Читать книгу Out of Order - Barbara Dunlop - Страница 11

DALLAS NODDED to his partner, Allan Turnball, as he strode across the newly decorated reception area of Turnball, Williams and Smith, briefcase in one hand and a double mochaccino in the other. He loved Monday mornings—loved it when an entire week of untapped possibilities stretched out in front of him.

He had a meeting with Eamon Perth at ten, lunch with Judge Weinberger, and he was hooking up with Greg for racquetball and a beer before he caught the Cubs game on ESPN.

If he could convince Eamon Perth to put them on permanent retainer, he could announce the coup to Greg tonight, giving Greg bragging rights for his meeting with Preston International in New York on Friday. A couple of cornerstone clients like Perth-Abercrombie and Preston International, and the sky would be the limit for their budding law firm.

As Mondays with possibilities went, it didn’t get much better than this.

He headed toward the hallway that led to his office, but caught a bright flash in the corner of his eye, bringing him to a stop. Something was out of place.

He slowly turned toward the receptionist’s desk, and his mouth dropped open a notch as he stared at a pair of black, spike-heeled pumps, impossibly long legs, a shiny gold dress over a perfectly rounded rear end, and a head of riotous, auburn hair barely tamed in a knot.

His mouth went dry as last night’s dream popped, full blown, into his mind. His palm turned slick against his briefcase handle.

Allan appeared at his side. “Did you meet our new receptionist?”

Something settled like a lead weight in Dallas’s stomach.

The woman pivoted to face him and he nearly dropped his coffee onto the three-week-old, hand-knotted, golden-onyx carpet.

“Dallas Williams,” said Allan. “This is Shelby Jacobs.”

Shelby’s bright red lips curved into a friendly smile. The silky-smooth lines of the gold dress hugged her knockout figure. Gathered, capped sleeves barely covered her shoulders, and a heavy zipper was pulled just low enough to stimulate his imagination.

“What the…?” He barely sputtered out the question before his vocal chords shut down in sheer incredulity.

“We’ve met,” said Shelby. “Great to see you again, Dallas.”

Dallas? What were clients going to think when the receptionist called the partners by their first names? What were clients going to think when the receptionist looked like she belonged on a Vegas runway?

He glanced at the newly decorated wall behind her—its arched, Italian bookcase, leather-bound law books, bronze-and-marble statues, the wing chairs, the fresh flowers and the custom oil paintings that nearly screamed class and success. Then he looked back at Shelby—sexy, spectacular, totally inappropriate, Shelby.

Was this a joke? He turned his horror-stricken face to Allan. Blinking, waiting for the man to burst out laughing.

He didn’t.

“Can I get you anything?” asked Shelby, shifting in Dallas’s peripheral vision. “Coffee? Files?” She gestured to the bookcase behind her. “A reference book?”

Dallas spoke to Allan through clenched teeth. “Can I see you in my office for a moment? Bring Greg.”

He turned to take one more look at Shelby. He’d found the woman in handcuffs. In the Haines Street lockup. He wasn’t even sure she was innocent. And even if she didn’t steal the artwork from their walls, they sure as hell couldn’t make her the first thing clients saw when the entered Turnball, Williams and Smith. Clients like Eamon Perth.

Eamon Perth.

Good God, Dallas had less than two hours to get her out of here.

With the barest of nods in her direction, he strode into his office, resisting the urge to slam his leather briefcase down on the polished desktop.

Greg entered behind him, closely followed by Allan.

“What’s going on?” asked Greg affably.

Dallas turned to glare at him. “You hired a receptionist without even talking to me?”

Allan quickly closed the office door.

“Allison said you’d met her, and you seemed to like her,” said Greg.

Dallas moved behind his cherrywood desk, bracing his hands on the high back of his chair. “I met her in the Haines Street lockup.”

“But they didn’t arrest her.”

“Only because I was there.”

“Allison asked me to thank you for that.”

Dallas bit back an unflattering observation about Allison’s influence over Greg.

Allan took a step forward. “She seems very nice.”

“Nice?” Dallas’s voice came out strangled. “Did you check her references? Her police record?” Had they even bothered to step back and take a good, long look at the woman?

Greg straightened. “Her police record?”

“When I met her Friday night, she was under arrest.”

