by Cathie Linz
“Is it about that babe you had over at your place a couple of Sundays ago?” Todd asked. “Listen, I’m sorry I interrupted.”
“Don’t worry. You weren’t a problem.” No, the only problem with Mallory was himself. Though he’d walked around all week in a near-continual state of frustration, he was starting to worry seriously. He’d hardly been at his finest while racing her pager, and though she’d apparently had a great time bowling, she’d still sent him to his own bed—alone.
You’re obsessing about her—and you have other issues to deal with! Cut it out! Resolutely, he started undressing while he focused on his other big problem, the one that had led him to seek Todd’s advice.
Todd shoved his handball shorts and T-shirt into his gym bag and grabbed a towel. “Sure sounds like something’s wrong, buddy. What is it?”
Naked except for the towel wrapped around his waist, Cliff sank onto the bench in front of his locker. “I’m in a situation at work,” he said slowly. “I can’t be too specific.”
“Yeah. Client confidentiality.” Todd sat down too. “So what can you tell me?”
Cliff rubbed his hand along his jaw. “The bottomline issue is that I don’t really approve of how one of our cases is being handled.”
Actually, he totally disagreed with the defense team’s plan. Because so much evidence strongly indicated their client’s guilt, the attorneys had come up with a strategy that attacked the personal life of the police detective investigating the case. If they could change the focus of the jury’s attention to the policeman’s situation instead of the murder case itself, they believed their client might be acquitted.
“One of your cases?” Todd asked.
“Well...not exactly. One of the firm’s cases.” Cliff still hoped to be assigned to the Bartlett defense team, but despite his hard work supporting the partners who were the primary attorneys, so far he hadn’t officially been named an associate on the case. And though he was uneasy with the defense plans, the case would certainly be a career-maker.
Todd grinned and stood. “If it’s not your client, then it’s not your problem.”
“Yes, but—”
“No buts about it, buddy. I take it that one of the senior partners is running the case?”
“Yes.”
“Then all the more reason for you to keep out of it. Never bite the hand that hands out promotions—and partnerships.”
Dammit. Cliff knew his friend was right. Sheer common sense told him not to argue with the boss when trying to get that same boss to approve him for a plum position—and eventually name him to a partnership.
Still...he grabbed an antacid from his bag and slowly followed Todd toward the showers. The chalky taste of the tablet concentrated his attention while he pondered what to do. Sunday was only two days away. He would see Mallory then. Maybe she’d have some words of wisdom on this issue. At the very least, getting away with her—even for a day—seemed like a really good idea.
His stomach churning despite the tablet, he showered and dressed, then reluctantly walked from the athletic club back to his office three blocks away. Piles of work awaited him, not to mention another gut-twisting Bartlett strategy meeting. Absently, he pulled out another antacid tablet and chewed it in a preemptive move. His steps dragged, and he realized he was counting the hours until he could escape his no-win situation and be alone with Mallory.
MALLORY SAT ACROSS the damask-draped restaurant table from her fluttery mother and wondered why she’d bothered to fly half the length of the state to meet her. It was always difficult to break through her mother’s “the Eminent Dr. Adelaide Reissen” persona to reach the woman underneath, and it was generally such a futile effort, most of the time Mallory didn’t bother trying.
So far, the luncheon conversation had centered around her mother’s anthropological digs, departmental politics in the small but prestigious New England university where her mother worked, and the truly excellent attributes of Peter Jonassen.
Mallory’s initial curiosity about her mother’s possible relationship with Professor Jonassen had yielded to an odd combination of certainty that Adelaide indeed was having an affair, and a dispassionate, who-cares attitude that startled her more than any insight into her mother’s possible love life. Granted, she was hardly her mother’s confidante, and her parent’s relationship—or lack of one—was none of her business at this stage in her life. But shouldn’t she feel, well, something?
She was so engrossed in puzzlement over her own cold-blooded view of the situation that she almost missed Adelaide’s abrupt change of subject.
