Anything You Can Do - By Sally Berneathy Page 0,39

turned to Bailey. "Let me paint your toenails, too. Men love painted toenails."

Bailey jerked her feet up under her and held Samantha protectively. "You're crazy. Go put your shoes on or I won't be seen in public with you."

But when Paula left the room, she stretched out one foot and tried to imagine it with crimson toenails, tried to decide if men—one man in particular—might find them appealing.

Nuts, she chided herself. You're losing your mind and all sense of decorum and going totally nuts.

*~*~*

When Bailey arrived in her office the next morning, the first thing she did was turn the ring switch of her phone back on. A few minutes later when it shrilled at her, she jumped involuntarily then snatched it up.

"Bailey Russell."

"You sound awful damn happy for this hour of the morning," Stafford Morris growled. "Come see me."

The connection was broken.

Probably another lease for Larry Haynes. Doing that man's work ought to be worth a partnership if she did nothing else.

She stopped by the kitchen for a caffeine refill then moved on to the big corner office. Paula looked up from a document she was proofing when Bailey came by.

"I've been summoned to the lion's den," she said in answer to Paula's questioning look. "If I don't come back, take care of Samantha, but leave her toenails alone."

She knocked on the door, then opened it and entered.

Just as she was closing it, he growled, "Close the door."

This could be serious.

When she left fifteen minutes later, she had to do a visual check to be sure her feet were touching the floor. Winking at Paula, she floated on down the hallway.

She was being offered a partnership at the end of the month. The official announcement would be made at the fiscal-year-end party, but she was unofficially invited to attend a special partners' meeting before work the next morning. Stafford Morris had actually said he valued her input and wanted her to be involved in the meeting. Words of gold!

When the phone rang again a few minutes later and she heard Austin's voice, her already intense excitement spiraled skyward.

"I thought maybe we ought to get together and go over certain aspects of the Candy Miller case," he said, his tone distant.

"Sure," Bailey agreed, feeling a little confused, her excitement whorling away. Was that the reason he had tried to call her the night before? "My office or yours?"

"Actually, I thought we might meet somewhere neutral. How about Reilly's?"

"Good," she agreed, smiling to the ceiling. Meeting in a bar didn't sound very business-oriented. She allowed her mind to linger on Sunday night, on the wild, ecstatic feelings his touch, his lovemaking, had evoked in her, and for the first time, she dared to anticipate those feelings again.

CHAPTER 8

Locating Austin was easy even in the after-work crowd at Reilly's. Admiring his dark hair, good looks, and aura of self-assurance, Bailey was surprised everyone in the place wasn't looking at him. At that thought, twin thrills zigged along her spine—one of exultation that this "hunk" was waiting for her and one of fear that he couldn't possibly be interested in her.

As she walked toward his table, a waitress paused beside him. He looked up at the woman, smiling as he spoke. Bailey experienced a pang of something she reluctantly had to admit was jealousy. Hesitating a moment, she took a deep breath and plunged on. No use kidding herself. Her normal confidence took a vacation when it came to male-female relationships, especially when Austin was the male.

But the smile he turned on her when he saw her approaching went a long way toward restoring it. Now that was a smile, not the imitation he'd given the waitress.

"Hi," he said, standing up and pulling out a chair for her. "I ordered you a glass of white wine. Didn’t mean to make decisions for you, but I was afraid we might not see another waitress for a while. We can send it back if you'd rather have something else. "

She could use something a little stronger—say, a dozen tequila shooters. "Thank you," she said. "White wine will be fine." Great, she thought. You've sunk to lousy poetry. A surefire way to impress the man.

The waitress returned, set a beer in front of Austin and a glass of pale liquid in front of Bailey. She immediately took a shaky gulp then set the glass down so abruptly, the wine sloshed onto her hand. Smooth move, klutz, she berated herself. Maybe if she sort of waved her