"Certainly not!" She touched her still damp hair. "I showered before he got here. We were discussing—" She halted in midsentence. The merger, like everything else in a law firm, was considered a confidential topic. Of course, secretaries tended to know as much about the business as their bosses. Still, Paula hadn't mentioned the subject, and she hesitated to bring it up, just in case. "We were discussing business," she finished lamely. That was a rotten deal, not being able to talk to her best friend about her problems. "I'd just come back from a run. And you'll never guess what I saw!"
She seized on the story of Candy and Alvin under the bridge with delight, recognizing a great diversion when she found one. Drawing out the tale, avoiding her personal feelings, Bailey soon had Paula wiping tears of laughter from her eyes.
"So instead of writing letters," Bailey concluded, "maybe you should run into cars until you find Prince Charming. Or, to be totally accurate, let him run into you."
Suddenly she felt uncomfortable. From the sober look that crossed Paula's face, she knew her friend felt the same unease.
"Let him run into you," Paula repeated, sitting upright.
"Coincidence," Bailey protested weakly, taking a deep gulp from her soft drink. This could turn into a three-cola evening.
"If you ask me, it sounds a little suspicious."
It certainly did, and Bailey would have seen it immediately if her mind hadn't been so muddled with thoughts of Austin and lust. "Innocent until proven guilty," she hedged, trying to defend her indefensible oversight.
Paula shrugged, leaning back. "Whatever you think, but you better hope Austin doesn't get wind of it. He'd have that detective back on her in a New York minute. "
And Bailey had just admitted to him that she'd gone running in Springcreek Park, the location of the accident. That tidbit would probably be enough to set off his suspicious mind. He had seemed awfully interested in the details.
"I think I'd better check it out," Bailey admitted, rubbing her neck, which had suddenly begun to ache. "But unofficially." No need for everyone to know she'd temporarily lost her reasoning abilities, especially not with a partnership on the horizon and Austin poised for a checkmate should she make a wrong move.
*~*~*
Austin drove aimlessly around the city for half an hour, waiting for his hormones to subside and his brain to kick back into gear. Maybe it was just as well that Paula had interrupted because he'd definitely been out of control. His glands seemed to take off on their own when he was around Bailey. His glands, his temper, his common sense—his whole system went haywire in her presence.
A red light appeared out of nowhere, and he slammed on his brakes, cursing Bailey and Paula and himself for his lack of attention. He'd blown the evening. He hadn't goaded her into revealing any information about the merger, hadn't influenced her vote in his favor, and certainly hadn't made any headway in smoothing out their strange relationship.
A horn sounded behind him, and Austin realized the light had been green for an indeterminate amount of time. With a wave of apology to the driver behind, he accelerated on down the street.
The only time Bailey had shown any loss of control was when he asked about her run, an odd thing to get upset about. And why had she gone all the way over to Springcreek Park? The whole thing sounded awfully suspicious. It was too dark tonight, but tomorrow evening immediately after work, he'd be at Springcreek Park. He'd find out what Bailey had gone to see.
*~*~*
If Bailey's life was splintering out of control in all directions, she could at least try to help her best friends get their lives straightened out. Just before lunch the next day, she marched determinedly down to Gordon's office. He was sitting, staring blankly into space, when she burst into the room.
"You look terrible!" she exclaimed.
"I wish you'd learn to be more direct, stop sugarcoating the facts," he drawled.
"I've come to drag you to lunch, and I don't want any flack about it."
"Drag away." Gordon extended his hands. "I'm not sure I can walk."
"Come on," Bailey ordered, starting out the door but turning back to be sure he was following. "Are you sick? With those bloodshot eyes and dark circles, you look like you've been on a week-long binge."
"I have. A work binge." He followed her down the hall.
Bailey shook her head. "I work hard but I don't look like that. What are you really up to?" The poor man obviously needed her help getting straightened out in more ways than one.
