Legally Tender

“Hey, Colin,” Bruce’s paralegal said as she stepped her very pregnant body by Colin and into Bruce’s office. “Bruce, they just phoned. They’d like you in the conference room now.”

Bruce glanced at his Rolex watch, a law-school graduation gift from his father. It was only eight-fifty. “Early.”

“Maybe that’s a good sign,” Colin said with a nonchalant shrug.

“Maybe,” Bruce said. He took one last sip of coffee, stood up and grabbed a breath mint. He popped the candy into his mouth and slipped into his suit jacket as the mint dissolved. “We’ll see.”

“I have to get the name of your tailor,” Colin said, again eyeing the cut of Bruce’s suit. “That is a great suit. Would work wonders on the ladies.”

Bruce flicked a piece of lint off the subtle blue pinstripe. “Salvatore Bandoria in Indianapolis. He and his wife are both seventy and all they do is make custom suits and dress shirts the old-fashioned way, as they did in Italy. They don’t advertise. Remind me later to give you the phone number.”

“I will,” Colin said. “Good luck.”

Those words brought back the reality of the situation, and Bruce shook his head as he walked past his paralegal and his best friend. “Thanks, but hopefully I won’t require any.”

“Yeah, right,” Colin said with a wry grin. “You’re off to that frying pan. You of all people should know firsthand exactly how much damage frying pans can do.”

The fire late last night had scorched the entire wall of the kitchen, ruining the stove and several custom cabinets. But it wasn’t as bad as it could have been. Deliberately not answering Colin, Bruce headed for the stairs. After all, how hard could a woman be?

“HE’S ON HIS WAY,” Reginald Morris announced. He smiled at Christina. “More coffee before you jump in and get your feet wet?”

“Please,” she said, and held out her cup. Unlike wine from Kyle, who had plied her with too much, coffee from Reginald Morris couldn’t hurt.

Besides, by acknowledging the truth of why she’d been hired, she’d prepared for the worst.

There was one other female partner, Susan Jenkins. She handled trusts and estates, and at fifty-seven, she’d been with Lancaster and Morris for almost thirty years. Reginald Morris handled corporate law, as did three of the other senior partners, including Reginald’s brother, Larry. There were ten senior partners total, including Christina, and all were present except for Roger Lancaster, who was on an extended trip with his wife and not expected until the week after New Year’s.

Christina accepted another cup of java just as a movement at the door caught her attention. This must be Bruce Lancaster, descendant of one of the firm’s founders. Everyone in the conference room had been raving about him all morning—he’d just done a fantastic job on an appellate case in Indianapolis, which was why she hadn’t met him earlier.

“He’ll be your right hand on this case,” Reginald had told her. “He’s the real reason the women brought their issue to us in the first place. His cleaning lady told him about her friends’ plights, and he insisted they come talk to him, since their complaints were falling on deaf ears at their company. He’s the one who, on their behalf, filed all the violations with the government. But he doesn’t speak a word of Spanish.”

Reginald’s voice suddenly interrupted Christina’s retrospective. “Ah, here he is now, Christina. I’d like you to meet the man you’ll be working closely with, Bruce Lancaster.”

Christina automatically pushed her chair back and stood. The small crowd of people around him parted, letting him come into her field of view.

Her knees weakened and she gripped the edge of the mahogany table for support. “It’s you,” she said, unable to control her reaction as her stomach figuratively dropped to the soles of her Ferragamo shoes when Mr. Hunk, the firefighter who’d seen her at her worst, strode forward and stopped.

“You,” he said, failing to mask the shock crossing his face.

Reginald’s head turned as if he were watching a Ping-Pong match. He smiled uncertainly. “You two know each other?”

This was not the way to start her career return—first by being late and now by acting like a simpleton. “No,” Christina replied.

“Yes,” Bruce contradicted.

“I mean, we’ve met,” Christina said, quickly covering. Damn the man!

“We have,” Bruce said. He smiled widely, that charming Dennis Quaid grin of superiority, of one used to being master of his environment.

With the authority that only a member of a family could take, he patted Reginald once on the back, all while not letting his blue-eyed gaze lift from Christina’s. “Reginald, Christina’s an excellent choice for our firm. Just terrific. Angela’s behind me with all the paperwork, so how about I bring her up to speed? Christina—may I call you Christina? Or did your résumé say Chris? That’s the name I originally heard from my grandfather.”

Christina planted her feet and struggled for mental balance. He had bulldozed her over. A jury would love him. Mr. Hunk was good, very good. “I prefer Christina.”

He held out his hand, and she extended hers. He clasped it firmly, the amount of heat suddenly creating a most unwelcome shock.

“Christina, again let me welcome you to Lancaster and Morris. As I said, my paralegal, Angela, is carrying stacks of papers to the small conference room, which I’ve commandeered for our use for the entire length of the case.”

“Great,” Christina said. He released her hand, which allowed her equilibrium to normalize.

Reginald cleared his throat and took command of the room again. “Well, then, we’ll let you two get to work. After all, time is money. Welcome aboard, Christina. I’m going to leave you in Bruce’s excellent hands. He’s one of the best lawyers we’ve got, and he’ll show you all the ropes.”

“Thank you,” she replied. She had been thrown to the lions.

And then, one by one, all the partners filed out of the conference room, leaving Christina alone with Mr. Hunk.

Now all pleasantness was gone. Bruce Lancaster was the man whose partnership she’d taken.

And both of them knew it.

Chapter Three

“Shall we?” he asked without preamble, demonstrating exactly who controlled the situation. With a wide sweep of his right arm, he gestured toward the double doors.

“Of course,” Christina replied, her voice perfectly schooled into the tone her mother always irritatingly called “lawyerly neutral.”

Christina grabbed her briefcase and clutched it to her side. This man would not affect her, and whatever fight he wanted to pick with her, she would not have it here, in the grand conference room, where anyone walking by could overhear them.

She stepped by him, taking little satisfaction that his nose wrinkled as her signature floral scent reached his nostrils. She paused just outside the doors, willing herself to remain poised and nonchalant. She had no idea where the small conference room was located.

“Need directions?” he drawled behind her.

She arched an eyebrow, and smirked. “You mean you know them?”

“Touché. Quick on her feet, with a bite to match the bark. Please, though, ladies first. The space we’ve been allocated is on the right, about three doors down.”

Christina drew her shoulders up and strode down the hallway. Luckily, there weren’t any curious faces to pass, and within seconds she’d entered the twenty-by-twenty-foot room. An early twenty-something woman whom Christina assumed to be Angela stood up. Her stomach protruded.

“Hi,” Christina said. She held out her hand. “I’m Christina Jones. You must be Angela. Congratulations on expecting.”

“Thank you.”

“You’ll be working with me on the case?” Christina asked.

“Only for the duration of it,” Bruce told her smoothly. “I’m sure you’ll have your own paralegal at some point. Make sure Reginald hires you one.”

Making it very clear that although Christina may have taken his promotion, she wasn’t getting his office staff, as well.

Angela’s gaze darted between the two of them, as if she was trying to decide what the best course of action was. “I’ll be here until Christmas, and then I’m on maternity leave for at least three months,” she said. Her face broke into a wide smile. “She’s my first.”