“I’ll bet you will,” John whispered with a wicked grin as the other left the office. “It should be a very interesting evening. At least you’ll be well protected!”
The last thing Justine needed, fresh on this minor setback, was John’s continued taunting. Willing herself to calmness, she faced him straight on. “I do have an awful lot to do between now and then, John. If you don’t mind, perhaps I could get to it….”
“Not at all.” The dark-haired man gave a semblance of a bow, then turned and strode to the door, stopping there for a final shot. “Have fun, Justine … and be careful….” The drawl in his voice rankled her. Ignoring it, she lifted the telephone receiver as if to make a call, then replaced it as soon as the doorway stood empty once more.
Absent fingers shifted the telephone messages around in her hand. Her mind was elsewhere. Sloane Harper, she had to admit, was a most attractive man. In truth, she had never been as fascinated by a man before. Unbidden, she recalled John’s words, to be haunted, then bewildered by them in turn.
Omnivorous. Sly. A predator.They connoted a man who was hard, shrewd, slightly sinister. Yet the man who had knelt earlier by her side, gently soothing both her stubbed toe and her injured pride, had been anything but hard or sinister. Shrewd, perhaps, if his true motivation was imagined at its worst, but certainly neither hard nor sinister. How ironic, she mused, that she should know nothing more about Sloane Harper than the fact that he talked in his sleep! CORE International was a mystery to her, as was all else about this man whose bold bearing had set her pulse to pounding.
Perhaps it was for the best that she not know much about him. Intuition told her that he might put her vows of independence to a test. But then, she reasoned, arguing against alarm, beyond a well-chaperoned dinner that night, she would probably not see him other than in passing along the corridors of the firm.
A frown marred her gentle features as a new question popped into mind. Whyhadshe been invited to join the dinner party? After all,shewould not be involved with Sloane as a client. Was it simply the fact that she was a woman, the firm’s token female? Had she suddenly become a showpiece? Bristling, she recalled Daniel Logan’s faintly patronizing remarks back in the hall. To date she had neatly managed to avoid that kind of extra attention. Why should it begin now? To her further chagrin, the fact of its presence, for the first time in the firm, was not as upsetting as it might have been. Could it be that she prized her femininity in the eyes of Sloane Harper?
There was only one solution to her wayward imaginings. Work. There was nothing like a sticky case to remind her that she was, first and foremost, a lawyer. Determinedly she focused her attention on the messages which awaited her. Girardi, at the district attorney’s office—Fried, at the Social Welfare Bureau—Tompkins of Tompkins, Tompkins and Riley—Tony O’Neill, at the settlement house—and Theodore Marston. Theodore Marston, attorney at law—and as sticky a divorce situation as she had run into. That would be the one to tackle first, a sure diversion which would require her total attention.
She diligently pushed the buttons on the telephone console, then waited while the secretary put her through. “Mr. Marston? This is Justine O’Neill. I received your message and wanted to get right back to you.”
The curt voice on the other end of the line was as firm and sharp-edged as was the man himself. “Ms. O’Neill, thank you for calling. I’m afraid that my client feels the terms you have suggested to be way out of line. I agree.”
“That’s unfortunate,” she stated calmly, having expected just this reaction. It was a basic premise in negotiation to aim far higher than what one actually expected to attain; Justine had done just that. “Exactly what part of the agreement bothers you?”
“Most of it. The money settlement, the division of property, the visitation rights—you name it.”
Justine was prepared, tapping on a pad of paper with the tip of her pencil. “Mr. Marston, as far as the money is concerned, your client is a multimillionaire. Certainly this lump sum figure is not out of line, especially considering that the couple was married for twelve years.”
“It’s too high, nonetheless. With a monthly child support payment to boot! We simply cannot agree to that.”
“And why not? The figure we’re talking about would be very little to a man of your client’s standing.”
“He has … other obligations … business commitments.”
“Yes, other obligations.” Justine had done her homework, having had the husband of her client thoroughly investigated. “I understand that one of those ‘other obligations’ is a mistress. Is that true?”
There was a brief silence on the other end of the line as the opposing lawyer recovered from his surprise. He had, obviously, thought this to be a little secret between his client and himself. “How did you ever get that idea?” he called her bluff.
But Justine was crafty enough not to show all her cards at once. “I have my sources. And we have uncovered more about your client that any judge will have to consider, should we finally go to court.” Again, silence reigned. Sensing her opening, Justine grasped it. “It might be a good idea, Mr. Marston, if we sat down across the table from one another and discussed these matters.Thenwe can negotiate a further settlement.”
She had played her hand to the hilt. Without delay an appointment was set up and the matter temporarily tabled. Justine’s strength lay in analyzing her adversary, then using instinct to attain her goal. An in-person conference would give her that opportunity.
A sigh slipped through her lips as she crumbled the pink slip and tossed it into the leather wastebasket behind her.Leaps, and pinions his victim with his paws.Helplessly her mind reverted to thoughts of Sloane. But his touch had been so soft, so gentle, she mused, recalling the tingling sensation she’d felt. Catching her breath, she forced her attention back to the phone.
Girardi, at the district attorney’s office, was the next order of business. “Mr. Girardi,” she began, following the suitable identification, “how is our case shaping up?”
“A little shaky, Justine.” Though the law firm, within itself, operated strictly on a first-name basis, she always resented the occasional outside male who presumed such a status as quickly as this one seemed to have done. She could only fight fire with fire.
“I’m not sure I understand, Jim. I thought it was an open-and-shut case of wife beating. Isn’t that what the indictment read?”
“Ah, yes, ah, that was what we had originally determined.”
“However—” she anticipated him.
“However, there is new evidence that has just arisen. He, ah, claims now that it was self-defense.”
“Self-defense?” Justine’s reaction was instant. “Jim, that woman was black-and-blue for weeks.”
“He claims she tried to attack him with a poker.”
Justine shook her head slowly, ingesting this new information. “Do you believe that?”
