 
A BATTLE OF WILLS

By

BLISS ADDISON

Published by Bliss Addison

© 2007. All Rights Reserved Bliss Addison

First Electronic Edition, September, 2007

Second Electronic Edition, August 2012

Smashwords Edition, License Notes

This ebook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This ebook may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each recipient. If you're reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then please return to Smashwords.com and purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.

This is a work of fiction. All characters and events portrayed in this book are fictional, and any resemblance to real people or incidents is purely coincidental.

All rights reserved. No part of the book may be reproduced in any form or by any means without the prior written consent of the Author, excepting brief quotes to be used in reviews.

Cover Design Annie Melton

* * * *

Praise for Bliss Addison

A Battle of Wills

"BLISS ADDISON'S A BATTLE OF WILLS introduces first-time secretary Shannon Murphy to a married boss with a cavalier attitude toward sex and a roving eye pointed in her direction. A battle of the sexes with a legal twist." – Terry L. White, author of Imagine, Mustard Seed, and the Chesapeake series, Chesapeake Harvest, Chesapeake Destiny, Chesapeake Legacy, etc.

"A PAGE TURNER, and a satisfying read. Bliss Addison is an author to watch." – C.M. Albrecht, author of the Music series, Music, Evidence and Still Life with Music.

"BLISS ADDISON creates a quick read featuring likable characters, their thoughts, and their development in A Battle of Wills." – K.S. Brooks, award-winning author of Lust for Danger and The Mighty Oak and Me.

"SHANNON MURPHY IS HAVING TROUBLE fitting into her new job as secretary at a law office. It doesn't help that the other secretaries hate her and she's attracted to her married boss, Peter Montgomery. Peter tries hard to get the feisty redhead out of his thoughts but it's difficult with her sitting outside his office every day. Complications abound and the two have a Battle of Wills until the delightful, inevitable conclusion." – Carlene Rae Dater, author of Call Sign: Love and the Colors of Death.

"A FUN READ! Feisty is the operative word for Shannon Murphy. Her fiery temperament is reflected not only in her red hair, but in her personal relationships and her ability to get both feet into her mouth at once. Addison's writing is a joy and her sense of humor is as flawless as her prose." – Arline Chase, author of Ghost Dancer, Killraven and the Spirit Series, Spirit of Earth, Spirit of Fire, etc.

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Other Books by Bliss Addison

With Malicious Intent

Restless Souls

Wolfe, She Cried

One Millhaven Lane

Murder at the Villa Marie-Sedona Retirement Home

A Waning Moon

Prophesy

Sleight of Hand

An Equal Measure

Deadly Serum

A Silver Lining (Part I – The Monahans)

A Little Rain Must Fall (Part II – The Monahans)

Wronged (Part III – The Monahans)

Hear No Evil

Watching Over Her

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Summary:

Feisty legal secretary Shannon Murphy misspeaks and would like to put the faux pas behind her, but lawyer Peter Montgomery won't let her. With her back against the wall, Shannon is determined to fight for her job for as long as it takes and by whatever means necessary. From that moment on disastrous and hilarious events catapult her into a feud she's only to willing to fight.

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_Contents:_

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Chapter 10

Chapter 11

Chapter 12

Chapter 13

Chapter 14

Chapter 15

Chapter 16

Chapter 17

Chapter 18

Chapter 19

Chapter 20

Chapter 21

Chapter 22

Chapter 23

Chapter 24

Chapter 25

Chapter 26

Chapter 27

Chapter 28

Chapter 29

Chapter 30

Chapter 31

Chapter 32

Chapter 33

Chapter 34

Chapter 35

Chapter 36

Chapter 37

Chapter 38

Chapter 39

Chapter 40

Chapter 41

Chapter 42

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Chapter 1

It's Not Rocket Science —

Shannon Murphy glanced at her coworker, Abby Anderson, sitting across from her, then out the window at the dismal October sky. Her skin prickled. Something unpleasant awaits me. She knew this how? A sixth sense? No, not likely.

If only she were clairvoyant.

If only she could turn back the clock.

She doodled on her steno pad and wondered which fate brought her to this moment. There were two, you know. The evil fate—elfin with a bulbous nose, thin lips and pointed teeth—and the divine fate—cherubic, eyes the color of an azure sky, and a smile that melted hearts. Yes, divine fate brought her here. For how many times could she be in the wrong place at the wrong time?

Leaning back in her steno chair, she surveyed the office. The decor—or lack of it—surprised her. It wasn't as though she frequented law offices in the past—she'd only been in one other—but she expected something more than peeling plaster, plastic chairs and threadbare carpeting.

In one corner of the office sat...well, she didn't know who. The steno chair girl—as she'd come to think of her—reminded her of a bird on a perch and exiled from the flock. What was her story?

She turned at the sound of someone clearing his voice.

"Is Edward out of the office today, Shannon?"

"Yes, he's bird hunting, Mr. Montgomery." For her, Peter epitomized masculinity. At least six feet tall and very well built, he had a thick neck set on powerful-looking shoulders. His almost-black hair, slightly longer than the average cut, curled at the ends. She hardly thought lawyer when she looked at him.

"Uh-huh." He sat kitty-corner on her desk. "So, how's everything going?"

"Fine." If truth be told, things weren't fine. In fact, things were horrible, but she wasn't about to admit that. Not yet.

True, she could walk away. No one would miss her. But she committed herself to Edward, to her job, and above all else, to her promise never to fail. The fast pace and the work was as much a part of her now as her heartbeat. So, whatever doom providence decreed for her...well, it would have to take a number because she, Shannon Murphy, would not allow anything or anyone interfere with the plans she'd made for herself.

Peter stood. "Why don't you come to my office? There's something I'd like to discuss with you."

"Okay."

In the hallway, she nodded at a coworker. "Good morning."

Bridgit glared at her. "You're one to talk."

***

Peter looked out the window. Brittle leaves clung to the branches of the oak trees, the last vestige of a courageous fight for life. Dark cumulus clouds promising rain loitered overhead. Perfect, he thought, bemoaning his schedule—back-to-back appointments from the next half-hour on. He'd intended to take advantage of Edward's absence today by getting to know Shannon better. A few minutes could be spared now, not enough time really, but enough to make a start.

His office door creaked open. He turned and studied her. She didn't look like the bitch everyone heralded. The slightest movement of her mouth dimpled her cheeks. He stared at her lips, so full, so lush and imagined kissing them. Within seconds, he envisioned her entering his bedroom. She leaned back against the door and gazed into his eyes. His breath caught in his throat. She stepped out of her dress and moved toward him. He gaped at her breasts as they rose and fell with the spirited rhythm of each of her breaths. He gulped. On tiptoes she kissed him, first on the neck, then on the chest. He groaned. She unbuckled his belt, unbuttoned his trousers and unzipped his fly. She lowered her face.

"Are you all right, Mr. Montgomery?"

He bolted upright. Christ! He cleared his throat. "Er...um...What was that, Shannon?"

"I asked you if you were okay."

"Yes, of course. Why wouldn't I be?"

"I thought you...you looked like...well, I thought you suffered a stroke."

"No, just lost in thought." He shuffled files and noticed that his fingers shook. Pull yourself together, Peter. "So, how do you like working here?"

"This is my first job, so I have nothing to compare it with." She tucked her legs beneath the chair. "I like it, though."

"Good, good. Catching onto the work all right?"

"Well, it's not rocket science."

He chuckled. "No, I guess it's not." He raised the cuff of his shirt and looked at his watch. "Shannon, I'd like to discuss this with you at more length, but I have an appointment in a few minutes. Why don't you come to the office tonight, say around eight o'clock? It'll give us a chance to get to know each other better." He cocked a brow. "You do something for me, I'll do something for you. Quid pro quo. What do you say?"

She inhaled a deep breath. "Mr. Montgomery, I wouldn't have sex with you if you were Adam and I were Eve and the Holy Spirit prescribed it!"

He gasped. "My God, Shannon. Sex? Is that what you thought? I think you're cute and all that, but I'm a happily married man. I meant, if I got to know you better, as in personality, it would be easier to get a handle on what's happening between you and your coworkers. And there is something happening, whether you want to admit it or not." He took in a lungful of air and let it out in a rush. "To be blunt, you aren't blending in, not like we hoped. There's a lot of animosity felt toward you. Once I determine the why of it, I can work on finding a solution. In return, you can help me get some work done, work I never seem to have time to do during business hours. If you're nice to me, I'll be nice to you. That's the way it works."

"Oh," she said with a twitch of an eye. "Well, thank you for your generous offer, but I can handle it myself."

"Okay, but if you change your mind, my offer still stands."

She nodded, looking everywhere but at him.

He checked the time again. "Good. Now that we have that straightened out, I want you to take a letter—"

"You want to dictate to me?"

"Well, I wouldn't put it quite that way, but yes, I'd like you to take a letter for me."

"Take a letter? Like fetch my slippers?"

"Don't you use shorthand with Edward?"

"Yes, but—"

"Okay, then. This letter is to go to NB Insurance, address is in the file, today's date, re Levine versus Allston, your policy number, et cetera, et cetera." He waved a hand in the air. "This letter is written in response to yours of November 2nd er...did you know Abby's husband is running around on her?"

She looked up from her steno pad. "Excuse me?"

"I asked if you knew Abby's husband is running around on her?"

"Mr. Montgomery, correct me if I'm wrong, but didn't you want me to take dic...ta...tion?"

His brows reached his hairline. "What is it with you anyway?"

"What is it with me? What is it with you? How can you talk about your secretary behind her back like that?"

"Shannon, I'm simply trying to keep you abreast of Abby's personal problems in the event they spill over to her behavior here at the office."

"Oh." She knocked the side of her head and sputtered and coughed. "Excuse me. The foot in my mouth tickled my tonsils."

"Ah. Back to the matter at hand, then." He dictated the letter at hyper-speed.

***

Shannon attacked her shorthand notes with a vengeance. The first indecipherable word caused her to issue the walls an "oh, oh,", the second had her swearing. She scratched her head and tweaked her ears, muttering and complaining beneath her breath.

Thirty minutes and every painstaking word later she felt the letter would pass the greatest scrutiny. It pleased her to know she was capable, notwithstanding the odds. She delivered the letter to Peter with a wide smile and a great sense of accomplishment.

"Here you go, Mr. Montgomery." She returned his stare and caught a glimpse of anger in his eyes. Great. Just great. When she could stand to make some friends, she'd made another enemy. And a lawyer to boot. Good going, Shannon.

Why did you have to go bird hunting today, Mr. McIntyre?

***

For ten minutes Peter sat at his desk writing notes to himself like a madman. He tried to think rationally, but instead found himself reeling from indignation.

Did she think a wink and a smile excused her rude behavior?

How did she conclude he wanted to bed her from what he said? All he said was it would give them a chance to get to know each other better. That's what he said, wasn't it? He wasn't so sure anymore.

He glanced across the hall at her. When he'd interviewed her, he wished he needed a secretary. Her red hair sent him into a tailspin. The spattering of freckles across her face made him grin like an ape, and when he looked into her umber eyes, he was smitten. He would never have thought that from that pouty mouth could come such bite, or that those remarkable eyes could pierce.

Restless, he stood and stared out the window overlooking the bay. Why can't I forget about it? he asked himself.

The answer would be embarrassment.

No, that wasn't it.

His pride had been hurt and he wanted to hurt back.

Now, as he thought about it more clearly, he wondered if she had believed him. Maybe not. If she hadn't, then the gossip would start. She'd be only too happy to spread stories about him, he would bet. He could deny everything, but would he be believed?

No, he wasn't going to let a secretary—cute though she was—taint his reputation.

He shouldn't forget about his physical attraction to her either.

Yes, he needed to do something about her before he ended up doing something he shouldn't be doing.

Firing her gave him a moment's satisfaction, but he would have to be more subtle than that, particularly so given Edward's attachment to her. Already his mind worked with devious manipulations.

Didn't he like nothing more than to plan, strategize and second-guess? He rested his head against the back of his chair and pondered the ceiling.

Shannon has become a liability to be handled lawyer style.

He smiled.

Chapter 2

—"Hunks With Nice Buns"—

Darkness enveloped Sandy Point by the time Shannon climbed the steps of her apartment building. Like many of the older structures in town, the exterior of the Carlton Arms was renovated within the rigid guidelines of the Heritage Society. The tenants were mostly seniors, but she didn't mind. These days she liked nothing better than to forget her problems by listening to the problems of others.

She walked through the hallway until she came to her neighbor's apartment. Before she had a chance to ring the bell, Louise opened the door, obviously as anxious as she for company. She had to be the only person to tint her white hair blue, Shannon thought.

"Hey, Mrs. Nelson," she said, grinning.

"Come in, dear. Dinner's ready. You're late."

The old lady still had a brisk step, and was already in the kitchen by the time Shannon removed her coat and shoes.

Louise Nelson wasn't a relative. In fact, it wasn't until Shannon moved into the building after selling her parents' house following their deaths that she met the woman. The one thing she loved and simultaneously hated about Louise was that she reminded her of her mother. Not that they looked anything alike, or that her mother had tinted her hair blue. It was more because of the nature of the two women. Both caring, thoughtful, so filled with love to give.

"I didn't think five o'clock would ever get here," Shannon said, taking a seat at the table. But now, out of the office at last, her taut muscles relaxed.

"Bad day?" Louise asked.

Shannon grimaced. "The worst."

"Want to talk about it?"

"No. It was just one of those days," she said, crossing her eyes.

"Nothing went right?"

"Uh-huh." And the fact I made a complete ass of myself again.

"I'm a good listener."

Shannon didn't doubt that for a moment. "It's not something I can talk about right now. Rain check?" She chewed on her bottom lip.

"Well, when you're ready, I'll be here. God willing."

Shannon felt a twinge of loneliness. Please, God, don't take Louise from me, too.

Louise set a steaming casserole dish on the table.

"Oh, my favorite, Mrs. Nelson," Shannon exclaimed as she placed a napkin on her lap. "Keep this up and I'll stop by every night for supper."

Louise beamed. "That's all right with me. Truthfully, I could use the company. Since Frederick moved on, I don't know what to do with myself most of the time."

"How long ago did your husband die?"

"Oh, he's not dead, dear."

"He left you? I'm sorry, I assumed he passed away."

"Nope, went out one day for a pack of smokes and never returned."

Pack of smokes, Shannon thought, unable to hold back a smile. "Did you call the police?"

"Yes, of course, dear. I filed a missing husband's report—"

"Missing person's report?"

"Yes, yes, one of those too, for all the good it did."

"I'm sorry, Mrs. Nelson." She squeezed her hand. "When did this happen?"

"One year, twenty-four days and," Louise looked at the rooster-shaped clock on the wall, "thirty minutes ago. Say, why don't we go shopping after supper?"

"Shopping?"

"Yes, shopping. You know where you spend money just because you want to."

"Sounds like fun." Shannon smiled.

It was fun. Shannon hadn't felt so carefree since...well, since her first day at the law firm.

Louise found an elegant looking dress and hat for Christmas Eve mass. Though Shannon wanted to keep Louise shopping for herself, she was steered toward the clothes for petites.

"We really must do something about the way you dress."

"What's the matter with the way I dress?" Shannon asked, looking down at herself. Great! Now, I'm asking for fashion advice from a woman who tints her hair blue?

Louise smiled. "What's not? You have a cute figure. Why not show it off?"

After a whirlwind shopping spree, Louise asked as they left the store, "How's Edward doing these days?"

"You know Mr. McIntyre?"

"Oh, yes. We go way back."

"I keep forgetting this is a small town. He's fine. A little deaf, a little attention-deficient."

Louise laughed. "Yes. That's Edward."

"Tell me everything you know about him, Mrs. Nelson."

"Well, in his younger days Edward was in the navy. I think he was a spy—"

"Edward was a spy?" Shannon stopped in mid-stride.

"Well, that's the rumor." Louise chuckled. "Hard to believe, eh?"

"I guess." How did these stories start? "So tell me about the man, not the lawyer."

"He's one of the best, Shannon. He stands behind what he believes in and has been known to root for the underdog. Did you know your mother and Edward were an item years ago?"

"They were?" Why had her mother or Edward ever mentioned that?

"Oh, yes. In fact, the whole town thought they'd marry one day."

"Really?" If that had happened, Edward could be my father.

"What happened between them? Do you know?"

Louise shrugged. "I guess your father came along."

"Oh."

They took their time walking, enjoying each other's company, savoring the fresh night air. The moon shaped their shadows, long and slender, on the sidewalk.

"So, tell me, Shannon, why you're hanging out with an old lady when you should be with friends your own age."

"Well, that's simple. I don't have any friends left in Sandy Point. They've either moved to big cities or they're still in university. Besides, where else could I get such fantastic Chicken Gumbo and your trendy fashion sense? And I don't think you're old, Mrs. Nelson."

"Tell that to my achy joints on rainy days. Did you know Edward before you started working for him?"

"No. Why do you ask?"

"Oh, no reason. Feel like a drink?" Louise asked, pointing to the sign for The Wild Goose.

"You want to go in here? It's a tavern."

"Yes, and it's sure to be filled with gorgeous hunks with nice buns."

"Mrs. Nelson, my gosh."

Louise cocked her head. "Up for a little beefcake? Actually, you could use some of that in your life."

"My life is fine. I don't go out because I don't want to." I'm truly a dull soul, she thought. And maidenly. She shouldn't forget that.

"Were you always such a stick in the mud?"

Shannon jutted her chin. "I'm not a stick in the mud. I just have other priorities, that's all."

"Come on, let's go pick up a man," Louise said with a wink.

"Well, I don't know about that."

"You are going to enjoy yourself, right?" Louise asked as they turned to enter the tavern.

"Sure. Why not?"

"I'll watch out for you."

Inside the building, Shannon experienced a moment of apprehension—she'd never been to a tavern before—but the moment quickly passed.

Just to her right, people—mostly men—either sat on stools or stood at a long bar. Across from the bar, tables fought for floor space. If any employee noticed them, no one came over to seat them.

The music was loud, almost ear shattering, but no one seemed to notice. The odor of fried onions and beer hung in the air.

Louise led the way to a table and flagged the first waitress she saw.

"Two Irish Whiskeys."

"Coming right up."

Shannon watched Louise looking from one male to the next, hope in her scheming blue eyes that she would find someone in the pub attractive, someone she could hook her up with. She hoped Louise wouldn't push her into doing something that would end in disaster for her. Given her track record, it undoubtedly would.

"Can you imagine? All this liquor and nice music and the men are just standing there at the bar."

"It is mind boggling."

"Now, there's a hunk, dear, standing at the bar all by his lonesome, looking like he needs someone to love." Louise grabbed Shannon's arm. "He's staring at you. Just look at those long legs! Oh God, I think I'm having cardiac arrest." She fanned her face with a menu.

Shannon felt a tap on her shoulder and turned. A big woman with a ring through her nose and a serpent tattooed on her neck asked her to dance. She politely declined.

"That's not what I had in mind," Louise clarified.

Shannon giggled. "I'm glad." Then she saw him leaning lazily against the bar. Handsome in a black leather jacket, tight fitting jeans and scuffed cowboy boots, and he was looking at her. Her breath caught in her throat, her pulse quickened. She blinked and looked again. He was gone. My God, he's in my thoughts, in my dreams. Peter's everywhere.

Just then the waitress appeared with their drinks.

"Shannon, are you all right?" Louise asked. "You look like you saw your worst nightmare."

Ain't that the truth. "What do you say we finish our drinks and leave? I'm pooped." And delusional.

***

There was something about racing along a highway that made Peter feel like he was flying. Well, if he left the road at this speed, he certainly would.

Though it was October he had the top down on his '68 Mustang, needing to feel the rush of cool air on his face and the wind surging through his hair. Yet, after he'd been driving like a speed demon for the last fifteen miles, his mind drifted back to the tavern where he'd been able to watch Shannon through the crowd of patrons without the distractions of the office and without worrying who was watching him watching her. He wanted to ask her questions. Nothing heavy. Questions any man would ask any woman he met in a bar. Thoughtless questions pitched at random. But he couldn't allow himself to do that because he feared her answers would only draw him in deeper.

God, she was so cute. Beautiful, really, if he wanted to be truthful. To him, she'd been just another customer grabbing a beer and a quick bite to eat until she turned toward him. No, he felt no hatred or resentment when he first noticed her sitting there with that elderly woman. Her rude behavior at the office hadn't entered his thoughts. He felt strange around her, drawn in by her beauty and strong will one minute, suspicious of her intentions the next, and incensed by her the entire time. It left him wanting. No other woman had this effect on him. Conflicting emotions weighed heavily on his chest, needing to talk about this whole situation with someone. Edward, he thought. No, he could talk to Edward about anything—anything—but this.

Who was she, really? A young woman who could have her pick of any of the eligible bachelors in the office, and yet, she paid no attention to any of them.

He downshifted into second and turned onto the crushed gravel of the long driveway leading to his house. He let out a sigh of annoyance and shifted into first. He needed to be alone with his thoughts. Thoughts he shouldn't be having in the first place. "Jesus." He had to do something about Shannon before he found himself doing something he shouldn't be doing.

He looked up at his newly renovated Victorian house and didn't feel the rush of pleasure he usually did. This evening it seemed more like a prison.

Bringing the car to a stop in the garage next to his wife's Mazda Supra, he shifted into reverse, killed the engine, let out the clutch and inched out of the car. Shuffling to the door, he hit the remote control and walked the short distance to the house.

"Where the hell have you been, Saint Peter?" Rebecca Montgomery asked, swinging the door open.

"Hello, darling." He brushed a kiss to a perfectly sculpted cheek, ignoring the sound of the door slamming behind him. He tossed his car keys on the ornate mahogany console.

Ah, home sweet home.

Chapter 3

—"Well, finally!"—

Peter dodged the big round center table with its enormous arrangement of fresh flowers and climbed the stairs two at a time. In the hallway, he hurried past their bedroom and into his study. He shut the door.

This was his sanctuary, furnished with antiques and the things he loved, not done up with the formal and expensive furnishings Rebecca preferred. She loathed the room with its ratty furniture and wouldn't step one foot into it. Where he saw beauty and charm, she saw ugliness.

He threw his leather jacket over a chair, took off his boots and undressed as he walked to the adjoining bathroom. Gathering his clothes in a bundle, he dumped them in the hamper and turned on the tap. He stepped into the shower and held his breath until his body adjusted to the cold water.

A few minutes later he toweled off vigorously, realizing the cold shower hadn't helped. "Jesus." He couldn't keep his thoughts from drifting back to Shannon.

Grimacing, he walked into the study, opened the closet door and took clean underwear, chino's and a shirt from the shelf. Not caring whether the clothes matched or not, he pulled them on, then stretched out on the Naugahyde sofa, its brown leather squeaking under his weight. He gazed up at the ceiling.

Why do I stay married to a woman I don't love? he asked himself. For what? But he knew the answer: for appearances, for status in the community and for what all of that could give him. Day after day he sacrificed happiness for his dreams and ambitions, but it was worth it. What seemed important to him years ago was just as important now.

"Peter, get down here and tell me where you've been all evening," Rebecca yelled from downstairs.

"On my way!"

He wound his way down the staircase. From the doorway leading into the living room he saw her sitting with a glass of wine held in a perfectly manicured hand. She turned and admired the curio cabinet with its rows of Royal Doulton figurines. He saw her face more clearly now. Flawless creamy complexion, perfectly shaped nose, long-lashed eyes and lips the palest of pinks.

Her eyes narrowed when she caught sight of him. "Well, finally!"

He walked to the bar and poured a brandy.

"Now, are you going to tell me where you've been?"

"It was business, Rebecca. I had an evening appointment with a client."

"Oh, that." She wrinkled her nose.

"What do you mean, 'Oh, that'?"

"What I mean, darling, is that this lawyering business you're so hell-bent on doing is a waste of time—"

Lawyering business? The woman infuriated him at times. He inhaled a deep, soothing breath. "A waste of time? Is that what you think of what I do?"

"What I mean is that I think it is a waste of your time when there's something more important you could be doing."

"Like working for your father?"

"You know Daddy wants you as counsel for his construction and lumber companies." She sipped her wine and smiled sweetly at him. "Not to mention the shares he's willing to give you just for coming on board."

"I can't believe you want me to give up my law practice." He didn't try to mask the annoyance in his voice. "You, of all people, should know how much it means to me."

"Relax, Peter. You'll still be practicing law, just not in a tacky law firm. I'm simply thinking about our future. Daddy will be retiring soon and you know I'm his only heir. Can't you see the benefits of accepting his offer? It's a win-win situation, Peter, as far as I can see." She took another sip of wine.

Christ, my own wife has no idea who I am. "It isn't going to happen, Rebecca."

She gazed into the bottom of her crystal wine glass and swirled what was left of the Chardonnay. When she looked up, her eyes followed him as he eased into a Victorian chair across from her, a smug look of satisfaction on her face.

He took a sip of brandy and shifted his weight in the chair.

She ran her fingers in cool circles around the rim of her glass, challenging him with her stare.

Finally, he broke the silence. "Well, whatever schemes you and Daddy have cooked up to get me to leave the firm, it won't work."

She flipped a hand in the air, brushing aside his words.

How like her. There never was any compromise. Hell, there never was any discussion for a chance to compromise. He looked at her through persecuted eyes. "Are we still having dinner with the Ramsey's tomorrow night?"

She smiled. "Yes, of course."

"That's great," he said without enthusiasm.

Chapter 4

—"An Indirect Approach"—

Edward McIntyre posed a dashing figure in his black topcoat and wide-brimmed hat as he strode toward his office. Later than usual this morning, he quickened his pace. Fallen leaves rustled beneath his feet, but he paid no attention to the splendor of late autumn. Nor did he stop to chat with friends as he usually did on his way to work. His manner was as brisk as the wind that whipped around him.

Though Sandy Point grew from a population of nine hundred of the 1700s—many of that number the Micmac Indian—to ten thousand, things never changed. The antique street lamps and the decades old maple trees lining the sidewalk that had seen better days could attest to that. To be progressive would be destructive, so the town council thought.

Despite a shopping mall gracing the outskirts of town the businesses passed down through generations thrived. Newcomers—though few and far between—shopped the mall, while those born and bred paid homage to the older enterprises, trades and crafts.

Sandy Point was just one of many of small towns freckling the northern tip of New Brunswick. The main industry was the land—farming, logging and mining, and fishing provided seasonal employment for many. The beauty of the area and the balmy summer days and cooler evenings brought the tourists.

Edward arrived at his office building and stepped from the crisp air into the cozy warmth of the foyer, noticing immediately the quiet of the office. Abnormal quiet, an anomaly at any time of the day. He checked his Timex. Almost nine o'clock. He wondered what his little "Injuns" were up to. If he knew anything, it was that, where there was quiet, there was mischief. He rushed up the stairs, ignoring the pain the sudden movements caused his arthritic hip.

His hurried, portly footsteps echoed in the silence and every instinct he had told him something was going on, something he wasn't going to like. He rounded the banister in a flourish of dynamic authority and chuckled when he saw his employees scattering in different directions like frightened banshees.

He would find out soon enough why his employees huddled together around the receptionist's desk. There were no secrets in this office.

***

Peter stood at the window in Edward's office with his hands in his pockets and watched her. The jacket she wore was big and baggy—like most of her clothes. The wind caught her hair, sending it in every direction across her face. God, she was beautiful.

He knew for awhile the conditions under which Shannon worked, but he couldn't say he lost any sleep over it. Knowing what he knew now, she probably deserved every sneer, every wisecrack and every malicious remark.

Shannon could easily have gone whining to Edward last night and Peter could right at this moment be stepping into something soft and foul smelling, but he doubted she'd done that. The situation between them gave him a moment's pause and inclined him to take an indirect approach with Edward. He wanted her gone from the office, but he needed to be careful not to tip his hand. He turned and looked at Edward sitting behind his desk. "Shoot anything yesterday, Ed?"

"Yep, shot the hell out of a bottle of scotch. Did you ever see a partridge up close, Peter? They've got these little doe-like eyes...." Edward shook his head. "My day wasn't a total bust, though. I did have a good time."

Peter laughed. "I'm sure you did."

"Anything interesting happen yesterday?"

"No. Same old thing."

"I'm happy to know you fellas can manage without me for a day."

"It was difficult, but we muddled through." Peter grinned.

"Now that we got the pleasantries out of the way, what's on your mind?"

It chagrined Peter he was so transparent. "I was just wondering how your new secretary is working out for you?"

"What do you mean?"

Peter turned from Edward's steely-eyed look and stared at the floor. "Well, I was just wondering if you had any complaints. You know, at the time you didn't want an extensive search for just the right secretary." He raised his eyes and looked at Edward. "If you remember, you had me contact her to set up an appointment for an interview. It just seems like someone called in a favor." He shrugged.

"Is there something bothering you?"

For a nanosecond, Peter felt a twinge of guilt. Though just a bit, it was unaccustomed. He had to go ahead, he told himself. He had no choice. If she stayed, if he allowed her to stay, well... he wouldn't think about that. "Don't you find her er...um...flippant?"

Edward ran a hand over the top of his head. "Are you referring to something specific, Peter?"

