Her smile widened. “You know, you’re going to have to watch that ‘girl’ and ‘honey’ stuff from here on out. We wouldn’t want anyone getting the wrong idea,” she admonished.
Thrice divorced—twice to women who had started as paralegals at the firm—Barry wasn’t a newcomer to the gossip mill. He pulled at the waist of his slacks, a habit he’d picked up a while ago after dropping twenty pounds. “Actually, I think that’s more incentive to keep calling you ‘girl.’ There are worse things I can think of than having everyone believe there’s a little hanky-panky going on behind the scenes here.”
Dulcy crossed her arms. “Oh, that’s just what I’ve always aspired to. To have everyone think I slept my way to the top.” She laughed. “Anyway, that’s not what I’m talking about. If you call me those cute little endearments in public, the entire legal establishment will be calling me ‘girl’ in no time flat. I can hear it already. I’m arbitrating an important case and the opposing attorney asks, ‘Is that all, honey?”’ She shuddered. “No, thank you.”
“Oh, I don’t know. You could try what you did with me the first time I slipped and called you ‘honey’ in public.”
Dulcy’s face went hot as she recalled the incident. She’d been all of twenty-one, participating in a mock trial. With solid ties to University of New Mexico School of Law, Barry had been visiting counsel and had agreed to sit in as the judge. “Any more questions, honey?” he’d asked. She’d bristled, then shot back, “No, I think that about covers it, pookems,” and the entire room had erupted in laughter. Including Barry.
It was the beginning of a mentor-student relationship and, even more important, a friendship that Dulcy cherished.
“Can I get you two some coffee?” Mona asked.
Dulcy uncrossed her arms. “Thanks, but I can get it myself,” she said as she had nearly every morning for the past six months.
Barry held out his white handmade ceramic cup with a real antler as the handle. “Mighty fine of you to offer, Miss Lyndell.”
The instant Mona had taken the cup and disappeared down the hall, Dulcy lowered her voice. “I still think she has the hots for you.”
Barry’s deep laugh boomed through the room. “And I still think you’re off your rocker, Dulc. Mona’s been my secretary for thirty years. Don’t you think I’d know if she had the slightest bit of interest in me?”
Dulcy patted the front of his starched shirt. “I don’t think you’d notice if the woman stripped down naked right in front of you.”
“Which would never happen.”
She started to walk toward her office. “How would you know? You never look up from your latest case file long enough to see if it already has.”
Another chuckle. “Did I know what I was letting myself in for when I signed you gals on as partners?”
Dulcy winked. “Actually, I still suspect you did it just to give half your clients a heart attack.”
“Speaking of partners in crime, where are yours this morning, anyway?”
Dulcy glanced at her watch. “I’d say Marie’s doing the parking spot hunt outside the county courthouse right about now. And Jena…” She smiled. “Well, Jena’s probably running late, as usual for a Monday morning.”
Which was exactly what Dulcy had been counting on. She hadn’t dared breathe a word to either of her friends about what had happened two nights ago. And, thank God, neither of them had pursued the matter. From what she understood, Jena and Marie had closed the club down. By the time they’d made their way upstairs and knocked on her door, they’d figured she was dead to the world and had let her be. After all, everyone knew Dulcy was as boring as they came.
If they only knew… She tightened her hand on the door frame. Yes, well, if she had a say in the matter, they would never find out.
The recollection of her reckless behavior sent a shiver shimmying down her spine. She didn’t even know Quinn’s last name. And he didn’t know hers. Which was the way she’d wanted it, wasn’t it? She worried the back of her engagement ring with her thumb. After all, she was a scant five days away from marrying someone else.
Barry stepped closer to her, a curious expression on his face. Dulcy focused her errant gaze on him, wondering how much she’d revealed by standing there reliving the past weekend.
He lowered his voice. “You know, as long as I have you alone, there’s something I want to talk to you about, Dulcy.”
Oh God. Here it was. Everyone knew about what had happened and she was going to hear about it.
