Compromising Positions

by Beverly Bird

  “Why not?”

  “I don’t like you!”

  “For God’s sake, you don’t even know me!” He was vaguely aware of people watching them now. He could barely believe he had shouted. With grim effort, he lowered his voice. “Look, I need a favor.”

  “Ask one of your constituents.” She resumed eating. With enough chewing, she hoped, conversation would be impossible.

  “You are one of my constituents,” he observed. “In a manner of speaking.”

  “No. I didn’t vote for you.”

  “Why not?” He’d won the last election by a landslide.

  “You’re a Hadley.”

  Surprise shimmied through him all over again, though it probably shouldn’t have. Was her antagonism as simple as that? What had the Hadleys ever done to her?

  “That always worked in my favor,” he said carefully.

  “Not in everyone’s opinion.”

  “So tell me about yours.”

  “I think you give as much thought to staying on top as to doing your job well.” She began to inch away from him.

  “Wait a minute.”

  He caught her elbow. It was pure instinct. He only wanted to stop her. But she looked at him with such indignation—and yes, there was panic again—just as there had been the first time he met her—that he felt foolish and quickly dropped his hand.

  “So do you,” he said awkwardly.

  “I beg your pardon?”

  “You give as much thought to staying on top as to doing your job. You said as much in my office.”

  His mother was bearing down on them from across the lawn. He caught sight of her out of the corner of his eye. She had Lisette Markham Chauncy by one skinny elbow. The woman was thirty-nine and a spinster. She looked easily ten or more years older than her age, and she was so excruciatingly shy that it was painful to talk to her. The highest-priced salon in the world couldn’t do anything with her limp hair. It was streaked with blond this month, but its natural dishwater color still showed through in odd places. She wore a shapeless silk dress in a drab color.

  “Damn it,” he muttered, then caught Angela’s arm again and swung her into his own. Her hat fell back onto the veranda, the carnation bobbling merrily.

  “What do you think you’re doing?” she cried.

  “Dancing with you.”

  She managed to pull back just far enough to smack a hand against his chest. “And I said no!” Her voice sounded shrill.

  “For God’s sake, I’m not going to hurt you!” And impossibly, he thought of that damned sparrow again. Quickly, almost unconsciously, he relaxed his hold on her. She seemed to tremble for a moment. She didn’t wrench away. She didn’t move at all.

  Angela knew he wouldn’t hurt her. Of course he wouldn’t—at least not here, not now. “We’re on the porch,” she tried saying in a more reasonable tone. “The dance floor’s on the lawn.”

  “So we’ll dance in that direction. Watch your step. The stairs are right behind you.” He guided her down the five short steps to the lawn.

  He was out of his mind, she concluded. She liked that in a person.

  The more he insisted on badgering her, the more that insidious little observation crept into her head. She could like him. If she let herself. He was not what she had expected him to be. He wasn’t rigid. He wasn’t cold. He was, however, extremely high-handed.

  He was staring over her left shoulder. And he looked...alarmed.

  “What?” she demanded, craning her neck around to see, as well. A tall, thin, well-dressed woman was heading toward them. She had another plainer-looking woman by the elbow. Suddenly, the older woman stopped short, and the younger one took a few more steps before being wrenched backward by her grip. The younger one looked disappointed, the older one annoyed. “Who are they?” Angela asked.

  “The one on the right is my mother. Isobel Glowan Hadley.”

  Angela looked up into his face again. She was tall. Jesse was taller by a good many inches. “You’re afraid of her,” she declared slowly.

  “Too strong a word. I avoid her. You would too, if she were yours.”

  Angela wanted to laugh, but wouldn’t let herself. “Why?”

  “She wants me to marry that woman,” he answered aggrievedly.

  “You can’t be serious.”

  “I am.”

  Astounded, she realized that he was telling her the truth. And she knew, all over again, that the Hadleys inhabited a whole different world from the one she knew.

  “Just tell her no.”