“—but I’ve been boring you, haven’t I, dear? Besides, I’m sure you agree with me about the utter egotism of grad students these days. Things were different when I was younger, let me tell you.”
Mallory smiled and nodded, the only reaction Adelaide needed. In common with many brilliant people, her mother had little use for opinions differing from her own.
“...I wanted to tell you why I asked to meet you, dear. Of course, it’s always a pleasure to lunch with you, but I’m so busy these days that... Anyway, I was talking with your father a few weeks ago—did I tell you that his concerts are getting absolutely brilliant reviews? Well, he called me from Prague—or was it Belgrade? These international telephone connections are so bad, you know....”
Mallory smiled, nodded, and crumbled another bite of roll. A sip of the crisp Chardonnay helped her focus on her mother’s digressions. Adelaide would get to the point eventually.
Mallory’s attention drifted again to the subject of her mother’s probable affair. Was this the first one? No, surely not. It couldn’t be. She was far too casual about it. How had Mallory lived nearly twenty-eight years and not realized that her parents’ marriage was so flawed? Or had she subconsciously known all along?
The effort of swallowing a bitter laugh burned her throat. That question was easily answered: What with all those nannies and boarding schools, Mallory had seen so little of her parents while growing up that they could have had regular Tuesday-night orgies and she wouldn’t have known anything about it.
One thing was certain, though. Mallory knew that her children, if she ever had any, would be raised by her and not some nanny. And she’d make sure they had a daddy who’d be there for them. Mallory would rather have no family at all than subject her children to the chilly upbringing that she’d experienced.
Was that why she was so unwilling to focus on anything except her career? The thought frightened her. Maybe her career-is-all attitude arose because she was afraid any attempt to combine work and family would leave her family floundering as she had.
Looking back, the only truly family time she could remember from her childhood were the precious weeks of summer vacation visiting her—
“—Grandmother Lawrence, dear. You do remember my telling you about it, I hope?”
Startled by the mention of the very person she’d been thinking of, Mallory blinked, then said, “I’m sorry, Mother. I was woolgathering. What did you say?”
Fingers stained brown from the sun tapped irritably on the table. “I said that when your father called a few weeks ago, he reminded me about your legacy from Grandmother Lawrence. I told you about it, I’m sure.”
“Legacy? From Gramma?”
“Yes. When she died you were still a child, of course, so it’s been in trust for quite some time. Till your majority of course, and then... It’s not much, I’m afraid. At least not financially.”
Mallory thought about that for at least fifteen seconds. “Mother, I’m twenty-eight. Shouldn’t I have been told about this before now?” She strove to keep her voice patient and low.
But her mother shrugged. “Really, Mallory, it’s been well taken care of. Your father and I have made good arrangements. We’ve both been so busy, you know, and we never quite got around to telling you. It’s only that huge old house up in Sunfield. When your grandmother died, we hired a cleaning service to pack up all her things and store them
for you, and a management company to rent the place out. They kept good tenants, at least until now.” She leaned forward and dropped her voice to state-secret levels. “Now that the senior man of the management firm has retired, I’m afraid the company has really gone downhill.”
“But...”
Her mother steamrolled over her protest. “The trust was supposed to last until you were of an age to look after it yourself. Well, your father received some notice from the property manager recently, and when we discussed it, we realized that we really should simply turn things over to you and let you handle it. It’s been quite a drain on our time all these years, you know.”
Mallory’s mouth opened and closed twice. She’d never realized her grandmother had left her property. The house—her house!—was in Sunfield, a little town in the foothills of the Sierras, deep in the heart of California’s Gold Country. Slowly, she forced her attention back to her mother’s words. But while she accepted a folder of papers and a key ring from her mother, one thought kept drumming through her brain. She owned her grandmother’s house! The one place in the world where she had been happy and contented. She owned it!