“What—” She cleared the frog from her throat, “what is it?”
He stared at her for a moment, then nodded in the direction Mona had gone. “It’s just that…I was wondering…have you noticed anything odd about Miss Lyndell lately?”
Odd? “No,” she said, drawing out the word. “I can’t say that I have. Then again, I really don’t know Mona that well. You’d probably be the better judge of that.”
He repeatedly smoothed down his tie. “I don’t know. Maybe I’m overreacting but I think something’s bothering her.”
“Oh, maybe the world at large?”
He frowned.
“Sorry. Tell me, what makes you think that?”
He shrugged. “She seems to be forgetful lately. Failing to remember to call and cancel appointments. Ordering up the wrong thing for lunch.”
Dulcy clucked. “Poor baby.”
He had the good grace to redden slightly. But Dulcy also noticed that he was genuinely worried. She tilted her head to the side and considered him.
“And you know how she is. She’d never share anything of a personal nature with us. Do you suppose she’s having problems at home?”
“Honestly, I couldn’t tell you, Barry. You’re right, she doesn’t share anything personal. Would you like me to talk to her?”
Footsteps sounded on the floor between area rugs. Barry snapped upright, gave Dulcy a steady gaze, then stepped back to his office door and turned to his secretary.
“Ah, there she is,” he said. Dulcy watched him accept his coffee cup, the way Mona waited to see if it was all right, then turned and walked into her office. Was there something bothering Mona? If so, Dulcy didn’t know if she was the one to find out. Right now, her own plate was overflowing with items requiring her attention, not the least of which was her upcoming nuptials.
She debated closing her office door, then opted against it since she never closed it and the mere action itself might raise Mona’s brows and start her to snooping. The last thing she needed was Mona on the prowl. She reached out and opened the door farther, just to be on the safe side, then rounded her desk and sat down. There was the Travers case to work on, a legal brief to proof and tweak and approve, and a court appearance to prepare for later in the week.
Still, all she could seem to do was drum her fingers against the empty desktop.
“Oh, for God’s sake, just call him,” she ordered under her breath. “He’s your fiancé.”
She glanced at her watch, though she was very aware of what time it was. A few minutes after eight. That meant Brad should be just getting into his office. She plucked up the phone, put it back down, then picked it up again. She’d left two messages on his home answering machine over the weekend, asking him to give her a call if he had the chance. He must not have had a chance. She put down the receiver and scratched her arm through her suit jacket.
“Miss Ferris?”
Dulcy nearly catapulted straight from her chair. Which didn’t improve the secretary’s dour expression as she stood watching curiously from the open doorway.
“What is it, Mona?”
“Miss McCade just called. Said she was running late and asked if you could sit in on an eight-thirty conference to finalize the details of a prenuptial agreement. She said that everything’s already ironed out, and it will only be a matter of crossing the t’s and dotting the i’s.”
Dulcy grimaced. Sure, Jena routinely ran late on Monday mornings, and while she’d been known to
reschedule an occasional appointment or two, she’d never asked Dulcy or Marie to sit in for her.
She absently rubbed her temple. The fact that this particular case involved a prenuptial agreement so close to the exchange of her own nuptials didn’t escape her notice, either.
What was Jena up to now?
“I can put the conference off until she arrives,” Mona offered. “But it’s too late to call and reschedule.”
Dulcy considered her options, trying not to be too skeptical of her friend’s motives. Finally, she shook her head. “No, that’s okay. I think I can handle it. Thanks.”
“Certainly.”
Dulcy pulled the Travers case file in front of her and flipped it open. Moments later, she realized Mona still stood in the doorway. She looked up. “Is there something else?”
The older woman appeared ready to say something, then sighed. “No. No, there isn’t.”
Remembering her conversation with Barry, Dulcy was raising a hand to stop Mona from leaving, when the phone chirped. For the second time in as many minutes, she nearly leapt from her chair.
Of course, Mona didn’t miss the reaction, and her eyes narrowed. “I’ll get it for you.”
