Legally Tender

For multiple generations they’d been lawyers. Heck, one of his great-great-great-grandfathers had worked in Congress with Abraham Lincoln. The family accepted Bruce’s volunteer firefighting only because the Morrisville citizenry considered it an honor, a duty and a matter of civic pride. The fact that Bruce’s grandfather had once served in the fire department had also helped convince Bruce’s worrying parents that a few more years wouldn’t hurt. After losing one child at four months, his parents refused to lose another.

All in all, Bruce knew that he had a great life. At twenty-nine, he was well into his bachelorhood and enjoying it, much to the dismay of his parents. Morrisville girls married early, and the few women he’d met in Cincinnati didn’t want to move more than an hour west to Podunkville, U.S.A. Heck, the closest Wal-Mart was twenty-seven miles away in Greensburg. Domino’s Pizza didn’t even deliver out here. Bruce liked it that way.

His thoughts drifted to the woman he’d seen at Morrisville Elementary. She wasn’t local; his gut instincts told him that. And her ethnicity wasn’t pure Caucasian. Was she Mexican? The water pounded on his back, and he turned and let it cascade over his chest for a moment before he reached for the soap. Not all Mexicans fit the dark-skinned, dark-haired stereotype.

The surrounding counties had been experiencing an influx of legal immigrants lately, especially those from Mexico. That was why the Title VII case Lancaster and Morris was representing was so important and why Bruce wanted to take it to trial so badly. Those workers deserved the same legal protections that native-born American citizens had. Just because the immigrant women didn’t know the civil rights law didn’t mean that companies like Morrisville Garment could circumvent it.

Winning this case would be a landmark, and he could ride the wave of his success with it for a long time. He agreed it had been important to hire a partner who spoke Spanish and who could better communicate with the victims. He had taken French, which got him only as far as impressing a woman at Chez Jacques in Cincinnati.

But making this person a full partner? Admittedly, it stung Bruce that he hadn’t been named senior partner this year the way everyone, including him, had expected.

Luckily, he’d been in Indianapolis at the time and had avoided the town gossip, which for a week had centered on his being passed over in favor of an outsider. However, winning this case, even under someone else’s leadership, would seal his senior partnership.

Bruce tossed the soap back into the holder, reached for the shampoo and let his mind again remember the woman he’d seen at the elementary school. She’d seemed frazzled by the fire alarm. She’d been beautiful, though. Her brown eyes had been haunting, with a depth to them he hadn’t seen too often before. He’d wanted to smile and reassure her, but had deliberately kept himself aloof and professional.

Unfortunately, she had a child, that cute little girl dressed up for the party as a black cat. A child made whoever the woman was off-limits, despite the absence of a wedding ring on her left hand. No, he liked his women young, single and dependent free. He wanted them to be able to pick up and go on a weekend trip at a moment’s notice—which as a busy lawyer was often all he could afford. That meant no strings. No restrictions. No instant family. Although, when he did marry he wanted a lot of kids. He knew too well what being raised as an overprotected only child was all about. He rinsed his hair and turned off the water.

Besides, even if seeing her didn’t break the parameters he’d set for himself, he was on call this weekend, plus he had to finish the case file so he could discuss it with Chris Jones Monday morning. He had other things to worry about than a woman with a child, no matter how beautiful or intriguing the woman was. Before he had to turn the water on again, this time to cold, he pushed her image from his mind and reached for the towel.

Chapter Two

The insistent ringing Monday morning that invaded her dream of Antonio Banderas sweeping her away wasn’t her alarm clock. Or her cell phone. It was her doorbell.

Christina sat straight up in bed and studied her bedroom. Something was wrong, and it wasn’t the fading of her very pleasant dream. She blinked and attempted to focus. Except for the shrilling doorbell, the noises in the house were normal and the amount of light in her bedroom was the same as it always was at this time of the day.

Except that it wasn’t this time of day. It was an hour earlier. She’d set the clocks back yesterday, after her mother had reminded her during their weekly Sunday-night chat that Daylight Savings Time had ended. The clocks were to “fall back.”

The insistent noise at her front door still hadn’t stopped, and Christina shifted. The clock read 6:30 a.m. Who would be here this early? Bella’s carpool wasn’t due for another hour. Christina drew on her robe and rushed through her house. She peered through the peephole, groaned and pulled the door open. “Marci?”

Marci Smith stepped back a pace and frowned. “Christina? Did you oversleep? Remember, I’m driving today. Is Bella ready?”

Christina’s head pounded. “School’s not for another hour.”

Marci frowned. “What are you talking about? School starts in twenty minutes. Same time as every day. It’s seven-thirty.”

