The Single Life. Liz Wood
I need to deal with in the next hour or so?”
Anne Wright relayed recent messages, reminded Clare of an upcoming meeting and reported that Anton Muller was waiting to see her. “He wants to go over the McGrady case.”
“Send him in. We need to deal with it as soon as possible.”
Anton stepped into her office a few moments later, an enormous file under his arm. Clare motioned him toward the table in the corner of the room.
When Anton had joined the firm several years ago, Clare had been skeptical about how they would work together. She had hoped the job would go to one of the women candidates she had been committed to promoting, but, in the end, she’d conceded that Anton’s qualifications were strong and his decade-long experience as a Chicago police officer was a considerable asset.
It was his law-enforcement experience that had made her so wary. The firm was already sufficiently testosterone-charged. She really didn’t need another junior associate—especially one close to her own age—whose previous profession probably didn’t dispose him to taking orders from a woman. For despite all the recent publicity, Chicago’s finest could hardly be more gender sensitive than Clare’s Ivy League male colleagues. And she knew what Neanderthals they were when it came to working with women, let alone taking directions from one!
So it had come as a complete surprise to discover that Anton was not only an efficient, diligent and cooperative team player, but also extremely respectful of her position and authority. Not that he was a pushover. After working with her on only a couple of cases, he had begun to question her interpretation of the law. Surprised, she had listened to him, and their discussion had shed light on the situation and ultimately helped them to win the case. She appreciated his conviction. She also liked his courteous, diplomatic manner. More and more, she found herself seeking his opinion and collaboration.
This had everything to do with his competence and nothing to do with his looks, she now reminded herself, nothing to do with his broad shoulders and flat stomach and trim waist. Moving toward the table, he turned his back to her, offering her a tantalizing view of a very firm behind, covered in a conservative suit that did nothing to conceal his strong masculinity.
More than once, she had found herself mesmerized by his sleek, pantherlike movements. When she wasn’t admiring his gracefulness, she was wondering how his thick hair would feel under her fingers. It was almost as dark as hers, but he had no need to dye the graying streaks. Why should he? They made him look distinguished, nothing like the washed-out, worn-out woman she would be if she didn’t make her monthly trips to the hairdresser.
Like her, Anton was single—no family, no significant other of either sex. He always attended office functions solo, as she did. He had joked about it once, suggesting they join forces as the few remaining singles on board. They had laughed loudly and long, but they both knew that was never going to happen. Which was too bad. Because if she didn’t have a rule about dating colleagues, he would be first on her list.
“Congratulations, Clare!” He waited for her to sit down before lowering himself into a chair. “I heard about the Dubovski settlement.”
She kept her eyes on the table, away from the long, lean legs stretched out in front of her. “Thank you, Anton. I’m pleased with the outcome. It went well for us.”
“That’s an understatement!” He laughed, and his rugged features softened, making him look younger than the forty-something he was. “Astounding is what everybody else is saying.”
She tried to focus on his words, not the vibrant tones of his deep voice. Funny how his voice always sounded so authoritative in court and with clients, when all she could hear in it now were the rich, throaty timbres more fitting for the bedroom.
Clare ignored the tingling sensations spreading from her stomach to her toes. “Congratulations to you, too, Anton,” she said, resisting the pull of his blue eyes. “You were a big part of that success.”
She worked hard to transmute her face into a patronizing grin, the kind of smile that she used to get from the most senior lawyer in the office when she first joined the firm. Not that Mr. Bailey Senior had had many grins for her. They were reserved for the “boys” who went golfing or fishing with him.
Now Clare allowed herself one last, quick glance at Anton’s broad shoulders. Then, bracing herself for the work before them, she reached for the file, her manner all business. “About McGrady vs. McGrady. Have you finished the Preliminary Declaration of Disclosure?”
CHAPTER 3
It took Lauren a day to recover from her disappointing meeting with Diane, thanks to a phone call from Chrissie that prevented her from overindulging in self-pity.
“You can’t stop after one failure, Mom,” Chrissie had told her. “Do you know how many applications I had to fill out before I got this job? Believe me, I lost count.”
“But you’re young, Chrissie. You have all the time in the world. You could afford to wait for your dream position. I can’t. I’ve got bills closing in on me.”
“It’s not all happening tomorrow,” Chrissie said with the same conviction she’d used to get her position as legal advisor for an international organization. “You can still call around.”
“But Diane said—”
“Forget Diane, Mom. So she wasn’t helpful. So it didn’t work out at Western. Do you know how many universities and colleges there are in the Chicago area?”
“I know, sweetheart. But it’s not me they want.”
“Oh, Mom! All of them would kill to have you!”
Not Western apparently. “Sweetheart—”
“Do you want me to come back and do it for you, Mom? I will if I have to. Don’t think I won’t.”
Lauren was touched by her daughter’s concern. Chrissie had done so much for her since the divorce. She had even been ready to give up the job she had been after ever since she’d graduated from law school. But Lauren had put her foot down and insisted she would be fine.
She was going to have to do the same thing now, although it meant agreeing to make those calls. Besides, she didn’t have the energy to argue with her daughter. Even with an ocean and a continent separating them, Chrissie was more formidable than a steamroller. No wonder she’d gotten the position she’d wanted.
“Okay, I’ll do it,” Lauren said, trying to sound enthusiastic.
“Great, Mom.”
But after her sixth rejection, Lauren felt she would have been better off not complying. No one she spoke with was as intimidating as Diane, but the responses were all pretty much the same. There were no positions open for the coming semester. Budget constraints were so severe, some of the staff would have to be cut. Either Lauren was overqualified for teaching introductory writing courses or she wasn’t experienced enough. For some recruiters, she was too prestigious for their school’s humble programs. For others, she lacked the snappy, experimental and contemporary style their students coveted.
Whichever way she looked, she was wrong for the job. So now she wasn’t only a has-been writer and a failed wife, she was also a no-go writing teacher!
Lauren wasn’t ready to risk any more rejection, especially suspecting that the acceptances were going to kids who could barely sign their names when she had had her first articles published. She almost didn’t tell Chrissie. Her daughter was bound to encourage her to keep trying with other schools. But when she asked, Lauren couldn’t lie. She wasn’t about to break one of the fundamental rules of parenting over this.
Surprisingly, Chrissie didn’t press the issue.
“Never mind about teaching, Mom,” she said, her voice as clear as if she were standing next to her. “Sell your talents at writing.”
What do you think I have been trying to do? Lauren wanted to