Damnit, why was Edward so attached to her? Because she was so young and alone did he feel the need to protect her? He felt like shaking some sense into him. "It's nothing specific, Ed. Perhaps it's me. I'm not accustomed to such brutal honesty." He stopped to study Edward with an intellectual keenness. "She's very outspoken and forthright, isn't she?" He inflected just the right measure of disillusionment in the question. When he turned his head toward the floor, his sad face wasn't a pretense. "But then it might be only a matter of understanding her manner and personality."

"I agree with you, Peter, she could be more tactful, but I'd have to chalk that down to age. I'm sure with the passage of time, experience will guide her to be less impulsive and more circumspect. It's my personal belief that those who learn through mistakes and hardships often turn out to be exceptional employees."

Edward's position regarding Shannon remained as loyal as ever, not that it would stop Peter from forging ahead with his plan. He had too much to lose if he didn't. "It amazes me how fast she can take shorthand and so damned accurate, too. There's never a word missed or out of place. It's just about unbelievable!"

"What was going on just now in the reception area?" Edward asked.

The abrupt change of subject caused Peter's heart to thump. Was the old lawyer astute enough to know what he had in mind for his secretary? "Heather had a showing of her nude portrait."

"Nude portrait? Here in the office?"

"Uh-huh."

"Christ."

***

Shannon was her usual feisty self this morning. Her coworkers might add saucy and impolite, but that was only because they hadn't gotten to know her. If they had, they would think differently.

It was a pleasant walk from her apartment building to the office. She always enjoyed it. It gave her time to appreciate the beauty around her. Her parents taught her that. To stop, to listen, and to make the most of life. Though she discovered it on her own, life never traveled in a straight line, nor was it black and white. She knew that all too well.

She stood outside McGovern House dressed for the biting November weather like Nanook of the North. The air she inhaled bit at her lungs and the air she exhaled frosted before her face. A northerly wind ruffled her hair. Overhead dark storm clouds promised more rain.

From several feet above her head, she noticed Peter watching her. Friend or foe? She didn't need to ponder that question.

What plans did he have for her? Though she could handle herself, she'd feel more confident if she could read his mind. He could handle himself too, she knew, and he also had much more experience than she. Not exactly a level playing field.

When she entered the coatroom a few minutes later, the room was as usual a gaggle of scandalmongers, huddling together. Silence engulfed the room, and didn't that just figure. Though she hadn't heard a word of what was being said, she knew they bad-mouthed someone. Maybe someone besides her, but probably not.

Irritation swept through her as she slipped off her coat and tried to remember these girls were her coworkers. Everyone knew they were gossips, but knowing they bad-mouthed her was just—Oh, what the hell. "Boo," she screamed, crossing her eyes and waving her hands wildly in the air before their faces as she walked past. She knew they watched her back with hatred in their eyes, but she didn't care. Uh-huh.

She breezed through the reception area with the energy of a woman about to move mountains. She was late. So, sue me, she thought, thumbing her nose in the air.

Gisele, the receptionist, looked at her and smiled superficially, answering an incoming call. "Good morning, McIntyre & Montgomery." She yawned and doodled on a message pad. "Yes, one moment, please. Who shall I say is calling?" Another yawn, another doodle. "Yes, I'm sorry, sir, you said your name is Mr. Horny who?" She pressed the telephone receiver hard against her ear. "Oh, Cliff Hornibrook."

Taking her seat behind her desk, Shannon looked through the open doorway and noticed Peter walking toward his office. He turned and stared at her. If a stare could kill...Peter had it in for her, she realized now with surety, but not only that, there were many ways he could do her in. A new fury assaulted her senses. What did he think he was doing? Maybe he thought her trash, like file thirteen, and easily disposed of. Disposed of. Cripes. That chimed an ominous peal.

Even in her scariest nightmare, she never dreamed she would be in a situation like this.

But if some jerk-off lawyer with a pretty face and a sexy voice wanted to make her an enemy, that was fine by her. Uh-huh.

What could she, a mere secretary, and low man on the totem pole of employees do? Pecking order. It all came down to pecking order.

Peter held a position of power, and she, none.

To turn him around, to win him over, she would have to make him like her again. Well, if he ever did. Oh yes, he liked her once. Before yesterday, before her mouth bulldozed common sense and diplomacy.

But she wasn't a doormat, either. She said what she thought, gave people the benefit of the doubt and trusted until given a reason not to.

People who played fair mostly lose.

Not this little red hen, though.

The little engine that could.

Nor would she curl into a fetal position. He could be ignorant, she'd be even more ignorant. And if he gave her the silent treatment, then she'd smile and act like she didn't care.

It seemed a simple plan. Maybe too simple.

She had some pondering to do.

Chapter 5

—"No Sense of Humor"—

By the time Peter reached his office, he almost convinced himself this was a bad dream. He picked up his legal foolscap and gave himself a paper cut. Nothing was going right. Nothing! Cursing, he sucked at the blood. Chill out, he told himself. Everything would proceed as he wanted. He just needed to lean a little more on Edward and apply more pressure on Shannon, enough pressure that she would forsake her job. He searched his desk drawers for a band aid. Coming up empty, he cursed again.

When he reached Abby's desk, he couldn't resist looking at Shannon.

Though just the sight of her could lure him into a wicked fantasy, he was more interested in her thoughts. He had no intention of sitting idly by and watch all of what he built for himself be destroyed by malicious gossip."Do you have a band aid, Abby? I have a paper cut."

"Oh, you pooooor baby," Shannon said.

He shook with anger. Later, he'd marvel at her strength, her impudence, her cute little freckled nose.

Now, he imagined just reaching out and choking the little twit over her steno pad. He wished he'd pressed the issue with Edward. God, she was rude and ignorant. But so damned cute. There was something definitely the matter with him.

"I wasn't talking to you." Noodle. Venom virtually spewed from his spittle as he held his middle finger in the air to slow the flow of blood.

"Thorn in my side," he mumbled, snatching the band aid from Abby's hand and wrapping it around his fingernail. He loathed to admit he overreacted. It was a flaw—one his wife was only too willing to throw in his face at every opportunity—but he cared less. He tried to think up ideas for his next move, but he was out of gas. Not a problem, he thought. Opportunities would eventually come.

***

Why the hell did he give her the finger? Shannon wondered. My God, these lawyers possessed no sense of humor at all!

The thoughts passed, though the anger she felt toward Peter didn't. She made mental notes—impeccable, stringent notes—through it all. Peter—conniving, ruthless and apparently with all the time in the world and nothing better to do with that time—would lay her inch by inch in the grave she dug for herself.

She took a soothing breath and cast Peter from her thoughts, vowing today would be better. The empty steno chair caught her attention. "Abby, what's her story?"

Abby followed the direction of Shannon's eyes. "That's Rose Bush. It's too long a story to get into now. I'll tell you later."

Shannon stared at the fichus sitting next to the steno chair. Abby obviously confused the two plants. Why would there be a story about a rose bush, though?

"What's new?" Abby asked.

"Not a thing. How about you?"

"Well, I heard something very interesting this morning."

Judging by the smug look on her coworker's face, Shannon surmised this was about her. She braced her back against her chair, remembering her promise. "I'm guessing it's about me. What is it?" She waited patiently while Abby placed paper clips in their dispenser then open a file. Did it warm Abby's heart to torment her this way?

"Well, Bridgit heard through the grapevine that Edward said he would terminate you if he weren't so close to retirement."

Her day just got worse. Terminate? Disposed of? Christ. "Mr. McIntyre said that about me?" She couldn't believe it. He seemed different than the others and he liked her, didn't he?

Abby shrugged. "It's not easy for them to break in a new secretary."

That sounded to Shannon like she was a bucking bronco and though she was beyond breaking in, they'd put up with her. Temper vibrated her body.

From the moment she stepped into the cloakroom this morning she should have known this would be a bitch of a day. "Did Bridgit say who said this?" Is he short? Is he tall? Is he hairy or bald?

"Peter, I guess."

Ahah, Shannon thought, of course. So, this was how he would play it. If he'd have any guts, he'd confront her, get everything out in the open. Now, she had no choice but to retaliate.

"Sarah, step into my office, please," Edward said from the doorway.

Why can't he remember my name? She looked at him and nodded. When she followed close behind on his heels, she felt as run over as the blacktop on a highway. The threat of debilitating hereditary diseases, terminal illnesses or insanity didn't bother her as much as the bizarre way the lawyers handled matters in this office.

Here in the inner sanctum of her legal scholar, she stood humbly in her new jumper and blouse buttoned to the neck. She was only five foot one, barely breaking one hundred pounds on the scale. Her clothes hung loosely from her body. Her slip was secured with a large safety pin to hold it steady on her tiny waist. She resembled a Raggedy Ann doll with a mind of its own.

Edward sat behind his desk, making swirling motions in the air with his index finger.

To anyone else he might have looked like he lost the doo in his cockle doodle. "An eraser is to the right of your desk." Right next to the bottle of Ginko Biloba.

He followed the direction of her outstretched finger. "Oh, so it is. Thanks, Sarah."

"My name is Shannon, Mr. McIntyre, not Sarah." She smiled shyly as a tiny muscle in her right eye twitched spasmodically. "Shannon Murphy." Remember?

"How do you spell dysfunctional, Sarah?"

"Y."

"Why? Because I asked you to, that's why."

The impatience in his voice caused her to take a step back and freeze. She felt like a wayward school kid. Like many of the lawyers in the firm, his look was fathomless. She studied the Oriental rug beneath her feet. After a moment's thought, she understood the confusion and spelled out 'dysfunctional', enunciating each letter.

He opened a file. "Now, would you take a letter to this dickhead, so I can get him off my back?"

After dictation ended, she stood, but made no attempt to leave. This latest rumor weighed heavily on her and the idea of Edward "just putting up with her" twanged. She studied him. His eyes told her nothing would surprise him. She hoped the deduction proved correct.

"Anything you want to talk about, Sarah?"

"Why don't you tell me why you're putting up with me." Blunt, truthful, and right to the point.

His brows squeezed together. "Excuse me?"

Maybe she was wrong. Maybe he hadn't heard and seen it all before. "I'm sorry. I should've prepared you." She knocked the side of her head. "I heard a rumor this morning you're putting up with me because you didn't want to train someone new since you're going to retire soon. Is there any truth to this rumor?" Again, blunt, truthful and right to the point.

"Yes, Sarah, it's true."

She inhaled a long breath, blinking away tears. Sadness quivered her lips. She was familiar with the feeling, studied with it, walked with it and woke to it every day for the past six months. Fighting the impulse to run—the impulse that would always be there now when it came to her employers—she sat.

Upon reflection, she couldn't understand why his words surprised her so. Edward never once complimented her on a job well done. Even when the work was exceptional. She was a fool to think that in time there would be compliments. The truth slapped her in the face. It hurt.

Edward leaned back in his chair and steepled his hands behind his head. "It's true I will retire some day, but not any time soon. And as far as the other thing goes, if I didn't want you here, you wouldn't be here. It's as simple as that."

This took her completely by surprise. She expected to hear discouraging remarks about her attitude and character and that her job would be short-lived. Edward looked as though he'd spoken the truth, she noted with a sigh of relief.

He squinted as though something just occurred to him. "Who told you this?"

"I'd rather not say, Mr. McIntyre, but not to worry, everything's fine now." She smiled. It was sincere.

"Is there anything else you want to talk about? Anything at all?"

The question was, despite her frenzied emotions, comforting. The terms of the feud Peter set, and the bad blood that flowed between them slowly disappeared from her thoughts.

She liked Edward because he saw all sides and wouldn't make a rash judgment. He didn't put up with bullshit either, but that didn't mean she could discuss her problems with the staff or Peter with him.

"When there's something to complain about, you'll hear me coming. Thanks, Mr. McIntyre." She wanted to jump across the desk and kiss him but resisted the urge.

***

Edward could see Shannon was being torn apart inside by office politics. The lies and betrayal had caused hurt. Some of which he knew, some he surmised. She wasn't having an easy time blending in, but he knew she'd do it. He also knew he'd enjoy watching her do it. Though she did her best to make it appear her job meant nothing to her, he knew differently.

Oh, he could confront everyone she had a run-in with—probably the entire staff—and force camaraderie. A Hail Mary from the end zone?

By God, wasn't she typical—hotheaded, pigheaded, one-minded. Most times he didn't know what he wanted to do more—hug her or choke her. He grinned.

Shannon would deal with whatever was going on with Peter and everyone else in her own way. He didn't know whether that was a good thing or a bad thing.

Despite what the signs told him, there was still an outside chance she was not as faultless as he initially thought. If she weren't, why wouldn't she discuss the matter with him?

The thought of having to let her go saddened him, and the thought of being forced or coerced into it angered him. He hired her and took her under his wing to repay a favor. Though the debt died with her father, it was a debt still owed, and Edward honored his obligations. There was that other thing, too, but that wasn't something he would tell Peter or anyone. Not now. Maybe not ever.

***

While nature transformed the colorful autumn into winter, the stories about Shannon throughout the office increased. Maybe it was because she upset the status quo too many times with her forthright manner that now no one would spit on her if she were on fire. It was so true birds of a feather flocked together.

"Have you heard the latest about our witch?" One of the girls asked.

"No," chorused the other two.

The speaker paused as she washed her hands while the others impatiently watched.

"Well, apparently, she made a move on Peter."

"A move? What do you mean?"

"She made it known she was interested in him in more than a professional way."

"Oh, my God. No."

"You've got to be kidding."

There were short intakes of breath.

"I don't believe it."

"Believe it. Peter told me himself. The poor man was so distraught. He doesn't know how to let her down nicely. He is so in love with his wife."

"That bitch," three of them exclaimed.

"I wouldn't put it past her. She thinks she's the cock of the walk with that curly red hair and holier than thou attitude."

"Is Peter going to fire her?"

"No, I guess not. He's such a sweetheart," the speaker confided.

"Speaking of her, did you hear what she said to him the other day?"

"No, what?"

"Well, Peter asked her to get him a coffee, and she told him to get it himself.

"Oh, my God," three of the four exclaimed.

"I can't wait for the day she gets her walking papers. The office hasn't been the same since she came on board."

"Me, neither."

"I'm with you on that."

"Me, too."

The door of the washroom closed.

Shannon unfolded her legs from beneath her and stepped from the toilet. She opened the door of the stall. Tears blurred her vision when she peeked out.

Her thoughts were her only companions these days. She'd been over this a thousand times in her head and still she couldn't come up with any logical explanation why her coworkers disliked her so.

She had a rush of memory of being liked and loved, of being sought out by her friends and classmates. She dabbed at her eyes with a tissue, looking into the mirror. The worried expression on her face was as habitual as the anxiety that flushed her body at will.

Nothing in her life was the way it should be.

Chapter 6

—"And We Have Fine China Too"—

Shannon watched Mike Brown, the office manager, move into her and Abby's office, pumping out his chest. "How's your work load, Shannon?"

"Busy." She gave away nothing.

"It's come to my attention that the floor of the vault is in dire need of a good scrubbing."

She fumed and the question had yet to be asked. She jutted her chin as she always did at these times and said nothing.

"We thought, um, maybe, in your spare time, um, you could take care of it."

So, now Peter wanted her to scrub floors. She rolled her eyes and, when the gesture went unnoticed, considered slamming her head against her desktop. What would be the point, though? "Who do you mean by "we", Mike?"

"Er...um...management, of course."

"Ah." She expected nothing more. Peter was behind this. No one would convince her otherwise. "Do you want me to supervise the cleaning staff while they scrub the floor?"

He frowned. "Sorry, you must have misunderstood. I meant for you to scrub the floor. You can run across the street and buy rubber gloves for your hands. The firm has no problem with that."

"Are the rubber gloves an enticement?"

"Well, no, the gloves are meant to protect your hands," he snapped.

"Ahah, I see." She became very involved in the shape of her nails.

"Well?" he prompted.

What a dumb ass. She sizzled. "No," she said, giving him a look that said get-out-of-my-face-before-I- clobber-you-with-a-two-by-four.

He left the office with his tail between his legs. It looked good on him. Her intercom buzzed. "Yes?"

"Would you step into my office, please."

She stammered unintelligible sounds into the mouthpiece. She thought he wouldn't want anything more to do with her. That's how she felt.

"Is there a problem, Shannon?"

"No, no. I'll be right there, Mr. Montgomery."

I'm not afraid of him. I can give as good as I get. She repeated that mantra to herself with each tiny step. Still, she entered his office feeling apprehensive and thinking he was alone. The four men sitting around his desk caused her to stop abruptly. Now what does Peter have in mind?

"Would you be a dear and bring us coffee?" Peter turned his attention to the gentlemen and asked their pleasures.

I'm a secretary, not a maid. She took their orders in shorthand—coffee with two lumps of sugar with milk, coffee black, coffee with one lump and powdered creamer—light if you have it. Then, as if to confuse even more, tea, with lemon (and we have fine china, too), if you have it and if not, a smidgen of sugar with milk enough to color it. Then came the most unenlightening request of all, Peter's with "you know how I take it, dear."

She stomped to the lunchroom. Noticing the empty coffee carafe, she filled the percolator with water. While waiting for water to boil for tea, she perused her shorthand notes and stopped rigidly still as her eyes stared at the open bag of granulated sugar on the counter. Tapping a foot on the ceramic floor and drumming her nails on the countertop, she wondered, one lump, one teaspoon? Two lumps, one teaspoon? She read further down the page. A smidgen? Cripes. At the bottom of the page was "black." She knew that meant no cream of any sort, but did that mean no sugar too? Frig.

"Can I get you anything else, sir?" she asked, placing the tray on his desk. She grabbed her pen from atop her ear and placed it on her note pad.

"No, that will be all, Shannon. Thank you."

She was able to reach her desk and get seated before her intercom buzzed again. Peter wanted her back in his office, "pronto to take a letter." This was becoming a bad habit.

When she entered his office, he ushered her to sit in his chair as he perched himself on the corner of the desk. She rapped her pen against her steno pad while waiting for him to begin dictation. A nearby wristwatch ticked minutes away. Hurry up, she telepathically prompted him. She had work to do for Edward he wanted yesterday. He'd think her terribly incompetent and inefficient if he learned the two mortgages, three deeds, company incorporation and the opinion letter were yet to be done. She looked up at Peter, thinking it would only take a single stick of dynamite to get him moving. Right up the ass.

Shannon, near the point of screaming out her impatience as precious minutes passed, poised her pen on the white green ruled page of her steno pad and sang, "I'm ready when you are, Mr. Montgomery." When she noticed five pair of eyes appraising her, she smiled impishly. Was that a no-no, too?

Finally, Peter began. She took shorthand notes—slow shorthand notes. What's the matter with him? she wondered. Why's he dictating at a snail's pace? Where did the hypersonic dictator go?

Now, he ceased dictation altogether.

She sneaked a peek at him. Cripes, get a move on. I have things to do. Edward will blame me, not you, when he learns his work isn't done.

As she individually assessed the clients, he took that moment to begin dictation again. Startled, her pen flipped from her nervous fingers and flew through the air. Not deterred in the least, she reached over and grabbed not only the pen from his shirt pocket but a few of his chest hairs as well. When he yelped, she thought he'd speared himself with the corner of the desk. Yippee.

Peter came to the last of the dictation. "Can you get right on that while these gentlemen wait?" He oozed a southern gentleman's charm.

"Sure. No problem." Numbskull.

So, this was how it would be.

She liked working for Edward. How could she keep her job? She shouldn't do anything to jeopardize that.

What did she have going to herself? Well, when she was given time to do it, her work was exceptional. That didn't always keep a secretary employed, though.

Edward seemed to like her. A good point in her favor.

What was against her?—Peter and the fact he hated her. Very important facts.

Another fact was that he was handsome. A girl could get caught up in that if he wouldn't be so annoying. Easily annoyed too, she thought with a flush of amusement. If things were different, she could see herself with Peter.

With a little ingenuity and patience, she could be just as devious and manipulative. Furious with herself, she blocked those thoughts. I'm thinking like a lawyer. She'd rather be burned at the stake.

Chapter 7

—"Jesus, Mary and Joseph"—

In the sunlight that was her dream Shannon strolled through the grass and wild flowers leading to the sandy beach of Crystal Park. The soft breeze of a sultry summer day caressed her, rippling through her hair. She embraced the warmth of the sun on her face. A blue jay trilled in the distance. She walked onto the beach, her bare feet inching into fine sand. She continued toward the tranquil water of the bay up ahead.

The insistent buzz of her alarm jarred her awake. She stared at the red illuminated dial. 8:20—time to get up. She glanced over her shoulder. No, he wasn't a figment of her imagination. He was there, sleeping beside her—an early Christmas present to herself.

Though Miguel was blessed with limitless patience and the ability to sit and listen, he had little to say and was inept at dispensing words of wisdom. He didn't have the IQ of Einstein, but few males did, she felt. Still, though, she found him intelligent.

"Miguel," she called. "Yoohoo, bud, are you awake?" A trumpet sound of falsetto notes blasted the bedroom. She remembered the games they played last night, different from the games she played with Peter at the office. I must have been too much for him, she thought with a giggle. She tickled his chest.

His eyes opened. She smiled as she looked into a face that only a mother could love. "Need to go potty, mama's big boy?" she asked her little Chihuahua.

At ten o'clock that morning Shannon stood with Miguel in her arms looking at the small sign. Dr. Gustav Ostrosky, Veterinarian.

Is this a mistake?

With that question rolling around in her head, she opened the door and stepped into a sterile and impersonal waiting room. She walked over to the receptionist. "Miguel Murphy for his ten o'clock."

She'd been told neutering would stop the little chief from being so frisky and wanting to shag her foot at every opportunity. If surgery would put an end to all that, then a little discomfort now would be worth it.

The receptionist showed them into a small inner room. "The doctor will be with you shortly."

A few minutes later a door opened and closed. She turned toward the sound.

"Good morning, Ms. Murphy. I'm Dr. Ostrosky. And who do we have here?" He paused as he read from the clipboard. "Ah, castration."

As though Miguel understood what was about to happen to him, he shook uncontrollably and tried to claw his way out of her arms. Before she could reconsider her decision, the vet pried him loose from her fierce hold.

"He should be ready to go around five o'clock today, if you want to come back for him at that time." He patted her hand. "He's going to be just fine."

***

At five o'clock Shannon entered the veterinarian's office.

"Oh, good, you're here, Ms. Murphy," Dr. Ostrosky said, entering the reception area the same time as Shannon, but from the opposite direction. He indicated for her to sit.

She sat. Diminutive spikes of apprehension coursed through her body at the vet's solemn countenance. Oh Lord, something happened to poor little Miguel. Why can't anything ever go right for me? Her knowledge of neutering was limited, but she didn't think it would be life-threatening. A snip here, a snip there, and it's time to rock and roll. Wouldn't that be the case?

Dr. Ostrosky took a seat next to her. "There was a slight complication to Miguel's castration." With that said, he paused.

"Oh?" She brought herself forward in her chair.

"I discovered a hernia and removed that as well."

"Yes, go on." She felt another nip of apprehension.

"As a result, I had to administer a bit more anesthetic than usual. Because of that, Miguel might still be somewhat groggy tomorrow, but should be back to his former self by Monday." He smiled. "Well, almost."

***

Sunday dawned with a bright sun and a temperature that remained far below the freezing mark, but Shannon was snug in her apartment. With a cup of cocoa in her hand, she walked over to Miguel. He was only semi-conscious, definitely not yet his frisky self. Well, he might never be that again, she conceded. She examined his incisions for what seemed the millionth time. Everything looked okay. She touched his nose, finding it cold and wet.

The phone rang.

Who would call her at this hour on a Sunday morning? It had better be important. Especially after the long, sleepless night she had. Sleep hadn't come until the wee hours of the morning, then dreams of lawyers tormented her enough she felt she hadn't slept at all.

"Hello."

"Shannon," came the voice through the telephone lines to her home she was so accustomed to hearing at the office.

"Yes." Jesus, Mary and Joseph. It's him. He's calling me at home now. God, that's all she needed. Peter calling her at home. Now she wouldn't even have any peace at home. Wasn't it enough for him to give her grief from nine to five, five days a week?

"It's Peter."

Who? With these lawyers that question would be tantamount to blasphemy. Okay, she told herself, you're not paying attention. It was always wiser to pay attention to any lawyer, no matter what you thought of him. Prudent advice. She should take it. She bit her tongue. "Yes, Mr. Montgomery."

"Did I wake you?"

For Chrissakes, you ass, it's 7:35 in the morning. On a Sunday. She blinked. Oh, man, it was way too early in the morning for this. A woman needed Valium to deal with this man at any time of the day. "No, I'm up."

"Could I prevail upon your good nature to get you to come into the office to prepare a subpoena for me?"

"Oh, geez, Mr. Montgomery, any other time I wouldn't hesitate to say yes, but I'm in a bit of a predicament myself at the moment." Under these circumstances, there was no way she could leave Miguel alone. Normally, she'd run across the hall and ask Louise to look after him, but her neighbor wouldn't be home until later that night.

"I wouldn't ask if it were not an emergency, Shannon. I really need your help. Surely, there can't be anything that pressing that you can't put it aside for awhile, is there?"

She noticed how quickly he turned authoritative. With a two-step to the side she asked, "What about Abby? Can't she come in?"

"I can't reach her. You're my last resort."

She didn't like to be anyone's last resort. Maybe she would have fallen for a little flattery and a little begging. Maybe then she would have thought about the possibility of complying with his request. Angry thoughts formed into nasty words gathering at the back of her throat, aching to be belched. But she wouldn't give him that satisfaction, and she wouldn't do the yelling she wanted to do because that was exactly what he pushed her to do.

Holding the telephone receiver tightly against her ear, she gave the room a hideous grimace before telling him the very good reason why she couldn't oblige him. He surprised her by saying he had no problem with her taking Miguel to the office, why, he would even pick them up and bring them back.

If he had the sense God gave a goose, he'd have hung up already. Instead, he insisted on the only answer he would accept. She drew deeply from an inner resolve and clung tightly to the hard core of angst in the pit of her stomach. Peter had moved in and taken over her thoughts and actions, shifted her safe little world into something she could take little pleasure in, then, without even a little warning, had invaded her home. How could she possibly put an end to all of that?

Okay, a small, realistic voice in her mind asserted, maybe she was being self-indulgent. But not overly so.

If she said a flat "no" and hung up without giving him a chance to persuade even more, it would be one more black mark against her. Well, she wouldn't give him any more ammunition to use against her. "Okay, Mr. Montgomery."

"Great," he said. "I'll be by in ten minutes."

Ten minutes! Christ. She dropped the receiver in its cradle. Shit and Goddamnit. She'd have to spend part of her Sunday with Peter. One of the two days meant for her, to do with what she would. God, how she needed that time to fortify herself for the coming week.

She babbled to Miguel. "Maybe I should hex him. No, better yet, a curse."

Voodoo black magic seemed her only recourse.

When Peter pulled to the curb in front of her apartment building, she inhaled deeply, built up courage, and ran out. Holding Miguel tightly in her arms, she hopped into the car.

"Thanks, Shannon, for doing this favor for me," he said.

It came to him easily, she thought, the self-confidence, the control of any situation. "No problem." Uh-huh.

Shy, and at the same time, scared to be in such close quarters and alone with him, she looked out the side window. The landscape rolled slowly past. Dull and drab. It was Sunday and early, but people still crowded the streets and the coffee shops. She glanced sideways at him, but couldn't see his eyes behind the sunglasses. Just as well. She probably wouldn't like the look that might be in them. Hugging Miguel tightly against her breasts, she looked back out the window, appearing totally absorbed with the sights.

The cynical part of her—one that grew more so with each passing day—waited for the incident that would annihilate her, while the naive little girl in her believed that soon everything would change for the better. Wishful thinking? Maybe.

She proofread the subpoena and compared the finished product with Peter's draft. Everything was in order. It was a simple form. Filling in the blanks hadn't been difficult. It was something he could have done.

She met Peter in the hallway. He held Miguel under his arm.

"Lose something?"

"Oh my, oh my, I hope he didn't dislodge any stitches," she said, taking Miguel from his outstretched hand. "He shouldn't be walking yet." If anything happens to my dog because of you, you'll pay an unbelievable price. I'll be a boil on your ass, a thorn in your side, and your worst nightmare all rolled into one.

Peter stood behind her on the dimly lit landing and whispered her name. With Miguel in the crook of her left arm, Shannon put her right hand on the newel post and looked over her shoulder. He leaned forward, coming within inches of her face. With the speed of a panther, she turned away and made a move toward the stairs. As she did, she hooked her right foot with his. With the powerful momentum she had going and a force she wasn't aware she was capable of, she accidentally sent the barrister tumbling down the stairs.

From the top of the stairs she watched in horror as he bounced from one step to the next, hearing his cries of pain and bellows of fright until he landed twisted like a pretzel in the foyer.

"Omigod, Mr. Montgomery, are you all right?" she asked, bounding down the staircase. She knelt beside him on the floor. He looked a funny sight with his hair in his eyes and his shirttail hanging out of his pants. Now is not the time to laugh, she told herself.

"Arf, arf."

Shannon shushed Miguel.

Peter sat up with a grimace. "Jesus, Shannon, what are you trying to do to me?"

"Me?" she yelled. "It was you, Mr. Montgomery. You scared me when you tried to kiss me."

"Kiss you? Are you out of your mind? I noticed your Goddamn dog was slipping from the blanket. I didn't want him falling down the stairs." He massaged the back of his neck. "Christ, I'm lucky I didn't break my freaking neck."