Christina’s eyes widened. “It can’t be. The clocks went back.”

Marci’s jaw dropped. She covered her mouth with her hand. “We don’t set our clocks back. This is Indiana.”

“Oh, my God.” Houston, Boston, Cincinnati—everyone in the United States sets his or her clock back. Right? “You mean I’m an hour behind? I have a meeting at eight-thirty and I’m not even showered? And Bella!”

“You go get Bella. I’ll wait here on the step. Megan’s in the car, watching a DVD. As long as I can see her, she’s fine.”

“Bless you,” Christina said. She turned on her heel and ran. Never had she moved so fast. She had Bella dressed, her teeth brushed and her hair combed in less than six minutes. Since Morrisville Elementary had a fantastic hot-breakfast program, Christina experienced some relief as she passed Bella over to Marci. At least Christina didn’t have to worry about her daughter missing the most important meal of the day.

She herself would miss it, however. She didn’t have time for her normal bagel, black coffee and perusal of the Wall Street Journal. Instead, she rushed about, showering and shaving in under ten minutes and hopping on one foot as she wiggled into her pantyhose and shoes almost at the same time. She applied makeup in record time, as well.

Perhaps it was a good thing that Morrisville was such a small town. She made it to work only five minutes late. Her heels clacked on the marble tile as she entered the old brick building that had housed the law offices of Lancaster and Morris for more than sixty years.

“Christina Jones,” she said when she reached the receptionist’s desk in the middle of the cavernous lobby. “I have a meeting with Reginald Morris.”

“Welcome, Ms. Jones. They’re expecting you. They’re already assembled in the grand conference room. Let me buzz them and tell them you’ve arrived.”

That grand conference room had been the room in which she’d interviewed. It easily seated twenty, and no doubt all the senior partners were already there. Waiting for her?

She hoped not.

“Thank you,” Christina said to the receptionist. The ornate three-story building, complete with a rotunda, was over one hundred years old. With high, arched ceilings and balconies, it had served as a county seat and courthouse before a new building had been erected in another town.

“Someone will be down in just a moment,” the receptionist said. “Feel free to have a seat.” She indicated a waiting area with old ornate chairs.

“I’m fine,” Christina said. She clutched the Hermès briefcase that had been her gift to herself for landing the job. She hadn’t been a shoo-in for the position. She’d competed against four other finalists.

Five minutes later, her feet beginning to throb from standing so long in her new two-inch Italian pumps, Christina turned as she sensed motion to her right.

“Ms. Jones.” Reginald Morris, the fifty-something man with whom she’d done almost all her interviewing, approached, and she gave him a professional smile.

This job was the ticket to her and Bella’s future. This job represented Christina’s finally taking the reins of her own life and becoming the lawyer she’d always wanted to be.

Even though she’d passed the bar, it had been a while since she’d practiced law. She’d graduated Harvard Law School at age twenty-four, after intense years of full-time study. She’d racked up wins in a few impressive cases after law school, been promoted to full junior partner and called an up-and-coming, promising lawyer to watch. Then Kyle Jones had swept into her life and swept her off her feet. He’d insisted that she quit work and stay home once they were married.

She’d become pregnant with Bella, and not once had she regretted those years of “being home” with her child. But she was thirty-four now, and getting a late start. So if Lancaster and Morris had hired her only because they needed a Spanish-speaking female, fine. If they’d made her full partner only because it gave them much-needed diversity, so be it. This job had gotten her foot back in the proverbial door. Working meant being her own independent woman. It was a first step, and she’d take advantage of it. She didn’t know where she’d go from here, but she knew it would be up.

“Mr. Morris. Good morning,” she said.

He gripped her hand and then placed his left hand on top. “Christina, welcome. We are extremely delighted you’re onboard. Your unique talents are going to win this case for our clients and for us. I have a premonition of great things ahead. Let me introduce you to all the senior partners.”

“I apologize that I’m a few minutes late.” Christina had learned that it was always better to be direct.

The corners of his eyes twinkled slightly. “Let me guess. You changed your clocks.”

“Yes,” she admitted.

He chuckled and patted her hand before he let it go. “Everyone who moves to Indiana makes that mistake the first year. Consider it a rite of passage or a bit of Hoosier State training. Of course, the legislature recently passed a law so that in 2006 the whole state will be on one time zone. Details to follow in April. We’re this way.”

“SO, ARE YOU READY to meet your new boss?”

“Lousy timing, Colin,” Bruce said as his best friend peeled himself off the door frame and entered Bruce’s office.

“When’s the meeting?” Colin asked.