Only when she was waiting for her flight back to San Diego to board did she remember that though she might own a house in the Sierras, her career was likely to whisk her permanently to New York City.
ALL THROUGH THE short drive up the coast to the posh resort on Sunday evening, Cliff wondered how he could ever-so-casually raise the subject of his problems at work. He glanced quickly at Mallory, then returned his gaze to the heavy end-of-weekend traffic. Last-minute delays had ruined their intended midday departure.
“How was your visit with your mother?” Well, that really got the conversation moving in the direction you wanted, didn’t it? If he hadn’t been driving, he’d have slapped his palm against his forehead in frustration.
But Mallory had taken his tentative question as a signal to talk about her trip. She swiveled in her seat, making the silky skirt of her sundress swirl above her knees. “Fine. You know, it was the oddest thing. I couldn’t figure out why my mother had been so insistent that I meet her.”
Only half listening to her, he nodded. How could he bring up the subject he really wanted to discuss?
Mallory, I’ve got a problem at work. Nope. Might destroy her faith in him as a go-getting success story.
Got any advice for an up-and-coming attorney? Ditto.
Mallory, can we talk? No way! Too gossip-show.
In fact, every single opening line he came up with seemed to show him in a less than wonderful light. Surely any really competent guy should be able to handle a minor conflict with his boss—right? The acid taste in his mouth burned downward into his stomach. Automatically, he reached for the now ever-present roll of antacid tablets.
Did having an affair of convenience include listening to each other’s professional sob stories? Regretfully, he shook his head slightly. Maybe not. Maybe sharing too much with her would only drive her further away. On the other hand, some women loved to think themselves important to a man. Was she one of them? He glanced speculatively at her and gave another tentative nod. She might be one of them....
“Was that a yes or a no?” Mallory’s amused tone jerked him out of his reverie.
“What?” Had she asked one of those sneaky relationship questions? Hell’s bells. What had he missed? He’d learned long ago that the only recourse a man had in such a situation was to apologize quickly—even if he wasn’t sure for what. “I’m sorry, Mallory. I was thinking about something else. What did you ask me?”
She patted him on the knee and he stifled a relieved sigh. He’d guessed right. Dealing with women could be tricky, all right.
“You’re not listening to me, are you?”
Oh, no. The worst possible accusation! “Of course I am! I’ve heard every word.” What had she said? Beginning to panic, he reran his mental tape of her conversation. “You said something about the reason your mother asked you to meet her for lunch.”
“That’s right. You see...”
His mind drifted off as she explained about some small legacy her grandmother had left her. Making sure he responded often enough to keep her talking, he retreated again. He really wanted to talk about the situation at work—a lot. He’d love to get her take on what he should do. But the could-he, should-he, would-he doubts were eating at his confidence.
By the time they’d checked into the resort and had been shown to a truly luxurious private cottage, those doubts had grown so large they could have stomped Godzilla into the ground. He shifted his shoulders uncomfortably, trying to ease the knot of muscles that had taken up permanent residence between his shoulder blades. It seemed so tight he doubted a two-week stay in the resort’s massage room could loosen it. And that didn’t even include the pounding headache that threatened to redefine the word torture for him. All symptoms of tension, he knew.
Somewhere on that drive north, he’d given up discussing his work dilemma with Mallory, he realized. Now, all he wanted to do was hide his unusual lack of decisiveness from her. He simply couldn’t bring himself to admit his self-doubts and failings to a woman he so deeply admired for her own career skills.
Besides, they hadn’t planned this excursion as a way for him to dump his problems on her. No, he was going to prove to her that he could be the sensitive, caring lover she deserved. After their first romantic fiasco and their near miss with the bowling, he had a reputation to live up to—if only one in his own mind.
It had been days since he’d so much as caught a glimpse of her coming and going, and it was more than time they got their long-anticipated affair off the ground. Hadn’t he promised to give her the sexual satisfaction she wanted? Ruefully he admitted that if he was feeling deprived, she must be feeling downright neglected.
