Anything You Can Do

chapter 9



The third time Austin drove by Bailey's condo, he finally saw her car in its assigned space under the covered parking. He smiled smugly as he parked and headed for her door, anxious to confront her face to face.

He had a legitimate reason to be at her door, a reason that went beyond his desire to see her and touch her again, an impersonal reason—to continue the discussion she'd started before the arrival of a mythical client when she'd hung up on him. He understood what she'd told him, her intimation that she was in control of his destiny, that they had another contest going. He could, after all, read between the lines when they were Bailey's lines.

He rang the doorbell and waited, rehearsing his script, preparing to win the day before she even knew what was going on. He could almost see her moving into position behind the door, her sleek, warm body disguised in one of those prim suits she always wore, her demeanor cool and regal. Two lawyers, dressed for battle.

Then she opened the door.

"Austin, come in."

His script went right out of his head, along with any other coherent thoughts he might have had.

She wore a short, white terry cloth robe, her long legs emerging from the bottom and going on forever. Her wet hair was tousled atop her head, damp tendrils trailing onto her face. And to make matters worse, it took her several seconds to mask a look of delight at seeing him.

"I thought I'd see if Gordon was anywhere around," he mumbled, seizing on the first thing that came to mind.

"I haven't seen him. Did you check his office?"

"Ah, no. It's almost eight o'clock. Surely he's not still working." Eight o'clock and she'd obviously just showered. "Are you getting ready to go out?"

"No, I've been for a run. Would you like to come in and call Gordon's office? He's been working some long hours."

She held the door wide for him, and Samantha dashed out, plumed tail wagging in greeting. He reached down for the little dog then straightened, his gaze scant inches from her long, long legs.

"Thanks," he choked out, sidling past her into her living room. Cradling Samantha in one hand, he went to the wall phone above the kitchen bar and punched in his home number, the only number he could remember at the moment. "No answer," he said, a misleading but not false statement.

Bailey had, meanwhile, taken a seat on one end of the sofa, tucking her legs and bare feet under her. Even if he'd been under oath, he couldn't have remembered what he'd originally planned to say to her.

"You're welcome to wait a few minutes and call him again," she invited.

He made his way to the opposite end of the sofa, facing her. That robe scarcely covered the essentials. How could she have answered the door wearing it when she had no idea who was out there? At the thought of her naked body barely hidden by the tiny garment, he squirmed uncomfortably. Samantha abandoned him with a disgusted look at his inability to remain still and moved to the middle cushion, settling down as a furry chaperone.

"So Gordon's not at home or at work?" Bailey asked.

Since Austin hadn't been checking on Gordon's whereabouts, he had no idea. "Hot day for a run," he said, electing to change the subject rather than have to lie.

She shrugged, leaning forward to stroke Samantha's head. The V-neck of her robe fell away, and he glimpsed the ivory contours of her breasts. "It was an okay run," she answered.

So distracted was he by her provocative attire that Austin almost missed the subtle changes. Her voice was different, and she tensed ever so slightly. Someone who knew her less well than he would never have noticed.

"Where'd you run?" he asked, trying to keep his thoughts on her odd reaction and off his reaction to her.

"Springcreek Park." She kept her gaze averted from him.

Springcreek Park? Why had she gone all the way across town to run in a park that just happened to be the scene of the Miller/Wilson accident? "That's a long way from here," he said, leaning closer to study her expression.

"Do you want to try to call Gordon again?" she asked.

"Call Gordon? What for?" The words were out before he remembered his excuse for coming by.

But Bailey hadn't forgotten. Her eyes lifted boldly to his. Damn! For a minute there, he'd had control, but now he'd lost it.

Bailey exulted in her victory. She'd not only diverted him from her embarrassed thoughts, but had actually caught him. He hadn't been looking for Gordon at all. He'd come to see her.

"Would you like a drink?" she offered, gracious in her triumph. "I'll get us some sodas."

