“No, no, Mr. Harper,” John spoke smoothly, extending his hand in introduction. “I’m John Doucette, also of the firm. Justine and I are finished.”
The finality of his declaration held far deeper meaning for the two lawyers and would, in future days, come to be recalled by each. Sloane took it at face value, his inner thoughts well hidden behind a benevolent smile.
“I suddenly realized,” he began confidently, “that I still had Ms. O’Neill’s notebook.” To her chagrin she saw that it was true. “I was worried that perhaps she might be needing it this afternoon.”
As Sloane advanced into the room, Justine was intensely aware of the smug grin on John’s face. Determined to simply retrieve the notebook and amend her lapse, she stood quickly to circle the desk, totally forgetful of the fact that she’d slipped off her leather pumps. The fact was brought painfully home as she stubbed her toe on the steel leg of the desk.
“Aahhh! My God!” She doubled over and grabbed the corner of the desk. Her jaw clenched, she pushed herself back into her chair.
“I’ll leave you two now” came John’s merry call from the door. He had seen any number of Justine’s minor calamities, and the knowing smile on his face as he saw Sloane circle the desk spoke for itself. Mercifully, he disappeared.
“Are you all right?” Kneeling down beside her chair, Sloane quickly lifted the stockinged foot which her own fingers tried desperately to massage.
“Yes, I’m fine,” she murmured in disgust, too intent on relieving the pain to succumb to the mortification she might otherwise have felt. “That was a stupid thing for me to do. I’d forgotten about my shoes.”
Her hand was cast aside as long brown fingers probed her silk-sheathed toes gently. “I don’t think you broke anything,” he decided as he lightly rubbed the offended area. “Do you do this type of thing often?”
Only then did his eyes lift. They were dark and contained a blend of concern and query. Justine felt a melting sensation spiraling through her and swallowed sharply. So John’s nonchalance had tipped him off, she rued, then laughed at her characteristic clumsiness.
“I’m the firm’s own calamity department—but then, they didn’t tell you that, did they?” An eyebrow arched before her, its color a more equivocal mix of gray and black. “No, I didn’t think so. Well, you may as well know, since you’ve just found out anyway.” She grinned, poking fun at herself easily. “They call me ‘Calamity J’ for short. I may know my law, but when it comes to things mechanical—even stationary”—she sent an accusatory glance at the desk leg, now barely visible beyond Sloane’s large and hunkered frame—“I’m a complete disaster!”
“Ah, so the lady does have a fault?”
“Just that one.”
His presence filled the room, warming her. “Well, that’s a relief! We wouldn’t want the image to totally crumble!” His teasing was so gentle that she could not imagine offense. “And itisgood to know that you have at least one weakness, like the rest of us!”
“And yours, Sloane? What might that be?” It was her hope that some knowledge of this man’s imperfections might ease the flagrant attraction she felt toward him.
His dark eyes studied her, serving, on the contrary, to enhance the lure. He seemed to be debating, in good humor, the wisdom of any such revelation. Shaking his silver head slowly, he stalled. “No, I don’t think I should tell you….”
“Come on! I told you mine….”
“Correction … youshowedme yours. And, if my suspicion is right, you’d rather not have done so.”
“No one likes to look like a complete ass!” she jibed in self-reproach.
“You don’t look foolish, and you know it. You’re human.”
“And you? What is it, Sloane—this weakness of yours?”
Again he deliberated, drawing out the wait for what she was sure had to be intended effect. Finally he spoke in a velvet hum. “You won’t tell anyone?” She shook her head and furrowed her brow in sign of sincerity. “All right then. And … you won’t laugh?”
“Sloane …” she warned softly.
“I … talk in my sleep….”
Having expected something cataclysmic, Justine’s shoulders drooped. Lips curling down in dismay, she chided him. “Is thatall?”
“All?” He feigned astonishment. “It’s terrible. Entire monologues spilled out in the middle of the night. Trade secrets. Confidential information. Personal brainstorms. Everything! It’s terrible!”
“Only if you aren’t careful about your bedmate!” she quipped, then instantly wished she hadn’t. “I mean,” she went on quickly, “if there’s justanybodyaround at night …” Realizing that she was making things worse, she stilled.
“Precisely.”
It was one word, yet the gleam in his eye spoke volumes. Justine bit her lip to stem further blunder. Her toe felt fine now, free of pain yet tingling beneath the hand that continued to hold it. As the seconds passed, the tingling spread upward, through her body, lodging in the knot at her throat. Her eyes linked with his in helpless captivity. Finally, she forced herself to speak.
“My foot is much better. Thank you.” At her hint he put the injured appendage gently to the carpet and straightened. If his height had struck her when he stood with the group of lawyers, now it was positively towering. Defensively, she looked down at her desk. “And thank you for returning the notebook. You were right. Iwouldhave needed it at some point, and I might very well not have realized where it was.”