"Oh." It was all she could think of to say. She blushed, thinking she'd jumped to another incredible conclusion.

In the car, Shannon was not into idle chatter. With good reason. Neither was Peter. With good reason. Her thoughts wandered. A shiver traveled up her spine. It had been a dreadful week. God, the past few weeks had been simply dreadful. She rolled the window down a crack and breathed in the cool frosty air.

At her apartment building, he thanked her and said, "I'll remember it," with a wink and a little cry of pain.

Remember what? she wondered. The favor or the fall. "Anytime," she said and hoped there never would be. "Bye, bye, see you tomorrow." Nincompoop.

Chapter 8

"Mouse Turds – If Only They Were" —

Shannon sat at her desk and watched the traffic in the hallway, wishing someone would stop and say "Hi". No one did. She sighed. No one liked her. She didn't know why.

That she didn't run from the unspoken commitment she made to Edward or her job was a statement of her strong will. She kept a steady pace, a strong jaw and a relentless calm. Peter's evil eye every now and then when no one watched didn't deter her. Nor did his gruff voice when there wasn't anybody around to hear. Most of the time she took what he handed out with a smile. At those times when she couldn't smile...well, didn't he deserve the rude remark? Maybe he'd get his comeuppance. If that time came, she hoped she would still be around.

The ring of her telephone startled her. "Good morning, Edward McIntyre's office."

"And a good morning to you, too. This is Ferdinand Chiasson from Avco. Could I borrow the book on Judy Couture? I'll have it back to you in a couple of days."

"I can't see any problem. I'll check with Mr. McIntyre and get back to you. What's your telephone number?"

Edward's name was on the tip of her tongue when she entered his office, but he hadn't arrived yet. She continued on to her second choice and found him sitting behind his desk.

Standing in the open doorway, she cleared her throat.

Peter looked up from the file he reviewed, did a double take, then winced.

She stifled a giggle, happy—mea culpa—that he suffered aches and pains from his fall. "Mr. Montgomery, I'm sorry to disturb you, but Ferdinand Chiasson from Provincial Finance would like to know if he can borrow the book on Judy Couture. He said he'll have it back in a couple of days."

He gave her a vacant stare.

A lawyer at a loss for words. Go figure.

She felt conspicuous under his close scrutiny. The hair prickled on the back of her neck. She was about to turn and run when Peter laughed.

"Shannon, you just made my day."

She glowed inside, thrilled she could make anyone's day, even if it was at the expense of someone laughing at her. "Excuse me, sir?" A goofy look replaced her earlier frightened one.

"Shannon, it's the Judicature Act." He turned in his chair, cried out, took the statute from the shelf and handed it to her. "Fetch me a cup of coffee, will ya?"

Fetch me, will ya? She managed a smile. "Certainly, sir. Refresh my memory, how do you take it?" Remembering how anyone liked their coffee was not up there on her 'important to remember' list.

"Two sugars, cream, not that powdered stuff." He twisted his nose.

Because she felt she deserved it, though just a bit, there was no comeback, but that didn't make it any easier for her to "fetch" for Peter. Or anyone besides Edward. She'd gladly jump through fiery hoops for him. He had only to ask.

She tucked the Judicature Act firmly under her arm and stomped to the lunchroom, mumbling, "I'm not man's best friend. Peter's not my master." With each step, the angrier she became. Her butt clenched so tightly a dentist wouldn't have been able to slip a length of waxy dental floss in the crack.

She stared at the nearly empty coffee pot with fire in her eyes. Dregs. How fitting. After filling a cup with what remained in the carafe, she noticed coffee grounds floating on the surface. They resembled mouse turds. If only they were. "Now didn't he say he liked it with no sugar and powdered creamer?"

She stopped outside Mike's office. "Hi, Mike," she sang out from the doorway. Mentally, she screeched jerk.

Mike looked up from his desk and adjusted his tie. He ran his finger inside his shirt collar from one side to the other. Then he massaged his aching neck muscles.

A worthy show, one too great for words. "How's everything going?" Her smile dimpled her cheeks.

"It's drudgery."

Tell me about it, she thought. "Busy?" Village idiot.

Mike gestured to the mess on his desk.

She looked at the spreadsheets, ledgers, journals, deposit books covering the desktop, and of course his partial denture, resting as proudly as peacocks on a bare spot on the hardwood surface. She wondered if they were ever where God had made a place for them.

"You have a good day, Mike." You ass.

With her pen resting on top of her ear, the Judicature Act in one hand and a cup of coffee in the other she served Peter's coffee with a sweet smile. "Sorry about the coffee. I'm not at all domesticated," she apologized, plainly without remorse.

He stared into his coffee mug. "You didn't put anything in this, did you?"

She wondered if he felt he deserved it, or did he feel she felt he deserved it? "Anything like?"

"Anything that shouldn't be in a cup of coffee."

"Are you trying to charm me again, Mr. Montgomery?" Enjoying the moment—there were so few—she ran her tongue slowly over her top lip.

"Whaat?"

"I said, are you—"

He waved his hand in the air and grimaced. "I heard you the first time."

She couldn't hold back a grin, nor could she cover up the look of amusement she was certain swept her face. If ever there came a chance to catch him off-guard, then seize the moment. It was becoming her philosophy.

"I asked you a question, Shannon." His voice was stern.

"Nothing more than usual," she answered with a cheeky smile and a flutter of her eyelashes. She was about to ask him if he wanted her to scrub his floor when movement outside his window caught her attention. It had started to snow.

She bounced in place and exclaimed with the enthusiasm of a child for winter's first snowfall, "Look, look, Mr. Montgomery, it's snowing, it's snowing."

He looked out the window and shrugged. "I don't get excited until I see six inches."

"I don't get excited until I see six inches either."

So there.

Chapter 9

"They're like animals, attacking from the back"—

Shannon jumped when a hand tapped her shoulder. Jesus. They're like animals, attacking from the back. Will she ever get accustomed to them? She turned in her steno chair and stared at the man wearing a fruity wool vest over a shirt under a corduroy jacket, brown loafers and brown cords. "Yes?"

"Are you Shannon?" he inquired.

"You bet yer bootie I am."

"We haven't been formally introduced. I'm Charles Anderson. I'll be articling here for the next few months." He extended his hand.

She wondered if he patronized her, but placed her hand in his nevertheless. "Nice to meet you, Charles, or is it Charlie?" What's up, Chuck?

"Charles is fine."

Uh-huh. Just as she suspected. A stuffed shirt, but cute, in a penal code sort of way.

"Welcome aboard," she offered. Whatever Mr. Charles Anderson, soon to be Charles Anderson, Esq., BA, LLB, had in mind she wasn't in the mood for. Patience was best possessed by those who were not impetuous or curious by nature.

"I was told if I needed anything typed before I was issued a secretary, I should seek your expertise." He handed her three sheets of yellow legal-size foolscap as though it were a fait accompli.

"Oh, really." She didn't need to ask, knowing instinctively who offered her services so freely. She looked at the pages clenched tightly in her hand. There were numerous cross-outs, deletions and insertions, riders written on the reverse and his writing was barely legible. The one writing utensil Charles hadn't used was crayon.

"There's no rush," Charles said. "When you have time to fit it in with your schedule is fine. My desk is on the third floor at the rear."

She opted to do his letter first but for no other reason than to just get it out of the way. She did quite well deciphering his handwriting and picking up his grammatical errors.

After delivering the letter to him, she peeked into Edward's office. He'd just arrived. She watched him from the doorway. Was it just her imagination or was he moving slower these days? When she got to her desk, Edward awaited her. "I just saw you in your office."

"You're joking." Edward stepped closer to her. "When?"

"Just now."

"I was in my office?"

"Yes, you were."

"That's one of the things I love about you, Sarah. Your conviction." He beckoned her with a crook of his finger.

"What's another one?" she asked, keeping step with his lengthy stride.

"Another what?"

"Thing you love about me. One implies more, you know." God, how she needed compliments. Pathetic.

He glanced at her, took a few more steps, stopped and scratched his head. "No, that's the only thing," he said and continued toward his office.

Didn't that just figure?

She stopped abruptly in the breadth of the doorway, unable to move any farther as a sudden thought struck her. This was it. The end: I'm sorry, Shannon, but I'm going to have to let you go. I'd like you to know I gave the matter a great deal of consideration and how much this decision grieves me. I thought we would be working together for a very long time, but unfortunately, things don't always work out the way we plan or want.

Words she dreaded to hear, but knew were almost inevitable. Goddamnit. Somehow, she managed to screw herself again. It was becoming a familiar feeling and not at all enjoyable. Fright tingled her toes. Her hands grew cold and clammy. The nervous tic in her eye became more than an intermittent beat.

Edward, now behind his desk, beckoned her. The only sound was the pattering of feet from the hallway, the only movement a cocking of his left brow. He stared in silence, stone cold.

She was puzzled. If he intended to fire her, why did he want her behind his desk? Did he want to spank her, too? Oh God. No one had ever spanked her before. The blood rushed from her head. She swallowed loudly and braced herself with a gram of courage. It wasn't much, but it fortified her enough to take teensy and tentative steps toward him. At long last she stood beside him. She looked up, her five foot frame dwarfed by his towering build, and followed the direction of his outstretched finger.

"Can you explain this?"

"Good God," she exclaimed, looking at the floor. "That's Miguel's." She plucked tissues from the box on his desk and gathered up the bundle of poop.

Minutes later, when she told him how that came to be, his raucous laughter did wonders for her failing spirits.

"Oh, while you're here, take a letter to this bubblehead so I can lay this matter to rest once and for all."

She returned to her desk to find Charles' letter sitting atop her printer. He wanted it done with the grammatical errors. She called up the letter on the screen and made the changes, then removed her initials from beside his. Charles would have his way, but not with evidence she typed the letter. She saved the amendment and printed another copy.

After delivering the letter to Charles, she opened Edward's mail. The junk mail and sales advertisements were left for him to do with as he would. His bills went unopened, as was any envelope marked "Personal and Confidential". There were two of those this morning. She thought the letter from one of the banks was a request for mortgage documents, until she read it. A half-minute later, she could feel all of her natural rosy color draining from her face. The letter stated that "because of your secretary's rude behavior toward one of our loans officer the bank will no longer recommend your law firm to its clients." Cripes, that would be me they're referring to. The terms were certain, the gist undeniable.

She would have fed the letter to the paper shredder and Edward would've been no wiser—ain't that the truth— except for the fact she never had any contact with any loans officer at any of the banks the firm did business.

Besides, it wasn't her style to lie or mislead.

Maybe it was a mix-up. Someone else with the same name as hers, but at another law firm. Could it be as simple as that? Possible, but not probable. Peter had to be behind it. An intense desire to chop-it- his-bobbitt overcame her. She brushed the desire aside before she could act on it, thank God. Well, she'd let Edward deal with it, but that wasn't to say she liked this latest turn of events. Like an automaton, she mentally recorded this happening.

When she laid the mail on Edward's desk, her heart pounded. The complaint was the first on top. She waited while he read it.

"Have you read this?" He looked at her out the top of his glasses.

"Yes, sir, I have," she answered with a stiff upper lip.

"Is there any truth to the allegation?"

"No, sir. None whatsoever."

"Thank you, Sarah. That will be all for now."

She left his office and strode toward her desk, a certain spring in her step. That hadn't been so bad and not at all what she'd expected.

Thinking about the accusation, she wondered how could Peter talk a bank manager into doing something like that? It was petty, childish, something she would do if she had the power.

It wasn't anything for her to worry about, though. Edward would clear it up if it was a misunderstanding and if it weren't, then he'd get to the bottom of it. She hoped she wasn't putting too much faith in him. If she lost her job...well, she wouldn't let herself imagine it.

When she looked into Peter's office a few minutes later, she noticed him looking at her. Her face broke out in a victorious smile, staring back at him until he turned away. Chicken-livered pansy.

***

Edward stopped by Shannon's desk just before closing. It had been a hectic day and she was pooped and not in the mood for any of his questions or confusion. She noticed a certain "je ne sais quoi" about him she found contagious.

"Got that little problem ironed out," he said, jerking his head toward his office.

"And?"

"Confusion of names."

So, from her ever-sharpening power of deduction, she inferred he spoke with the bank manager who wrote the letter of complaint, and after a thorough and lengthy telephone discussion, determined she wasn't the one after all the bank manager referred to.

To ask him for the details of his conversation with the bank manager would only serve as an opportunity for him to say, The details are not what is important here, Sarah. What is important, though, is to know the matter has been resolved.

"Thanks, Mr. McIntyre."

"No problem, dear. Without you my days would be bored by legal work."

She didn't know if that was a compliment or not, but she'd take it as one. There were so few of them. She looked again across the hall at Peter and smiled like an imp.

She had never placed too much thought, if any at all, on whether or not to check out the caliber of a lawyer she might be working for when she applied for this job. Having integrity and strong morals were just as important for a lawyer to have as their capability in the law. It was a hard lesson being learned.

Chapter 10

"What's One Dead Lawyer?"—A Step In The Right Direction!"

Shannon looked out the frosted panes of glass of her living room window. Below, the city slowly came to life. The sun broke the horizon, sprouting sunbeams into the sky, promising to be a bright and sunny but cold, day. Horns blared by impatient drivers at pedestrians risking collisions rather than await a walk light. A bus pulled to the curb, exhaust fumes billowed in the air in large bluish clouds in angry protest to the frigid temperature. Collars were pulled up around ears, hands were blown into, on the spot jigs were danced. From high above, within the comfortable warmth of her home, it was an interesting sight. She turned away, checked the time and sighed.

She hadn't slept well, barely at all, in fact. In the hours she'd lain awake her thoughts darted from her verbal encounters with Peter to the skill with which he manipulated. He'd crossed the line with that letter. It wasn't something he would ever be able to justify.

She accepted the blows Peter landed, sometimes turning the other cheek. She admitted it was easier to dislike him when he was rude. When he was sweet—though she knew it was a pretense—it was more difficult to be angry. She tightened her grasp around her hair pick. The fact that his machinations hadn't yet caused her to leave was a little victory. She couldn't deny she enjoyed the fight, but she'd enjoy winning even more. She grinned with absolutely no dignity and cocked a brow. It was dangerous to tempt fate.

It might be impossible for her to hold her own with him, but she had to try. She thought about his behavior toward her and came to the only conclusion that seemed sensible. Bit by bit, he boxed her in. She resented it.

Oh, he made it appear like nothing was asunder, but she knew better. She saw the way he looked at her when he thought no one was looking. His politeness, his chattiness, his pleasantness was all an act. She'd like to give him a taste of what he inflicted on her. How was she to do that when she was in no position to do so? He forced into this situation, and the past few weeks showed her what a formidable opponent he was, but that only ignited her competitive streak and her need to win.

After hours of lying awake, sleep finally came to her. Her dreams were of victories, tongue lashings and physical pummeling. Peter took it like a man. If this was a premonition of the future, she would eagerly embrace it. If it meant her troubles with him would soon come to an end, she'd take it. She was becoming a bitter, vengeful witch and by God, she liked it. It was her life, her energy and interest now.

When she won, Peter would have no choice but to accept her and to dispense with whatever other plans he had in store for her. When this was over, and it would eventually be, her day-to-day activities would no longer have the passion they do now.

How would she ever live a humdrum life again?

***

The city transit bus, usually warm despite the chilling outdoor temperature, was cold. The engine thrashed and clanged as it sputtered and coughed, the sounds of a valiant fight for life. Then, it gave one last loud belch and gave up the fight completely.

She followed the line of passengers onto the street and looked back at the broken down monstrosity. She needed to get to the office early, before anyone else, and now her ride broke down. She'd use up precious time to go back for her car. With a sigh, she began walking.

For the first time since she'd started working she had to use her key to enter. Dashing up the stairs, she hoped no one else was in the building. She couldn't afford getting caught. A quick surveillance of the offices confirmed no one had arrived yet. Awright! She sprinted into his office, hauled his chair away from his desk and placed the small package on the seat.

With a smug smile, she bounded down the stairs, remembering to lock the door behind her.

***

When Shannon arrived back at work, Peter stood at Abby's desk. She returned his stare. "What?"

"Shannon, maybe you should try to get a good night's sleep rather than hitting all the bars in town at night. Carousing can have a negative affect on a person's health."

"So can a stick of dynamite up an ass," she mumbled beneath her breath. The dig infuriated her. By God, didn't he know what to say? She gave him a look that said, lay off me or else.

"Problems?" he asked.

"Honestly, if one more thing goes wrong in my life, I'll shoot him." She jerked her eyes from his and ran a hand through her hair, dragging her nails along her scalp and immediately regretted it. She'd wanted to distract herself from a volcanic eruption of temper that burst with a conviction to be set free, but instead it showed him how close she was to losing it.

When he left, she glared after him. She wanted to yell obscenities at him, but couldn't. She wanted to tell him he was a third rate lawyer and a fourth class person, but couldn't. This wasn't going very well, certainly not the way she dreamed it.

***

Peter was livid. He jumped from his chair. His gaze caught Shannon's across the hall. She was looking at him. It was her! Witch. He caught himself and sat back down. He forced a smile and took the mug in his hand and read the inscription again. "What is one dead lawyer? - A step in the right direction!"

He inhaled deeply and placed the mug on his desk. It was blue, a baby's blue. He hated the color. Absolutely hated it. Did she know that? Little elves, festively dressed in reds and greens, danced merrily around its diameter. Not only was the inscription not funny, the mug was ugly.

Fighting frustration and anger, he stood. Did she think she'd get away with this? He'd pay her back. In spades. He paced and plotted.

When he sat back down and sorted through his telephone messages, it surprised him his hand shook. He was amazed she could cause such a reaction in him, though he should be used to it by now. He just hadn't expected this latest move, though he should have gotten used to that too by now. Those eyes, he thought, that hair, those freckles. He wanted to pick her up and carry her away. My God, I'm possessed by the devil.

He despised anyone who was weak. It was the height of hypocrisy now that he hated her for being strong of mind and strong of will. Something he himself never lacked.

Peter believed that Shannon could feel the noose tightening. It wasn't strangling her yet, but soon it would be. When he put his next move into play, the noose will have closed in another notch. He thought it would take only another two weeks, three tops. He could bring things to a head faster, but there was more of a chance for someone—like Edward—to see what he was doing. He couldn't take the chance.

Sitting tense at his desk as the sun pitched blades of light through his office window, he came to a swift decision. He couldn't stop what he'd started. It had gone too far. But, when she finally gave in to the fight, he would give her the option of staying on if she could put her animosity for him aside. The admission surprised him.

***

When Shannon saw Peter's fury—there was no other way to describe it—as he looked at the mug, she became a little frightened. She held herself still, knowing she played with fire and also knowing she couldn't stop herself. Retaliation was too much of an allure.

Maybe she'd gone too far. Maybe they'd fire her now. If that were the case, she would leave. First, though, she would give everyone a piece of her mind, not that she could afford to do so. Little remained of her sane mind.

Acutely aware of how skillfully he manipulated her, she wouldn't let it undermine her resolve. With each passing day, she recognized what she hadn't recognized the day before, becoming more accustomed to the innuendoes, the casual remarks meant to be snide.

Apprehensive her temper would win out, she put a thick elastic band on her wrist. All she had to do was snap it when she felt the need to give Peter a one-two punch to the solar plexus.

What alarmed her the most, though, was that nobody noticed there was something going on between them. Or they saw and didn't care. That frightened her even more. No one would notice if something happened to her. Like taking a fall down the stairs. Like having the brakes give out on her new car. That was one of the reasons she didn't take her car to work. But didn't he know where she lived? There was such a tightness in her chest, she had difficulty breathing. Oh, come on now, Shannon. Get a grip.

Why couldn't Peter have been up front? She wanted to fight, but she had no idea exactly how to do that anymore without burying herself even deeper. Anything she did, he came back with one better. She gave her head a shake, but the sound of rushing waves persisted.

This feud that wasn't a feud that was happening but wasn't happening had gone on too long and there didn't seem to be any end in sight. She underestimated him. He had the stamina of a bull. Maybe she should just give up.

No, she shouldn't be thinking about giving up. Edward had invested time in her and he was old, too old to start over with another secretary. It wouldn't be humane to up and leave. Now she wanted to forge ahead whatever the consequences.

No, she didn't have the resources that Peter had. She didn't have his aptitude or genius either. Didn't she know, though, how to make the best of a bad situation?

She was riding the road well, following it as it ran along the line of sensible. When it curved at craziness, she continued. When it forked at absurd, she still followed. When it bordered on foolishness, she was in her domain, taunting, pushing and cajoling.

There would be more nastiness and a chance that Peter's temper might win out. She wasn't so enamored with the thrill of competition she'd forgotten that. She had a fully loaded water pistol in her desk drawer within easy reach, just in case.

She let out a terse, mocking laugh. Peter would eat the dust of his disciple. Nothing short of black magic would stop her now.

Chapter 11

"A little white lie, but who would know?"—

Peter sat rigid at his desk and listened to Edward praising Shannon like compliments were an abundant commodity. There was a fury in him that burst to let go. He wouldn't try to analyze it or look at everything from a different perspective. Exhaling loudly, he brought the dancing elves to his mouth and took a sip of coffee.

The mug had become an appendage. When he gave Abby work at her desk, he did it with the mug in his hand. When he went to the washroom, the mug went with him. When he stopped to chat with Shannon, he held the mug in his hand.

He envisioned her unruly hair, her rosy skin. How her eyes had danced when she saw him reading the inscription. She looked inviting, arousing. He told himself he was going mad. No, it wasn't that either. He was simply angry things didn't work out as he thought they would.

How could someone who seemed so shy spew such venom? He thought he was a good judge of character and would have sworn she'd retreat within herself, then give up when she saw she couldn't win. That wouldn't be the case, he knew now. Of course, it was entirely possible she'd forgotten her position and his position and didn't realize what she was doing. That seemed the only plausible explanation. He felt a poignant pity for her, but only for a moment.

Someone else might not have reacted the way he had. A true gentleman would not. Edward, for instance.

Despite what his colleagues thought, he was not always in control. Where Shannon was concerned, he completely lost control. He grimaced when he thought of his childish acts and manipulations.

She might run to Edward and tell him what was going on. The thought didn't daunt him anymore. Neither did it panic him. Rather, he felt relief. Maybe this, what turned out to be, sordid affair could be laid to rest with Edward's intervention.

Dimly, Peter became aware that Edward had shifted the conversation to the mess that Miguel left behind on his precious Oriental rug. He chuckled, happy to focus his attention on something other than Shannon, or the feud, or the mind-depleting and exhaustive, but lucrative, legal work.

"Who's Miguel?" Edward asked.

Peter explained the situation he found himself in on Sunday. How Shannon had come to his aid, but only with the express permission that she bring her dog who had just undergone castration. It was a little lie, but who would know? Both lawyers crossed their legs—a reflexive action to a surgery that could ultimately deprive them of their sexual prowess and masculinity.

Edward recounted the visit he had from that young whippersnapper, Charles fricking Anderson, about his encounter earlier in the day with Shannon in complaint over her work. "Apparently, there was some nonverbal argument over neither-nor or either-or or neither-or or either-nor being used together in a sentence and to whoever or was it to whomever? Whatever in the Christ it was," he ended peevishly. "Peter, you know how I dislike being brought to the forefront of these petty mundane grousings. Have a little chat with him and set him straight, will you? This is not kindergarten, for God's sake and tell him also she didn't insult him by not placing her initials after his on the letter." He placed the palm of his hand against his face and gave it an all-encompassing massage.

Peter laughed and realized how much he'd come to enjoy these little chats with Edward. "I'll get on it right away, Ed."

Chapter 12

"It blew like a howitzer" —

Shannon expected to be invigorated by being set free from the madhouse at five o'clock. Sixteen hours of peaceful bliss. She hungered for it. When she arrived at her apartment, she was no less weary, though, than when the silent gong sounded at the end of the work day. She fit the key into the lock and gave in to the temptation to lean against the doorjamb.

Rejuvenation was a measured commodity for her as the few moments of rest did little to nothing for the mental and physical exhaustion she experienced. When she straightened, a flutter of apprehension coursed through her body. She stared at her apartment door, her fingers fiddling with the key in the lock. Looking over her shoulder, she studied the hallway, but found nothing out of the ordinary in either direction. The feeling didn't dissipate. Something was amiss. She felt it in her bones. What laid in wait on the other side of her apartment door? Or was it across the hall in her elderly neighbor's apartment?

She turned and stared at the Douglas Fir of her neighbor's door and another tremor of unease filled her body. While she knew she wasn't clairvoyant, she couldn't shake the feeling that her neighbor was in danger.

When she rang Louise's doorbell, she told herself it was just plain dottiness. Moments passed and there was no answer. She rapped her knuckles across the door. Still no answer. She called out to her neighbor, feeling plain silly.

She abandoned etiquette and turned the doorknob, anticipating it to be bolted. Now, she stood in the foyer, expecting to see Louise round a corner at any minute. She looked around, listening for any sign of life. But for the ominous tick tock of a nearby clock, her neighbor's apartment was unearthly quiet.

She inched her way down the hallway. "Mrs. Nelson?"

"Up here, dear," Louise beckoned.

Shannon breathed a sigh of relief as she stood beside an extended stepladder beneath an open ceiling door. "Are you up there, Mrs. Nelson?" It was a stupid question.

"Yes, dear," Louise answered. "Isn't God a cynical sort?"

"Cynical?"

"I prayed for help and He sent me someone weighing not much more than a bag of pretzels." A long, suffering sigh. "I can't get down."

Shannon stared the ladder, strong and sturdy. Louise climbed up, she could climb down. "Why not?"

"Vertigo. I think I'll be all right if I just relax for awhile."

"How long have you been relaxing already?" Shannon hid a smile.

"What time is it?"

Shannon checked her watch. "Five thirty."

"Oh, about six hours, then I guess." The answer, timid.

Six hours? My God. Shannon knew who to call for help. If they could rescue cats out of trees, they could rescue a little old lady out of her attic. "Would you like me to call the fire department?"

"Good God, no. I'd be so embarrassed. Then they might put me in a senior care home because they'd think I couldn't look after myself." Her answer was emphatic.

"Well, I don't think climbing an eight-foot ladder would render the impression that you're incapacitated or feeble, Mrs. Nelson." Though she had to concede it would be a concern for some elderly. Golden years, my foot. She climbed to the top of the ladder, turned and sat. "Hiya. What's new, pussycat?" A smile appeared on Louise's chubby face.

Shannon put her hands under her chin and rested her elbows on her knees, looking down at the floor. She recited the events of her day, then told Louise about everything that happened to her at the office, beginning from her first day at work, and ending with the rose bush.

While she had made her neighbor comfortable, her mind had hatched a plan. She righted herself on the ladder and came almost face to face with Louise. "I have a plan, Mrs. Nelson." A relieved look brushed across her neighbor's face. "What I would like you to do is swing your legs over the side and place your feet on each of my shoulders. Then I'll carefully ease down one step at a time until you can get ahold of the ladder. Sounds like a plan, don't you think?"

"I don't know, dear." Louise twisted her face into a grimace.

"I understand your apprehension, Mrs. Nelson, but I'm quite strong for my size. One small leap of faith, that's all it'll take. Will you trust me?" Then to cement the implementation of the plan, she confided there might not be any alternative but to call the fire department.

"Okay," Louise said after a moment. "I'll try." She placed first one foot, then the other on Shannon's shoulders.

Shannon was plunged into darkness. Something soft with a hint of a fresh morning's breeze brushed her face. She looked up and saw that Louise still had on her robe and nightgown. "Mrs. Nelson, I can't see," she said from between her neighbor's legs.

Louise looked down, then giggled like a schoolgirl. Her legs wobbled.

"You're shaking the ladder, Mrs. Nelson."

A muffled voice sounded, "I'm sorry, Shannon. When I looked down, it seemed I was suspended in midair." Her laughter began gradually, but quickly became uncontrollable, and along with it came a loud, powerful explosive report, like that of a howitzer. A blast of hot superfluous air that would rock the Beaufort scale for measuring the speed of wind followed a second later. "Oh my," Louise exclaimed.

Shannon jerked to attention. With all of the finesse of a turnip, she said, "Phew, my God, Mrs. Nelson," fanning her face with Louise's robe and noticing the ladder moved unsteadily from their movements. There was no time to waste. They'd surely crash to the floor any minute. "Okay, Mrs. Nelson, here we go." One step, then the next, then the next until they stood on the floor.

"What were you getting up there, anyway?" Shannon asked.

"My Christmas ornaments," Louise answered, peering upward.

"No problem, Madame. I'll get them for you."

***

Christmas ornaments lined the living room, every square inch of it.

"This angel, Shannon, belonged to my great-grandmother. It's a little yellowed, and the crochet is a bit tattered, but I wouldn't part with it. Certainly not for some star with twinkling lights." Louise sighed. "This little soldier boy my grandfather whittled from a piece of pine. Isn't he wonderful? I repainted him a couple of Christmases ago, but he's still good looking, isn't he?"

She smiled. "Yes, indeed, Mrs. Nelson."

"This exquisite bell my great-aunt brought to me from her trip to Germany many years ago. It's hand-painted, you know. Isn't the artistry beautiful?"

"It is beautiful." She took the bell in her hand and examined it closer.

"Would you care to stay for supper?" Louise asked.