  “Obviously, you’ve never met my mother.” Jesse gave a quick, harassed glance down into her face before his gaze went back over her shoulder again. Angela followed his glance and saw the women retreating. She felt Jesse exhale slowly.

  And that was when she became aware of just how tightly he was holding her.

  His left hand—wide and strong—held her right one. Their fingers were laced together. His hands were not what she would have imagined, either. They were not soft and smooth, his nails weren’t buffed. They weren’t really white-collar hands. Faint calluses covered the little pads of skin at the base of his fingers. Incredibly, almost absently, he ran his thumb over her knuckle. His touch was rough and warm.

  She felt a shuddering kind of feeling deep within her, and she was frightened by it, astounded and appalled.

  His right hand was at the small of her back, holding her close to him. Their thighs were flush together. She could feel his heartbeat.

  “We’re...not...dancing,” she managed to protest.

  He looked surprised. “Oh. Sorry.” He began moving again.

  She struggled mightily for something to say. She knew she had to pull away from him, but she couldn’t seem to find the strength. Her legs were hollow.

  “Why does she want you to marry that woman?” she asked finally.

  “Because that woman is a Chauncy. Lisette Markham to be exact.”

  “So?”

  Something happened to his mouth that might have been a smile. A pained one. “So her daddy is loaded.”

  “So is yours. So are you.”

  “Precisely.”

  No false modesty there, she noted. But she had already known that about him.

  “Hadley marriages are not made in heaven, Doctor. They’re made at the bank.”

  “Your sister’s wasn’t.”

  “No, that’s true. Tessa can certainly dig her heels in when she chooses to. She’s the exception to the rule.” He looked down at the woman in his arms again. “Thank you for dancing with me.”

  Those simple words shook Angela all over again, more than she cared to admit. A Hadley thanking a Byerly. Well, well. She didn’t want to believe that he might be different. It was just manners again. But his eyes looked so candid, so sincere.

  “Think you can keep this up for about another three hours?” he went on, grinning now.

  “I’m not staying for three hours,” she blurted.

  He’d fix that. “Too bad. You’ve been helpful.”

  “You want me to run interference for you?” she asked incredulously.

  “In addition to the Chauncy woman, there are about six other unmarried heiresses running loose around here.” Then, of course, there would be the inevitable press of his father, his uncle, his cousins, all wanting to talk politics.

  Angela looked around again and could almost spot the heiresses. For the most part, they were watching Jesse, fairly drooling.

  She surprised herself with a quick bubble of laughter. “I guess you’re a catch.”

  “They think so.”

  “Do you?” she asked, genuinely curious.

  One of his brows went up, but he didn’t give her a quick, pat answer. She liked that, too.

  “I think,” he said slowly, “that I’d be damned impossible to live with.”

  “Why?”

  “I work a lot. I’m rarely home. And when I am, I like the quiet.”

  “And?”

  “Isn’t t
hat enough?”

  “It wouldn’t deter them.”

  Jesse laughed aloud. “No, I guess it wouldn’t.” Then he fell quiet again. “I’m a loner,” he said finally. “I like my freedom and my solitude. It would bother me to give that up. And there’s not much else in my life that I truly enjoy.”

  Angela felt surprise whisper through her. “You don’t like your job?”

  “I love my job. I don’t want to be mayor.”

  He heard his words and was stunned. Could she be trusted with such information? God knew she seemed capable of anything. It wasn’t like him to be so careless with his words. What the hell did this woman do to him?

  “So don’t run in the election,” she said quietly.

  “I have to.”

  In one succinct, unladylike word, she told him what she thought of that.

  He looked down at her, shocked, then he laughed hard. She felt the strength of the sound in his chest, much too flush against hers.

  “It’s not that easy,” he said, his expression serious again.

  “Why?”

  He didn’t elaborate, couldn’t say more.

  “So you’ll run, and you’ll probably win, and you’ll hate it.”

  “Hate’s too strong a word. It’s all relative.”