He'd had her off balance for a while, she admitted to herself as she rummaged in the refrigerator, staring at her as if he was ready to spring across the sofa and grab her, making her all too aware of her state of undress. Okay, she'd deliberately chosen not to change clothes when she'd seen him walking across the parking lot. Her attire might, she had hoped, give her the advantage. And he had been flustered, all right, but somehow she hadn't been able to capitalize on it.

Then he'd started talking about Springcreek Park, reminding her of the scene she'd almost witnessed as well as the similar scene she'd been a part of. And she'd become the flustered one.

"Would you like a glass?" she asked, offering him the cold red can.

When he shook his head, she sat back and waited for him to make the first move.

He raised his soft drink. "To your new status as a partner of Hoskins, Grier and Morris."

"My unofficial status," she corrected.

"Of course. But not for long. When it becomes official, we'll have champagne instead of soda."

They sipped their drinks and eyed each other warily, gleefully.

"Kind of a rough thing to do to a new partner, though," he said, leaning back into the corner of the sofa in pretended nonchalance. "Hitting you with such a major decision before you have time to catch your breath."

"Actually I'm flattered that they respect my opinion so much." She leaned back too, stretched her legs out, then remembered her attire and tucked her legs under her. Damn! If she had the guts to wear it, why didn't she have the guts to use it to advantage?

"I'm sure, as a new partner, you'll probably just go along with the majority." He clasped his hands behind his head and smiled.

"How simple you make things sound, assuming there is a majority to go along with." She returned his smile, swirled the liquid in her can. "And assuming I'm a follower."

He leaned forward, set his empty can on the coffee table, then flattened his palms on his knees, crushing the sharp creases in his dark slacks. She could almost feel the warmth from those hands, and instinctively her hands found the same position on her own knees.

"I'm sure it must be difficult, though," he said, "for somebody who's just achieved a small plateau to be able to visualize the larger scope of things, to conceive of attaining more distant but vastly more satisfying goals." He moved closer, leaned toward her urgently.

"Probably as difficult as it would be for an entity interested only in self-advancement to allow for anyone else's growth in a way that didn't benefit him."

"Or her." He raised his hands to her shoulders, and she thought for a minute he was going to shake her, but he only held her very still, forcing her to look directly at him. "If everyone else wants a chance to move ahead, it's not fair for one person to hold them back."

They were almost nose to nose. She could feel his warm breath on her face, reminding her of the warm night air. Her own breath came faster.

"I guess if everyone else wants something, one person's vote won't be enough to stop them, will it?" she asked, struggling to remember what they were talking about.

His hands moved from her shoulders to her face, gently caressed her cheeks. "One person can frequently change the way things are supposed to go." His voice had become softer but more intense.

She braced her hands on his chest to keep from toppling forward against him, to hold him in place while they settled this. "Not without cooperation." Whatever the hell it was they were trying to settle.

He was talking again, but she couldn't hear what he was saying. A great wind roared inside her head. Through a fog, she could see his lips moving, coming closer, so close she couldn't see them. Since there was no point in trying to see, she closed her eyes and raised her face.

The door slammed. "I think he's following me!" Paula announced. Samantha flew out from her position between Bailey and Austin to climb over the back of the sofa, racing toward the sound of Paula's voice.

Bailey pulled away from Austin, felt his touch leave her, drew in several deep breaths, tried to orient herself in time and space.

"Oh, crud!" Paula gasped. "Excuse me, I didn't realize—I'll just pop into my bedroom. If somebody comes to the door, you never heard of me."

"Paula, wait!" Bailey exclaimed. "Come back here. What are you talking about? Who's following you?"

Paula cast Austin a wary look. "Seven o'clock," she answered. "We'll discuss it later." She darted into her bedroom, closing the door behind her.

Her seven-o'clock date, Bailey interpreted. She glanced at Austin to see how he was reacting to Paula's erratic behavior.

He blinked rapidly a couple of times, but not before she'd seen the remnants of a glazed expression in his eyes. He cleared his throat. "Is Paula okay?"

Bailey sighed. "I doubt it. I think she's probably gone over the edge."

"Well, I guess you'd better check on her, and we'll have to reschedule our, uh, discussion."