"I'd love to. Thank you." She smiled.

***

Standing at the kitchen sink alongside Louise, Shannon took a plate from the drain board, remarking on how comfortable she felt in her neighbor's presence.

"You know, Shannon, this steno chair girl might have something to do with what's going at the office," Louise said, washing another plate.

Shannon furrowed her brows. "The steno chair girl? How do you figure that?"

"I don't know exactly. That's for you to find out. Don't you think it's odd she sits in a corner of your office the entire day, says nothing to you and appears to have something against you?"

"It's not just her, Mrs. Nelson. The whole bunch is damn peculiar. Since day one I've been shunned by everyone. They haven't even given me a chance." Unaccustomed to this type of behavior, Shannon found it hard to accept. Never before had she been the one standing on the sidelines after the teams have been chosen. She brushed a tear from her cheek.

"Well, it might serve you wise to start with the steno chair girl."

Shannon thought about it a moment and had to agree Louise might be on to something. "You may be right."

"I know I am. Take an old lady's advice."

Louise wouldn't steer her wrong, would she? No. Shannon hugged her. "Thanks, Mrs. Nelson. I will."

***

Shannon applied a generous dollop of toothpaste on her brush. She brushed and spit. Brushed again and spit some more as one question rolled around in her mind like a pebble in a dryer. Was Louise right? She grabbed a hand towel and wiped her mouth, knowing what she needed to do.

She sat on the sofa and opened her personal telephone directory. She didn't know how well received this inquiry would be received. The thought gave her a moment's hesitation. Before she could change her mind, she punched in the number on the keypad.

"Hello."

Hearing Abby's voice reminded her of how frustrated she was with anything connected to the law firm. Maybe she could come to terms with knowing she might never fit in, but how could she come to accepting that? "Abby, it's Shannon."

"What's going on?"

Abby didn't hang up on her. She took that as a good sign. "I can't let another day go by without getting the scoop on the girl on the steno chair." Immediately that she said the words, she could feel Abby's reluctance to answer pulsing through the telephone lines. Why? "Abby?"

"I don't know how to begin to explain it, Shannon."

"Why not at the beginning?" Her sigh let Shannon know she'd comply, but she wasn't happy about it.

"The girl on the steno chair is Rose Mary Bush, dubbed by the staff, "Rose Bush." She, Shannon, is your predecessor. As the story goes, Rose Mary asked Edward for a raise, but he said she didn't deserve one. Rose Mary was pissed, of course, and devised an unscrupulous plan for revenge, and a sweet one it was."

"Rose Mary carefully forgot to bill one client of Edward's for services rendered. Thousands and thousands of dollars worth of legal fees went unbilled. Of course, Edward was unsuspecting, until the quarterly report came in and he saw the large goose egg written below his earnings for that time period. Well, the proverbial you-know-what hit the fan, but he didn't fire her. I can only assume the firm either didn't want that scandal or it could have been some diabolical plot on Edward's part. Though to tell you the truth, I don't think the man is capable of such manipulation or vindictiveness. You know yourself he's not the sharpest knife in the drawer." Abby paused.

Neither are you, Shannon thought. They were getting off track, and she didn't want to dwell on Edward's shortcomings, particularly with Abby. "Go on."

"Didn't you find it strange you were asked to show up an hour earlier than office hours on your first day of work?"

Shannon mulled that over. "So, someone cleared out her desk, set the box beside a steno chair in the corner, knowing she'd get the message? God." Everything was so much clearer now. She recalled her first day on the job, so proud to be sitting behind a desk, working for a lawyer. Ha! What little she knew then.

She remembered when Rose Mary entered the office that morning and her good, hard look at her sitting behind her desk, then at the box in the corner. She shuddered at the remembrance. The poor girl. "Why didn't they fire her? They had cause," she said, applying the information she read recently about unjust and wrongful dismissals. Totally for her own use, but already it served a purpose. She hoped it would never serve her personally.

"God, Shannon, I don't understand anything these lawyers do! They're all idiots as far as I'm concerned."

No, Shannon thought, not idiots, Neanderthals, but didn't voice her opinion on that subject, particularly not with the gazette of tattle. She held the phone loosely to her ear. When she thought about her coworkers open hostility towards her, the icy glares, the frosty atmosphere and the snickers, it made sense now that she understood. The girls had taken a stand—one for all and all for one. She replaced one of their own, probably slipping too easily into the position. Shaking her head, she marveled at the strength of some people to stand together.

With the question about the rose bush answered, other questions surfaced. What could she do about Peter? What did life have in store for her at the law firm down the road? Did she travel the same path as Rose Mary?

"Thank you, Abby."

Maybe she should cut her losses, accept the inevitable and move on.

Chapter 13

"In case your intention is to get me fired"—

Shannon lingered in the ladies room, thinking about the events of this past week as she dried her hands and finger-combed her curly locks in front of the mirror. The freckles on her face stood out on the alabaster background of her otherwise unblemished skin. She looked a fright. Liking to blame Peter for her haggardness, she came to terms with her employment instead.

She had caught on quickly to the work, understood Edward somewhat, and the past few weeks augmented not only her secretarial skills, but her stamina as well.

Now that she experienced the kind of man and employer Peter turned out to be, she appreciated Edward in ways she never had before. Edward's constant questions, his insistent brays for her, his inattention to matters was solace to her now.

In a few months, if she survived that long, winter would be over. One hurdle would be jumped. Spring might bring with it new understandings, new friendships and peace. She hoped so. She promised herself there would be no regrets.

She walked at a snail's pace back to her desk, taking a shortcut through the reception area where a few clients chatted with each other, passing the time of day. The receptionist leafed through a magazine. Dimly, she became aware the happy chatter turned to cackles of laughter that sounded just a bit bizarre. She continued to her desk without looking back and without a break in her slow step.

Poising herself to sit, she placed her hands beneath her butt to smooth her dress, like her mother taught her. When her hands landed on her almost bare bottom, she paled. The familiar feel of nylon caused palpitations. She jumped up, looked behind and saw that the entire back of her dress had caught in the waistband of her panty hose. She jerked the material out and smoothed it. Sometimes it paid to look over your shoulder.

God, she was disgusting. She brushed aside a ringlet and sat for about two seconds before she stood. She blew into Peter's office like a whirlwind.

He was staring into space.

She stifled a laugh. When he arrived at the office this morning, he looked spit and polished. Now he looked harangued, tussled and haggard. It looked good on him.

"I'm an excellent secretary," she yelled from the doorway.

He turned and stared at her. "If you think so."

If I think so? Bastard. "Well, I just wanted you to know that." This wasn't going good. She placed her hands on her hips.

"Why?" There was a certain satisfaction in his smile.

Just in case your intentions are to get me fired, I wanted you to realize what you'd be missing, you...you gasbag. She waved a hand in the air in a dismissive gesture just like the lawyers did and stomped from his office.

Does anyone else make such a big ass of themselves time and time again?

When she returned to her office, a small box sat neatly in the center of her desk. She picked it up, examined it, looked for a card, but found none. "Abby, did you see who put this here?"

"No." After a moment where Abby stared at Shannon staring at the box, she asked, "Are you just going to look at it or are you going to open it?"

Her mind screeched: Careful. It might be a bomb. She listened for a ticking sound. Nothing. "Okay, here goes." Her fingers shook when she reached inside the box and pulled out a coffee mug. Turning it slowly in her hand, she read the inscription, giggled and passed the mug to Abby.

"God made the earth and rested. God made man and rested. Then God made woman. Since then no one has rested!" Abby laughed.

Shannon grabbed hold of the mug and ran into Edward's office. She placed it unceremoniously on the desk before him. She didn't think it was from him, but she needed absolute certainty.

"Okay," he said, looking at the mug. "I give up. What is it?"

She raised her eyes to the heavens, giving thanks to God that Edward knew nothing about the mug. Otherwise, she might wonder if he didn't have the guts to tell her the truth—that he was "just putting up with her" like Peter had rumored.

Before she could grill him, his intercom buzzed. She watched as his fingers connected with red buttons, clear buttons, blinking buttons, answering "Hello, Hello" each time, sometimes saying "Sorry, wrong line" and sometimes not, before his large fingers went on to the next. The intercom had the same effect on him as a red flag had on a bull.

She had showed him countless times the light at the bottom of the panel was the intercom, but still he did what he did. To some the simple was complex, and sometimes the truth of the matter was that you couldn't tell a Heinz pickle anything.

***

Peter didn't know how Shannon could stand everything he put her through.

How can she smile back at me? Doesn't she recognize a sneer? How can she giggle at the double innuendoes? Doesn't she know a snide remark when she hears one? How does she stay calm when her face bursts with temper? Why doesn't she swat me away like a fly when I look over shoulder watching her type? Doesn't that make her nervous?

A restlessness roiled inside him. He was getting little satisfaction.

So far, all he'd been able to accomplish was to make an ass of himself. That would soon change. He had a few more tricks up his sleeve, a few more maneuvers under his belt and looked forward to putting them into action.

The death of her job stalks her and she doesn't have a clue, he thought. Too bad for her. He smiled. Evil, vile and full of venom, like a Tasmanian devil. He supposed in a way, he was.

Later, as he drove home, he thought about his bizarre behavior and decided he was acting like a schoolgirl. An obsessive schoolgirl.

What am I doing?

Suddenly he felt foolish. He didn't know what had overcome him and thought about burying the hatchet. Yeah, that would be the prudent thing to do. If he swallowed his pride and relied on her integrity to keep her mouth shut, he could do it. If he wanted to fight, he could do it in a courtroom.

Maybe these errant thoughts and antagonistic feelings would go away when he got home to his wife. Maybe he'd get lucky tonight, but that thought quickly depressed him. Sex with his wife was like bedding a board.

Shannon was driving him mad.

Chapter 14

"Bingo!"—

A light snow had fallen overnight. From his stool at the kitchen counter, Edward stared through the window and watched children playing on their way to school, their faces expressive with delight, their noses red from the crisp air. They laughed as they threw snowballs at one another. It reminded him of his grandson.

He looked forward to spending the holidays with his daughter, son-in-law and grandson. He hoped the rest of his family would be able to make it for Christmas, too. He liked having everyone together again under one roof. It couldn't come fast enough for him. Too much time had passed between visits.

"Why do you suppose Peter doesn't like Shannon, Ed?"

"Probably because he can't get the last word in." There was no one in his life, other than his wife, who knew him as anything other than the deaf and sometimes dumb lawyer. No one knew about his taste to solve puzzles or the way he enjoyed intrigue. They didn't know about his life before he began practicing law, or his specialized training in the military, nor the effort he took to keep those skills sharp or his body in shape. When he'd left that life, he thought he'd left it all behind. Instead, he'd learned how much that experience helped him in lawyering.

"Hogwash."

"You think it's more than that, Mo." He baited her and only now turned away from the window to look at her standing beside the dishwasher with her hands on her broad hips. He could feel the quake coming and smiled. It reminded him of the time she'd found a joint in their son's backpack. Though Billy swore it wasn't his, Maureen kept at him until he came clean. "The Enforcer" was Billy's pet name for her after that. Maybe the joint wasn't Billy's. Maybe he said it was just to get his mother off his back. Someone could have placed it in his backpack as a joke. He liked to think that was the case, not because it was his son and couldn't be objective but because he liked to give the benefit of the doubt.

"Well, of course, Edward, it's more than that. It's probably because she doesn't find him awesome. You know as well I Peter's always thought himself God's gift to women."

"Not my woman, I hope," he said and feigned horror.

"This might not be the best time, but since you brought it up, I have to tell you that Peter and I have been having a torrid love affair for years. Hot and heavy. Handcuffs and whips."

He guffawed. He could only imagine that. Maureen, like Shannon, had a mind of her own and would never be taken in by a handsome face, wealth or position without it being her own choosing.

"I think something happened between them, Maureen."

"Like what?"

He shrugged. "I don't know, but whatever it was, Peter can't get over it."

"An indiscretion?"

He pressed a finger against the end of his nose. "Bingo."

"If you remember, Ed, Peter had a problem with one of your other secretaries in the past, too."

"Uh-huh." He stared off into space as those memories came into focus.

Chapter 15

"The home ground advantage and more intelligence"—

A new day brought with it a sense of unrefined play for Peter.

At nine o'clock he set work up for Abby that would consume her entire day, then returned phone calls. Two hours later, he was free to plot his next move against Shannon.

By his calculations he could set her up any number of ways. He had an arsenal of devious ideas at his fingertips with the home ground advantage and more intelligence, but he felt no remorse. Ridding the office of her would not be a bittersweet victory to him. Winning's what's important, he told himself. At any cost.

He wondered if she knew how lucky she was to have Edward in her corner. Edward was a warm and genuinely caring man. A true gentleman. If it weren't for him, she'd have been long gone by now. Edward's tunnel vision to her errant ways only delayed the inevitable.

There were many details for him to remember and appearances that must be kept up. More importantly, though, he must never let anything slip to Edward. When she gave her notice to leave, which should be anytime now, it must seem like it was her idea and not because he drove her to it.

Always, he kept up the pretense. He smiled cordially at her and went out of his way to pass the time of day with her when someone was within distance. He stopped to chat and compliment her on her attire when Edward was handy. He covered his tracks extremely well. He smiled wickedly.

Earlier, he sent her on another of his errands, hoping she'd screw it up. It was true it was something important, so urgent it needed to be done immediately, but if it weren't, he would have said it was. The opportunity seemed to fall right into his lap when he learned Edward had bombarded her with work.

***

Edward hated what he was doing. What he was given no choice to do. God, how it rankled him. While he watched and listened without being noticed, it reminded him of his Navy days in intelligence. His goal this time was no different. Listen, compile data, then analyze. It was an old habit that died hard. He had learned a lot from each assignment. How the minutest detail could be important. How appearances aren't always as they seem. And always be wary.

He watched Peter perform. Why did it still amaze him? He knew his colleague well and what he was doing. To anyone else it would look like everything was kosher between them, that nothing was in the works. He knew differently, recognizing the innuendoes for what they were and how Peter intended the euphemisms. It would be hard not to notice the pressure he put on Shannon by making her run around like he did. Doing this, that and the other thing on the pretense it was extremely urgent and important. Sending her on endless errands. "Fetching" coffee for him. And the compliments he gave her...well, he knew them for what they were. Peter was as sly as a politician.

This, he thought, was blowing out of proportion.

How could he make bygones be bygones between them?

Maybe he should use terror tactics. Or torture tactics.

Chapter 16

"God love a duck! Stronger measures are required"—

Sandy Point launched into the full throes of Christmas. Downtown was a flurry of activity as shoppers prepared for the once-a-year special event. Pristine snowflakes fell to their deaths on the sidewalk. A blanket of snow already covered the streets and it was snowing again. At this time of the year it was expected.

Shannon glanced around. The decorations were so beautiful they virtually abducted her breath. Huge lighted bells dangled from lamp posts. Lighted garland spanned one side of the street to the other. At the end of the street Frosty the Snowman stood twelve feet tall in all his glory, welcoming one and all. Santas were everywhere her gaze traveled. Wreaths, candles, strings of garland, mini-lights in all shapes, colors and sizes adorned windows. The sight had a glorious mood producing affect on her.

She ran an errand for Peter and wanted to get it done as quickly as possible to impress him with her efficiency. She clasped the envelope of papers tightly to her chest and breathed deeply, unable to contain her excitement about meeting the scholarly gentlemen Peter had told her so much about. "Chas", as he so liked to refer to him, had practiced law for the last forty years, reputed to be brilliant and Machiavellian. Peter hadn't been able to say enough good things about the man, relating one story after another as she, a captive audience, listened intently to every word.

Peter was unusually nice to her lately. A pretense, for sure, but she'd take what she could. Since the time she'd almost killed him, she saw him in a different light, saw the things she hadn't seen in the past when she was blinded by awe. The way his mouth curved in a sneer when he smiled. The arrogant look that crossed his face when she had the audacity to question him. The eyes that looked down and not at her, recognizing the looks of hatred that betrayed his true feelings when he thought she wasn't looking.

How easily it is to hate. One look of hatred, then another, and everything changed. She wanted to surrender to the feeling, but resisted. Instead, she decided to overlook everything. It would serve him right, though, to give him a taste of Murphy's Law, to have him know about things going awry. No, she wasn't about to make a widow of Rebecca Montgomery yet.

She walked into a dingy gray reception area with plastic and metal chairs. Plaster flaked off the walls from floor to ceiling. Where were the ecru colors, the up-to-date magazines, the clients waiting on big old leather chairs?

"Hi," she greeted the receptionist. "I'm from Peter Montgomery's office. I have papers for Mr. Hamilton." She tapped the envelope at her chest, feeling like a spy.

The receptionist held out her hand. "Give them to me, and I'll see he gets them."

Shannon took a step back. "I'm sorry, but my instructions are explicit that I deliver these documents personally to Mr. Hamilton. Would you please tell him I'm here." Take me to your leader, Miss You-Can't-Get-Past-Me.

After a moment's hesitation, the woman called out without removing her eyes from Shannon, "Chas, there's a girl here to see you."

"A girl, you say? Send her in, by all means, send her in," bellowed a deep throated voice from somewhere down the darkened hallway to Shannon's right.

My God, have these people never heard how to use a telephone intercom? Shyly, she walked down the hall. She stopped at the threshold of his office, gathering the courage to face the fabled savant. Inhaling a deep, calming breath she filled her nostrils with an unpleasant odor. She'd taken calm in the smoke of the distinguished lawyer's freshly lit cigar.

The man sitting behind the desk didn't look Machiavellian. He didn't look brilliant, either. He looked, she thought, more like a man who should be wearing a burgundy velvet smoking jacket with a paisley scarf around his neck. His desk was piled high with files. It was always this way. It gave the impression clients were coming out of their ears. She'd bet forty out of those fifty some odd files were matters that had been closed long ago.

She inched her way toward the living legend. "Mr. Hamilton, I'm Shannon Murphy from Peter Montgomery's office." Should she extend her hand? How do you shake hands with a living legend? Maybe she should kneel before him on one knee with head bent. Maybe she should kiss the back of his hand. Kiss his butt? Kneel, bend and kiss? She opted for gracious civility and held out her hand.

He rose from his chair and engulfed her hand in his.

No great shakes. She smiled.

"Sleep out in the rain with a screen over your face, did ya?" he asked with a chuckle.

Good one. And I never tire from hearing it. She giggled as he no doubt expected and reached into the envelope. "I have here the notice of claim and claim with reference to the matter of Playfair and Harbor," she parroted what Peter had told her. When she reached across his desk to hand him the papers, he stepped back from his desk with a crazed look. He held the palms of his hands outward mid-high to his chest. It was as though he just realized she suffered from leprosy.

She looked at him, puzzled once again by the machinations of lawyers. Weird creatures, or what?

"I'm not authorized to accept service on behalf of my client." He shook his head.

She knew—how she knew she didn't know—she couldn't serve him now. But didn't Peter tell her Chas was authorized to accept service? Yes, he did say that. What was she supposed to do now? Throw the papers in his face, then skedaddle? No, that wouldn't work, either. He just informed her he wasn't authorized to accept service and a lawyer had to be authorized by a client to accept service of any pleading or lawsuit. How she knew that she didn't know either.

"Excuse me, sir," she apologized. "Mr. Montgomery said you were given authority by your client—" Ruffled, her database, normally a beehive of activity of facts and details, bankrupted. She checked out the defendant's name. "Mr. Philip Harbor, to accept service of this lawsuit on his behalf. She took a step back. Her gusto to fulfill this request for Peter greatly diminished. Damnit. She wanted to get back into Peter's good graces. Now, he'd think her an idiot. "Obviously there's been a miscommunication, Mr. Hamilton. I apologize for the disruption." Her mouth dropped open without savoir-faire as the nervous tic in her eye peaked and dipped hideously below the skin.

"Well, all that has changed now." He drew deeply from his cigar, then exhaled, blowing swirls of dark-colored smoke toward her.

Yippers and yessiree, no doubt about it, she was intimidated. "I'm sorry, sir, for wasting your time." Her hands shook and the tic dominated the conversation. "Isn't this just like Peter?" she muttered. Wink, wink. He's trying to get me in trouble. He wants me to get fired. Bastard. Well, I'll show him. He doesn't know who he's messing with. The sound of a rubber band being snapped rang out loudly in the quiet of the office.

Through lowered lashes she watched Chas watching her with obvious curiosity as she very neatly slid the documents inside the envelope.

"Let me have a look at them though, would you?"

The distinguished lawyer must think I'm just some dumb secretary. "Sure." She handed the papers to him. When he took hold of the notice of claim, she said without a moment's hesitation, winking and smiling widely, "Consider yourself served, sir." It was said with such definition that Charles Hamilton gulped.

She reached over, scooped up the original and smiled coyly as she laid a copy in its place. "And you have a great day." She sprinted out of his office, his angry words following behind her —"You can't do this! Come back here, little missy."

Oh yes, I can. You asked for service, sir.

The sound of indignant footsteps sounded at her back. She increased her pace to a near run, worrying he would catch up to her and throw the papers back in her face. With no idea what to do if that happened, she lunged at the door and in one uncosmopolitan move stood outside in the frigid air.

With what may be the eighth wonder of the world, she wasn't pursued. If there were something he could've done about the service, he'd have run after her, wouldn't he? These lawyers, she thought, give up too easily. Charles Hamilton was not too bright, two bricks short of a load.

She couldn't wait to hear Peter's praises for a job well done and imagined his excitement. And it is a coup, she told herself. Anyone else would have missed the opportunity. This would certainly put her back in Peter's good graces. And not only that, there would be compliments too.

***

Peter knew Chas very well and knowing what a wily bastard he was, he knew, too, Chas would give Shannon the runaround on service. He mentally rehearsed his speech.

"Were my instructions not clear, Shannon? Which part of "serve Chas Hamilton personally" didn't you understand? Didn't I tell you that Chas had been authorized by his client to accept service? And I don't want to hear any excuses. I don't want to hear any apologies. You're incompetent and have no place with this firm. I'm afraid I'll have to bring this matter to Edward's attention."

He would pause then for a long-suffering sigh before telling her how very disappointed in her he was. Then he'd give her a look that would tell her in no uncertain terms she might as well clean out her desk.

When Shannon entered his office, he was in the middle of the room fitting one leg into his striped court trousers. He smiled when her face flamed with embarrassment before she pirouetted to face the unprejudiced solid wood of his office door.

"Well, how did you make out with Chas, Shannon?" It was a casual question, one that would suggest he wasn't the least bit embarrassed to have been caught in a state of dishabille.

"It didn't go quite as anticipated, Mr. Montgomery."

"Oh?" It went just as he expected. I'm a happy man. She screwed up. Finally.. He walked to his desk and sat, leaning back against the butter-soft leather of his executive chair.

"Well, no. Mr. Hamilton said he wasn't authorized to accept service on behalf of his client, Mr. Montgomery."

"Shannon, you can turn around now." He wanted to see her face when he told her.

"Um, no sir, I'd rather not. Mr. Hamilton was interested in seeing the claim, though, and asked me to see the papers. Of course, I complied with his request." She shrugged. "After he had the papers firmly in his hand I said, 'Consider yourself served, sir', then I marched right on out of there." She raised her right arm in the air.

He couldn't move. He couldn't breathe.

"Did I do good, Mr. Montgomery?"

"Faa ...cough, cough, faa...fine." God love a duck, she came through again. Stronger measures are required.

***

The worst of all there was no compliments. Peter just wasn't man enough to acknowledge her achievement. That pissed Shannon off. What a bitch he is. Frig.

She watched Edward in awe from across the desk. His pen flew across the page making corrections, insertions and deletions without hesitation as the legal diction flowed from the felt tip to be one with the page. There was no other way to describe it, it was poetry in motion. She liked the woodsy scent of his after shave wafting toward her, too.

Earlier Peter decided that everything in the files on his desk needed to be photocopied. She accepted the command with a sweet smile. En route to the photocopier, John asked her to get him a coffee. With twenty-two files clutched in one hand, John's coffee mug in the other, she stomped to the lunchroom. While there, Stuart "Crime's My Game" Campbell came in and asked her to swear an affidavit. She complied with that request too with another sweet smile. When she came out of Stuart's office, Edward met her in the hallway. He wanted to dictate a letter. Though the burden of the files, and coffee fetching weighed heavily on her mind, she managed to smile sweetly again.

Outside Edward's office fifteen minutes later, twenty-two files in one hand, a coffee mug in the other, her steno pad under her armpit and her pen between her teeth, Peter stopped her demanding his photocopied files. She was dizzy, but she smiled widely. "Sure," she said, dumping the yet to be photocopied files across his chest. "Get Abby to do it. She's not busy. I am." John took that moment to ask her for his coffee. She grinned evilly. "God gave you legs," she said, slamming the mug against his chest. If he could walk the distance to her, then by damn, he could walk the distance to the coffee room.

Maybe they would fire her, or maybe not, but if they did, to have seen their incredulous expressions would make her dismissal worthwhile. Not too often were lawyers caught with their chins hanging to their crotch.

"There you go, Sarah," Edward said with a smile as he handed her the revised letter.

Peter dictated yet another letter to her at hyper-speed, but this time she didn't get lucky. It hadn't mattered how hard she tried, or how often or how loudly she cussed. She couldn't give Peter the satisfaction of asking his help deciphering her notes, so she ran to Edward.

Chapter 17

"Something vicious, nasty and utterly outrageous"—

For so long Shannon hoped for a morning to begin this way, even while she believed it wasn't possible. Not in this office anyway. A person, she thought, could get used to this. Quiet. Just her and Abby. No one ran around. No one hollered. No one was being impatient. Comfortable. Too comfortable. Peace and serenity. Two words she would never have thought she'd ever use to describe the law firm. It wasn't as though she'd ever experienced it here. It was weird, and it didn't make any sense.

This, she convinced herself, was the prelude to something vicious, nasty and utterly outrageous. It was stupid, she was stupid to think this office could be anything more than what it was.

Beyond the windowpanes the day was dark and foreboding. A fierce wind swept through the leafless trees. Broken branches fell lifelessly to the snow-laden ground. Her gaze locked unto a squirrel skittering up the trunk of an oak tree and wished she could be as carefree. She rubbed her eyes, but the burning sensation was as much a part of her now as everything else. Sleepless nights and days filled with tremendous anxiety and stress were catching up with her. Her emotions were volatile, short-circuiting her brain and rumbling like thunder in the pit of her stomach.

This, too, shall pass. Her mother's advice had always been brief and to the point, but, oh so wise in its simplicity. Right now she wanted nothing more than to hear her mother say those words.

When she spied Peter sitting so proud and overbearing behind his desk, she tried to ignore the flash of heat from temper that shot through her, but it was too much to ask of herself. She couldn't ignore how he affected her any more than she could ignore the worry he caused her to experience. She felt as though she walked a tightrope. A very fine tightrope. One wrong move and over she'd fall, ending up like Humpty Dumpty. She huffed out a frustrated breath.

Never in her life had there been anyone or anything she had to guard herself against. Why would someone who always sat to the right of everyone, who had done no wrong, who could do no wrong have defenses? Though she was developing them now. She would never have believed herself capable, but retribution was becoming her special gift.

In a very simple manner, Peter destroyed her dreams, tarnished her thoughts and dashed her hopes. He'd done that to her. Not her coworkers. Not Edward. Peter. Resentment began gradually, and within seconds, became full-blown. While she acknowledged this feeling, she told herself she overreacted. God. Wasn't she more twisted than twine?

***

She stood in the doorway of his office and studied him. What did a man like him lose sleep over? Did he even lose any sleep at all? No, probably not. The awareness stirred her temper. She forced her emotions into retreat before she wasn't able to choke back the words that would tell him what an ass she thought he was. "My, how the color green of your shirt brings out the emerald of your eyes, Mr. Montgomery." How easily the compliment slipped from her lips.

He puffed up. "Thank you, Shannon."

"Cold today, isn't it? Cold enough to freeze the balls of a brass monkey." Did I just say that? The roar of rushing waves pounded in her ears as panic threatened to surface. Pure stubbornness held it back. She managed a smile. "Would you like a coffee?" she asked.

"Jesus, no!"

She took a step back. He didn't need to bite her head off, a simple no, thank you would have sufficed. Her gracious smile turned to fear.

"I'm sorry, Shannon, but I was just thinking about taking some of the pink stuff to settle my stomach." He placed his hand across his midsection and belched. "I've already had more than I should have today."

Edward took that moment to enter the office.

She watched Peter perform. No one would accuse him of having ill feelings toward her by the way he teased her about Chas Hamilton, or by the way his eyes sparkled as he held her eyes with his. A mental alarm clanged—a piranha in a three-piece suit. It was a good way to describe him.

"What are you up to, Peter?" Edward asked.

"Er...um...I was just getting to know your secretary a little better, Ed. We haven't had a chance really to get acquainted and I—"

"I meant how's your schedule today? I have a client I'd like to refer to you."

She stood motionless, taking in all of Peter's reactions to a simple question. About that—Was it her imagination or was that a double-edged question? Was it her imagination also that Edward had taken Peter's flux as some indication of something?

It would take someone a lot more experienced than her to know.

***

What the hell was that about? Peter asked himself when Shannon and Edward left his office. Was she playing games? Was she smart enough for that? And what was that with Edward? Was he playing games, too? Christ.