“I’ve got it. Thanks again.”
The secretary nodded and left the room.
Dulcy wiped her damp palms against her skirt and reached for the receiver. “Dulcy Ferris.”
The caller identified herself as having been referred by a fellow attorney. Dulcy swallowed hard. Not Brad.
For the next five minutes she spoke to the potential client and somewhere over the course of the conversation she actually forgot about the past weekend. Put out of her mind the murkiness of the future. Managed to concentrate on nothing but the here and now. Devote herself completely to her career. Which was exactly what she had hoped would happen.
A half hour later she no longer recognized the woman who had been so impulsively wild the other night. She collected the file on Jena’s prenup case from Mona, then joined the bride and groom and the groom’s attorney in the smaller of the two conference rooms.
She explained Jena’s…detainment and then introduced herself. It appeared the bride, one very blond, very busty Mandy Mallone, was to be her client, however temporary.
“So,” she said, taking the seat next to Mandy and trying not to wrinkle her nose at the overpowering smell of perfume. “Jena told me that all the hard work’s done.” She flipped open the file and extracted the prepared contracts. A set of originals and another file copy with red arrow stickers indicating where signatures were required. “We’re just here to sign, is that right?”
“Right,” said the groom, a twenty-something, handsome, stuffy-looking Jason Polansky.
The bride crossed her arms, pushing up her already pushed-up breasts in her tight white suit. “Wrong.”
Dulcy blinked, once, twice, and hoped like hell she was hearing things. She silently cursed Jena, who was probably even now laughing at her expense in a coffee shop somewhere.
The other two in the room instantly spoke up. Dulcy was somewhat familiar with the middle-aged lawyer sitting next to Polansky, simply because the services of Steve Saragin and Associates didn’t come cheap. And because he starred in his own cheesy commercials advertising his services on TV. He was the legal equivalent of a used car salesman. An attractive equivalent—but why was it men were never as handsome when they did something sleazy like that?
“Oh, come on, Mandy. This is the fifth time we’ve been through this,” the groom objected.
Saragin added, “Miss Mallone, I have to remind you that a verbal agreement is just as binding as a written contract.”
Dulcy bit her lip to keep from responding. She slanted a hopeful glance at the brassy bride next to her. Neither comment seemed to move her from her position. If anything, they seemed to make her attractive chin snap up higher, and the scarlet-painted nails dig deeper into her arms.
“I’ve changed my mind. So shoot me.”
“Don’t tempt me,” Polansky said under his breath, obviously exasperated. He turned on an impressive grin that Dulcy suspected had attracted his bride to begin with. “Mandy, honey, we’re getting married in five short days. Don’t you think we’d both breathe much easier if we got this out of the way?”
Dulcy stared at him, trying not to think about the fact that it was the same day she was to marry Brad.
“We don’t have time for this. Really, we don’t.”
Saragin slid the contracts out from in front of Dulcy and tried to hand them to Mandy. “Mr. Polansky is being very generous, Miss Mallone. Exceptionally generous. My advice is that you should sign.”
Mandy appeared to waver. She slowly released her grip on her arms. The groom smiled at her encouragingly, Saragin cleared his throat, and she hesitantly moved to take the contracts.
Dulcy was unable to sit on the sidelines any longer. Call her a masochist, or just plain aggravated by the groom and his attorney’s behavior, but if the firm’s client was hesitant, she should find out why. She took the contracts from Saragin and gave Mandy a sympathetic smile. “Good thing you’re not serving on behalf of her attorney then, isn’t it, Steve.” She gave the two men a pointed glance. “You don’t mind if I take a minute, do you? Since this isn’t the brief meeting we all expected.”
The opposing attorney moved to object, then snapped his mouth shut when it became evident that whatever he said wasn’t going to stop her.