Bailey nodded. And Paula had better be in extremely dire straits to justify her exquisitely bad timing.

She closed the door behind Austin, grabbed her soda off the floor, slipped into shorts and a T-shirt, and charged into Paula's room. "Your seven o'clock followed you home? I knew you'd get mixed up with a nut!"

"You know what they say, better a nut than a lawyer." Paula lay stretched out on her bed with Samantha resting on her stomach. Neither of them looked unduly concerned.

Bailey sank to the floor in a cross-legged posture. "I never heard anybody say that," she argued.

"You did now. Sorry I interrupted just when you were getting close to a little activity behind closed doors instead of out in the open."

Bailey felt herself blush as Paula giggled.

"Don't change the subject," Bailey ordered. "Who followed you home and why?"

Paula folded her arms behind her head. "Lennie was his name. He was the oddest little guy. Balding, glasses, kind of meek, and he gushed on and on about how wonderful I am." She turned toward Bailey and frowned. "I shouldn't make fun of him. He was really kind of sad. But when I tried to leave, he grabbed my arm. Said I should come home with him and meet his mother. Shades of Psycho!"

"He grabbed you?" Bailey sat bolt-upright. "He physically assaulted you then followed you home?"

"Don't come all unglued. He took my arm, released it when the waiter came over, and then I think I saw him when I left the last bar, and maybe again in the parking lot here. But I wouldn't swear to it." She paused then added, "Anyway, he's no taller than I am, so how many problems can he cause?"

Bailey groaned. "Do you want something to drink? I need a refill. This seems to be turning into a two-cola evening."

Paula sat up, holding Samantha in her arms and swinging her feet to the floor. "I'll go with you, and we can see if Lennie's in the parking lot. By the way, you didn't ask about eight o'clock. He was terrific. Good looking, great bod, great job—an airline pilot."

Bailey took two sodas from the refrigerator and handed one to Paula. "So what are you doing home this early if he was so great? Did he have a nine o'clock?"

"Of course not," Paula answered, crossing the living room to the front window and peeking cautiously between the mini blinds.

Bailey curled into an armchair. "So tell me about your pilot," she invited as Paula flopped onto the sofa.

"Pretty," Paula answered, focusing her attention on Samantha, who quickly resumed her spot on Paula's stomach.

"You said that already."

"Did I say he had a great bod?"

"Mm-hmm."

"Nice guy. Bright. I'll probably go out with him again."

"But?" Bailey supplied.

"Well, you couldn't exactly say the sparks flew."

She rolled her head to the side and gave Bailey a sheepish grin.” When I left, I thought it was at least nine-thirty or ten, but it was only eight-thirty. Maybe it'll get better, though."

Bailey nodded. She'd come to the private conclusion that those blasted "sparks" Paula mentioned were fickle creatures, coming of their own volition, totally uninfluenced by the decrees of mere mortals.

As though Paula read her thoughts, her smile became impish. "But you don't seem to be having any problem with sparks. Did you shower together?"

"Certainly not!" She touched her still damp hair. "I showered before he got here. We were discussing—" She halted in midsentence. The merger, like everything else in a law firm, was considered a confidential topic. Of course, secretaries tended to know as much about the business as their bosses. Still, Paula hadn't mentioned the subject, and she hesitated to bring it up, just in case. "We were discussing business," she finished lamely. That was a rotten deal, not being able to talk to her best friend about her problems. "I'd just come back from a run. And you'll never guess what I saw!"

She seized on the story of Candy and Alvin under the bridge with delight, recognizing a great diversion when she found one. Drawing out the tale, avoiding her personal feelings, Bailey soon had Paula wiping tears of laughter from her eyes.

"So instead of writing letters," Bailey concluded, "maybe you should run into cars until you find Prince Charming. Or, to be totally accurate, let him run into you."

Suddenly she felt uncomfortable. From the sober look that crossed Paula's face, she knew her friend felt the same unease.

"Let him run into you," Paula repeated, sitting upright.

"Coincidence," Bailey protested weakly, taking a deep gulp from her soft drink. This could turn into a three-cola evening.