At the thought, his head throbbed harder and his stomach churned even more. Automatically, he reached for another antacid pill, only to find the roll empty.
“They’ve done a beautiful job with these cottages, haven’t they?” Mallory was still inspecting their accommodations. “Have you noticed the bathroom? It’s got a huge Jacuzzi in it.”
“That’s good.”
“I thought I’d put in a wake-up call for tomorrow morning. I’ve got to be at the station early. Is six-thirty all right with you?”
“Sure. Uh, Mallory? Wasn’t there a small shop by the registration desk?”
“Yes.” Her brows arched in surprise. “Why?”
“I forgot something and I don’t want to have to run out to a drugstore.”
She smiled. “Don’t worry.” She dug into her small bag, bringing out an unopened box of condoms. An extra-large box, he noticed. “I brought them. I knew you’ve been very busy this week and thought you might forget.”
Cliff sucked in a deep breath. The pressure building inside him cranked up another notch. “That’s good. But I ran out of antacids and my stomach is bothering me.”
“Oh.” Her brow pleated in concern. “You’re having a lot of stomach problems, aren’t you? Have you had your doctor check for an ulcer?”
He shook his head and backed toward the door. “I’m okay. But work is pretty stressful right now. It sometimes interferes with my digestion. Once this case is over, I’ll be fine.”
“If you say so,” she said doubtfully.
But as Cliff’s shaking hands plunked down an exorbitant price for the precious rolls of antacids from the resort gift and sundry store, he worried even more about pleasuring Mallory when his mind and body seemed to be functioning on altogether different tracks.
“OH, GOD, Mallory, I’m sorry.” Cliff squirmed in the bed beside her. “This has never happened to me before.”
Mallory rolled over and surveyed her embarrassed lover with a speculative expression. She propped her chin on her hands. “Cliff, it’s all right. It doesn’t matter.”
He glared at her. “If you dare say it’s no big thing—”
She couldn’t help herself.
A giggle—it was definitely a giggle—bubbled up. Hastily she primmed her mouth. “I would never say that. But it doesn’t matter.”
He groaned and put his forearm over his brow. “I’m in bed with one of the most desirable women I’ve ever met. She’s smart. She’s charming. She wants me. And I can’t...”
“Appreciate your good fortune?”
“I just can’t, all right?”
Mallory cuddled against him and put her head on his shoulder. Automatically, his arm curved around her side, pulling her closer. “Cliff, I’m the one who should apologize. You’ve been upset ever since we left home, haven’t you?”
A soft grunt acknowledged her point.
“And I just sat in the car and chattered. I hardly let you get a word in edgewise.”
Another soft grunt. But she noticed that some of the tension seeped out of his arm.
“Cliff, looking back it’s obvious you had something you wanted to talk about. And I never gave you a chance. I’m sorry.”
A long moment passed, marked only by the thudding of his heart against her cheek. Finally, he said, “Look, Mallory. Our affair was just for kicks, right? It wasn’t meant for me to dump my troubles on you.”
She sat up and punched him in the arm just hard enough to get his attention. Sure enough, that concealing forearm dropped, and he sat up and stared at her. “What was that for?”
“How dare you imply that I’m only interested in your body!”
“But that’s what we agreed—”
“Maybe so, but I seem to remember someone who went out of his way to go beyond that for me. I remember a guy who listened to me rattle on about my hopes with the network job. A guy who made sure I felt genuinely desired when I got a little nervous the first time he kissed me. A guy who even took me bowling to help me forget a hellacious day. Does that sound like anyone you recognize?”
He blinked. “Well, yeah. I guess.”
“So why should you think all that caring should go one direction only? Why should you have to do all that for me, while I do nothing for you?” She paused. “Look, Cliff. Just because we’re only having an affair doesn’t mean we can’t care about each other, does it? Because if it does—if it does, I think I’d rather just have your friendship back again and forget the sex.”