"You've been working hard since you came here, long enough to develop work immunities." Gordon punched the button to call a down elevator. "I've got a lot of catching up to do. This is only temporary, until I get my desk cleared off. "
"That'll never happen. Not a feasible goal." They entered the half-full elevator.
"I have a reason." Gordon admitted, and Bailey nodded in satisfaction. He was just about ready to confess, if she could only keep him awake through lunch.
At the deli Gordon scarfed down his sandwich and launched into his potato salad. Not only had the man not been sleeping, it would appear he hadn't been eating either.
"All right, out with it," Bailey ordered when he swallowed the last bite.
"I'm trying to straighten up my life. Is that so terrible? Are you going to eat your slaw?"
She'd planned on it. "No. Do you want it?" She shoved the plastic dish across the table. "You always seemed perfectly happy with your life."
"Things change. And you needn't play innocent with me, Ms. Russell. It didn't escape my attention that you were invited to join the big boys yesterday."
"Oh." She shouldn't have been surprised. The office grapevine was very efficient.
"So," he said, smiling for the first time, "does this mean what I think it means?"
Bailey nodded, unable to restrain a wide grin. Reaching across the table, Gordon took her hands in his. "That's wonderful! I knew you could do it! When do we celebrate?"
"When it's official, at the fiscal-year-end party."
Then her smile faded, and she leaned forward. "Is that it, Gordon?" she asked, barely above a whisper. "Are you upset because we started at the same time and you aren't a partner yet?"
Gordon released her hands and leaned back, still smiling. "Nah. You know I never had my eye on a partnership. But I would like to keep my job."
"I wasn't aware it was in jeopardy."
Gordon lifted an eyebrow. "When our laid-back firm merges with an aggressive, killer cobra firm, a lot of things will change."
Punching the crushed ice in her glass with her straw, Bailey studied him for a few minutes. "I suppose Austin told you," she finally said. Though it pained her to give him the credit, the man seemed to be ubiquitous.
"Yes, he did." Gordon scraped the last bite of slaw from the container, swallowed, and smiled smugly.
"Some time ago, I'd guess, since you've been working your brains out practically since he arrived in town."
"Poor Bailey. It must be awful to be the last to know," Gordon teased. "I'm aware of how desperately you hate being last."
She leaned back and crossed her arms over her chest. "If you're so knowledgeable, then surely you're aware it's far from a done deal. Should the merger not occur, will you go back to leading a normal life?" Might as well add one more outside influence to her list of considerations for her decision, make things even more complicated.
Gordon stacked his plastic utensils and bowls in his plate and avoided Bailey's gaze. "That depends. I don't know. Probably not."
Enough was enough. She couldn't wait forever for these foolish people to recognize what was before their very eyes. "If you'd spend a little more time with Paula and less time working or hiding notes and flowers in the park, she'd be a lot more impressed."
Gordon's mouth dropped open.
"Come on," Bailey said, pushing back her chair and standing. "Let's get to the office and you can call and ask her for a date like a regular, sane human being. And don't tell her I told you to.
Take the credit for yourself. You need all the credit you can get."
Gordon took her arm as they wended their way through the tables. "I think being a partner is going to make you bossier than ever."
"Not possible. An absolute can't have a comparative form."
*~*~*
Austin slammed the door of his apartment behind him, grabbed an icy beer from the refrigerator, and flopped onto the sofa. He'd wasted the whole evening checking on Candy Miller, and all she'd done was go to the B&B Lounge. That was nothing new. The insurance company's bumbling detective had followed her there.
He'd sat in his car in the parking lot for thirty minutes before he gave up and came home. As he recalled from the testimony, she'd likely be in there for the rest of the evening.
What he needed to do was go in and observe her, ask a few questions. Maybe even talk to her. Buy her a drink and get into her confidence.
Right. And she's going to be eager to spill her guts to opposing counsel. Even Candy Miller wasn't that dumb.
Snatching up the remote control, he flicked on the television, drank his beer, and watched a bumbling detective don mustache and beard to spy on a suspect.