He settled back in his chair, took a soothing breath and stared at the ceiling, envisioning how her riotous hair blended well with her untied belt and bagging pantyhose. How her eyes twinkled in the sunlight. A ragamuffin. God, how he wanted her.

In three strides he could have been beside her. Running his fingers through her hair. Touching her face. Feeling her lips on his—

Christ! He turned and stared out the window, looking down at Main Street. There had been a time when he pounded the streets, hounded with worries and plagued by credit card bills. He would never forget where he came from or how far he came.

He stood, crossed his arms against his chest and thought how better off he was. He never had a doubt he'd make it. Of course, he had something a great many didn't. Drive and a potent motivation for a better life. It was never enough to have a roof over his head and not have to wonder about his next meal. He had to have it all. Success, wealth, respect, power. But he didn't have it all really, though, did he? He didn't have Shannon. The one thing his life was missing.

He looked upward. The sky wasn't a vibrant blue today, but rather a dark gray with ebony clouds. A chill crept up his spine. No one could anger him and intrigue him the way Shannon did—one moment he'd be angered, the next enamored, then hell bent on getting payback, then infernally set on getting something that could ultimately ruin his life. He felt like a corkscrew.

Why couldn't she see what she did to him? That angered him, too. He wanted to shake her until her eyeballs rattled. He couldn't deny the satisfaction he would get from that. She had definitely set a flame under him like no one had done before.

He was near craziness. No matter what steps he took, she turned it to her advantage. No matter how hard he pushed, she accepted it with humility. He demeaned, she overlooked it. He insulted, she apologized. He imagined the next few weeks. It could only get worse for him.

Now he wanted her and her resignation on Edward's desk like nothing he had ever wanted before. I've never been in this place before, he told the walls of his office. Not a profound statement, and surely not one expected of a lawyer, but it was an honest declaration, and categorically one that surprised him.

He sighed.

***

There had been something weird going on, Edward told himself. He came out of his office to ask Shannon if she had the mortgage prepared for the Frenette closing, but then he saw—what did he see exactly? An encounter? An okay-I've-had-about-as-much-as-I'm-going-to-take-from-you moment? Though their faces had smiled, their eyes told him something different. Inside they seethed, so he figured he'd stay put and keep watch. He had to take care of Shannon. He had promised, he would.

In one minute he had thought that maybe Shannon had enough of what was going on, then in the next she'd been smiling, looking like someone who, despite the odds, held the one winning ticket out of millions. All sparkly and excited. He hadn't been sure whether that was a good thing or a bad thing, so he had made his move.

Chapter 18

"/@#%^**&|>!!<!" —

Shannon felt exhausted and weary, nowhere up to continuing with their play of words, but she didn't have any choice but to follow Peter's lead and do as he did. Her feelings had been crushed when he chose to fight with her, to destroy and humiliate her rather than talk to her about it. Now it seemed he wanted to rid himself and the office of her. Instead of feeling she had no choice but to forsake her job, it fortified her to take a stand.

Every time she thought about throwing down the gauntlet, she'd catch his gloating looks, setting her temper aflame, making her reckless and incorrigible and more determined not to back down. Not that she was going to let him have the final word. No one ever had that. Not with her.

Would this end in disaster for her? She had no answer.

She wasn't as sure of Peter's ethics as she'd like. It wasn't as though she'd caught him in the act of doing anything criminal or unethical. To the contrary, he had been so completely exemplary on the surface she had to give her head a shake to believe this feud was actually happening.

Sadly, playing the same game as Peter didn't make her feel any better about her job or about lawyers. Or about herself. Little by little, day by day, she slowly became what she had beheld. It didn't sit well with her.

She reached across her desk for her steno pad, aware she was beginning to feel anxious again. As though she shouldn't let her guard down, not for a minute. There was nothing to support this feeling, only her sharpened intuition. She looked through the open doorway at him. Despite the goings-on between them, her blood raced through her veins by the mere sight of him. Her heart hammered against her rib cage. My, he was handsome. She wondered how his lips would feel on hers. Would his kiss be tantalizing or lusting? Would he crush her against his muscled chest and ravish her? Would—

"Oh, good, you have that deed completed," Edward said. "My clients should be here any time now. Would you be a dear and get me a cup of coffee?"

"Whaat?"

He scowled. "I asked for a coffee."

Who pissed in his cornflakes this morning? "Will that be decaf?" She batted her eyelashes.

"Sarah, you never cease to stun me."

She looked at him wide-eyed and innocent. What? It was one of those simple questions.

A few minutes later she set a steaming cup of decaf on his desk and remarked she didn't make a good cup of coffee. She was not at all domesticated or cultivated, she admitted with no sympathy whatsoever for her lack of domestication.

"I was in the Navy. I'll drink anything." He showed her his iron stomach by slurping a mouthful of what was guaranteed to add to the already thick mass of hair on his chest.

"Oh." She was at a loss for a comeback. Doing what came naturally would not put an end to "fetch them a cup", would it? She'd have to think of a way around that. She would.

When Edward cussed, she turned from the doorway, thinking the coffee couldn't be that bad. Not enough to swear over. Certainly not enough for that word. It wasn't until she looked at his desk that she noticed he'd spilled the entire cup of coffee across the deed and other papers.

"Oh, geez, Sarah. Would you quick like a bunny print me another deed?" He bounced in his chair.

Astounded by the mess she perceived, she made no attempt to move.

"Hurry, the clients will be here any moment. I'll clean up this mess."

"Sure." After all, it's just a matter of pressing a button and voilá, out comes a new deed.

She was back at her desk, hating to work in a rush, and oblivious to Peter standing in the doorway. It wasn't until she heard his raised voice that she turned in his direction. What the frick does he want? She had prayed, obviously without merit, he would leave her be today. Maybe that was too much to ask of the Big Kahuna.

"Grab your pen and paper and come to my office. I have an urgent letter to get out by courier," he instructed. "Abby's all tied up with other important matters."

"Can I be there in a few minutes?" She was hopeful.

"Now, Shannon," he said loudly. "Only you have the speed and skill required to accomplish this task swiftly."

A pat on the back to one and a slap across the face to another. Can there ever be a counterpoise with these guys? She grabbed her pen and pad and followed behind.

Seated in front of his desk, she watched him speaking on the phone—a showy performance meant to impress. She wasn't impressed and had only one thing on her mind—Edward's deed. Anxiously, she waited, rapping her pen repeatedly against the hard cover of her steno pad as her knee danced to the rhythm. After a moment, she wrote him a note. "Call me when you're free." She ran back to her desk with lightning speed.

After delivering the deed to Edward, she was almost able to reach the doorway before his voice assaulted her patience. "Sarah?"

What is it now? "Yes?"

"This is a tenants-in-common deed."

Good observation, Sherlock. "Yes." She was puzzled, too.

"I specifically gave you instructions for a joint tenancy deed."

Like hell you did. You may think you did, but there's nothing wrong with my hearing. Maybe if you get your brain in gear before you give me instructions, these kinds of mistakes wouldn't be happening. Have you ever thought of that? Huh, have you? /@#%^**&|>!!<!

She camouflaged her angry thoughts with a bright smile. "Oh, sorry, sir, I must have misunderstood." She grabbed the damn deed from his outstretched hand. On the way to her desk, she made a mental note to check the lawyer's reference dictionary to learn the difference between a tenancy-in-common deed and a joint tenancy deed. Much to her embarrassment Abby had not been correct with her explanation of a tenants-in-common deed. It necessitated the reminder to herself, too, not to ask an explanation of anything important from Abby in the future.

Though she had yet to see him, she knew by the sudden flush of heat surging through her body and the dew forming on her upper lip that Peter was somewhere nearby. How many secretaries before her had he intimidated?

When she looked up, she saw she'd been right. The doorway to her office was blocked by his bulk. With only Edward's deed on her mind, she wondered what was on his mind.

"Shannon, when you're in my office to take dictation, you stay put until I'm finished, you got that?" She lowered her eyes as did her spirit. Someone is either yelling at me or not talking to me at all. "Yes sir, but—"

"No buts about it." He stepped aside for her to precede him into his office. "And another thing," he said with a sneer, "I'm never free. Just immediately available."

She didn't need to be worldly to know his present state of mind. His eyes were orbs of ice, his look stony cold. An uncontrollable shiver ran through her. "Point duly noted, Mr. Montgomery." I guess I've been put in place. Feeling downtrodden and one pea short of a pod, she led the way. He closed the door behind him.

Oh dear. Up until that moment she believed she held her own with him. Now, she realized, she was out of her league. It was a bitter conception that he could do with her what he will, that whatever plans to thwart his next move on her she could come up with would be no match for his. In unsubtle machinations he'd been telling her what he would like to do to her. In her dreams, in her thoughts, she was the dominant one, the one who would win. When she looked into his eyes, she could tell he knew exactly what he was doing. He looked as cocky as a rooster.

He started right in, but was only able to dictate a few words before the insistent buzz of the telephone impolitely interrupted his superlative narration.

She turned to the direction of the insolent noise and glared at the rude device. When he reached for the phone, she looked away. What's Edward going to think when he comes looking for his deed? she wondered. That she's incompetent, that's what.

Peter answered the call with good humor and pleasantness—a performance for her benefit. Well, she didn't have time for it. Angered by his presumption she had nothing else to do but sit in his office and await him, she scribbled him another message. "I'll be right back", she wrote in plain English and placed the note before him. She laid her pen across the page, ensuring her return. Without waiting for him to okay her leave, she turned and ran from his office like an Olympic runner.

She redid Edward's deed and drummed her nails on the desktop in impatience as the printer ran off the final page. She snapped it up, put the pages in order, stapled as she walked to deliver the document simultaneously with Edward's clients.

At her desk seconds later, she sat back in her chair. A little rest and relaxation was in order. Her thoughts nowhere in particular, she embezzled a short reprieve from the trials and tribulations of being at everyone's beck and call and whipping post to some. Her name rang loudly in the stillness of the room.

She looked up. Holy crap, she thought, staring into Peter's angry looking face. The blood in her veins iced over. How could I have forgotten him?

He approached her angrily. Towering in front of her, he made wild and erratic finger gestures in the air.

He's flipping me the bird again. Christ. What an idiot! She cringed when his finger came within inches of her face. The familiar tic did its embarrassing dance in her eye. He beckoned her to follow him. Like she was to going to follow him? What choice did she have? She trailed behind like a wounded puppy, able only to imagine what laid next in store for her.

Once inside his office behind a closed door her fiery temper quickly regained supremacy as the humble servant program vanished totally from her persona. She wasn't in the mood for more foolishness. She walked around his desk, picked up the phone and called the receptionist. "Gisele, would you hold Mr. Montgomery's calls for," she looked down at Peter and asked sweetly, "is five minutes sufficient to get this job done, Mr. Montgomery?"

After a second, he answered with a simple nod.

"Yes, Gisele, sorry for the delay. Would you hold Mr. Montgomery's calls for the next five minutes, please. Thank you."

Seated, she only then looked fully at Peter. Mouth agape, he stared back at her with the same incredulous expression as before. What in God's name did I do now? With an unwavering gaze she kept her eyes with his as the nervous tic danced merrily beneath the skin below her eye.

Later, back at her desk, her fingers flew over the keyboard until she came to "yours very truly", the only shorthand strokes easily discernible. She looked at the finished masterpiece on the monitor. Quite a fine job, Shannon, she mentally congratulated herself. Recalling Peter's advice when he sought out her services, she saw nothing pressing with the letter. But what did she know?

Chapter 19

"An Ingenious Manipulation"—

At 8:45 the following morning, Edward sat with Peter in his office, paying no particular attention to the wicked wind howling against the windowpanes, making its presence known.

Through the mini-blinds, he stared past his colleague, out over Main Street, from the second floor. He noticed neither the city coming alive below him, nor the blue sky overhead, however.

They'd been sitting without talking for almost two minutes.

His thoughts wandered to the reason for this extempore visit. He turned away from the window. "The seeds of doubt were planted, now the minions reap the harvest. The little injuns are happy?"

To some, that would seem a cryptic message, but to the two scholars, it meant their planned strategy proved fruitful once again this year.

Beginning the first of December of every year Peter, after he got the nod from Edward, enlisted someone to send out a message to the staff, alluding to how poor a financial year it had been. Then that message was followed by the hint there might not be a Christmas bonus at all this year. So, the staff went from wondering when they'd receive their bonuses, to how much they'd be, then to resigning themselves to the fact there might be no bonus at all. Then one day, they're told today's the day the checks would be cut. So, regardless of how much the bonus would be, their employees would be ecstatic to receive whatever paltry sum they chose to hand out, without complaint, because they didn't expect to receive anything anyway. It was an ingenious manipulation, they thought.

Edward asked, "Who did we use this year to be the messenger of ill tidings?"

"Mike." The softness of his voice matched that of his collaborator.

"Everything cool?"

"Everything cool."

***

Shannon tightened her jacket around her and looked back at the bus, pulling from the curb. If she ran, she'd be able to catch it. Grumbling to herself, she turned and climbed the steps of the office building.

Thinking she might be on the verge of losing everything that meant anything to her tore her insides to shreds. She forgot the stupid lawyers and drew in a deep breath of air. It was a beautiful morning—cold, but still beautiful. It probably would have been even more beautiful had she not been chasing after Peter all night in her dreams.

If he had already said his piece to Edward, she could be walking toward her doomsday. If he hadn't, she was in for the same old. At this point, which was worse? She took a trip down memory lane. To a time when everything was simple. When her biggest worry was whether she aced an exam. When she could walk into her home and be greeted with love and kindness. To a time when her future looked bright. She chucked those thoughts from her mind. There was no point in dwelling on what was lost. No point at all. She grabbed hold of the doorknob and turned.

The hallway was congested with secretaries and lawyers walking at a fast, steady pace. Raised voices echoed against the peeling plaster of the ancient walls caused her to cringe as she sprinted up the stairs to the second floor.

She spotted Peter standing with his arms crossed against his chest, his eyes fixed on Edward. Turning her eyes away, she thought she should cross herself.

Just before her desk, she stopped short, her eyes straying warily to the corner. The steno chair was gone."Where's the Rose Bush, Abby?"

"Gone. Flew the coop, so to speak."

That surprised her. "What made her leave?"

"Her husband was transferred and she's off house hunting. She gave Edward two weeks' notice, but he encouraged her to leave immediately."

She laughed at the silliness and looked across the hallway. She couldn't seem to keep herself from looking at him. He was in the same position as before.

More lawyers—all of the partners and a few associates—had gathered in the office. They all looked extremely pleased with themselves. The noise level was enough to make even the deafest run for cover, but Edward, she thought as she watched him now, seemed to be at complete ease. Surrounded by his partners and some of his associates, he practically held court. Studying Edward—who was so in his element—study his colleagues filled her heart with, well, pride. Why would she feel that?

Reminding herself he was judge, jury and if needed, executioner, she turned her eyes back to Peter and told herself not to notice how strikingly handsome he was.

Ah, a day in the life of a legal secretary. In any other office that probably meant nine to five ordinary days. Adequately fulfilling, pleasantly rushed, but in a law office there was nothing ordinary about it, at least not for her.

Tired of standing alone, she wished someone was on her side. This wasn't a matter she should have to be dealing with on her own. Being independent, well heeled financially wasn't all that mattered in life. There was much, much more. She nodded to herself, breathed deeply, blew air out in a rush.

***

Peter turned toward her and something inside him tightened into knots. For the first time since all this began, Shannon wasn't looking at him expectantly, but like a demon that needed to be exorcised. Frustration had his senses reeling. Unfamiliar with the feeling, he rocked on his heels and envisioned her in Edward's office. His imagination painted a clear picture of her sitting with her legs tucked beneath one of Edward's Victorian chairs, her hands folded demurely in her lap. She was teary-eyed, her lips quivering. She was hesitant, but finally the words he'd been waiting for slipped from her mouth. He broke free of the reverie. He felt great.

What was running through that pea brain of hers? Usually he had no trouble at all reading her. But not this time. She wasn't like the other secretaries, he realized, but not for the first time. She didn't kneel before them. Didn't laugh at their lame jokes. She let her views be known. Challenged when provoked and smiled only when sincere. Lay down with a bitch, wake up with fleas. He didn't care.

God, he was deranged.

***

Some thirty minutes later when Shannon placed Edward's mail on his desk, she hummed to herself, thinking about Rose Mary Bush. Another enigma realized. She turned and looked out the window. The sun hid like a coward behind clouds that covered the entire sky in shades of white and gray. She looked downward. Already the streets bustled with shoppers burdened with their purchases. She checked the time: 9:30.

One particular gentleman caught her attention. She admired his perfectly trimmed black hair, navy wool topcoat, gray scarf —cashmere, she'd bet—and black leather gloves. Her eyes traveled to his feet. Yup, Wingtips, just as she suspected. She pressed her face to the glass and watched as he entered Tower's Jewellers. She thought he might purchase a dazzling piece of jewelry, a diamond ring, perhaps, for that special someone in his life. She thought female friend, but these days who knew for sure?

"Everything all right, Sarah?" Edward asked.

She turned and faced him. "Why don't you tell me about Rose Mary Bush, Mr. McIntyre?" Blunt, truthful and right to the point.

"What?"

"I'm sorry. I should've prepared you." She knocked the side of her head. "I heard the story about Rose Mary and I'd like to hear your side of what happened." Again blunt, truthful and right to the point. Maybe she was charmed this morning and would hear something in the way of an explanation or elaboration. If not, she'd accept denials, rebuttals, excusals. One way or the other, Edward would pony up.

"It was a highly unusual and awkward set of circumstances I found myself involved in. I can't say definitely when or even how it began. Sometimes, without any ill feelings or malice on anyone's part, we become part of something that we would not otherwise be." He spread his arms wide at his sides. "In retrospect, it's easy to see the error of our ways, not that that's an admission of guilt or underhandedness on my part by any means." He sat back in his chair and folded his arms across his chest.

"Sometimes life throws us a curve, Sarah, and we have no alternative but to go with it. Not everything is black and white. There are gray areas, you know. Sometimes we learn that lesson the hard way. That's life."

She tried to, wanted to, concentrate on his words. Instead, her attention was on trying not to doze off. Obliquely, she sensed an end to Edward's explanation and forced her mind back to the present, so hoping she hadn't snored.

"Life's an experience, and we must make the most of what we have and work with it, build from it, grow with it. Sometimes it's a long arduous journey, but a worthwhile one, I feel. Oddly enough, even at my age, I find myself still learning. We must look to within ourselves occasionally and be able to determine what's right and what's wrong. Sometimes events do not work out the way we anticipate or plan." He unfolded his hands and gestured wildly in the air. "Does that clarify the situation for you?"

"Oh, yes, sir, everything is so much clearer now. Thank you for sharing that with me, Mr. McIntyre." She suppressed a yawn. She hadn't been charmed at all.

Chapter 20

—"Perversity's pull is stronger than resistance"—

When Peter stood in the doorway, Shannon was thinking how different Abby was lately. Not quite so catty, not quite so chatty, and there were times when hours passed where she didn't say anything at all. In the past, Abby could recount stories with the accuracy of a fine precision tool. Now she became befuddled by the least little thing. She turned her attention to Peter when he called Abby by her full name.

"I specifically asked you yesterday to arrange this file in order, secured with an Acco fastener in a bellows file. The correspondence is to be arranged from the latest date to the earliest. The pleadings are to be separated and placed within a plain blue file folder and all insurance documents are to be placed within a plain pink file folder. I don't think that is too difficult for you to comprehend." He flung the file across the room at her.

Shannon watched in horror as the file landed against Abby's face, the contents falling out in every direction across the floor. Shocked, she turned toward Peter, only to throw eye-piercing daggers at an empty doorway.

Abby ran her fingers across her teeth and massaged her cheek. Heart wrenching sobs followed.

Shannon grabbed some tissues and knelt on the floor beside Abby. "Why don't you go to the ladies room, get yourself together, and I'll clean up this mess." She placed the tissues in Abby's lap.

Abby took her hands from her tear-drenched face. She looked at the scattering of papers on the floor, then at Shannon and broke into hysterical sobs. She jumped up and fled the room.

Shannon wondered what evil had possessed Peter. Was he upset because she hadn't yet given her resignation and was taking out his anger on Abby? Oh my. No one should suffer because of her strong will.

She picked the papers from the floor and sat at Abby's desk to arrange the file in order. Since Edward didn't practice civil litigation, she had trouble deciphering what was a pleading and what was not. She decided if it looked official with a lot of legal mumbo-jumbo gobbledygook in it, a pleading it was.

When she had everything aligned in accordance with Peter's militant instructions, she left for the lunchroom, not wanting to be in the office when Abby returned.

Joanna Evans swept into the room and passed by Shannon without saying a word, like she wasn't there. She watched her cleaning the coffee carafe and putting a package of ground coffee into a new filter. So that was the trick—new filter and a package of coffee. Well, cripes, I should have known that.

Staring at the percolator, Joanna said, "Coffee just took another hike again."

Oh, so you did notice me.

"It's so expensive. I don't know how you people manage to live."

Shannon gaped. Because we're not all lawyers, we couldn't afford to buy coffee beans or eat? She raised her eyes to the ceiling, not caring if Joanna noticed the rude gesture or not. "It's a trial all right." She pulled the plug for the kettle with one hand and with the other reached for the pot of freshly brewed coffee and filled a cup to the brim.

Out of the corner of her eyes, she noticed Joanna staring at her agog. Feeling indignant, she heaped spoon after spoon of sugar into the cup. "I save money by not buying coffee at all since I have it here free of charge. That helps." She smiled.

Forsaking insults and arrogance for the piquant, she left the hot confines of the small room a smug little woman. Tomorrow she expected to see a jar next to the coffee pot with a sign posted that read: "Coffee 50¢ a cup."

***

His hair stood on end and his eyebrows seemed to have found permanency at his hairline. He'd be lucky if Abby didn't bring charges against him. He stared at Shannon across the hall, then at his coffee mug. It's that damn mug that ignited the fuse, he told himself. He felt his grip on composure slip. She was winning and he was losing. It was unbelievable and an admission he thought he would never make.

Then he flattered himself with thoughts of what he'd accomplished so far and brightened. He'd shown her what he was capable of and he could show her more. He was in a position to do worse. Much worse. Perversity's pull was stronger than resistance for him.

With an evil grin, he sat back in his chair. He looked back at Shannon again. She turned her eyes away from Abby and looked at him. He recognized the look. It was one of question and trepidation. Wouldn't she like to know what was next on his agenda?

***

The drive to the courthouse was short and so familiar to Peter he thought he could drive it with his eyes closed, leaving his brain to wander. At times such as these he usually flashed back to the court room remembering the feeling of knowing he'd won a case and looking to either his left or his right, depending on which side he was on, to give his colleague and opponent a smile that asked, And you thought you could win against me? He could remember every single one of those times. There were many, each one a sweeter victory than the last for a man who came from nowhere, from a family who saw more hard times than good. The thrill of saying just the right words that would end the question of who would win the case. The self-satisfaction of knowing he asked just the right questions. And badgering—though it would be objected to—well, it felt good to get those words in, whether they were on the record or not. In his mind he heard the sound of a gavel being pounded against wood. "Quiet in the court room!" He liked to believe he'd be saying those words one day.

Then, as they always did when his mind was free to roam, his thoughts turned to Shannon. Of all the different people in all of the different walks of life he'd come up against in his career—hell, in his entire life—that young girl could push his buttons like no one else ever had, like no one else ever could. He scowled as he adjusted his sunglasses. Damn it. His thoughts left him wanting.

Since that time in his office when he misspoke, he hadn't been able to think of much else besides wanting to bed her and teaching her a lesson. The teaching her a lesson part was characteristic. What wasn't was that he hadn't won yet. The wanting to bed her was, however, uncharacteristic. Oh, he couldn't deny he had his share of fantasies about women, but none to this depth or duration. He felt his heart flutter—anxiety. This was something knew to him too. He'd read about the symptoms, just in case, but never before experienced it. Why would he have?

He inhaled deeply and made a left turn on a red light, honking his horn at the idiot in the motorized wheel chair on the crosswalk who almost collided with his front bumper. He punched the accelerator of his four-seater mini-van envisioning Shannon's head between the floor and the pedal. As the car shot ahead he felt some satisfaction, the most he felt in days.

Now, he remembered how her cheeks had flushed with temper, how her eyes had sparkled like diamonds in the sun when he made her go back to the lunch room with the third cup of coffee she'd fetched for him. When he told her his coffee wasn't quite right after each taste test, it wasn't a flimsy excuse; it had been the Goddamn truth. The walls of his office had practically vibrated with her energy as her breath came in ragged jabs as she looked at him like she wanted to beat the crap out of him. Maybe he should have let her. He might have enjoyed it.

For the first time in his life, Peter Montgomery didn't know where to go from here.

Chapter 21

—"Dance? It's a Waltz"—

As the time drew near Shannon's nerve grew bolder. She dressed for the office Christmas party in the little black dress Louise had insisted she purchase on their spontaneous shopping spree. Thank you, Mrs. Nelson. For flair, she wore her mother's pearl choker and matching earrings.

She checked herself out in the cheval mirror and grinned. If her coworkers wanted something to gossip about, who was she to argue?

***

Shannon entered Shadow Lawn and looked around. The curved staircase, the newel post handsomely decorated with woodcarved flowers, the highly polished hardwood floors, the cornice mouldings and the Persian area rugs virtually abducted her breath. She had never been here before and it didn't disappoint her.

She shrugged out of her coat and noticed Peter standing beside an antique mahogany highboy set in a corner. He looked invincible, ruthless. There was something else too—a look in his eyes she never saw before. Pity?

Nerves she'd managed to control raced back. She overdressed, she thought and glanced around the room. No, that's not it. She wrinkled her nose. Whatever his problem, it was his to deal with.

Within a half hour, everyone was seated around the long, rectangular pine dining table. No one seemed any more relaxed than she.

Edward sat at the head of the table with Shannon to his right. From there it was lawyer, secretary, lawyer, secretary. Peter sat directly across from her. Every once in awhile she peered across the table at him, and each time she found his attention on her. Or maybe on her cleavage; she couldn't tell for sure.

"A toast," Edward said and sprang from his chair. "To all of our secretaries, who we cherish dearly and without whom we lawyers would have trouble finding our pens."

"Ain't that the truth," came from the opposite end of the table.

Maybe it was the wine at dinner. Or maybe it was the three glasses of champagne and the cigar she smoked after dinner, but she found everyone was being really nice to her. She wouldn't have thought she had it in her to make small talk, especially knowing how disliked she was, but there she was chatting away.

"I'm so glad you came, Betty. We don't really get the chance to chat at the office. Isn't this party great?" Shannon swayed to the Christmas music.

"Uh-huh."

Stuart Campbell bumped into her. She steadied her feet. "A little too much bubbly, bud?"

"I've only just begun," Stuart said.

She swirled her champagne, looking around the room.

"Oh, there's Patricia. 'Cuse me, Big Tits...er...um...Christ, Betty."

"This place is beautiful, isn't it, Patricia? I've never been before." She took a sip from her drink.

"The firm always has its Christmas party here, Shannon. Although it's not really a party, is it? Not with these stuffy lawyers."

"Oh, I don't find them stuffy at all! Though I do find them uptight, arrogant, weird and obnoxious." Another sip from the glass. "Not to mention Neanderthal."

"Ah."

"Oh, I see Abby over there. Excuse me." As she walked she slipped out of her strapless sandals, stopping for a moment to pick them from the floor.

"Hi, Abs."

Abby turned her head over her shoulder and did a double take.

"What's with the sunglasses, Ab?" Shannon asked before Abby had a chance to say anything.

"Um...er...I...um...sty. Well, you seem to be a having a good time."

"I'm having a great time! I loved the broiled salmon, and the chocolate mousse was to die for. Though I can't say I loved the way Peter gawked at my chest all the while I ate it. Hey, guess what? I actually had a civil conversation with big tits over there. Well, it was more one-sided, but she didn't walk away from me." Shannon tipped back the last of her champagne, then dug into her evening bag. "I know I have them in here," she muttered to herself. "Oh, here're the lil buggers." She perched the oval framed sunglasses on her nose.

"Shannon, maybe you've had enough to drink."

Just then Jingle Bell Rock sounded from the stereo system. Shannon stood on tip toes, looking around the room. "Oh, there's that little scamp. 'Cuse me, Ab, I've somethin' to do."

She hip-hopped to the tune across the room, oblivious to the smiles and elbow nudging. Tapping him on the shoulder, she asked, "May I have this dance?" She slipped her size five's into the pockets of his suit jacket.

Edward turned and smiled. "I thought you'd never ask."

"I'm so glad we had this get-together, Mr. McIntyre," she yelled, rocking and rolling to the music. "It was a great idea. Your idea? What does it matter? I'm having a great time."

"How much have you had to drink, Sarah?" he asked, catching her around the waist.

"Why's ev'rybody asking me that? I haven't been drinking, Mr. McIntyre. Champagne is celebrating," she said, stepping on his toes.

"Uh-huh. Why are you wearing sunglasses?"

"What?"

"The shades."

"I'm in sympathy with Abby," she said, pointing her finger around the room in every direction.

The music stopped. She clapped and giggled while Edward slipped the glasses off her nose. When he patted his pockets and found her sling backs, he simply shook his head.

