “Look, do you want to get some food? I mean, go out to eat? The American Diner is pretty close.”

Meghan hesitated, mentally reviewing her finances. She’d started her summer associateship at Fergusson on Monday but hadn’t gotten paid yet.

Kassie seemed to read her mind. “My treat. I just got a promotion and I want to celebrate with someone. Plus, you intrigue me.”

Intrigue an angel? Really? Meghan’s eyebrows arched in surprise. “Me?”

Kassie grinned. “Yes. You.” She came down the steps, slipping her keys into a pocket of her short skirt. “C’mon. You have to eat.”

Meghan grabbed her mail and hitched her bag on her shoulder. “Okay.”

When Kassie wasn’t dominating the meal with funny stories about working for an upscale clothing boutique in Liberty Plaza, she managed to interrogate Meghan about her background. While Kassie came from a well-to-do family in Bryn Mawr, Meghan had grown up poor in Keokuk, Iowa. Meghan was careful what she told Kassie. She liked the blonde woman’s energy, but a lifetime of not telling people about her crazy mother kept Meghan’s answers short. Better people got the impression her mother was dead than know the truth.

Still, it felt nice to be with a woman her own age who wasn’t in law school or working at the law firm. Meghan hadn’t made friends much at school—running twice a week with Libby Pembroke hardly qualified as “friendship”—and it didn’t look like she’d do much better at Fergusson. Meghan just assumed it was her, that she didn’t make friends easily, but maybe it simply took a force of nature like Kassie to draw her out of her routine.

After a spirited comparison of high school boyfriends on the walk home, Meghan and Kassie parted in the hallway separating their apartments. Meghan was smiling as she dumped her keys and bag and headed for bed. She was exhausted for a Friday night. It wasn’t the work that made a summer associateship hard, it was the social outings. She vastly preferred staying busy in her office writing a research memo to standing around with other summer associates, drinking warm white wine.

Her apartment was stuffy. She opened all the windows, enjoying the cross breeze as she changed into shorts and an oversized T-shirt. She had brushed her teeth when she suddenly remembered her mail, still stuffed in her bag. She padded out to the foyer and grabbed it. Three pieces of junk and an envelope from the US Attorney for the Northern District of Illinois. Which made her think of Dan Howard, the hunky AUSA from her moot court competition. When was that, two months ago?