Bruce turned his attention back to the mound of papers on his desk. Even though his paralegal had faxed or couriered everything important to Indianapolis each day, the paperwork had multiplied while he’d been gone. “The big powwow started already. I’m not welcome until nine.”

Colin winced. “Oh. That sucks. Even though you have to work with your new boss, you don’t get to greet this person until later. Man, that’s not fair. You should have been named a partner this year. Now me—I know I’ve got a way to go. I barely passed the bar, much to my father’s disappointment. He claimed my grandfather was probably rolling in his grave.”

“Bar scores are irrelevant. You passed. Besides, it’s not like you had to worry about finding a job. You’re a Morris and you were coming to work here.”

“Exactly. And you’re a fourth-generation Lancaster lawyer who scored the highest possible on the state bar that year and who has won some pretty impressive cases already. Your grandfather loves you. Your greatgrandfather would if he were around. Heck, even my dad loves you, which is why I don’t understand his decision. You should have been named full partner, also. To be passed over by someone outside just so the firm can claim diversity…well, I see it as an affront. And by a babe, too.”

“Babe?” The word caught Bruce’s attention. He put aside his legal brief and swiveled as Colin closed the office door. Bruce had to admit he hadn’t really been listening. When Colin got on a roll, he could be as long-winded as Bruce’s grandfather Roy. Bruce had learned to tune both men out.

“What do you mean, babe?” Bruce asked. “Some babe shot you down? You never lose out with women.”

“Top of the bar exam, but still, as always, a lousy listener. You’d think as your best friend I’d be used to it by now. I even notice things like your shirts, which by the way your new tailor did a great job on. So tell me, how did we survive rooming together all those years in college? Anyway, I’m not talking about my women, though later I’ll have to tell you about Gina.”

Bruce arched his brow. “Gina?”

“Gina,” Colin accented the capital letter G and made the shape of a woman’s curves with his hands. “She even taught this dog some new tricks.”

Bruce waved his own hand dismissively. He and Colin had always been confidants—sharing secrets and drowning sorrows when needed. “Okay, Gina later. If you weren’t talking about her earlier, then who?”

“Oh, yeah, the new babe. Our new partner. Christina.”

“Christina?” Bruce frowned as disquiet stole over him.

“Yeah, Christina Jones. Kyle Jones’s ex-wife. You know, the Cincinnati Bengals’ tight end?”

“She’s our new partner? Chris Jones is a female?” Bruce’s grandfather had had it all wrong. Bruce instantly knew that had been deliberate. Reginald Morris wasn’t a fool.

“Boy, you have been out of the loop up in Indy, haven’t you?” Colin checked to make sure no one could overhear him. “She’s one hot mama, if you get my drift. You know how I am with women. I’ve got to behave myself or I’ll end up being part of that sexual harassment suit you both will be working on.”

Colin attracted women like a magnet, but Bruce didn’t care about that. Bruce had worked on cases with females before, and all had been totally professional. If his new boss were Miss America, it wouldn’t matter.

But the fact that the senior partners had hired a female as full partner, instead of him, stung once again. However, he’d rise above this blow to his damaged male ego.

“You haven’t heard a word I’ve said,” Colin chastised.

“Uh, no,” Bruce admitted. “I’m rather tired. I had a late call. Kitchen fire. A fry pan gone wild.”

Colin rolled his eyes. Unlike Bruce, he’d avoided volunteering. “Lovely. How about we meet for a cocktail tonight at the country club. Say about five? I’ll be over at the Ripley County Courthouse all day, doing closing arguments for the Watson case.”

“That’s fine. I’ll call you if anything changes.”

“Or if you need resuscitation after you see your new boss,” Colin said. And with that he opened Bruce’s office door. “Oh. Hey, Angela.”

“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.”

“I have a little girl,” Christina said, trying to find some common ground. “Bella’s eight.”

“Well,” Bruce said with an obvious cough before Angela could answer, “that’s all very nice, but we have work to do.”

“I’ve got all your files stacked and your messages are right there. Do either of you need anything else?” Angela asked.

“No, thanks,” Bruce said. “Just close the door behind you.”

“Will do. Nice to meet you, Ms. Jones.”

After Angela left, Christina faced Bruce.

“What?” he asked.

“You know, I’m surprised you didn’t have her branded before she arrived. Tell you what, Bruce. Why don’t you get all your anger off your chest early. Your paralegal, your partnership. Both now mine. Perhaps you should admit you’re upset. If we clear the air, it might help us work together. After all, as you pointed out, we have a job to do.”

“Do you have a degree in psychology, too?” He didn’t wait for her to shake her head. “I didn’t think so.”