Bikini Season (20 page)

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Authors: Sheila Roberts

BOOK: Bikini Season
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“I don't need anything else,” she told him, and hugged him again. “All I want is you.”
There was no need to fake surprise when Brad presented her with her birthday present. He instructed her to open the pink carry-on suitcase, and inside she found two tickets to Italy and a nightgown from Victoria's Secret.
“We're going to Venice in April to celebrate your birthday and our tenth anniversary,” he told her. He'd even arranged for her parents to take care of the girls. And then he raised his glass of champagne to her and said, “Happy birthday to my beautiful wife.”
His beautiful wife—still thirty-four pounds overweight and he didn't see it. Love really was blind.
No, love was faithful, and that was even better.
Kizzy hugged her as the Bikinis gathered for a group shot, and Erin said, “You've got a great guy. It was all I could do not to smack you when you kept insisting he was having an affair.”
“I should never have doubted him,” Angela said. And, more important, she should never have doubted herself.
Much later that night, when she'd done her best to make up for how she'd hurt him, they lay in bed together, Angela's head on his chest, his arm wrapped around her. “I'm sorry I stayed away,” he said. “I was just too mad to come home.”
The very memory of how awful that had been was enough to start the tears again. She nodded and wiped at the corners of her eyes. “I don't blame you. I can't believe I could have thought such a dumb thing. I guess I figured I somehow didn't deserve you the way I looked.”
“Aw, Ang, I'm no prize.” He hugged her close to him. “Let's never fight like that again.”
She nodded. “Okay. And if you decide you don't want to be with me, just tell me.”
He kissed her forehead. “That's never going to happen, believe
me. I'm not in love with your waist size. I'm in love with you. And I married you for better or worse.”
“For fat or thin?” she prompted.
“Fat or thin, old or young, you'll always be beautiful to me,” he murmured.
It was the most wonderful birthday present she'd ever gotten. She took his face between her hands and kissed him gratefully.
M
egan had enjoyed her weekend. She'd mingled at Angela's party like an old pro and had even made an attempt at flirting with Angela's single brother-in-law. She'd gone to a matinee with Erin on Sunday and resisted the popcorn temptation, and afterward they'd gone out for drinks—diet pop at McDonald's. All in all, it had been a rewarding weekend. And this morning had been even more rewarding when she stepped on the scale and saw that she'd lost another three pounds. She'd left for work singing.
But now she was back in legal hell, plodding through a paper trail that was surely going to lead her to a nervous breakdown. Time was running out and, at the rate they were not building this case, poor Sandra Owens would be forever branded an urban cougar, a sexual predator who had taken advantage of a poor, young man trying to fight his way to the top and then got him fired. But the poor young man was a biotech crook who was trying to get Sandra out of the way by framing her with a phony memo where she allegedly admitted to having had an affair with him and stating that he had to
go. The trial started next week and they still had nothing with which to nail the guy to the wall. Damn.
She glared at the Redwell expandable folder in her hand. Redwell. More like dry well. This was a hopeless, futile task, and any minute Tanner would be walking in here, demanding to know when she was going to give him something. Well, damn him and damn this rotten, smelly mess he'd dumped on her.
Damn,
damn,
damn!
She threw the file across the room and watched with vicious pleasure as it whacked against the wall and spilled its paper guts all over the floor.
The pleasure only lasted for a minute. All she'd done was make a mess for herself to pick up. She stalked over to the puddle of papers, bent down and picked up the Redwell, which she had now succeeded in ripping. And that was when she saw the little yellow sticky note with the crumpled receipt caught on it. She detached the receipt and examined it.
And almost let out a war whoop. Yes! This little bit of hidden evidence must have gotten caught in Mr. Scumbag's paperwork and accidentally passed on to his lawyer, who hadn't found it. Opposing counsel sure wouldn't be happy when they learned she had. Oh, this was beautiful. She gathered up the papers, dumped them on her desk, and then rushed to show Tanner.
Once behind his thick office door, she did a smug stroll to his desk and silently laid her offering on his ink blotter.
He looked up at her, an eyebrow arched. “What's this?”
“Merry Christmas,” she replied.
He picked it up and read it. Then he laid it back down on his desktop and gave her one of his sardonic Tanner Hyde smiles. “Well, well. Congratulations. You just struck gold. But then I knew you would.”