"If you ask me, it sounds a little suspicious."

It certainly did, and Bailey would have seen it immediately if her mind hadn't been so muddled with thoughts of Austin and lust. "Innocent until proven guilty," she hedged, trying to defend her indefensible oversight.

Paula shrugged, leaning back. "Whatever you think, but you better hope Austin doesn't get wind of it. He'd have that detective back on her in a New York minute. "

And Bailey had just admitted to him that she'd gone running in Springcreek Park, the location of the accident. That tidbit would probably be enough to set off his suspicious mind. He had seemed awfully interested in the details.

"I think I'd better check it out," Bailey admitted, rubbing her neck, which had suddenly begun to ache. "But unofficially." No need for everyone to know she'd temporarily lost her reasoning abilities, especially not with a partnership on the horizon and Austin poised for a checkmate should she make a wrong move.

*~*~*

Austin drove aimlessly around the city for half an hour, waiting for his hormones to subside and his brain to kick back into gear. Maybe it was just as well that Paula had interrupted because he'd definitely been out of control. His glands seemed to take off on their own when he was around Bailey. His glands, his temper, his common sense—his whole system went haywire in her presence.

A red light appeared out of nowhere, and he slammed on his brakes, cursing Bailey and Paula and himself for his lack of attention. He'd blown the evening. He hadn't goaded her into revealing any information about the merger, hadn't influenced her vote in his favor, and certainly hadn't made any headway in smoothing out their strange relationship.

A horn sounded behind him, and Austin realized the light had been green for an indeterminate amount of time. With a wave of apology to the driver behind, he accelerated on down the street.

The only time Bailey had shown any loss of control was when he asked about her run, an odd thing to get upset about. And why had she gone all the way over to Springcreek Park? The whole thing sounded awfully suspicious. It was too dark tonight, but tomorrow evening immediately after work, he'd be at Springcreek Park. He'd find out what Bailey had gone to see.

*~*~*

If Bailey's life was splintering out of control in all directions, she could at least try to help her best friends get their lives straightened out. Just before lunch the next day, she marched determinedly down to Gordon's office. He was sitting, staring blankly into space, when she burst into the room.

"You look terrible!" she exclaimed.

"I wish you'd learn to be more direct, stop sugarcoating the facts," he drawled.

"I've come to drag you to lunch, and I don't want any flack about it."

"Drag away." Gordon extended his hands. "I'm not sure I can walk."

"Come on," Bailey ordered, starting out the door but turning back to be sure he was following. "Are you sick? With those bloodshot eyes and dark circles, you look like you've been on a week-long binge."

"I have. A work binge." He followed her down the hall.

Bailey shook her head. "I work hard but I don't look like that. What are you really up to?" The poor man obviously needed her help getting straightened out in more ways than one.

"You've been working hard since you came here, long enough to develop work immunities." Gordon punched the button to call a down elevator. "I've got a lot of catching up to do. This is only temporary, until I get my desk cleared off. "

"That'll never happen. Not a feasible goal." They entered the half-full elevator.

"I have a reason." Gordon admitted, and Bailey nodded in satisfaction. He was just about ready to confess, if she could only keep him awake through lunch.

At the deli Gordon scarfed down his sandwich and launched into his potato salad. Not only had the man not been sleeping, it would appear he hadn't been eating either.

"All right, out with it," Bailey ordered when he swallowed the last bite.

"I'm trying to straighten up my life. Is that so terrible? Are you going to eat your slaw?"

She'd planned on it. "No. Do you want it?" She shoved the plastic dish across the table. "You always seemed perfectly happy with your life."

"Things change. And you needn't play innocent with me, Ms. Russell. It didn't escape my attention that you were invited to join the big boys yesterday."

"Oh." She shouldn't have been surprised. The office grapevine was very efficient.

"So," he said, smiling for the first time, "does this mean what I think it means?"

Bailey nodded, unable to restrain a wide grin. Reaching across the table, Gordon took her hands in his. "That's wonderful! I knew you could do it! When do we celebrate?"