Peter steeled himself to listen to Stuart's opinion on the recently revised Criminal Code. The moment he found an opening, he broke in. "Yes, yes, I can understand why you would feel it's de profundis, but you might come to appreciate the profundity. Excuse me, Stu, but there's a certain redhead who seems in need of a dance partner."

"May I have this dance, Shannon?"

She turned and felt the blood rush from her head. "Dance? It's a waltz."

He smiled. "So it is."

"S'okay."

He took her hand. It surprised her his hand was hard and calloused. She expected it to be soft and limp. He held her close in his arms. Not at all appropriate, she thought. She made a move to step back. He strengthened his hold. She loved his after-shave and moved her hand in a circular motion on his back, feeling the swell of muscles. God, he's gorgeous. Swaying to the music, happy chatter behind her, being in his arms, she lost herself in the moment. She laid her head against his chest, and such a massive chest it was! She sighed.

The music stopped. Neither Peter nor Shannon noticed. A few moments passed before they heard the laughter.

"I told you they fell asleep." That from Edward.

Peter and Shannon broke apart like they'd been caught doing something illegal.

She curtsied—almost toppling over—and said, "I need another, then another glass of champagne." And a cold shower.

Minutes later she stood beside Edward, listening to his stories about the sorrier side of the law when the lights went out. It was black as pitch. Glasses shattered, screams sounded at her back. Someone twirled her around so fast she didn't know what was happening. Lips—hot and soft—locked onto hers. She felt the stubble of an evening shadow against her skin. She kissed him back, enjoying the intimacy. God, how she needed that.

Then the lights came back on.

She stood alone in the middle of the gathering room.

Chapter 22

"An Irishman, a lumberjack and Ginger Rogers"—

"I didn't think the morning would ever end," Shannon told Abby when she met her at Papa Jacks diner. She had to coax Abby to join her for lunch, but it didn't bother her. Too much. She'd been so happy someone agreed to eat with her, she'd actually forgotten her snow boots. But now, out of the crazy house at last—albeit for only the next hour or so—she relaxed.

"Bad day?"

"The worst. And this headache. Phew." Shannon massaged her temples.

Abby smiled. "They are feisty today, huh?"

"Neanderthal."

"Over what?"

Shannon shrugged. "Nothing specific. Just their way, I guess."

"I think I'll have a cheeseburger, fries and a coke."

"That sounds good to me too. But I'll have a double cocoa."

"You're living dangerously."

"Well, I do work for lawyers."

"You have anyone special in your life?" Abby asked after they placed their order.

The question took Shannon by surprise. "No, no one."

"Any life outside the office?"

"Not much."

"Friends?"

"No, all of my friends left Sandy Point after they graduated. You know, the francophone-anglophone thing. It's hard to get a job in this town if you're not bilingual. I got lucky."

"I think you had more than luck going for you."

"Well, then there's something to be said for good grades." Shannon wondered if this lunch date wasn't duplicitous.

"No, I think it's more than that."

"What are you getting at, Abigail?"

"Your connection to Edward. You seem to have a rapport with him."

Frowning Shannon stared at her, wondering where this question led, "No connection. He's my boss."

"That's it?" "What more could there be?" Then it hit her. "Cripes, Abby, I'm not having an affair with the man." She shook her head. "He's old enough to be my father for God's sake."

"Okay, okay. You had a good time Friday night cutting loose. Though I must say you drank like an Irishman, cussed like a lumberjack and danced like Ginger Rogers."

Shannon covered her face with her hands. "How'd I get home?"

"Edward."

"Uh-huh." My savior. "I imagine I'm the talk of the office today."

"As usual." Abby laughed. "I wish you could see your face. I'm kidding. Actually I didn't hear any rumors."

"Really?"

"Really. Probably everyone realizes now you're human and not some Miss Hoity-Toity."

"Oh." Maybe she should make a fool of herself more often. She looked at her watch. "It's getting late. We won't have much time to eat if we want to get to Kent's pre-Christmas sale, Ab."

"We'll have to hustle."

"I know how to do the hustle."

"Yeah, I know. The whole office knows."

***

Though Kent's had a wide selection of styles and sizes that would fit Shannon's short stature, she found fault with everything she took from the racks. It wasn't as though she had anywhere special to go, or anything special to do, or anyone special to do it with.

They happened upon a bin of brassieres—some of them red, matching Abby's dress purchase—all on sale.

"Wow. Look at this, Abby. It must be your lucky day." Shannon leaned into the bin, forming all of the red bras in a pile in front of Abby.

Abby rifled through them. "There's none my size. Come on, Shannon, we'll be late."

"Okay." When Shannon stood on the top step, she noticed one of the clerks laughing at her. Am I that funny looking? She turned and looked over the railing and found another clerk and a few customers laughing at her.

Well, cripes. When she made a move toward the next step, something pulled at the back of her jacket. Twisting around at the waist, she saw the problem and blanched like an almond, Behind her—much to her horror and embarrassment—trailed at least fifty brassieres, bouncing obscenely in a long procession from the bin to the knitted waistband of her coat.

Christ, why do these things happen to me? She ripped the hook of the main culprit from her jacket and threw the bras with all of her might back to the bin.

On the short walk back to the office, she decided it could have been worse. She could've been arrested for shoplifting.

Something could be said for seeing the positive side of things.

Chapter 23

—"He'd Gloat. Sure as Shooting" —

Christmas came and went. As quickly forgotten as it approached. The new year rang in as wild and untamed as a lion. Each day since Christmas was as bitterly cold as the last. Shannon hated it. She couldn't see the artistic etchings on the frosted panes of glass, nor could see the beauteous splendor of snowflakes clinging to the limbs of trees. It was true those born in the summer months preferred warmth to cold.

The days following the brief respite of four and one-half days off at Christmas was eventful. Peter was up to his old tricks with new tactics.

Just what was the message in a single chocolate Kiss placed on her shorthand pad? When she'd ripped the silvery paper off the candy with childish excitement, she did so in plain view of Peter. She savored the delicious taste, smacked her lips and smiled wickedly in his direction. It wasn't until the candy settled in her stomach that she wondered if it wasn't tainted by a laxative, or worse still, something that would cause nausea. She'd almost vomited at the thought.

Then there'd been the time when she'd returned from the washroom to find her steno chair sitting in a corner of her office. She'd only giggled and moved the chair back, but the implication wasn't lost on her. She'd been right about her doubts. Peter fought dirty. There was so much he could do to her, but little she could do to him in return without getting fired.

How much longer could she continue to smile at his biting remarks? How often in the past did she prove to him his sneers had no effect on her? Was it time to stop this madness? Time to have a one-on-one with him and get everything out in the open. To admit she had enough and call a truce.

Would Peter accept her then? Accept her as a bump in the road, a minor inconvenience he could avoid? No, he'd gloat. Sure as shooting. What other options did she have? She could always turn tail and run. What her coworkers and Peter failed to do, her lack of grit would succeed in doing. She could leave right now. Though then she'd be a traitor to herself. No, she wouldn't let herself down. She'd stand tall and trudge forward. Maybe a turning point was right around the corner.

She'd stay. She'd laugh. She'd apologize. She'd overlook. And she'd cry, but she hoped with no regrets. God, how she hated to cry. Her mood was as unstable as her thoughts.

Abby returned to the office after spending the holidays with her family and told her she gave her notice to Peter. She would be here only long enough to work her two week notice, then she'd move back home with her parents.

Much to Shannon's chagrin, she learned there was truth to Peter's gossip about his secretary. Abby's husband had been unfaithful. There was no chance for reconciliation, irreconcilable differences forced them to divorce. Jerry had outgrown her, she admitted, and had forgotten his commitment to her and felt hindered by marriage.

"Do you remember when I wore sunglasses to the Christmas party?" Abby asked.

"Vaguely."

"Well, anyway I told you I had a sty."

Shannon did remember something about that. "Go on."

"It wasn't that. Jerry hit me. I covered up the shiner with the sunglasses."

Shannon gasped. "The bastard. You're better off without him. You may not think so now, but you will. A man who hits a woman and runs around on his wife is pond scum. If you don't mind my asking, why'd he hit you?"

Abby shrugged. "I found out about his affairs with other women. Through my doctor of all people. I confronted him and that's when he socked me."

"How did your doctor know about Jerry's affairs?"

"I had these recurring infections. On my last visit he told me stop it with the different sexual partners. I didn't understand what he was saying. So, he said if it wasn't me who was doing the horizontal tango with all the men in town, then I should look closer to home, meaning my husband."

The thought of the different types of STDs terrified Shannon, so she could imagine what Abby had gone through once she learned of Jerry's wandering lust. "But you're going to be okay, right?"

"So my doctor says."

"Thank God. No one deserves that." Shannon stood and walked to the filing cabinets in the same moment Peter entered their office. She waited for an explosion and gnashed her teeth.

"You look nice today, Shannon. Or is that politically incorrect these days?" Peter smiled.

The elbows of her sweater thinned and it was a size too big. The seat of her corduroy skirt was shiny. Her tights bagged at the knees and she didn't have shoes on. "Why, thank you, Mr. Montgomery. Nice of you to notice." Mentally, she danced a jig.

He blinked, opened his mouth as though to say something, then snapped it shut.

She stared at his incredulous face and experienced a moment of fright. If eyes could kill, she realized, she'd be fodder for some horny bull. Hadn't he seen her smile? She turned her eyes away and walked back to her desk. Seated, she shifted positions twice before glancing around the room, wanting someone to rescue her from this imbecile. But just as she was alone since her first day on the job, she was alone now.

"Look," she said, "I don't mean to be intentionally rude, but I'm not in the mood today to play any of your mind games. Please, Mr. Montgomery, leave me alone. Just for today. Tomorrow, if you want, you can make up for today." Where'd that come from?

"Defensive, aren't you?"

"Childish and catty, aren't you?" Good, Shannon. You go, girl! Keep talking. Catch him off-guard. Sound like you're not intimidated. It was never a good thing to let your opponent—and Peter was definitely her opponent—see any emotion. Suck it up, Shannon. Hope blossomed on her face, but only for a moment when she wondered if law school offered courses in evasive maneuvers. The thought frightened her.

She surrendered to the temper roiling inside her, letting it, for the first time, rise to the surface. She jumped from behind her desk, landed within inches of his face and poked a pointed, bony finger into his chest, shoving it as hard as she could. His astonishment made her smile. Standing on tip toes, her nostrils flared as she snorted. Not so tough after all, are you, big boy? When she brought her thoughts back to the real world, she sighed.

He hadn't liked what she said, she noticed. His jaw worked, his muscles throbbed. She watched as he and Abby shared one of those looks as that of an employer and employee who knew each other well. A twinge of envy spiked through her. She'd never have that with Edward. She would consider herself lucky if Edward ever came to remember her name.

When she heard him stomp from the office, she gave Peter no more thought, turning her attention to Eileen Smith's last will and testament. What started out as a three page will was now five. She became bold and adventurous and changed the font from courier to bookplate. It gave the document some pizzazz. She wondered if Edward would notice.

The will broke the record for being the longest she'd ever prepared. Three pages were devoted to individual bequests. More rings than she had fingers, more earrings and matching necklaces than she'd ever need, more unmatched earrings and unmatched necklaces than she'd ever want, were bequeathed to various relatives. There was a gold and diamond watch, a Seiko, a gold bracelet, a diamond and ruby bracelet, all vintage trinkets. There were two sets of china dinnerware and paintings by artists Shannon didn't know existed. Bottles of wine, the family silver, two different sets of tea services, the family Bible and antique furniture that "has been in my family for years, darling" were bequeathed to an unsuspecting sister. Then there was the armoire with a built-in jewelry chest, a hand painted portrait of Eileen and her husband with a hand engraved frame, a large gilded mirror and an antique cuckoo clock "that has long ago lost its cuckoo" that one lucky son would one day inherit. Then there was the ten thousand dollar bequest to each of her ten grandchildren. The remaining pages contained legal mumbo-jumbo that, when condensed, meant that the rest and residue of her estate, after liquidation, was to be divided equally among her surviving children.

Chapter 24

—"Palllopp!" —

Shannon watched Eileen Smith closely, hobbling through the hallway. Edward approached her from the rear and attempted to assist her. From the steadfast head shakes to the erratic movement of her one good arm, she could tell Edward's assistance wasn't well received. She was about to look away when one of the legs of Eileen's walker caught in the raveling threads of the hallway runner. Eileen lost, not only her footing, but her grip on the walker as well. She struggled to maintain her upright position by attempting with her one good arm to reach a stronghold with the untouchable air surrounding her. The walker flew in one direction, she in the other. Over she fell, landing firmly in place with a pallloppp that rocked the ancient floor joists of the second floor.

Edward rushed past the walker to her side, uttering a few choice expletives as he knelt on the floor beside his client. When he realized only her pride had been hurt—praise God—he told her he would get someone to help him lift her from the floor.

Abby and Shannon ran to the woman's side. Shannon tried to make her comfortable while Abby sought out her missing shoe.

The widow assured Shannon she was none the worse for wear, attempting to make light of an embarrassing situation. Abby rushed back and put her shoe on her foot just as Edward arrived with Peter in tow.

At their desks Shannon watched Abby staring in space. She no longer knew how to approach her. Most of the time Abby was uncommunicative, abrupt and crabby—to the point of downright surliness—with her.

"Wasn't that a fall?" Shannon asked.

Abby glanced at her and nodded, then turned her attention to a spot on the far wall of the office.

"Why don't they replace these carpet runners before something more serious happens? They may not be so fortunate in the future?" Come on, Abby, talk to me.

Abby shrugged.

What little Shannon learned of prudence argued for silence, but prudence held no more physical composition than air. "It was a funny sight." Please, Abby, talk to me. You're the only one in the office who will.

Shannon watched Abby's shoulder migrate. How infuriating a shrug had become. A not-so-polite kiss off.

"It could've been much more serious."

"Uh-huh."

Cripes, what's it going to take? Shannon hesitated now. Why poke the bear? She studied her for a moment, then asked, "Where did you find Mrs. Smith's shoe?"

Abby looked up from her work. Her brows furrowed before a smile transformed her face. "In Edward's pant pocket. For a moment, I didn't know whether he was really, really happy to see me, or if indeed it was the shoe that made the lengthy pointed bulge in his pocket."

Shannon was filled with a carefree abandon seeing Abby smile, if only in the fervor of the moment and at the expense of someone's unfortunate circumstance. Mea culpa, she silently chanted. "How do you suppose the shoe got in Edward's pocket?"

"Your guess would be better than mine. You work for the clown."

Clown. Well, that's not very nice. She could think of a few choice words to describe her coworker at the moment herself. A little shiver of insult crept up her spine at Abby's callous disrespect of her boss.

***

Shannon watched the steady flow of potential secretaries Peter ushered in and out of his office like cattle. The speed upon which he acted on receiving Abby's resignation was nothing less than remarkable. He didn't seem to mind he was about to lose an efficient secretary. Do we mean nothing to them?

Sitting back relaxed and watching from the wings, she knew by the expression on his face the applicants who interested him—the voluptuous, vivacious ones. At least that was the opinion she got from the goofy look on his face when he smiled his good-byes. Ta Ta for now, he seemed to say. If these potential candidates had any secretarial skills at all, it would only be a bonus.

A little farther down the hall, John Richardson conducted the same type of appointments. He found himself once again without a secretary. Edward caught Jeannie, his latest secretary, smoking pot in the ladies washroom and fired her on the spot. How he happened to be in the ladies washroom at the time one could only guess.

She hoped John would soon find a secretarial replacement. She'd been caught to pull up the slack. "Sure, you can borrow her," she imagined the conversation. She showed signs of wear and tear. Having to deal with an unknowingly demanding boss, along with another who thought she was at his disposal, and the constant guard of her back ran her ragged. There was no light at the end of the tunnel.

It's only natural she felt uneasy and nervous all the time, she told herself. After all, this was the first time in her life she'd encountered such brutality, such hostility.

As she watched him through the open doorway talking on the phone she saw how charming Peter could be when he wanted. How could he do what he had to me? Her parents dying shook her foundations, not only losing her only living relatives but her home as well. But this...this was something entirely different.

No matter how sincere his smile appeared to be, or how sincere his compliments sounded, there was always that little voice telling her different. Peter, she realized—but not for the first time—took over her life like a pirate, robbed her of the little enjoyments in life, and forced her to act and do things against another human being she would not have thought herself capable. Sometimes, when she saw his sly smile, it was all she could do not to smack him.

She felt as if the bottom slowly fell out of her life. Peter's mastery in the art of manipulation was never far from her thoughts—his intelligence versus hers, his experience versus hers. Sometimes she pictured her future without the law firm, without Edward, without the work, and, yes, without Peter. She realized she wouldn't be able to survive like she did before—not that this job provided her with her livelihood—it would be having to deal with knowing she failed. She wouldn't let herself worry about 'what ifs', she had too much else to worry about.

How much longer until she could go home? She didn't know if she'd last. The day had been an exercise in self-control. She wished for shorter office hours.

Her angry feelings were too near the surface, volatile and ready to detonate. She was a danger to herself and to others. It was an ugly realization and a truth that needed changing.

What she had to do now wasn't to play more games, but confront him, get everything out in the open, get him to admit his true intentions, then end this feud. She walked to his office with a firm purpose. She let out her breath and cleared her throat, building up courage.

Peter looked at her. He removed his reading glasses, placed his pen across a file and smiled.

She damned his perfect teeth, wise smile and intelligent eyes. "Mr. Montgomery, I'm sorry to disturb you, but could I have a word with you?"

***

Peter folded his hands on the desk. She's here to apologize. Then she'd tell him she was leaving. It was a long time coming, but he'd won. Yesss! He mentally rehearsed his speech.

I'm sorry to see you go, Shannon, and I'm sorry it didn't work out. I'll give you a fine letter of recommendation. When you first started working here, I thought, now there's a girl who's going to a great legal secretary. And you are, don't get me wrong. But sometimes we don't always fit in. Things happen that way sometime. Life's little ironies.

Then he'd express his regrets—appearing disappointed, contrite—and try to convince her to stay, albeit halfheartedly. When she said, "no, she'd thought this through and it was her only course of action", he'd say how truly sorry that made him.

"Of course, Shannon," he said. "Take a seat." He puffed out with the jowls of a Cheshire.

She sat and turned her eyes from the floor, batting her eyelashes. She placed her hands on the arms of the chair, then took her hands from the arms of the chair. She squirmed and wiped sweat from her upper lip.

He was tickled, fascinated by her theatrics. He squeezed his legs together. The poor child was so distraught he should feel something other than glee. Not! The scent of victory virtually permeated the air. He wanted to scream that he'd won.

"Um...er...um—"

"Take a deep breath, Shannon. There's nothing to be frightened about," he soothed. He didn't want her to lose her courage. He wanted this done and over with. Right now.

She drew air deeply into her lungs and exhaled. The papers on his desk fluttered. She looked directly into his eyes. "I don't know how to say this, Mr. Montgomery."

"It's all right, Shannon. Go ahead, dear. Start at the beginning." His smile conveyed sincerity, insincere though it was.

"Okay. The tampon dispenser is empty in the ladies washroom and I need to go to the drugstore." The words rushed out of her mouth. "Since Mr. McIntyre's not in to give me permission, I wonder if you'd okay my leaving for ten minutes?"

"What?" The question erupted from his mouth with more force than intended. She'd blind sided him again. Damn.

"I said, there are no more—"

He waved a hand in the air. "I heard you the first time."

"So, can I go?"

"Of course. We don't like to see our secretaries suffer."

"Thanks, Mr. Montgomery."

***

"We don't like to see our secretaries suffer." Yeah, right!

There would be consequences. She knew that. She swallowed hard. Peter would give her one better. She knew that too. She'd be ready.

The poor man still didn't know who he's fooling with, she thought. Looking to place blame where it didn't belong. Truthfully, she couldn't blame him for looking after himself. She'd been doing it for awhile now. But she wasn't going to be the fall guy or anyone's fool. He would just have to accept responsibility for his actions.

One of them would slip up one day, maybe slip over the line. Do something dastardly to the other, something that could never be forgotten or forgiven. Sometime soon when no more could be taken. She broadened her horizons and looked forward to that day for she knew he'd be the one to make that mistake.

She evaluated her position with the firm. Her job had started out okay. She thought about Peter and what they were doing to each other. He was relentless in his retaliation. Looking at it objectively caused her to appreciate Edward in ways she never had before. His constant questions, his insistent brays for her, his inattention to everything and everyone was heartwarming to her now.

These past chaotic weeks had taught her all she wanted to know about lawyers. Now she knew how to read a look, how to deliver an insult wrapped in sweetness and how to stand up without falling down. It was another hard lesson learned.

In a few months winter would be over. It would be one hurdle jumped. Spring might bring with it new understandings, new friendships and peace. At least she hoped that would be the case. She prepared herself for new beginnings and promised herself there would be no regrets, nor would there be any walking with her head over her shoulder.

She grew up surrounded by more love than most. The idea of having no one loving her was disquieting, the idea of no one liking her—perhaps never liking her—was slowly destroying her. But just because Peter felt she was to blame for his actions didn't mean she was going to take the rap for whatever was happening now, what she'd been driven to do. It wasn't her fault. This was a situation of Peter's making and she would prove it. Somehow.

How much simpler and easier truth was. Why couldn't Peter just have been truthful? She huffed out a breath and turned her attention to Edward across the hall reviewing a file, probably familiarizing himself with an upcoming property closing. The bifocals sat haphazardly on his roman nose giving him a lackadaisical appearance. Dumb & Dumber popped into her thoughts.

How well did she know him? Not very. Would he take her side if things got hairy? Not likely. Would he want to hear her side of the story? Maybe. Maybe not. An arctic chill swept her senses. It was not an unfamiliar feeling.

And, yet, in some way, she felt she knew him. He reminded her of someone. Maybe her father. If he was anything like her father, she could depend on him to be fair and unjudgmental. Her breath caught and a sharp pain stabbed her temples. Sadness filled her as the memory of her father surfaced in her thoughts. She buried the ache in her heart that always burst to life when she thought about her parents and forced a smile that didn't quite reach her eyes. God, she missed them. Why had they been taken from her?

Would Peter be treating her this way if her father, Mr. Justice Brock Murphy, were still alive?

Chapter 25

—"Peter sang the blues in falsetto"—

"I have good news for you, Sarah," Edward said when she sought out a file in his office.

Good news like you just learned Peter found Jesus? Good news like this feud has all been a bad dream? Good news like Peter has seen the error of his ways and wished to sincerely apologize to me on bended knee and let bygones be bygones?

"Good news? I sure could use some of that, Mr. McIntyre."

"Do you remember that Madame Francois LeBlanc mortgage?"

How could I forget that damn mortgage? You bugged the crap out of me for weeks looking for a file that didn't exist. "Yes, I remember it. Vividly."

"Well, I finally solved the puzzle."

"What happened?" The bottoms of her feet felt like she stood on floorboards of spikes. She so hoped this wasn't her error.

He chuckled. "Well, to begin with we searched for a file that didn't exist."

Well, that explains why we couldn't find it. "So, why was she calling here then?"

"Well, I guess it does exist, but not under that name."

"I'm confused."

"Yeah, so was I until I got to the root of the problem."

Well, it would only take a lawyer to do that. "And?"

"We were searching for the file under the wrong name. It's the Frank White mortgage, not the Francois LeBlanc mortgage. Well, I suppose it would be that if we had thought to translate the name."

She used her ever-sharpening power of interpretation. "Mrs. White is French, and prefers to use the French translation of her husband's name?"

"Yup."

How stupid is that? "How will she sign her name? All of the documents are written for Frank and Doreen White. Will I have to do everything all over?" Cripes.

"Unless her husband has had a legal change of name, she'll execute the mortgage as Doreen White. I'll see to that."

There was a gleam in his eyes that told her he looked forward to forcing the issue. She also knew he would put Madame Francois LeBlanc in her place in short order.

"Did you get your turkey?" he asked her now.

"Excuse me, sir?"

"Your turkey. Did you get it?"

Why must they always speak in riddles and forked tongues? She was at a loss. She still couldn't make the leaps to fill in the gaps with what wasn't said. "What turkey is that?"

He barely bellowed, "The turkeys the firm purchased for the employees that were handed out on Christmas Eve. Since you and Abby were off that day, I just wanted to ensure its delivery to you. Peter was supposed to attend to that."

"Oh," she said. "No, sir, I didn't."

"Well, maybe you should check with Peter as to its whereabouts. We wouldn't want it messing up the place," he nodded, smiling at what seemed to be a private joke between the two of them.

The first thought that formed in her mind was of Miguel and his bundle of poop. As quickly as that thought cleared, the words came as quickly, "Surely to God, Mr. McIntyre, this wasn't a live turkey." As silly as that might sound, it wasn't silly to her. She'd come to believe that silly was synonymous with lawyers, becoming more and more aware and able to anticipate—most of the time with apprehension—what might be. She placed the palm of her hand against her breast. Be still my heart.

He looked at her oddly. "It was frozen, Sarah. I meant, if it were placed in an office drawer or closet somewhere and forgotten, it would defrost and smell."

"Oh. Well, I haven't noticed any unusual odors emanating from anywhere, so I'm sure the turkeys aren't here. I'll check with Mr. Montgomery, though."

Judicious revenge was right around the corner from Edward's office. It drew her. It enticed her. It had the allure of a seductress. She dashed toward it.

Rapping her fingers against his open door, she leaned casually against the frame. "Where's my turkey, Mr. Montgomery?"

"What turkey is that, Shannon?"

"The turkey that was part of our Christmas bonuses. Mr. McIntyre said you had mine." She bobbed her head, curls bounced rhythmically around her face. "Well, as you can see, I'm back now, so I'd like my turkey."

"What was that?"

"My Christmas turkey. Where is it?" Almost a shout.

He muttered beneath his breath, a few words of which she understood as "damn turkeys." Then he turned his attention back to his work, muttering to himself, ending the indiscernible babble with a wave of his hand and a peculiar twisting of his head.

She struck a nerve. Delirious with delight she whistled while she walked back to her desk, already plotting, already hatching a plan. There were no suggestive vibes or any adverse premonitions. An opportunity presented itself, she'd make the most of it. She savored this gift from God. A tittle of caution cried, "NO!", but she was so caught up in her idea she paid it no mind. If she had, she would have dropped the plan like a hot potato. Then common sense should have won out.

***

Peter never had a headache like the whopper he had now since, well, since he was accused of sexual harassment. He was lucky he'd been able to quash that matter quietly and discreetly, and all without any help from Edward or anyone knowing. That wasn't a skeleton he wanted jumping out of his closet. Damn straight.

His head felt like there was a rubber band around it, tightening and tightening until he thought it would implode from the pressure. He massaged his aching temples.

Man, what a day. First Shannon, then that she-devil of a client. His ears still rang from hearing her temper tantrum through the telephone line. He wasn't a miracle worker. Didn't she realize she could only expect to get general damages for pain and suffering in accordance with what was standard in situations such as hers? He wanted to tell her to stop shouting. She didn't know anything about real pain and suffering. He had all he could take today of temper-driven, stubborn and determined women. And the day was still young.

Shannon wasn't making this easy, and damned if he didn't resent her for that, too. He really had no idea what to do next. He never had to work so hard to get a secretary see the handwriting on the wall. A twinge of shame had him admitting he'd gone overboard in his determination to have her fired, but he couldn't afford to have her here. A temptation, a damnation that would ruin not only his life, but his reputation as well.

Peter sang the blues in falsetto.

Chapter 26

—"Payback's a Bitch" —

There was a certain wily abandon about Shannon—like a fox entering a hen house undetected. Satisfaction. Pure and simple. Around her keyboards clacked beneath fingers, and unanswered telephones shrieked for a response, but she paid little attention to all of that. A raised voice followed by a warning to tone it down—probably from a secretary to a lawyer—rang like music in her ears.

Everything cast aside—work, worries, responsibilities—she plunged into the sweet pleasure of payback. Maybe because victory was near at hand it made the sensation all that much sweeter.

She would have sworn the sun never shone in winter or that the sidewalks were ever bare of snow. She couldn't remember a time when she felt so carefree, so utterly at peace with herself. What happened, she wondered, to her practicality, sensibility and responsibility?

As eager as her first day on the job, she worked out the details of her plan. Her skin tingled.

Alone they didn't stand a chance, but together...Though she knew she was on a power high, and played with fire, she still felt invincible. With just six little words, an innocent question really—Did you get your turkey, Sarah?—the door that would put an end to the feud opened for her.

There were legal secretaries before her, she was sure, who couldn't cope with the demands of the lawyers, who couldn't suffer their arrogance, but she felt she'd weathered the storm. Her message would be sent loud and clear—Don't mess with me or you'd be sorry.

Long ago she came to the realization there was nothing wrong with her. Unorthodox, maybe. That wasn't a bad thing. Somewhere down the road she'd be accepted for who she was—spirited, feisty and intelligent. All she'd ever wanted. She didn't stay on simply to make everyone's life miserable.

The twinges of fright that plagued her many times over the past few months brushed her emotions. No. Nothing or no one, not the past or the present, would ruin this day.

This gift from God—and that's how she thought of it—took a long time in coming. Maybe there'd been other opportunities in the past she hadn't recognized. Maybe now that she was so much wiser, so much more savvy, she'd be more adept at spotting an opportunity. There's something different, she thought, about this opportunity though. Peripherally, laterally. Something...She couldn't grasp the significance.

