Anything You Can Do - By Sally Berneathy Page 0,51

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.

CHAPTER TEN

"No way am I going out in public dressed in that thing," Bailey protested as Paula held up a black leather skirt that appeared to be made for a Barbie doll.

"It'll be shorter