Justine found no humor in his quip. “Then I have no choice? This is an order? It’s either go … or …” she gestured toward the door with her thumb, her eyes flaring in anger and disbelief, “… leave?”
The only comfort came from Charlie, who had moved up from behind and propped himself on the arm of her chair. She watched as Sloane moved away, then looked up at the lawyer. “It’s not as ominous as you make it sound, Justine,” he began soothingly. “You are a partner in the firm. Obviously, you have a say. What Dan is saying, I think”—he glanced quickly at the other for support,—“is that, of the partners, we feel you to be the best qualified to accompany Sloane.” Her peripheral vision caught the client in question Standing, back to her, facing the window. Charlie continued. “If making the trip is going to cause a major upheaval to your schedule, we can reconsider. It isyourchoice.”
A bit of the fox in everyone,she had reflected once. Here was a perfect example; Charles Stockburne had slyly presented his case. Indeed, it was her decision to make—whether she should make the trip to Alaska with Sloane. But what really was her choice? Dan Logan was still the undisputed power in the firm, andheobviously had determined that she go. If she balked? Would her own place in the firm then be endangered? Was it a chance she should take?
And if she went—her eyes flew to the broad back across the room—what might that mean? It would mean, she realized with bristling annoyance, that Sloane had succeeded in manipulating her once more. What would he expect of her en route? What wouldshe,perhaps, want? In the worst of her worries, she might well betray herself, knowing how deeply his presence affected her. Even now, as she stared, he turned slowly, a sterling icon of virility, and sent a shuddering message to and through her.
“Perhaps,” she began unsurely, clearing her throat, and tearing her gaze from his to face the others, “perhaps I might speak with Sloane more in detail. I have quite a few questions, many of which might bore you two.”
The senior partner, sensing her indecision, knowing that Sloane was, in the end, his own best advocate, acceded to her request. “Of course, Justine. That sounds like a fine idea. Would you like to use this office?”
“No”—she jumped quickly to her feet, then regretted it instantly as her knees silently rebelled—“my own office would be better, I think. That way I can take notes … check my calendar … that kind of thing …” On her home turf she would feel safer. The important thing, she mused, was to get away from these two other men and isolate Sloane. Much as she questioned the wisdom of being alone with him, there were too many personal issues involved to remain here. Mustering her strength, she nodded to Dan and Charlie, then led the way back down that long, long hall.
Sloane Harper was beside her every step of the way, his lithe, lean frame slowing his strides to match her shorter ones. His personal aura surrounded her, crisping her senses, giving her second thoughts as to what in the world she was doing, daring her heart to stand up against him. Relieving unsteady legs of their meager burden, she settled into the chair behind her desk, then watched as Sloane shut the door and lounged back against it, hands thrust casually in his pockets, a distinctly smug grin on his face.He was handsome,every whimsical sense screamed within her, at war with those instincts of reason which stiffened her back.
“What areyougrinning at?” she snapped testily. “I don’t think I dropped anything this time—and I didn’t trip over myself. What else could possibly be funny?”Other than the fact,she acknowledged with silent reluctance,that you have planned this farce as a demonstration of your power! Were you that injured at my refusal to marry you,she wondered,that your need for revenge has come to…this?“What is it you want, Sloane?”
His smile was undaunted by her attempted freeze. “How have you been, Justine?”
“Fine.” She held his gaze unwaveringly, gaining strength in her anger, power in her hurt.
“You look tired.”
“I am. And, so do you—look tired—by the way.”
“I am—too.”
Was it to be a battle of words as well? With a sigh, she took the offensive. “Then, let’s make this brief. What do youreallywant? This trip and all—what does it mean?”
“I want your legal expertise, Justine. Nothing more.” The cooling of his own tone did not go unnoticed, nor did the straightening of his body.
“Come on,” she goaded him. “It can’t be just that. Any other lawyer would have served as well. Why me?”
Despite his alertness, he was the picture of innocence. His face was devoid now of smugness, his eyes of sensuality. For a minute she wanted to believe him. “I think you may be the best in this field,” he announced simply. “You know your law and you’re creative in applying it. In my work I go for the cream of the crop. You already know that. What more would you have me say?”
Her eyes narrowed in lingering skepticism. “I want to know what’s going on in that crafty mind of yours—below the surface. You haven’t called me in a month. Now, you pop right in and deftly maneuver my exile for a month. This ismylife, Sloane. You can’t just—” Suddenly, in a flash of realization, she understood. A slow simmer lowered her voice dangerously. “That’s it, isn’t it? You want me away. Away from this—my work—the dealing with divorce every day.” Recollection of their last, prolonged discussion was instantly fresh; “You consider this to be an unhealthy atmosphere for me. Is that it?” Tapered fingernails dug into the soft flesh of her palm; with deliberation, she unclenched her fist and laid her hands flat on her desk.
Sloane, on the other hand, was maddeningly calm. Several fluid steps brought him from the door. “And what if it is true? Would it make much difference? After all, we’re only talking about a month.”
“A month of my very personal time!” she cried out in frustration, realizing that he had, with characteristic cunning, avoided a direct confession.
He grew more sober. “I’m sure you’ll be able to take your vacation later—”
“That’s not the point!” She paused, catching her breath, suddenly overcome by fatigue and courting the germs of a headache. With merciful diversion, the telephone console flickered. “Yes, Angie? … No, I’d rather not take any—who? … Yes, put him on.”
Swiveling her chair such that its back was to Sloane, she spoke softly into the receiver. “Hi, Tony! … Not bad…. Yes, I heard…. I’m glad…. Tonight? … No, uh, yes, I’d like that…. I am, but I’ll be fine…. Good…. See you later.” The conversation had been quiet, its end in a near whisper. For long moments after Tony hung up, Justine held the phone against her. There was that special bond between them, and she badly needed someone to talk to. Perhaps he might be able to help her sort things out; if all else failed, his would be a welcome shoulder to cry on.
Swiveling back front, Justine caught the dark look on Sloane’s face moments before his voice grated across the short distance. “Who is Tony?”
“Tony is a very special friend.” Fresh upon what she felt to be Sloane’s betrayal of her, she had no intention of spelling out the true nature of the relationship. Half in spite, she added a pointed “I’m having dinner with him tonight.”
“So I gathered.” He hardened then, growing all business. “Look, there will be a meeting the week after next at my headquarters. You’ll be able to meet the others then—” He caught her surprise. “—Yes, there will be others along on the trip.” A wry smile thinned his lips. “Two others on this initial team. I’ll have more details at that meeting. Can you make it?”
Pouting seemed inappropriate. “I suppose so,” she stated calmly.
“Good.” He turned to leave. “I’ll have some preliminary materials sent over for you to examine. And … Justine …”—it was the first true note of gentleness she had heard and she subconsciously perked up—“… try to get some rest.”
“You, too,” she called flippantly, then, when he was no longer in sight, whispered more softly, “You, too.”