***

Payback was going to be a bitch for Peter.

Shannon and Abby worked well together. They plotted and prepped in hushed tones across their desks. Rubbed their chins and tweaked their ears. Two working as one, they did a fine job. They strategized in much the same manner as lawyers preparing for a multi-million dollar lawsuit. The lawsuit was exactly what the doctor ordered. For both of them.

They covered all the bases, they felt—punitive damages in the amount of five thousand dollars for cruel and unusual punishment and "such further and other compensation as this honorable court deems just." Though they were seduced by the witticism of the joke, they remembered their positions as plaintiffs and the little perks and benefits that ideology prescribed by law, adding interest and costs of the action at the end of the claim.

After discussing one last time whether or not the action should be commenced in small claims court rather than a higher court as they previously decided, they agreed on both counts their plan should be initiated as originally thought out. A high court could be the only appropriate piazza befitting Peter's stature and status in the community. They giggled some more. How would he feel to be placed in small claims court when the option had been within their jurisdiction as plaintiffs to initiate the action in whatever court they chose. Slighted, they both felt. They wouldn't want that.

Peter would argue their action was frivolous, vexatious and without merit and the action negligible, but they would call a halt to the fictitious action long before the time expired for him to file a statement of defense. The matter shouldn't go too, too far.

Shannon sat back and admired the finished product. It looked as authentic as any other. It contained as much legal mumbo-jumbo as any other. No one would know the difference.

When she first told Abby about her plan to launch a lawsuit against Peter for negligent action, undue hardship suffered at his culpable hand and willful refusal to return what rightfully belonged to them, she expected resistance. Much to her surprise, there wasn't any. Abby seemed eager to play a role in her scheme. Maybe too eager. Maybe she should be wary. Or maybe Abby just wanted payback, too. God knew, she deserved it, having to work for that man.

She envisioned Peter laughing as the process server did his job, laughing at the lawsuit, laughing at the legal lingo, and most of all, laughing at the joke. She'd accept a hug, but didn't expect one. A handshake was as good with an acknowledgment that she won, that she did one better and that it was time to forgive and forget. She cupped her chin in her hand and smiled. It would be a momentous occasion. One she fought hard for. There were bruises on her heart and in her mind that proved she earned this sweet victory.

Why then was she feeling like this was the tranquility before the tempest?

***

Shannon virtually bubbled with delight when she called the clerk of the court to ask him to play a part in her 'little joke'. Without any persuasion, he agreed to lend a hand.

With that hurdle jumped, she called the process server. To her surprise once again, he was also cooperative; all she had to do was call him when everything was ready for service.

The thrill of the chase for retribution sheathed her as tightly as a body stocking. Her plan neared execution and she was hot on the trail of success and knew it. She'd felt it in every click of every key.

On her lunch hour she went to the clerk's office. He asked her to let him know how she made out with Peter. That's one thing I've dreamed of doing many times, she thought—make out with Peter. It held a certain appeal for her. It always had. It still did.

When Shannon returned to the office, she immediately called the process server and told him it was time to serve Peter.

Now, she anxiously awaited his arrival. The legal action might raise some eyebrows and temporarily rankle some feathers, but once the initial surprise and shock wore off, everyone would see the humor in it. She wished she could be a fly on the wall of Peter's office when service was made, but watching and listening from near his office doorway would have to do.

The process server entered the law firm and effected service on Peter every bit as somber as he would on any other defendant. She couldn't hold back giggles when she heard his exclamation of surprise that came in gasps, gurgles and guttural noises. When the process server left, he winked conspiratorially, raising his thumb in the air as he passed by her office. With that simple gesture, one forward step for legal secretaries everywhere had been made. She felt the fruits of her labor would soon be realized. Peter would be hauled down a peg or two. By God, wasn't it time?

Abby shot up a hand so fast, Shannon's head jerked back as though warding off a slap. Giggling, she slapped Abby's palm.

When Peter's office door flew open, she expected him to come right to her desk. She could almost hear his laughter, almost see his wide smile, but that was only until he blasted past her office. His footsteps could be heard despite the soft cushion of the newly installed luxurious carpet beneath his feet. He entered Edward's office and slammed the door behind him.

Though his reaction wasn't quite as she expected, she couldn't help but gloat. If she knew a simple lawsuit would've caused such a reaction, she'd have found a reason to launch one a long time ago. He looked stunned. It wasn't too often that a man, a lawyer, like Peter could be caught off guard. The impossible dream. She had a moment of apprehension. Those same old feelings. She could understand it then. Now that she showed him she was a formidable opponent, one who wouldn't give up easily, why would her old insecurities and fears resurface? She tried to think pleasant thoughts, but the turbulence held on.

What's he so worked up about? she wondered. Had he taken the lawsuit seriously? Of course, you twit, he took it seriously. It's a lawsuit, and he's a lawyer. How would he take it any other way? Why didn't that occur to her before? She mopped her brow. He could dish it out, treat his employees like dirt beneath his feet, but couldn't take it.

After all, if she wanted to get technical, to the exact letter of the law, he started it. She just followed through, playing by his rules, by his examples. So, why's he acting like a horse patootie again? She broke no laws or committed any crimes. What's he so fired up for? He should know the lawsuit had no merit, was frivolous and beyond all else, bogus, shouldn't he?

Things just became a lot more complicated, but not anything that couldn't be handled with a little strategy. She'd play his game by not discussing the lawsuit with him—he would expect her to either stop by his office or make some mention of the lawsuit in passing. The lack of communication would reel his senses. She often thought the legal process was a battle of wills. Now, she was in control, and by God, she definitely had the will. Her instincts heightened, her stamina strengthened. It might take a little while, but Peter would end up waving the white flag. When he did, she would shake his hand and let bygones be bygones. Amen.

Don't step on my toes and not excuse yourself.

***

Thank God, Edward had been in his office. He couldn't imagine discussing this matter with any other colleague, certainly not anyone on staff. He looked at the papers in his tightly clenched fist and anger surged through him. Steam virtually spewed from his visible orifices. He paced—back and forth, back and forth—like a caged animal. He paused only to steal furtive glances at Edward and once to throw his hands in the air. In a state of extreme indignation he couldn't regain control of his violent emotions.

He told himself he needed distance from Shannon. A lot of distance or else he couldn't be held accountable for his actions. If his wife found out about this, the first thing she would do—after telling him he deserved it—would be to tell him, "I told you one day your arrogance would do you in."

In his mind he saw the process server as he'd served him. That smug look of satisfaction burned his ass. He hadn't appreciated that gleam in his eye, either. She was not going to get away with this. No, sireee. Thoughts, ideas and manipulations flooded his mind. Some how, some way, he would do one better. He itched with impatience, with anger. Then he had a thought. He smiled. Depraved, ominous and sadistic.

"What's up, Petey?"

He stopped mid-stride and stared dumbly at Edward. "What was that?"

"You definitely had my full and undivided attention since the moment you charged in here like a pit bull in heat, slamming the door behind you. I let you blow off steam for the last five minutes, but it's time to tell me what's going on."

Breathing came hard for him. He rushed to take a seat in one of Edward's treasured Victorian chairs before he was inhaling the musty threads of the antique Oriental area rug beneath his feet. Too subjugated to tell him what just transpired, he threw the copy of the notice of action across his desk to let the papers speak for themselves.

Edward frowned and picked up the crumpled papers.

He watched Edward turn page after page, listening to the tiny sounds of the various emotions he emitted as he read. When he noticed Edward on the last page, he said, "A lawsuit. Can you believe it?" Jesus, saying the words out loud gave him the willies. What were his colleagues going to think? And the clerk of the court...well, he must have had a really good laugh. Edward would finally see that Shannon had to go. There was no place for her here. Not after this.

Edward regarded Peter closely. "I hate to tell you I told you so, but didn't I tell you to give the girls their birds?"

Of course, I would be in the wrong. Again. It always came back to that. Gritting his teeth, he studied Edward. The calm one. The logical one. The unjudgmental one. These qualities of his colleague were getting really irritating.

He didn't have Edward's knack to turn a blind eye or see things differently. He couldn't surrender either to what seemed inevitable—that he was up the creek. There must be a way around this. There had to be. He just wasn't seeing it yet.

It made a difference to be on the receiving end of one of these things. With a client it wasn't difficult to stay objective, to perform his lawyering to the best of his ability and he did have that ability, he admitted to himself immodestly. But this...was different. He visualized his professional objectivity fly out the window as though on a magic carpet. He was a lawyer whose penchant was to win lawsuits for his clients, not defend lawsuits against himself. Now he'd probably have to hire a lawyer. Go figure. Christ. Does it get any worse than this?

When he thought he could talk without sniveling, he asked, "So what do you think, Ed?" He pushed for a resolution to this...this...persecution. If anyone could come up with a suggestion, an ingenious suggestion, a manipulative suggestion, it would be Edward.

Edward pointed at the notice of action and grinned. "Well, I think it's very well drafted—"

"I'm not asking about the quality of composition, Ed. I'm asking your opinion as to its validity, ethics, standards, principles, etc."

"Well, since you want my opinion now, I'd suggest you take whatever remedial steps necessary to resolve this matter to a mutually satisfactory end. In other words, give the girls their damned birds!"

It shocked him that Edward thought he should concede to this petty form of manipulation. With another deep flush of anger, he said, "NO WAY, NO HOW." The war had only just begun.

"Let's not be stubborn about this, Peter," Edward said to an empty room. "If you knocked on my door for sympathy, you knocked on the wrong door."

***

Peter wasn't patient. He wasn't pliant and he would no longer be discreet. His look was tense. His jaw set proud and stubborn. There was no turning back now. No undoing what had been done. Shannon waged war. She'd live to regret it.

He watched her through the open doorway. He thought about wrapping his hands around her neck, squeezing harder and harder until he squeezed the life out of her.

Shannon tilted her head in his direction as though challenging him.

Mary, Mother of God, does she have no shame?

***

Shannon stared at Peter, not liking the look on his face, and not liking this latest turn of events. She felt threatened. It wasn't only about her job anymore, it was about her safety and security. Sure, she could probably get another job, but she couldn't muster enough enthusiasm to do so. She could also go back to school. Maybe take something entirely different. Psychiatry popped into her thoughts. Yes, she could do that. She had the money to afford it and the intellectual ability to do it. If she left now, she'd be able to have the summer off. The thought held a certain appeal. So, what then prevented her from jumping into action?

She sat on her steno chair doing nothing for longer than ever before, trying to come to terms with the fact that things didn't go as anticipated. Of course, she had realized there would be some initial surprise, but never this reaction. She fretted and worried. The worry had always been manageable before because, though she'd been making other plans to foil Peter's next move on her, she'd been certain the lawsuit would put an end to whatever else Peter had in store for her. She'd been wrong. That too was getting to be a familiar happening.

Maybe she should march into Edward's office right now and resign. Due to circumstances beyond my control I'm forced, Mr. McIntyre, to give you my resignation. I would like you to know how much this decision grieves me, and how much I have enjoyed working for you. It's just too bad it was so short a time. If my next boss is half the boss you are, then, I'll be happy.

Would she be happy though? No, she wouldn't. It would always be in the back of her mind she gave up. A daughter of Brock Murphy didn't quit or give up when the going got tough. In fact, if her father were here right now, he would say, "Shannon Ann Murphy, you can do it. Don't knuckle under. Don't fold."

For the first time in weeks she felt warmth, a vibrant heat filling her from head to toe that fortified her. She would meet his power with her own and show him the strict application of Darwin's Law—survival of the fittest. Peter unleashed the monster inside her; a complete despot.

Now, more than ever before, she wanted freedom and the lawsuit was her ticket. All she had to do was squint to see it—an apologetic face, totally contrite, equally humble. Even in her wildest dreams, he had never looked so good. She grinned.

How had this all started?

Chapter 27

—"There had never been silence before" —

The days passed swiftly. The end of Abby's notice period and the limitation period for Peter to file his statement of defense drew near. When there should have been a lot of talk about the office of the lawsuit, there wasn't. It was as though it never happened. One more thing for her to worry about.

Shannon sat at her computer and stared blankly at the screen. Abby's silence, Rhapsody in the Rain playing softly in the background of her thoughts, and the cuckoo of Edward's clock didn't do anything to soothe her sunken spirits. She brushed aside a ringlet. It bounced back into place. Damn. She wished it were long enough to hide behind. Hiding wouldn't solve her problem, though. It wouldn't take back all that'd been said, all that'd been done, and it certainly wouldn't turn back the clock. So instead of making wishes or hiding, she jutted her chin and squared her shoulders.

When she first thought of the plan, she'd been at her wit's end, but still determined to win. That was before the silence—there had never been silence before—and before she saw the underlying anger in his eyes, and wondered if she were the cause. Of course, you're the cause, you dumb ass. The thought frightened her.

At first she'd been convinced if she could prove to him she was a worthy opponent he would forget about any other plans he had in store for her. Now, she was uncertain.

No one was ever free from a remark said or an ill deed done. There was always something left behind. A cold look triggered by a memory. A biting innuendo from déjà vu or a lapse of conscience. She found Peter certainly lacking in the conscience department. She'd often thought those who fought with their tongues behind the backs of their opponents were the worst of enemies.

Why wasn't there any gossip? She pinched herself. There was always gossip. When the lawyers wanted to keep a secret, they could, she realized. She couldn't help feeling less and less satisfaction and less euphoric from doing one better than a lawyer. Those same old feelings of anxiety and panic pulsed through her. She no longer felt in control. It was the damn quiet.

Though she was receptive to discussing the lawsuit with him, Edward had not queried her about it. She gave him ample opportunities to do so. When he finished with dictation, she stayed in his office for a while hanging around like a feather in the wind. All that evoked from him were curious looks. When she'd go into his office, she'd strike up a conversation, hoping he would bring up the subject. All that did was get him on a topic that gave her more work.

Now, she felt a tad alone, apprehensive and adrift. She wanted the chance to unburden herself of this, what turned out to be, ill-advised and dreadful matter, but no one would give her the opportunity. Whatever had possessed her?

Peter kept his distance from her, but she noticed the glares, icy and menacing, that would have crushed someone else. She stood her ground, although, uneasily, winking without control. Since there wasn't anything—well, short of apologizing for something that wasn't her fault—she could do about that, she filled in her days as though nothing unusual were in the offing. She carried out her secretarial duties with filing, typing, coffee fetching, and diplomatic suck-ups. Occasionally she sought out those employees with whom she was on a somewhat familiar basis to chat about mundane subjects. The weather, ski-hills—of which her knowledge was truly limited—or whatever subject sprang to mind. She made unsuccessful attempts to acquaint herself with the staff on other floors. Her people skills sorely lacked, but she was merciless in her quest to be likable and a welcome addition to the staff even if it meant she had to hammer some heads.

***

Later in the day with still no word on the lawsuit, Shannon queried Abby. "Has Peter said anything to you about our claim?"

"No, it's work as usual with him, but he's not as friendly as before. Perhaps our claim struck a nerve." Abby giggled. "What're your thoughts?"

"The same as yours. What I don't understand is why he just doesn't give us the damn turkeys."

Abby poised her head in thought. "It would be easier."

"Do you think we're asking for too much to have the matter settled?" Shannon wondered where that came from.

"It may be a bit excessive, but not overly so. Five thousand dollars for pain and suffering and undue hardship suffered as a direct result of his negligent and selfish act seems warranted to me. We should also remember 'breach of promise', as well."

Abby's really getting into this. The next applicant for Abby's position caught Shannon's attention. "Now that one shows promise. Hmmm, tall, perhaps five eight, short skirt, but still in good taste, showing long curvy legs, two inch heels, also in good taste, conservative suit jacket, feminine blouse, confident walk exuding an air of métier. Long and blonde. She looks like she's the one, doesn't she, Abby?" She lifted from her chair to watch her enter Peter's office. "Did you see that, Abby? That flirty toss of the head and the seductive smile. Oh, she's got the job all right if she has any secretarial skills at all."

"You're bad, Shannon."

"I know."

Forty-five minutes later Peter's office door opened and the 'long blonde' emerged. She smiled back at him. Beguiling, seductively. Her voice was pure honey as she purred, "I'm looking forward to it, too" and extended her long, perfectly manicured fingers forward for a little shake.

Peter, Shannon noticed, took her hand in his, placed his other hand on top, and warmly engulfed her hand.

With a thrust of the slim hips she was no more than a lasting impression when she descended the stairs. She heard Peter—the horny toad—whistle a little ditty as he walked back to his office with a silly little grin on his face.

***

Peter had been hell to be around.

His colleagues saw and experienced his tantrums first hand. They told each other it was a marital dispute. What else could it be? They knew his wife and it could only be her causing him to be so nasty and surly and to fly off the handle at the least little thing.

He heard the stories, but ignored them by pepping himself up with ego-boosting thoughts—I'm the alpha male and this is my turf! No secretary is going to make my life miserable! I have the upper hand not Shannon!

When the thought crossed his mind to bury the hatchet, he must have been crazy. She wasn't letting go. Her actions were clear with intent. She was merciless. An odd duck. In more ways than one. He wanted to shake her. First in frustration, then in anger.

He left his office and blew past Shannon in the hallway as though she wasn't there. When he entered Edward's office, he didn't close the door behind him.

Shannon tiptoed to the doorway.

Abby groaned. "You aren't going to listen at the door, are you?"

"Of course. It's the only way we'll know anything," she whispered, crouching and all but pressing her ear to the door frame.

"I'm telling you, Peter, no good will come of this. It's not something to disregard or put on the back burner. The girls are both quite serious about the matter from what I hear. Why don't you give them back their damn turkeys and put the matter to rest. You'll be knee deep in the brown stuff before you know it. Mark my words," Edward said. Then something slammed down on a hard surface.

She covered her mouth with her hand. Peter was getting a strip torn out of him and it looked good on him. Yippee. There was still a way to go, though, before punches were thrown.

"Hell hath no fury as that of a woman scorned, Peter."

Peter said something, but she would have had to be in Edward's office to hear.

There was another sudden movement, close to the doorway. She dashed back to her desk just in the nick of time. Peter stomped back to his office. Smoke virtually followed in the wake of his retreating steps.

She froze in place. Why was her heart pounding? "Do you think Peter saw me, Ab?" She had to be absolutely sure.

"He wouldn't have noticed Dolly Parton standing in the hallway."

That was close. Too close for comfort. Eventually she'd get the knack of this spy business. She drew a deep breath, speechless and shuddering her views and perceptions across the room.

After a moment she attempted to formulate her convulsing thoughts. Her tongue and lips formed words, but no sound came. Clearing her throat roughly, she said, "Wow. Peter is one mean hombre."

Abby murmured her agreement.

"Do you suppose we went too far?"

Abby shrugged. "We started this to have a little fun with him. What we have to keep remembering is that we know the lawsuit is bogus, he doesn't. Place yourself in his shoes, Shannon. It must have been quite a blow to his ego."

She agreed with the common sense.

"Why don't we go ahead a file a bogus judgment against him? I know we agreed not to, but why shouldn't we? We shouldn't let loud and angry voices manipulate us into submission. He set the standard by ignoring your requests to return our turkeys, he should suffer the consequences of his actions. Anyone else would. Lawyers certainly would."

Shannon liked that idea and wondered what defense he would have, but he was a lawyer after all. If he wanted, he could keep the matter going on for a long, long time. Rocking and rolling his way around due process. Doing the tango with motions. Performing the fox trot with general principles of evidence. Jiving with the facts and tap dancing his way towards dismissal of the action. All the while he would be simultaneously correlating an intricate illustration on the baroque jurisprudence. They were amateurs in an arena where their opponent was a virtuoso of the law. How did she forget that?

Abby would be gone in a short time and Shannon would be left to suffer the consequences of their actions.

How had that little tidbit of wise reasoning never occurred to her before?

Chapter 28

—"Jesus, just think about it!"—

It's too late for regrets. Too late for well wishing. Too late for hoping. He can try his damnedest to get rid of me, but I'm not going to give up. Not now, not ever. It will take a lot more than what Peter has to make a Murphy surrender.

It was never Shannon's intention to kill anyone. Well, maybe the thought had crossed her mind a time or two. When she heard Edward's angry voice coming from the direction of Peter's office, she thought she might do exactly that. Edward was extremely agitated. His tone was angry, his voice loud. It was the damn lawsuit again. She was worried. If he kept this up, he could suffer a heart attack. And she would be the cause.

On tiptoes, she followed Abby and took her place on the opposite side of the doorway. From their positions Edward's crescendo voice was clearly audible as he belched out words of legal expertise to his colleague.

"I'm not a litigator, Peter, and I don't profess to be, but I do know the law process. You know as well as I that if you fail to file a defense, judgment's going to be entered against you. An irreversible judgment. Is that what you want?" A few moments of silence followed before he continued. "Why are you dragging your feet on this?" Another pause. "What am I thinking about? What defense can you file? You have none. The girls have you by the short hairs, and not only that, they wanna nail your balls to the wall. I suggest you settle the matter post haste before this really gets out of hand."

"Yeah, but they want five thousand dollars."

Following next was the sound of raucous laughter—Edward's laughter. The girls covered their mouths with their hands. The boisterous sound was infectious and ambrosia to their ears. They sank to their knees as giggles overtook them.

"I can't believe that you, Peter, of all people, believe they want you to pay them five thousand dollars. They want you to give them back their turkeys or, at least, offer to return them. At least, that's my take on the matter. In any event, I want this matter resolved forthwith. The firm has suffered too much bad publicity of late by nudist secretaries, dope addict secretaries, and now this. I suggest you heed my advice." Edward stomped from Peter's office.

Shannon and Abby stayed in their compromising positions for a moment. Shannon's only thought, her only reflection, was Edward's anger.

Abby turned toward her. "Shannon, this is really getting out of hand. Peter won't give in. For whatever reasons, ego, pride," Abby threw her arms up in the air before adding, "a low cash flow. Who knows?"

"What are you suggesting we do, Abigail? Dial 1-800-discontinue-the-bogus-action-against-Peter," Shannon said smartly. The sound of Peter's slamming closed snapped her to attention in her seat.

Abby raised her right eyebrow. "I rest my case."

These people have no sense of humor at all, Shannon deduced. A flutter of anxiety in her temples caused her to confirm—no sense of humor at all. Slowly she came around to Abby's thinking. Maybe it was time to pay the piper. They had sucker-punched Peter and had their jollies. "You're right, Abby. Do you want me to do the honors?"

Abby didn't take any time to decide. "This was your baby right from the get-go. I just went along for the ride. We've had our fun, but it's time to put an end to it. Peter's immense ego has been, in my humble opinion, damaged sufficiently. Don't you agree?"

"We still didn't win, you know. We didn't get our turkeys back, or at least the offer to." Shoulda, woulda, coulda.

"I think we both entered into this with only one purpose in mind. To have some fun. It wasn't a matter of winning or losing, besides, there wasn't much hope for us to win anyway, not against a lawyer."

"I'll tell Edward."

Shannon puttered about her desk. A feeling of anxiousness overcame her. She'd gotten herself into another mess. Worse than any other? She looked around the office for something to fill the time. Idly, she tidied the area, closing file drawers, standing books straight and in position, straightening pictures on the wall, emptying waste paper baskets. Finally, she found herself roaming the hallways.

There wasn't anything happening. With no last year's experiences to refer to, she wondered if this weren't some sort of post-Christmas trauma. She listened intently for any sound. A discussion, someone's idle chatter, a cough, a sneeze, the sound of a virtually quiet printer, someone yelling. Anything would have been a welcome sound to her ears. This normally beehive of activity was so quiet a pin falling on the carpet would have been heard. She turned and headed back to her office.

"Shannon."

"Yes, Abby."

"I guess I'll be staying a few days longer than I expected. My replacement has to work through her notice period and Peter wants me to acquaint her with the office and the computer software."

Uh-huh, Shannon thought, Abby will be acquainting her replacement with the software while Peter acquaints her with the hardware. Why did she feel jealous? "Did he hire the long blonde?"

"Well, I don't know if she's the one we think. I checked out her résumé and there wasn't any reference to her being a long blond," Abby quipped. "Her résumé, by the way, is very impressive. She has experience in all areas of civil law and worked for our biggest competitor, Blaine, Smith et al for the last nine years. She's single and where it says "Reason for Leaving" she put "will discuss on interview". That's odd, don't you think?"

"Hmm, yes, for sure." Shannon couldn't think of one possible reason why the girl left a job she had for nine years to come to work for them. Of all places. Of all the lawyers in town. "Something must have happened. Any ideas?"

"A conflict of personalities between her and her boss, for one."

"Oh, come on, Abby, that's just a diplomatic way for saying, I'm too obstinate, ill-tempered and self-indulgent to get along with anybody, and besides which, didn't you say she worked for this employer for nine years. That's a long time to find out you and your boss have conflicting personalities, wouldn't you say? Some marriages don't last that long."

"Well, whatever it is, it'll be Peter's problem, not mine and as far as I'm concerned, he deserves everything he gets."

Shannon detected hostility in Abby's tone. Was it with her or with Peter? She couldn't be certain. "What's her name?"

"If it's the blonde, her name is Scarlett Watley." Abby raised her eyebrows.

"Scarlett, eh." An image of terra forming popped into her thoughts.

"Oh, yeah."

Shannon giggled. All unhappy thoughts and unpleasant memories fled from her mind.

***

Word of the lawsuit spread among the lawyers and the staff. Edward heard the talk. They tried to keep it quiet, but he knew that eventually word would leak out. It always did.

Peter, he knew, wouldn't take this lying down. He'd be ribbed and it wouldn't sit well with him. The lawsuit was a foolish move on Shannon's part. Damn foolish. He smiled. It took moxy, though, and she was full of it. Peter should have known better, should have seen how incorrigible she was. Maybe Edward should have stepped in while the stepping was good and put an end to the foolishness.

Now someone was going to get stupid. He didn't think it would be Peter.

He found himself wanting to protect, to shield. How was he to do that with a young woman who had more guts than good sense? He envisioned her goofy look, the one he loved so much. The way her eyes softened when she spoke. At the moment he had as much admiration as concern for her. He would have to end this before there was bloodshed.

***

It was the end of the afternoon when the light of day shied from the pitch of darkness that Edward bellowed for Shannon. She ran to his office with pen and pad in hand. She wouldn't have thought how much she would miss his persistent and insistent bray for her services.

"May I speak with you on a personal level?" Edward asked.

Personal level? She plopped onto a chair, feeling the blood drain from her face. Her imagination ran wild. What's up now? Surely to God, he wasn't leaving her or...was she leaving him? He wasn't sick, was he? Sweet Jesus, she hoped not. She wouldn't know what to do without him. She heard the whine outside of an over-revved engine as a motorist relentlessly maneuvered his vehicle on the icy snow-packed roads.

"Well, if you can't, no one else can, Mr. McIntyre."

"I'll cut right to the chase. It's come to my attention that you and Abby started a lawsuit against Peter."

When she'd wanted him to discuss this matter with her in the past, she didn't realize how much it would frighten her. She squirmed in her seat. Her head throbbed. Her eyes narrowed. The office grew hot. She wiped the moisture from her upper lip and looked at the thermostat on the wall.

He laced his fingers together in front of him. "Peter asked me to act as mediator to effect a settlement. A settlement we hope will be beneficial and pleasing to both sides.

"I think at this juncture, we should be asking ourselves what good will come out of this. As things stand, I fail to see that anything good will. Before long, it could grow out of proportion and the ill feelings that'll result could very well be beyond repair. I'm talking to you today in an effort to effect a swift and satisfying resolution for everyone involved." He walked around to the front of his desk. He sat kitty-corner, stretching one leg forward.

She tried to, wanted to, concentrate on his words. If he weren't beating around the bush—talking the ears off corn—this would be one of those rare, unprecedented moments. When the ball was in her court. When she had the chance to bask in the glory of victory. It took all of what she had not to nod off. She'd never known anyone so longwinded. She was swept up, carried away. There were wildflowers. A soft breeze. The rustling leaves of poplars. Birds warbling.

"Shannon, do I have your undivided attention?"

She pulled herself back. "What was that, Mr. McIntyre?"

"I asked if you were with me."

"Yes, yes, of course. Continue." She pulled her legs under her chair, allowing him more room for his long, lean ones. She would give him time to complete the speech she suspected he'd taken considerable time to prepare. And she'd pay attention, so help her God.

"I try not to concern myself with these office matters. I find them petty and time consuming. Young whippersnappers like yourself probably think it office politics while I prefer to call them as I see them, nuisances." He shook his head. "The world has changed so much. It's difficult to keep abreast of the changing times. A lot of it has been for the greater good, but sometimes I long for the days of old when things were so much simpler. Before this micro-age of electronics." He looked at her and chuckled. "Listen to me, I'm getting nostalgic and way off track. What I'm trying to say here is straightforward and I fear I have overcomplicated a simple issue."

Truer words were never spoken. She smiled.

"Peter wants to settle the lawsuit and would like to know what it would take to do so." His eyes fixed on hers.

"What lawsuit is that, Mr. McIntyre?" She smirked, morphing into a smart ass.

He sighed—clearly distressed—while she suppressed a giggle. When the tide was turned, there was a certain amount of satisfaction that ebbed from the froth of turbulent waves.

"You know what I'm talking about."