"When it's official, at the fiscal-year-end party."

Then her smile faded, and she leaned forward. "Is that it, Gordon?" she asked, barely above a whisper. "Are you upset because we started at the same time and you aren't a partner yet?"

Gordon released her hands and leaned back, still smiling. "Nah. You know I never had my eye on a partnership. But I would like to keep my job."

"I wasn't aware it was in jeopardy."

Gordon lifted an eyebrow. "When our laid-back firm merges with an aggressive, killer cobra firm, a lot of things will change."

Punching the crushed ice in her glass with her straw, Bailey studied him for a few minutes. "I suppose Austin told you," she finally said. Though it pained her to give him the credit, the man seemed to be ubiquitous.

"Yes, he did." Gordon scraped the last bite of slaw from the container, swallowed, and smiled smugly.

"Some time ago, I'd guess, since you've been working your brains out practically since he arrived in town."

"Poor Bailey. It must be awful to be the last to know," Gordon teased. "I'm aware of how desperately you hate being last."

She leaned back and crossed her arms over her chest. "If you're so knowledgeable, then surely you're aware it's far from a done deal. Should the merger not occur, will you go back to leading a normal life?" Might as well add one more outside influence to her list of considerations for her decision, make things even more complicated.

Gordon stacked his plastic utensils and bowls in his plate and avoided Bailey's gaze. "That depends. I don't know. Probably not."

Enough was enough. She couldn't wait forever for these foolish people to recognize what was before their very eyes. "If you'd spend a little more time with Paula and less time working or hiding notes and flowers in the park, she'd be a lot more impressed."

Gordon's mouth dropped open.

"Come on," Bailey said, pushing back her chair and standing. "Let's get to the office and you can call and ask her for a date like a regular, sane human being. And don't tell her I told you to. Take the credit for yourself. You need all the credit you can get."

Gordon took her arm as they wended their way through the tables. "I think being a partner is going to make you bossier than ever."

"Not possible. An absolute can't have a comparative form."

*~*~*

Austin slammed the door of his apartment behind him, grabbed an icy beer from the refrigerator, and flopped onto the sofa. He'd wasted the whole evening checking on Candy Miller, and all she'd done was go to the B&B Lounge. That was nothing new. The insurance company's bumbling detective had followed her there.

He'd sat in his car in the parking lot for thirty minutes before he gave up and came home. As he recalled from the testimony, she'd likely be in there for the rest of the evening.

What he needed to do was go in and observe her, ask a few questions. Maybe even talk to her. Buy her a drink and get into her confidence.

Right. And she's going to be eager to spill her guts to opposing counsel. Even Candy Miller wasn't that dumb.

Snatching up the remote control, he flicked on the television, drank his beer, and watched a bumbling detective don mustache and beard to spy on a suspect.

Oh, no, he thought, switching the channel. That was television, not real life, and he was a respected member of the legal community.

So who do you think is going to know? some perverse side of him argued. Not likely you'd see anyone there you knew, and if you should, how would they recognize you?

No way.

He gulped half his beer, switched back to the detective show.

Is your pride stronger than your desire to beat Bailey Russell?

His demented side had a point. Right now she seemed to be in control of every aspect of his life, and that was certainly an undesirable state of affairs. She knew something he didn't know about the Miller case. She had hinted strongly that the fate of the merger was in her hands. And, worst of all, she seemed to be in charge of his hormones. He drained the beer can. Even thinking about her was creating a physical problem. And it didn't just involve her body, desirable though said body was. Everything she did, from their contests to her performance at the deposition, excited him. He had to get a wedge in somehow, regain the upper hand.

Look on the internet and find where he could get a fake mustache. Add a pair of glasses—they were good enough for Superman—then a hat, maybe. A straw hat. Denim shirt open halfway to the waist. Tight jeans and a belt with a big buckle and his name on the back. Somebody else's name, that is. Cletus, maybe. No, Bubba.

He crushed the beer can and headed for the refrigerator to get another. Fun to play with the idea, but he had too much dignity to actually go through with it.