Oh, no, he thought, switching the channel. That was television, not real life, and he was a respected member of the legal community.
So who do you think is going to know? some perverse side of him argued. Not likely you'd see anyone there you knew, and if you should, how would they recognize you?
No way.
He gulped half his beer, switched back to the detective show.
Is your pride stronger than your desire to beat Bailey Russell?
His demented side had a point. Right now she seemed to be in control of every aspect of his life, and that was certainly an undesirable state of affairs. She knew something he didn't know about the Miller case. She had hinted strongly that the fate of the merger was in her hands. And, worst of all, she seemed to be in charge of his hormones. He drained the beer can. Even thinking about her was creating a physical problem. And it didn't just involve her body, desirable though said body was. Everything she did, from their contests to her performance at the deposition, excited him. He had to get a wedge in somehow, regain the upper hand.
Look on the internet and find where he could get a fake mustache. Add a pair of glasses—they were good enough for Superman—then a hat, maybe. A straw hat. Denim shirt open halfway to the waist. Tight jeans and a belt with a big buckle and his name on the back. Somebody else's name, that is. Cletus, maybe. No, Bubba.
He crushed the beer can and headed for the refrigerator to get another. Fun to play with the idea, but he had too much dignity to actually go through with it.
CHAPTER TEN
"No way am I going out in public dressed in that thing," Bailey protested as Paula held up a black leather skirt that appeared to be made for a Barbie doll.
"It'll be shorter and tighter on you than it was on me, but that's all to the good," Paula mused, ignoring Bailey's protestations and continuing to rummage in her closet. "Now for a blouse. Let's see, we need to show some skin."
"Oh, I don't think so." Bailey held the skirt in front of her. It was a good six inches above her knees. "This should be about maximum on the skin."
Paula tossed a fuchsia tube top and a short teal blouse with waist ties onto her bed.
"Do you actually wear these things?" Bailey questioned.
"Of course I do, and so do lots of other women. It's very trendy." She opened a dresser drawer and pulled out a pair of black nylons. "Just the right touch," she approved. "Now come on to the bathroom so I can make you up."
"This is still in the supposition stage," Bailey balked. "I don't really think I can walk in that bar, made up like a floozy, and spy on Candy Miller."
Paula folded her arms and rolled her eyes. "You said you wanted to get in that bar and find out what she's up to since there were no clues in your omnipotent files. You'll stand out like a sore thumb dressed in your own clothes."
Bailey eyed the costume dubiously.
"So make up your mind. I haven't got all night. I have to get ready for my date with the real Prince Channing. "
"I told you Gordon would come through."
Paula shrugged. "We'll see."
"He sends you a flower arrangement so big it's obscene, and invites you to dine at the Peppercorn Duck Club. What else do you want to see?" Bailey took the stockings from Paula and added them to the pile of clothes on the bed. "Let's do my face and then determine if I can carry off this crazy scheme of yours."
Thirty minutes later Paula turned Bailey to the mirror to see her handiwork. Bailey gasped, peered closer, laughed. A heavily made-up face batted false eyelashes beneath curly blond hair.
"Your own mother wouldn't know you," Paula promised.
"She wouldn't claim me, that's for sure. Where did you get this awful wig?" She touched the short curls tentatively.
Paula leaned into the shower to turn on the water. "It's part of a Halloween costume I wore a few years ago."
"That does it. I will not go out in public dressed in a Halloween costume."
"Relax. Those clothes aren't part of the costume. The wig goes with a Shirley Temple pinafore. But you do what you please. Just get out of my bathroom so I can shower. Go try on the clothes and sit and think for a while about how badly you need this information. Then we'll talk about it while I get dressed."
An hour later Bailey was sitting on a barstool in the dimly lit B&B Lounge, sipping a screwdriver and feeling ridiculous. In spite of Paula's reassurance, she didn't exactly blend into the woodwork. Every man in the place had given her the once-over, and a few had made suggestive comments when she walked in.