“She doesn’t have a police record. She’s Allison’s roommate. From college.”

Allan stepped in again. “I think we should give her a chance.”

Dallas couldn’t believe they were ganging up on him. He rounded the desk and brushed past them both, opening the office door and gesturing out into the reception area.

He kept his voice low. “Has it occurred to the two of you that she is the first person our clients are going to see when they walk in?”

Greg and Allan both peered out.

“So?” asked Greg.

“I don’t get it,” said Allan.

“Am I the only one who cares about making a professional impression?” asked Dallas.

“She is kind of pretty,” said Allan. “But I don’t see how—”

“Kind of pretty?” asked Dallas.

“She’s making Harold Bouthier smile,” said Greg.

Dallas glanced out the door. For a second his heart stopped beating. “She’s flirting with Harold Bouthier.”

“That’s not flirting,” said Greg. “She’s just being friendly.”

Shelby laughed at something Harold had said, her green eyes lighting up. He leaned a little closer. She didn’t back away, simply listened with interest.

“She’s flirting,” said Dallas.

“You can’t even hear her,” said Greg.

“With those legs, everything is flirting.”

Both of his partners turned to stare at him in amazed silence.

“What?” asked Dallas. “You mean to tell me neither of you noticed her legs?”

Greg’s face slowly broke into a grin. “I don’t think we can legally discriminate against her based on the fact that you’re a leg man.”

Allan joined in, smacking Dallas on the shoulder. “Just keep a lid on it in the office there, Dallas.”

“I’m not discriminating against her based on—”

“She’s attractive, I’ll give you that,” said Greg. “Can’t hold a candle to Allison, of course.”

Dallas shot Greg a quizzical look. Allison was cute enough, but Shelby was in a whole other league. Clients were going to walk into walls while staring at her. Who knew how many personal injury claims they’d have to settle?

He quickly shook himself. “We’re allowed to discriminate against her based on qualifications and experience.”

“Allison says she’s experienced,” said Greg. “Maybe you should spend a little time on your personal life. Get out there on a few dates. You know, halve the testosterone concentration so that you don’t—”

“This has nothing to do with my testosterone concentration.”

Both of the other men looked unconvinced.

Dallas raked a hand through his hair. “Look. All I’m saying is that you had no right to hire an employee behind my back. I don’t think she’s suitable, and I think we need to—”

“Give the woman a chance,” said Allan. “Bouthier likes her. Maybe it’s because she’s kind of pretty. But who cares?”

“I care.”

“Well, you’re just going to have to deal with your own libido,” said Greg. “I promised Allison we’d give her a chance, and I’ve got Allan’s backing.”

Before he could protest again, both men left his office, Greg heading out to meet Bouthier, and Allan crossing the hall to the library.

Dallas glanced at his watch.

Fine. He still had over an hour before Eamon Perth was due. It couldn’t be that hard to dissuade a woman like Shelby Jacobs.

“I DON’T THINK Dallas likes me much,” said Shelby as she took a seat across from Allison in Frappino’s on the first floor of the office building. It was her fourth day on the job, and things seemed to be going pretty well—other than the fact that Dallas had barely said two words to her. Well, except for Monday morning when he suggested she could get a better job.

He’d even offered to help her find one.

Not a good sign.

“Dallas can be tense,” said Allison, stirring the foam into her coffee. Allison worked as a graphic artist across town, but today a meeting with a client had brought her close enough to meet up.

“It’s more than that.” Shelby tore off a piece of the cinnamon bun they’d agreed to share.

“Yeah?” Allison looked her in the eyes.

Shelby faltered, squinting at the red tinge and slight puffiness around Allison’s eyes. “What’s wrong?”

“Nothing.” Allison waved a dismissive hand. “Tell me about Dallas.”

“Forget Dallas. You look upset.”

Allison shrugged, still toying with her stir stick. “Greg stood me up again last night.”

Shelby dropped the chunk of cinnamon bun, wiping her sticking fingers on a paper napkin. “But you were out until after eleven. I heard you come in.”

“I walked home. I was thinking…I don’t know what I was thinking.”

Shelby’s heart contracted. “Allison…”

“It’s his work. Always his work. We haven’t had sex in two weeks.” She glanced from side to side to make sure their conversation couldn’t be overheard. Then she leaned across the table, pitching her voice below the general buzz of conversation. “How can I marry a man who doesn’t want me?”