What kind of BS was this? “So you're psychic?” Megan retorted. “And here all this time I thought you were just a sadist.”
“You think I've been driving you too hard?” He leaned back in his chair and regarded her over steepled fingers.
She raised her chin. “Are you looking for an honest answer or a brown nose answer?”
“I think you're incapable of giving me the latter so why don't you try for the former?”
“I think you give me tasks that are almost humanly impossible.”
“You managed this one just fine, and I knew you would. You're an interesting woman, Megan, and I think you're only beginning to discover how much you're capable of. I'm going to enjoy watching you develop into a legal monster.”
These were hardly words she'd expected to hear from Tanner. She smiled at him as urbanely as she could, murmured a thank-you, and then turned and walked out of the office. A legal monster—maybe he'd share that prediction tomorrow when the senior partners voted on the candidates waiting to join their august ranks. This would be one more feather in a cap that was now looking pretty damned good.
She was barely back in her office when Harrison Cutter, one of the partners, dropped in. “Megan, how are you doing? Nervous about making partner?”
Every associate at the firm was, but she certainly wasn't going to show a sign of weakness and admit that to Cutter. Why was he asking her this? Did she need to be worried?
“Should I be?” she countered.
“Oh, not necessarily.” He shut the door behind him, then sauntered across the room and perched on a corner of her desk. It left her looking up at him. And there was plenty to look at. Harrison was a hefty man. He smiled at her, a smarmy, condescending smile. And then he brushed a hand over her arm, making her think of spiders. “I have influence. I'd be happy to help.”
She sat back in her chair, effectively moving her arm out of reach. “That's very kind of you,” she said cautiously.
“I can be a kind man, for a woman who is appreciative.”
Megan suddenly felt like something slimy had just crawled up her leg. “Are you suggesting some kind of quid pro quo?”
“That is how the big, bad world works,” he said lightly. “How about stopping by my place tonight and we could discuss your future at the firm?”
Not even dinner in the deal. What a rat!
“Not everyone appreciates a woman who is … heavy,” he continued, “but I do. And I'm sure you appreciate a man who isn't so picky.”
Yuck. Now she was talking to Denny Crane from
Boston Legal.
“And of course, fat girls are so easy because they're desperate?” she suggested through gritted teeth.
He pretended to look hurt. She was sure he was incapable of that particular feeling. The man probably didn't have a genuine bone in his body. “Why, I didn't say that.”
“Yes you did.” She stood. She was shaking now, with a barely controlled rage. She would have loved to slap him, but she settled for marching to her door and opening it. “I'm afraid I've got plans for tonight, and they don't include bribery.”
“Megan, what a thing to say! I only want to see you succeed.” He joined her at the door. “Tomorrow could be a big day for you. If you change your mind …”
“I won't.”
He shrugged as if it didn't matter to him one way or another. “We have other young women at this firm equally as deserving as you.”
And willing to sleep with Cutter? They could have him.
“Then I suggest you go find one,” she said, and motioned to the hall.
“Suit yourself,” he said amiably. “It's your career.” Then he sauntered out the door.
She shut it after him, then returned to her desk on shaky legs and fell into her chair. Had that really happened? And if she didn't make partner, would she have Cutter to thank? Was this how these people wanted to run their firm?
Not all of them, she assured herself, remembering Tanner's encouraging words. She'd have one champion tomorrow when the partners met. Anyway, her work spoke for her. So did the fact that she'd brought in a client. She'd be fine.
Knowing that, she should have enjoyed her sudoku puzzle that evening, should have been able to concentrate on her murder mystery. But she couldn't. All she could think about was Cutter's insinuated proposition. And it was all insinuation, impossible to prove sexual harassment. It would be a case of he said—she said.
She went to bed, determined not to think about the disgusting encounter any more, but at two A.M. she was still awake and tossing. “This is ridiculous,” she told herself. “You've got nothing to be worried about. You won't be chasing ambulances now.” She'd worked hard for the firm for seven years, and now she'd proved herself a rainmaker and a discovery bulldog. How could they not want her?
She finally repeated her assurances enough to lull herself into a very short slumber. When the alarm went off at seven she awoke feeling like someone had poured ground glass in her eyes. Never mind, she told herself, you won't care once you get the good news.