"Hi, babe." This latest voice came from right beside her. The troops were closing in. She turned to see a bulky, bearded male on the next stool. "You sure are looking good," he said.
"Thank you," she said tentatively, unsure if it was the proper response.
It must have been. The man grinned hugely.
"Haven't seen you in here before."
"I haven't been in here before." Getting picked up by King Kong wasn't part of her plan, but she didn't suppose she could afford to alienate a regular who might know Candy.
"How 'bout another one?" He indicated her drink.
"Ah, no, thanks. I'm fine. My boyfriend's due before long, and he doesn't like me to drink too much." That should cool him down.
"Your boyfriend, huh? Too bad."
"Say, if you come in here a lot, maybe you know a couple of my friends, Candy Miller and Alvin Wilson. I was kind of wondering if they'd be in tonight."
"Sure I know Candy and Al. She ought to be here pretty soon, but he don't come in with her since they got that car wreck thing going. Don’t want anybody to find out they know each other."
The man drained what remained of his beer in one gulp and slammed the empty can onto the bar, causing Bailey to jump at least six inches.
"Ready for another one, Mike?" the bartender asked as he replaced the can with a full one.
Bailey's heart raced as she clutched her own drink in both hands and made a pretense of sipping. She had obtained some vital information, but where did she go from here? This wasn't quite the same thing as examining a witness in the courtroom.
"Reckon they'll still remember their old friends after they get all that money?" she finally asked, affecting a drawl.
"Shoot, yeah. Don't you remember a few years back when Candy and that other guy, Murray, I think his name was, got a big settlement on his neck after he let her run into him? His golden neck, he used to call it."
Mike guffawed, and Bailey squeezed out a smile in an effort to join him.
"No, I don't remember that," she said when Mike settled down. "Candy had just run old Murray off when I met her."
Mike laughed with his whole body this time and swigged another portion of beer. "You women," he said. "Old Murray run off and left her one fine day is what really happened, but don't you tell her I
told you so."
"I won't. Don't worry. So he left her, you say? What a jerk." Bailey wrapped both hands around her glass to keep them from trembling. "Uh, that wasn't Murray Anderson, was it?"
"Nah. I think old Murray's last name was Ferritt or Ferrell—that's it. Murray Ferrell."
"Oh, yeah. I remember now." You asked for it, you got it. "Would you excuse me?"
"For what?" He looked at her quizzically.
"I need to go to the ladies' room." She had to be alone for a minute and assimilate this new information.
"Over there," he advised, pointing to a dark corner.
"Thanks." Bailey slid off the stool and tried to avoid eye contact with any of the men who looked, whistled, or made other obscene noises.
The ladies' room wasn't exactly conducive to thinking. It hadn’t been cleaned in at least a century, and someone had used it for a private smoke recently, not the kind of smoke purchased from a vending machine. Since she didn't dare sit anywhere or even lean against one of the walls, she paced back and forth in the small room.
The evidence was overwhelming that Candy Miller was a fraud. She'd been involved in an insurance scam before, and she didn’t want anyone to know she was acquainted with Alvin Wilson.
Okay, Bailey thought, you've got the information. Now what on earth do you do with it? Drop the case? The accused was presumed innocent until proven guilty. She hadn't really proven that Candy was perpetrating a fraud. But the circumstantial evidence was pretty incriminating.
An impatient knock sounded on the door, and the knob rattled.
"I'll be right out," Bailey called. She flushed the toilet, washed her hands after touching the knob, then felt she needed to wash them again after turning off the faucet.
As she strode back into the bar, the low murmurings and whistles broke into her concentration, irritated her. With her haughtiest gaze in place, she raised her head to confront the creeps and shut them up. They smiled at her, completely undaunted. And coming in the door, as luck would have it, she saw a man who looked vaguely familiar though she couldn’t quite place him.
She slid back onto her stool and turned to look again.
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