Dulcy sat back in her chair and began scanning the whopping thirty-page document, her eyes growing wider and wider with each word. It appeared that every last asset Polansky owned was detailed and appraised…and was stipulated to remain his in the event of divorce. And, since Miss Mallone would retire from her job as an exotic dancer—Dulcy raised a brow and glanced at the blonde again—and Mr. Polansky would be the couple’s sole wage earner, ninety-five percent of assets acquired during the marriage would remain with Mr. Polansky for the first ten years of the marriage, then go up in increments of five percent for every ten years thereafter.
Jena had signed off on this? Dulcy looked at Mandy, who was watching her hopefully, then quickly back at the agreement.
In the event that the couple had children, it stipulated that joint custody would be awarded, and no alimony or child support allocated.
Dulcy tapped the contract. That would never stand up in a court of law, she mentally noted.
She finished reading and then leafed back to the beginning of the contract. This wasn’t a prenuptial agreement; this was legal enslavement. Of course, nowhere did it limit Polansky’s claim against any of Mandy’s future earnings. For all anyone knew, she could design the ultimate thong underwear—a new design that didn’t make you feel like you were flossing your butt—and turn into a multimillionaire overnight, and her cheapskate husband would be entitled to half her earnings. Dulcy sighed and glanced again at the last page, where it stated Mandy was to have no claim against Mr. Polansky’s retirement benefits, no matter how long the couple was married. It stated the company’s name: Polansky, Polansky and Polansky, Attorneys-at-Law.
Figured. She grimaced. Trust an attorney to come up with a piece of crap like this. Trust another attorney, namely one deeply in trouble Jena McCade, to let him get away with it.
She carefully put down the agreement in front of her and folded her hands on top of it. The date the agreement was supposed to go into effect was the same day she would be marrying Brad Wheeler. She only now found it intriguing that Brad hadn’t asked for a prenuptial agreement, and was relieved he hadn’t. Had her groom suggested she endorse the document in front of her, she would have made him eat it.
She cleared her throat and stared at both attorneys opposite her. “May I have a moment alone with my client, please?” She got up, walked to the door and opened it. “Mona, would you please see if Mr. Polansky and Mr. Saragin would like anything?” she asked the secretary.
Saragin drew even with her. “I think it would be wise for you to have a
few words with Jena before you do anything rash, Dulcy.”
She smiled at him, but it felt cold and unnatural. “Thanks. I’ll take it under advisement.” In his dreams.
She closed the door after them, then leaned against it, staring at an obviously surprised Mandy. “We have to talk.”
THREE HOURS LATER Dulcy felt, well, almost herself again. Almost. She leaned back in her chair and stared out the picture window at the breathtaking view of the Sandia Mountains. She and Mandy Mallone had gone over that poor excuse for a prenuptial agreement with a thick red marker, handed it to Saragin and Polansky, then called that meeting to a close. Conveniently, Jena showed up shortly thereafter, wearing a mile-wide grin. She’d leaned against Dulcy’s doorjamb, crossed her arms and asked how many pieces remained after the morning encounter.
“Figured as much,” Jena had said. “Saragin called me on my cell to let me know he wasn’t happy.”
“Cell phone? Saragin has your personal cell phone number?”
Jena pressed her lips together and said nothing.
“Oh, Jeez, Jena. I knew something smelled fishy, but I had no idea it was because you and the tight-ass opposing attorney were getting it on behind the scenes.”
“Getting it on? How crude.” She’d shrugged. “For the record, we haven’t even gone out. Yet. But I am intrigued by the rumors circulating about him.”
“What rumors?”
“That he’s hung like a horse.”
Dulcy groaned. She had to ask. “Rumors likely originating from him. He probably took out ads in the paper.”
Her friend laughed. “So what’s the big deal?”
“The big deal is that you nearly shipped that poor girl off into shark-infested waters without a paddle to save herself.”
“That ‘poor girl’ has made a small fortune dancing nude for a living,” she said on her way out the door. “Anyway, that’s exactly the reason I asked you to take the meeting. I knew you wouldn’t let that piece of toilet paper fly.”
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