  “We should all have such problems.”

  “It’s not a problem. It’s a nuisance. Sort of like my mother dragging all these unmarried women out of the woodwork.”

  “A mayor ought to be married,” she mused. She was goading him and realized that she was enjoying it. Playing with fire, came the sudden thought. Still, she kept on. “Family image and all that, right?”

  He gave her an appraising look. “Now you’re catching on.”

  “So why didn’t you bring a date? That might have held your mother in abeyance.”

  “I tried.”

  “Where is she?”

  “Milan.”

  Jesse found that he was much less annoyed with Caro’s change of heart now than he had been two days ago. What was it about this woman that diverted him so? On the surface, she very nearly appalled him. She was prickly. Marginally rude, or at least shamelessly blunt with her opinions. She was quite possibly smarter than he was. His ego told him that he could have gotten two monster degrees almost simultaneously if he had wanted to, but honesty made him admit to himself that he wasn’t really sure.

  She was outrageous. He thought of the hors d’oeuvres she had taken, and those shoes, and the hat that still lay on the porch. People were stepping carefully over and around it with little sidelong glances, as though it might jump up and grab their ankles.

  He sure as hell couldn’t take her among the polite company he was accustomed to, at least not without keeping one worried eye on her. His mother would take one look at her and keel over. In fact, Isobel had already done pretty much that.

  Interesting thought there, he decided, then pushed it away. Not even to goad Isobel could he see himself squiring this woman around the city. In three short days, she’d already left visible cracks in his smooth, polished world.

  Yet he was acutely aware of the heat of her skin beneath his right palm, through the thin fabric of her dress. He slid his hand downward, ever so slightly, and she was warmer and softer still.

  “Is your hair real?” he heard himself ask, and for the first time in his life he almost blushed.

  “I beg your pardon?” She had heard him. She was simply too astounded to answer.

  “Never mind.”

  “Of course it’s real! Would I buy this stuff?”

  “What do you mean?” he asked. mesmerized.

  She jerked her hand free of his and attempted to run her fingers through her curls. It was a tough job. “It takes me the better part of an hour to get a comb through it.”

  He’d thought she’d achieved that look on purpose. “Oh,” he managed to respond. “Actually, I was talking about the color.”

  She never had the opportunity to answer that one.

  “Jesse,” a deep voice rumbled from behind him, “whenever you can tear yourself away from your lovely companion, I’d like a word with you.”

  Jesse knew the voice. He didn’t turn around to acknowledge it because he was too amazed by what happened to Angela Byerly’s face. The blood seemed to literally be siphoned from her complexion.

  “I’ve got to go,” she choked. In the next instant, she jerked free from his arms and ran. She was gone before he could react.

  “Jesse—” his uncle began again.

  “Later,” he snapped. He turned away and hurried after her.

  “Maybe she’ll leave a slipper,” Wendell called out, laughing.

  It doesn’t matter. I know where to find her. If I want to. Still, his uncle’s reference to Cinderella made him feel oddly light-headed. He hastened into the house, then jogged down the central hallway. People stared after him, openmouthed. She was doing it to him again, making him react in ways he’d never reacted before.

  He didn’t slow down.

  By the time he reached the front porch, the limo—his.limo—was moving down the wide, curving drive. He had no doubt that she was inside it.

  “Damn it.” He braced a hand against one of the white columns to watch it go. He felt let down, empty.

  Then he heard movement behind him. Her jerked around angrily, expecting to find his uncle. Damn that mayoral election. And what the hell was it about the men in his family that they thought they could interrupt anything, at any time, when there was business to be discussed?

  He found his new brother-in-law instead. Gunner tugged at his bow tie, finally pulling it free and stuffing it into his pocket. “I would not,” Gunner said slowly, “have gotten all dressed up in this monkey suit for any other woman but my new wife.”

  “No,” Jesse agreed absently. “You look uncomfortable.” He glanced back at the limo just in time to see its brakes flash as it turned onto the street.