The question shocked Shelby. She had no idea that Greg’s working was causing any more than a minor tiff. “He wants you. Of course he wants you.”

“Then why is he always working?”

Shelby thought for a moment. “I know they’re after a couple of big clients right now. There’s Eamon Perth from Perth-Abercrombie—I haven’t met him because all of Dallas’s meetings have been outside the office. But it feels like he’s really important.

“And there’s the New York firm, Preston International. They’ve been doing a ton of research on them. And I know they just redecorated to impress clients. Maybe this is a temporary thing.”

“I’m beginning to think I’m the temporary thing.”

Shelby’s heart went out to Allison. “I’m sure he misses you just as much as you miss him. Give him a little time.”

“You’re a lot more forgiving than me. I’m about ready to hand him an ultimatum.”

Shelby felt her eyes go wide. “You can’t mean break up with him? He’s a wonderful guy.”

“Either he shows up on our next date, and we have great sex, or he can take his ring and—”

Shelby started to panic. Allison and Greg loved each other. They were great for each other. She didn’t want Allison to say anything that was hard to take back.

“I don’t think you want to go with an ultimatum,” she said.

“Well I can’t think of anything else that will make an impression on his thick skull.”

Shelby picked up her coffee, putting a teasing tone in her voice. “You know, you can catch more flies with honey than vinegar.”

“What? Your grandmother say that?”

Shelby nodded. “All the time. Though I don’t think she had premarital sex in mind.”

“Ha. They had premarital sex back then. They just lied about it.”

Shelby grinned. “They also played hard to get.”

“You think I’m too available?”

Shelby nodded. “I think you need to make him wait on you. Oh. Even better. Whet his appetite and then make him wait.”

“How the hell am I going to whet his appetite if I never see him? He’s got meetings tonight, then he leaves for New York tomorrow morning.”

“The Preston International thing?”

“Exactly. He’ll be gone all the way through the weekend.”

“So send something with him.”

“What? Slip my panties into his suitcase?”

That was what Shelby had been about to suggest.

“He’s got six pairs,” said Allison. “Doesn’t seem to be working.”

“Sexy pairs?”

“No. White cotton. Of course they’re sexy.”

“Hmm.”

“Yeah. Hmm.” Allison tore off a chunk of the cinnamon bun.

“Could you go to New York?”

“How does that make him wait?”

“Good point.”

Allison groaned around a bite of cinnamon bun. “And can you imagine how horrible it would be if he was at meetings all evening long while I waited in his hotel room?”

“Pathetic,” Shelby agreed.

“Seriously. I’d be worse off than when I started.”

Gaze resting on the mochaccino machine as it churned out another foam-topped coffee, Shelby searched her brain. “Phone sex?”

“He has call waiting on his cell.”

Shelby coughed out an outraged laugh. “He wouldn’t.”

“He has.”

“Tell me again why you’re marrying this man?”

Allison laughed darkly, tipping forward as she shook her head. “He’s charming, intelligent, gorgeous and hardworking.” She straightened, flipped her hair back and groaned again. “He really is. I just have to figure out how to get back on top of his priority list.”

“Pictures,” said Shelby.

“Pictures?”

“Sexy pictures.”

“What? Like a magazine?”

Shelby pointed at Allison with her index finger, warming to the idea. “Yeah. Just like a magazine. Only you.”

Allison’s jaw dropped. “What?”

“You. In sexy pictures. Hide them in his luggage. He stares at them for four days in New York, comes home, and voilà. Instant sex.”

“I don’t have any sexy pictures.”

“Have some taken.”

“By who?”

“Me, Dallas—”

“Dallas!”

“I’m joking. There are studios that do stuff like that. They even supply the clothes, the makeup, the props, the works.”

“Props?” Allison squeaked. “I don’t think I can do props.”

“I meant a feather boa, a fur rug. Sexy, not smutty.”

Allison looked skeptical.

“It’d work,” said Shelby.

“I don’t think I could—”

“We’ll call around, find some place with a female photographer. They give you the negatives. Nobody but you and Greg will ever know about it.”

Allison grimaced. “I really don’t know if I could do it.”