The other candidates were all nervous. “I'm going to throw up,” Pamela said as she paced Megan's office. “Why can't they hurry up and finish?”
“These are big decisions,” Megan said with a calm she was far from feeling. It was now almost eleven A.M. and Pamela's nearpanic was infectious. “Will you please stop pacing? You're giving me motion sickness.”
“They're only picking three of us,” Pamela said.
“So, I wonder who they'll pick besides you and me?”
Pamela barely managed a smile.
Megan's phone rang and she pressed her extension number and picked up the receiver with a trembling hand.
“The meeting is over,” said James the receptionist.
“Thanks,” she said and hung up. “They're done,” she told Pamela.
The blood rushed from Pamela's face. “I'd better get back to my office,” she said faintly.
Megan nodded. She watched Pamela slip out the door. She had nothing to worry about. She'd make partner, easily.
That left two positions, and five people. Megan pulled her bottled water out of her bottom desk drawer and took a steadying drink. This had to be what a defendant felt like when waiting for the jury's verdict. It was awful, hellacious.
Her phone rang again twenty minutes later. “They're ready for you in Tanner's office,” James said. “Good luck.”
“Thanks,” she murmured. She stood, smoothed her skirt, took a deep breath, and then went to Tanner's office to meet her fate with her head held high.
There, among the leather and mahogany and book-lined walls, sat Tanner and Jonathan Green, the partner who handled the firm's business.
“Megan,” Jonathan greeted her. “How are you?”
It would be very unprofessional to tell him that she thought she was about to wet her panty hose. She forced herself to smile and nod and say, “I'm fine, Mr. Green. Do you have some news for me?”
Both men looked at each other. And exchanged smiles. “As a matter of fact, we do,” said Tanner. “Would you like to sit down?”
“No, thank you. I'd like to know what the partners decided about me.”
Jonathan smiled. He looked like Gene Hackman, and every time she saw him she thought of the movie
The Firm
. “Megan, we had quite a discussion about you.”
A discussion. She thought of Harrison Cutter, busily discussing her out of making partner.
“You have a fine mind,” Jonathan said. “No one can argue that.”
She hadn't made it. She'd misread their body language. She forced herself to remain ramrod straight, chin up.
“Such a mind is a wonderful asset to any law firm. You also are
tenacious. The evidence you uncovered just yesterday proves that. Our only concern has been over whether or not you can bring in the kind of high-powered clients this firm represents.”
But she had brought in a client. Hadn't Tanner told him? She looked to Tanner, who stared back at her and gave her the faintest of nods.
“We are aware you have already brought a client to this firm, and we appreciate that. In the future, we hope you'll aim even higher.”
There was nothing wrong with the client she'd brought in. Raine Goldman was a nice woman. Granted, she didn't have a billion-dollar business, but she had legitimate needs all the same. Why discriminate against the little person?
Silly question. You couldn't bill the little person for a big bundle. Law was noble when you were a student or a public defender. When you got out in the real world, it was only about money. Megan frowned. Was that why she'd gone to law school, just to make money?
Jonathan cleared his throat, yanking her attention back to him. “So, we would like to offer you a partnership in the firm of Weisman, Waters, and Green.”
They would? She'd made it. In spite of her piddly little client, in spite of Harrison Cutter's nasty insinuations, she'd made it. She'd proved she could be a rainmaker.
She managed a faint, “Oh,” and fell onto the nearest chair.
“We're hoping you'll accept,” said Jonathan.
Megan blinked.
Come on lips, work
. They failed her; her brain had failed her. In about one more second her heart might fail her.
“She accepts,” Tanner said on her behalf, making Jonathan grin. “Megan, snap out of it.”
She forced herself to blink. Then she rose from her chair and shook hands with both men. “Thank you. You won't regret it.”
“I always knew we wouldn't,” Tanner said.
“We hope you'll join us Saturday night at a special dinner at Canlis,” added Jonathan.
Canlis was the swankiest restaurant in Seattle. “Yes, thank you,” she managed.
She left Tanner's office on wobbly legs. Back in the safety of her own windowless office, she allowed herself to rejoice. “I made it! I made it! I made it!” She needed to call her mother. Then she needed to go shopping for a dress for Friday.

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