  Gunner’s eyes, too, followed the car. “What happened?”

  “I was about to ask you. She said you two were friends.”

  Gunner only shrugged.

  “She doesn’t like me,” Jesse heard himself say after a moment.

  “It’s not you,” Gunner replied. “She’s a little wary of men in general. What did your uncle say to her?”

  “My uncle? Nothing. Why?”

  Gunner didn’t answer.

  “What the hell is going on here?” Jesse growled. He was getting tired of the feeling of being in the dark.

  “Your esteemed uncle screwed her over at one point in time,” Gunner said finally. “Beyond that, I can’t tell you any more. It’s not my place.”

  “Screwed her over?” Jesse repeated incredulously. “Wendell?”

  “It’s not my place,” Gunner repeated, then grinned. It wasn’t entirely a pleasant look. “How’s that for learning my Hadleyese?”

  “She can’t ever have appeared before him,” Jesse said shortly.

  Gunner shrugged.

  “Hell, it’s impossible! She’s the chief M.E., for God’s sake! They wouldn’t have pulled her away from Quantico if she had a record! Quantico wouldn’t have had her!” He couldn’t have said why he was so upset with the possibility.

  He looked down the driveway again. It was unlittered. Not a glass slipper in sight.

  Jesse turned away with a mild oath and went back into the house. He was halfway down the central hall before he noticed a single curly yellow hair clinging to his lapel. He ducked into the study, held it over the wastebasket there, then he reconsidered and slipped it into his tuxedo pocket.

  Wendell Glowan had looked right at her. No. Angela thought wildly, no. He had looked through her, just as he had then.

  In the future, Miss Byerly, you might want to be more circumspect in your behavior. Now, as then, her pulse thundered with the injustice of it. She’d had witnesses. People who could have told the court exactly. what had happened, if they’d had the chance.

  Some of them w
ould have. Others had bowed out at the last moment, leaving her attorney scrambling. It had happened just around the time evidence had started disappearing.

  She slid down more deeply into the plush seat of the limo. She kicked her new shoes off and curled her legs beneath her. The driver glanced back at her pale face in the mirror, but said nothing.

  Glowan had dismissed her case. He’d thrown everything Charles Price III had done to her right out of court. The jury had never heard a word of what the remaining witnesses might have said. She had been the one to come out of that courtroom feeling dirty, guilty, raw.

  The dismissal hadn’t stopped Charlie. That hadn’t been the end of it. He’d come back often enough, simply because there wasn’t a thing she could do to stop him. She was a Byerly, and he was a Price, and an even more powerful Glowan had protected him. He’d kept right on taunting her until John Gunner had finally stopped him.

  She huddled into the rich leather that Hadley money had paid for and beat away the fear once more. John was right—the whole fiasco was in the past. She should be able to let go of it. But she had known that entering the Hadley lair today would be just like hearing Charlie’s echoing, mocking laughter all over again. You’re no different. today. A law degree as hard-earned as any of ours? Doesn’t matter. A medical degree to boot? No, no. you’re still that kid from South Philly. You’re helpless, defenseless, powerless, no matter what they pay you now, and don’t you ever forget it.

  Yes, she thought, feeling nauseous, that was it exactly. Because she was—she was just the same inside. And the Hadleys and the Glowans and the Prices of the world knew it.

  Deep down inside, she was still that shy, skinny girl who had stood in front of The Honorable Wendell Glowan fifteen years ago, waiting for justice to be meted out. Waiting for the consolation of knowing that the guilty would be punished and the righteous would be soothed by it.

  She’d been wrong.

  The guilty were not punished when they had money, when they could buy witnesses and judges and pay to have evidence disappear. The righteous were only as mighty as their family ties. She’d learned that painful truth that day, and through many thereafter, and she had spent every one of her days since fighting it on her own terms.

  She would not apologize for her looks. She would never cower beneath sackcloth. She would stand proud, and she would never, ever, allow one of those people into her world again.