His tone frightened her. Obviously, smart-assing perturbed him. She swallowed—hard. "First of all, Mr. McIntyre, I would like to say that Abigail and I meant no one, including Mr. Montgomery, any harm by what we did. We did it to have a little fun with him. That's all." She was about to admit to a mistaken belief that Peter had a sense of humor, but wisely held back that admission.

"There was no intention by either of us to receive any monetary settlement from him." She inhaled a calming breath. Cripes, what was the matter with these people? "Once I was told a turkey was a part of our Christmas bonuses, I looked for mine. I asked him repeatedly and nicely, when he would bring in our turkeys. Each time my request went unanswered. He should have at least answered me, given me some indication of something. If he would have said, 'Look I cooked the turkeys', I would have accepted it and forgotten the entire matter. I didn't really want the damn turkey anyway." She stopped short. She grew feverish and increasingly agitated over this absurd issue as each minute ticked on. She checked out her fingernails, taking calming breaths.

"If you'll recall, Mr. McIntyre, you were the one to suggest I get my turkey from him."

He took his hand from his chin and, like a light switch being turned off and on, his look went from interest to effrontery. It was not a pretty transformation. She paled. She'd gone off halfcocked again.

"You're saying this is my fault?"

A giggle escaped her lips. Of course, he would jump to that conclusion. She waved her hand in the air dismissively. "I'm sorry, Mr. McIntyre. Forget I said that."

A moment passed.

"What do you intend then to do with the lawsuit?"

"What lawsuit?" She pushed the envelope.

"Don't be coy with me, young lady."

"There is no, I repeat, no, lawsuit, Mr. McIntyre. For goodness sake. There never was. Abby and I faked the whole thing." She threw her arms into the air. It surprised her when he jumped back. "My goodness, Mr. McIntyre, it was a joke." A joke, she thought. A foreign concept to lawyers.

"I don't understand."

Jesus, think about it. "What don't you understand, sir?" Though she felt like swatting him, the question brimmed with patience.

"If memory serves me correctly, Peter verified the suit's authenticity with Bernard...the clerk of the court, and he confirmed that such an action had been filed showing one Shannon A. Murphy and Abigail J. Anderson as plaintiffs and Peter S. Montgomery as defendant. And in case that was not verification enough, he contacted the process server and verified with him the veracity of the service. According to Peter, there was no doubt of its bona fide."

She placed the forefingers of both hands against her temples and gently massaged. "It was all our plan, Mr. McIntyre. We wanted everything to appear legit without actually being. Bernard," she paused before explaining for his benefit like he did for her, "the clerk of the court, along with the process server were in on it right from the very beginning. Both Abby and I anticipated Mr. Montgomery might inquire into those details, so we clued them they might receive just such a phone call. They saw the humor in what we were doing and agreed, and I might add, without undue coercion or urging on our part, to be a part of the joke." Thinking back, she remembered they didn't need their arms twisted to play a part. An important piece of trivia for her to remember for the future.

Guilt-ridden, she removed her eyes from his stronghold and stared at the unassuming floor.

"Who prepared all the documentation? The composition was flawless. It could only have been drafted by a seasoned lawyer."

Why, thank you, kind sir. She said nothing, just issued a little shrug and shifted positions in the chair. Her butt cheeks had fallen asleep.

"No one will be punished for helping you. We just want to know who else was in on it."

The heat in the office went up another notch. "There was no one else. Only Abigail and me." At his grave look, she added, "Only we mere mortals, I swear." Just us stupid secretaries. She signed a cross. Why was it that when someone of lesser rank or importance show a little ingenuity and intellectual ability, lawyers look to those with higher education and degrees out the wazoo as the brains behind the scenes? Why was that? Why?

"Really?"

"Really. Why is that so hard for you to believe?"

He shrugged. "I suppose I should have known who was behind the scheme and who did the drafting."

"You know, Mr. McIntyre, this brings to mind a little story a nun once told me when I was at the convent. I was in grade six at the time. Ten years old. This nun, Sister Frances Xavier, Sister Frank for short, had stopped a first grader roaming the corridors while all the students were assembled in the basement for an address by the principal. The child looked at her with frightened eyes and tear stained cheeks, thinking he'd been left alone in the enormous building. Sister Frank explained to him that all of the students were in a big, big room underneath where they were standing. She told him to walk straight ahead and go down the stairs to his right and took his arm to indicate the direction. Wiping his face and nose with the sleeve of his sweater, the little fella looked up at her and asked, "Sister, do you mean the auditorium?"

He smiled.

"If there's nothing else, sir, I'd like to go now. Okay?" Sullen, sorrowful and suffering. It hadn't gone the way she planned or thought. Peter would not shake her hand and say, "Okay, I give up. You win." Only God knew what plans Peter had in store for her now. Her heart fluttered.

"That was good work by the way, but you did make one error, though."

She heaved a great sigh. There it was again—a pat on the back and a slap across the face. Inarguably, she had made many errors, but the most predominant error of all would have to be her mistaken belief that these people, these .. these...lawyers would find it funny. "Oh?"

"Yes, but since you're so smart, I'll let you figure that one out on your own."

"If you say so, sir. Goes to prove we're not all infallible." She left his office. No doubt Edward referred to her name and that, she deduced, was an error only to him.

Chapter 29

—"Is this the office of pardons?" —

Shannon watched Abby lift the coffee cup to her lips and sip, pinkie finger daintily crooked, then lay the steaming brew on the ink blotter. A few moments passed before she repeated the act.

Waiting for Abby to initiate a conversation, she looked at her reflection in the window, neatened the white collar of her blouse, finger combed her curly locks, the fiery red color unreflected in the frosty window pane. When she turned away, the moment she waited for arrived.

"Shannon."

"Yes?"

"Did you tell Peter the truth yet about the lawsuit?"

"Indirectly, yes. Edward came to me. He said Peter asked him to act as some sort of mediator on his behalf to have the matter resolved." The lawyers took the matter much too seriously. If Peter had only laughed the whole thing off, she would have done the same. Now she felt silly. Maybe that was his intention all along, to make her feel stupid. Part and parcel of a legal strategy.

Thirty minutes later, Peter stood in the doorway of her office. She turned toward the sound of plastic rustling and gasped—loudly— at the sight of him holding two large, very heavy plastic grocery bags in each hand. A devilish smile cracked his lips as his eyes went first to Abby, then to Shannon. His eyes rested on her.

Quietly, and she hoped, expressionless, she returned Peter's cocky stare.

"Is this the office of pardons?" He cocked a brow.

"No, it's the office of malice. You're welcome to enter, though, but at your own risk." She saw her quick tongue took him by surprise again. His ears fluttered ever so slightly, but he quickly regained his equilibrium, laying the bags at his feet, and leaning casually against the doorframe.

"You both know Fernand Albert, eh?"

Both girls dipped their heads.

"If you have a minute I'll tell you the joke he just told me."

"Okay," they chorused without expression.

"There was this dinner held by the Cathedral rallying for financial support for the new women and children's abuse center. It was a big turnout from all walks of life, including about fifty lawyers. After Monsignor Robichaud scanned the faces of the crowd he said, "I haven't seen this many lawyers in one room since confession this morning." He made a hasty retreat.

***

Peter laid the grocery bags on the floor of his office. When his wife asked him to pick up the groceries on his way home from work, it had upset him. Now he was happy she asked. He wouldn't have thought of it, but it seemed to fall into place when he stopped at their office. He smiled wickedly. Her saucy retort was worth the look of utter surprise on her face. He caught her. Too bad it was only for a moment, but there would be other opportunities. He wasn't ready to lay this matter to rest. Not yet.

***

Now that she had time to look at the matter dispassionately, she had to hang on to her temper. The sound of an elastic band being snapped rang out loudly in the room. She hadn't won. In the after-quake, anger was her only salvation. She punished herself for believing she could win by typing until the tips of her fingers virtually wore bruises and the muscles of her shoulders ached as she worked for a break.

Come lunch time Shannon ate more crow than sandwich. The image of Edward's disappointed face never far from her sight. It was a misjudgment that would never happen again.

She glanced over at Abby. She worked at a snail's place, her movements torpid. She looked out the window. Snow banks as high as six feet formed as city plows tried to broaden the snow packed streets. Swirls of light snow blew passed the window in the chilling wicked wind. She sighed, yearning for springtime when the air was filled with the clean, fresh scent unique only to that time of year. She inhaled deeply and could almost feel the exhilarating scent fill her lungs. She longed to explore sandy beaches, to feel the warmth of the grainy texture of sand beneath her bare feet. To look back at her footprints in the sand. To smell the salty air of the bay's shore side.

Closing her eyes, she saw a rushing waterfall, a soft, white foam forming at its base. A little farther down the river, white water rapids swirled mounds of foam. Two men in kayaks navigated its treacherous currents. She shook herself free of the reverie and sighed again.

How long will this slowdown last? She thought about the library and its many, many shelves of books. Interesting reading? When John Richardson appeared before her, she had almost made it there.

"Were you going to the library, Shannon?"

"It did enter my mind."

"I didn't know you could read a book without pictures in it."

Didn't get lucky last night? Weren't they a peculiar breed? "Notwithstanding that likelihood, I did intend to try." She took a page from Edward's book and silently added, You pompous ass. Offense with defense. She was being taught very well and by the very best.

"Would you have time to prepare a deed for me? I need it right away. Thirty minutes ago, in fact."

Though she could plead a heavy workload and get away with it, she simply nodded. She didn't need another enemy.

"I wouldn't normally bother you, but I seem to find myself in the precarious situation time after time of finding suitable secretarial replacements, for some reason or other." He ran rigid fingers through his thick dark hair.

Not normally bother her? Does everyone here suffer from memory loss? A goofy grin.

"I suppose Helen spoiled me with her efficiency. She always seemed to know what I needed before I did," he said, then sighed wistfully. "That's what a good secretary does, Shannon, anticipate the needs of her boss."

Is that a dig? She bit her tongue, snapping the rubber band on her wrist. Chrrrist! That hurt.

"Fill in today's date, it's between Sherman Waterford and Cornelius Carter. Both of the town. Here's the deed for the description." He nodded and turned on his heels.

She was too wise now to fall prey to that ploy. "Excuse me, Mr. Richardson."

John stopped and looked back at her. "Yes?"

"Will this be a joint tenants deed? Tenants in common? Quit claim deed? Correction deed? Foreclosure deed?" What the fuck is it?

He walked back to her desk. "Joint tenancy."

She scanned the deed for the information she needed next. "Does Mr. Waterford have a wife who needs to sign the deed along with her husband?" She felt the weight of the deed, flipped the pages over to the Schedule "A" and confirmed her suspicion. "Will Mr. Waterford be conveying all four parcels of land to the grantee? Do you know the occupations of all the grantors and the grantees?" Her breath came in gasps. Why must they always play these games? She felt as though she were back in the first grade before that nasty old teacher, painfully working toward a degree in BS. A few more months and she would ace this course.

"Sherman Waterford does have a wife, but she's not required to execute the deed." He paused.

If she learned anything in the last few months, it was to question, question, and question some more no matter how irritating the questions. "This is not considered marital property then? Acquired before the holy sacrament of marriage." She was stating the obvious to a lawyer, but couldn't have cared less.

"Yes," John raised his face into the air, massaged his chin and tapped his index finger against it—educated second thought. "Perhaps we should have the little Mrs. execute the deed as well. She should have no problem with that."

"And the marital property affidavit should reflect that?"

"Yes. Now what was your next question?"

"The name of Sherman's wife and her occupation." She felt the bane of John's existence, but couldn't have cared less about that either.

"Corrina, housewife. Next question."

"Tenancy."

"Right. Joint tenants. And I already told you that."

"Yes, you did. Sorry." Damn. She'd been doing so good. "And the wife's name and occupation are?"

"Sylvia J., teacher. Next question and I'm sure there is."

He sounded grumpy. Too bad. "Property description. Are all of the parcels of land contained in Schedule "A" being conveyed?"

John grabbed the deed from her sweaty hand and turned page after page. After a moment of studying the property descriptions, he said, "No, only parcel number four. Any other questions?"

"No, that will be all for now."

She rolled her chair forward and heard a squeak. Leaning over, she rolled the chair back and forth and studied the wheels. When she lifted her head, Edward stood beside her, staring oddly at her.

"Are you busy, Sarah?"

Yes, I'm busy rolling my chair back and forth trying to understand the concept of the wheel. "Not overly so. Why? What's up, Buttercup?"

"One of the associates has an immense project before him. He'd like to borrow you for a time. He needs your fastest fingers in the east to complete the project on schedule."

"Any way I can help. Sure. What will I be doing?"

"Typing abstracts of title." He threw his hand in the air. "Involving thousands of acres of land."

"Okay. When do I start?" She always said yes too eagerly.

"Ten minutes ago. Liaise with Thomas on the first floor. He's expecting you."

She pulled the deed and her notes toward her. John wanted this deed yesterday, Thomas expected her in his office right now. What was she to do? The shrill buzz of her intercom interrupted her mulling thoughts. That must be Thomas, she thought. She was wrong.

"Yes?"

"It's Peter, Shannon. Would you bring your pen and pad and step into my office, please."

She stammered into the telephone receiver.

"Is there a problem, Shannon?"

"No, no. I'll be right there." Cripes. There was no question now who should receive first dibs on her services.

***

"Can you get right on that, Shannon?" Peter oozed a southern gentleman's charm.

"It's your call, Mr. Montgomery. I have a deed to prepare for John Richardson that he gave me instructions for," she raised the sleeve of her white frilled cuff and looked at her watch, "thirty minutes ago that should have been done yesterday. Also," she paused to take a short breath, "Thomas expected me in his office thirty-eight minutes ago for abstract of title work for a government project." She took a chance and smiled. "However you wish me to prioritize my work, I shall." She lobbed the ball in his court. She hoped right into his face.

When Peter folded his arms across his chest, Shannon virtually saw the gray cells of his brain toiling over the complex matter. She delved into his thoughts—Thomas comes last, he's just an associate; I am senior to John, therefore, my work takes precedence and priority over John.

"The others can wait, Shannon. This matter is of the utmost urgency."

"Sure."

Though Peter's matter was as urgent as always, Shannon didn't stop at her desk. Instead, she by-passed her office and ran down the full flight of stairs, landing with the bang of nearly one hundred pounds in the foyer. Carefully, but swiftly, she reached Thomas' office. "You have work for me?" she yelled.

Chapter 30

—"Aren't lawyers supposed to know all these weird words?"—

Shannon decided to make a fresh start, putting everything behind her. Sure, she could quit, but not just yet, not before Peter and the rest of the staff accepted her. Then, and only then, would handing in her resignation become an option.

A naive, coddled young woman could really screw up her life without trying. All it took was an office full of people who hated the ground she walked on and one person whose prime purpose was to do her in. But things were different now, now that she'd shown Peter what she was capable of doing, she reminded herself. From this point on she would turn over a new leaf, turn a blind eye and a deaf ear and overlook what she couldn't change.

Up until a few months ago, well, since she started working here, she'd never done anything wrong in her life. And you couldn't call the time she pulled the fire alarm in school doing anything wrong. It was an accident waiting to happen. Those emergency switches should be positioned in such a way that the strap of a backpack loaded with books wouldn't get caught on the handle marked "PULL".

Composed voices wafted up through the stairwell from the floor below, the usual nicety questions and answers commonplace—not usually of this office—but of a day about to begin. How different the atmosphere will be at four o'clock in the afternoon when the lawyers realize that very important letter, document or pleading—as was always the case—for that very important client—as was always the case too—wouldn't be ready on time.

Blue skies, bright sun, and a spike in the temperature let her know that spring loafed around the corner. She had a sudden urge to go outside and let the sun shine down on her. God knew she needed some sunshine in her life.

Scarlett's first day at the office was today, and Shannon couldn't wait to meet her. She had to get off to a good start with her. Just had to. No, she wouldn't screw it up. Once she made the new girl her new best friend, other friendships would follow. Scarlett was her passport into the sisterhood.

Thinking about it now, she looked forward to Scarlett's first day almost as much as she had her first day. Even now, knowing what she knew, she would still look forward to starting something new, opening a new chapter in her life.

Even if Scarlett proved not to be her in with the girls, which she was pretty sure she was, she would handle it—just like she'd handled every other rotten thing that happened to her. That's the girl, Shan.

Impatience had her fidgeting in her steno chair. At eight forty-five, fifteen minutes remained before the legal stallions galloped into action and things started going out of control.

She glanced around her office. Nothing had changed in here, but so much had changed for her. She couldn't take any comfort in that.

Shifting her eyes to Abby, she sighed. She always tried to get to the office well before anyone else, giving herself that extra time to chat with her coworker. This morning, though, there was no conversation, but most of all there was no gossip. She couldn't shake the feeling of impending doom that nagged her thoughts.

Ridiculous?

She didn't think so.

Should she mention anything to Abby about Scarlett? Maybe she should keep her questions to herself. A few months ago, she would have. But she was different now.

Sunlight streamed through the window and danced off the polished desktops. The fluorescent lights hummed softly overhead. Familiar faces—the faces of her coworkers—dotted the hallways. A few of them turned as they passed her office and nodded. She hoped no one would stop to chat. She couldn't be sure what would come out of her mouth.

With her focus directly on Abby, she considered telling her about everything that was going on between her and Peter, between her and their coworkers, and ask for her advice. But then she realized that Abby, whose loose lips could sink ships, would tell Trisha, who would tell Cathy, who would tell MJ, who would tell Eva, who would then tell Edward, who would then tell Peter. Good God, no, not a good idea.

She stared into her cocoa, trying to erase these thoughts about Peter and her coworkers from her mind. It didn't work. One distasteful thought led to a more distasteful thought, all of them centering on one lawyer. All things considered she was ready to take the risk and talk to Abby. When she looked back at her, Abby wasn't looking at her but through her. The expression on her face told Shannon her coworker was nowhere near sane herself. Hell, she probably was in as much turmoil as she. A husband who beat up on you and ran around with every hussie in town would do that to a wife. Marriage could work, she thought. For some.

No, there would be no help from her. Maybe it was just as well. It wasn't as though Abby would give her sound advice.

But there was something else she wanted to discuss with Abby. How could she broach that subject without reminding Abby of her own painful matter? After a moment of thought she knew just how to do it.

She knew Abby wouldn't be able to resist the opportunity to make her look like a fool. All she had to do was ask questions about the abstract of title work she was about to undertake for Thomas. She knew all the answers—Thomas had prepared her more than adequately for the project—but it was the in needed to ask the question she wanted to ask. Little by little with each passing day she was being molded—maybe diabolically—and had no idea of the change or of the fact.

Once her thoughts solidified, she picked up a paper clip and tossed it across the desks. When Abby looked at her, she said, "I need your help, please." She searched her friend's face for any visible sign of hostility. Much to her delight, Abigail's frown turned right side up.

"Sure. What is it?"

She asked questions regarding the abstracts of title and remarked on the differences between Abby's answers and Thomas' instructions. Who should be believed? Thomas, a lawyer, or Abby, a secretary? In this particular instance, she chose the lawyer. She felt no resentment toward Abby for wanting, maybe even needing, to be vindictive. This morning, and the opportunities it presented to her, would not be taken away from her.

With a breach in the conversation, she snatched the moment and shifted the conversation. "Isn't Scarlet's first day today?"

"Yes, she'll be in after lunch. Dentist appointment. Root canal."

"I can't wait to meet her, Abby." Though she wouldn't tell Abby the reason. The less said the better.

Just a few months ago she thought her life was so damned good. Then overnight, it went to hell on a bob sled. All of that would be changed in a little while with the new girl's help.

"Sarah, are you out there? Sarah?"

She strode from her office to learn the first, but doubtfully the last, crisis in this newly formed day.

When she entered his office, she sang, "Hi, Mr. McIntyre."

Edward paced from one side of his desk to the other. Without recognition of her or of the bright, crisp, sunshiny day, he asked, "Do you know where Wilton McGraw is, Miss Susie Sunshine?" He didn't look up as his long, slender fingers traveled through files, searching, but not seeing.

"I presume you mean the file and not the actual body." Her glib remark compelled him to stop and issue her a solemn look, bespeaking volumes. Obviously, he was in no mood to entertain her frisky frivolity this morning.

She stood motionless, her buoyancy thoroughly lanced. "As you're looking at your desk, left hand side, upper corner, third file down from the top." She saw his mind processing the information.

"What's on the agenda today?"

"You have the Sweeneys at ten, MacAvoy at eleven thirty, at one you have the Wilsons, Lavigne at two-thirty, three-thirty Emily Melanson, Jordan Crenshaw at four and at four-thirty, tweedle-dum and tweedle-dee," she itemized.

"What's in store for them?"

Mortgage, property encroachment— neighbor's fence—Wills, estate matter, character reference, deed and lastly, a gravel removal agreement, respectively, the names, times and reason are listed on your calendar, Mr. McIntyre."

"Everything all set?"

"Yes, sir. The files are on the credenza, in the pile to your left, the top being your ten o'clock, then your eleven-thirty and so on and so forth."

With indifference to this particular client's method of maintaining her lawyer's level of attention to her legal troubles, she hastily threw into the mix, "And Annie Dunn wants to see you tomorrow at two o'clock."

"Aw, geez, Sarah, do I have to?" he whined and threw his arms up in the air at the mention of the client who put his patience to the test. "Doesn't she get the point I can't do anything for her. All she does is come in here, tell me over and over the same problems she's told me for the last six months and whines for two hours and then leaves. She's a chronic grumbler. She should be seeing a therapist not a lawyer." He ran his hand over his white cropped top.

"That sucks, Mr. McIntyre." He looked as though the wind had been sucked out of him, but Annie Dunn was his problem. She diversified. "So, I'll tell her a more convenient time for you would be tomorrow at two, then. Okay?" It had to be tricks and manipulation to get what you wanted. Pure and simple.

"Yes, that's better. Thank you." He broke out in a victorious smile. "You all right for work?"

"Oh, yes. The abstract of title work for Thomas."

"Right, right." He sat in his wooden antiquated chair. Brushing a hand across his face, he muttered something under his breath.

"Will that be all, then, Mr. McIntyre?"

"For the time being at least." He surveyed his file-covered desk.

When she turned to leave, he asked, "How do you remember all that stuff like that. I wish I could do that."

That makes two of us. How much easier her job would be. Without turning, she answered, "It's in the genes."

"Levi's?"

She turned and saw the hint of a smile on his lips as she rounded the corner.

Back at her desk she opened the last of Edward's mail and absently scanned the top letter. A word, one of many, that she wasn't familiar with jumped out at her. She opened her thick and trusty dictionary and found the word. "Penultimate" means "second from the last". It was a simple definition and easy to remember. She smiled to herself. How long I.P. Green searched for that word? I.P. Green? How disgusting.

Minutes later when she placed the mail on his desk, she almost reached the doorway before he called out her name.

"Would you look up the word "penultimate" for me, please?"

Aren't lawyers supposed to know all these weird words? She knit her eyebrows. "It means "second from the last", Mr. McIntyre."

"Excuse me?"

"The word "penultimate" means "second from the last."

"Oh."

She was on her way to the lunchroom when she saw Eva—the iron dragon of the office—at the other end of the hallway looking into each open doorway as she walked. Over the past few weeks her range of senses heightened and because of that she knew Eva looked for someone. Maybe someone besides her, but probably not. The thought left her feeling lightheaded and anxious. She heard the stories about Eva from Abby, and knew better than to get in Eva's face. More trouble, she didn't need.

Eva couldn't be trusted. From what Abby told her, she was the firm's gatekeeper, keeping the secretaries in line by squealing on them. It didn't need to be anything major—taking too many potty breaks, taking sixty-two minutes for a lunch hour—she could influence any circumstance into something worthy enough to warrant a reprimand by the lawyers. If none existed, then she would fabricate it, all for the greater good.

Shannon had but one option at hand. Opening the first available door, she stepped inside and closed the door quietly behind her, barely breathing as she stepped backward into the dark room. Her fingers brushed across the wall touching something coarse and hairy. She pivoted and jumped to the side, stepping on something on the floor. Thrown off balance, she tried to regain her footing of the room by reaching out. When her hand latched onto something wet and slimy, she jerked to the side and lost her equilibrium, falling face first across the floor, pitching brooms, mops, hoses and metal scrub buckets around her.

She placed the palms of her hands on the floor, her tummy curved over a scrub bucket. When she heard a noise behind her, she thought Eva found her—Goddamnit—and let out a mild curse. A light switch was thrown, and the room became brightly illuminated. Twisting her head under her armpit, she looked into Edward's surprised face. Busted. Mary, Mother of God. "Hi," she squeaked.

He took a moment to appraise her position. Then with one giant step his hands encircled her waist from the rear and lifted her from the floor without barely a break in his breathing.

"Oooof," rushed out of her mouth. After brushing off her knees, she peeked out the doorway. The coast was clear. She looked up at him. "Er...um...er." How do I explain this? But there was just no suitable or intelligent explanation. She smiled and looked...well, just plain goofy.

He held up a hand. "Please, I don't need to know. And that's the Goddamn truth."

***

Shannon fidgeted on her steno chair, wondering how much longer she would last. She checked the time. The new girl should be here any time now, bringing with her hope for Shannon's future for the law firm. For a long time now she thought about a chance like this. And now that the long awaited opportunity had almost arrived there was only one thing that worried her. What if she couldn't pull it off? Approaching footsteps in the stairwell made her think her prayers would soon be realized. Thank you, God.

She sat absolutely still, listening and barely breathing. The footsteps sounded tentative, apprehensive. Finally, the newest recruit stood in the doorway.

She recognized the look on the new girl's face—eagerness. Eager to make a good first impression. Eager to make new friends. Once upon a time that same look described her own face. When she first started this job, she anticipated making new friends, to being useful, to being the best. The girl who could do anything, knowing what she wanted and went after it with a firm and deliberate purpose. Now she wasn't so sure and not so confident. This place was different...She couldn't imagine making this her career, especially not now. Why wasn't anything simple, easy?

Scarlett cleared her throat, and looked first at Abby, then across the room at Shannon. Her eyes rested on her.

Shannon felt uneasy. What was with that look? It must be my red hair. Or I have a horsey hanging from my nose. This wasn't going the way she thought it would. Maybe it was simply paranoia.

"Hi, I'm Scarlett Whatley." Her voice was pure honey. "Peter Montgomery's new secretary." Her eyes traveled from Shannon to Abby, then back to Shannon. She moved into the room as graceful as a gazelle. Her steps no longer tentative, but confident as her long legs carried her toward the middle of the room. Gold bangles brushed her dress with each step. A delicate flowery scent wafted through the air.

Shannon was dumb struck by the girl's beauty and poise, held hostage by her physical beauty and elegance. She admired Scarlett's long blond hair hanging in spirals about her face.

"Let me guess, let me guess," Scarlett said excitedly, cocking her head to the left. "You're Abby, and you must be Shannon."

Raising her fingers to her nose, Shannon gave a half twirl with her fingers. Apprehension tickled her nerve endings. Those little curls across the base of her neck drooped.

Scarlett reached out and shook Abby's hand. Turning around, her long legs covered in one step twice the area it would've taken Shannon. The girls shook hands.

"I've heard so much about you, Shannon." Topaz-colored eyes studied her.

Me? How? Why? From whom? These were all good questions. "Um, um, all good I hope." She gave her hand a tug to free it. The girl had her in a vice-lock.

Scarlett smiled. No words were spoken, but the implications of unfulfilled intentions vibrated through the room. With a swift flick of the wrist, she turned her hand around and appraised the hand she now clasped tightly with her fingers.

Shannon tried to break free, but Scarlett stilled the movement. They were standing toe to toe, her fragrant body only inches away. She looked into her eyes, expecting to see amusement, but it was something else; something she couldn't identify. Cripes, give me back my hand. It's mine, you bitch. She didn't want to be rude, but...

"My, you have a tiny hand, Shannon."

The better to slap you with, twit. But she was all talk and no action. Her hands grew cold and clammy, her face broke out in a cold sweat. The nervous tic resurrected itself. All of her intentions to make a pleasing first impression barreled out of the room as though on rollers. Scarlett would not be her new best friend, nor would there be other friendships. Another of her plans gone awry.

Scarlett ran her hand over Shannon's. "Do you moisturize?"

Shannon yanked hard and freed her hand with a wink of her right eye. She rubbed her clammy hands against her pants.

Peter stuck his head into the room, smiled at all three of them and beckoned Scarlett into his office with a crook of his forefinger.

Come forth, my love.

Abby and Shannon watched the little filly prance from the room. They listened for the sound of Peter's door being closed. Comfortable now in each other's company, the girls turned to face each other.

Abby raised her hand, her index finger outstretched towards Peter's office. "What was all that about?"

"I haven't the faintest." A simple shrug of bewilderment.

"No? Me thinks she likes you, Shannon."

"Harumph." Shannon wanted to be liked and loved. Wasn't that what she prayed for? Yearned for from the very beginning and every day since?

"I mean she reaaaaally likes you," Abby stressed, wriggling provocatively in her seat, raising her fingers to her forehead, pretending to swoon.

Shannon watched Abby's theatrics. No bells rang yet.

"I mean she really, really likes you!"

There's no doubt about it, she thought, it's definitely strange. She picked up a file from her desk and noticed her hand shook.

Stupefaction slowly wore off and the enlightening thought burst into her head with the energy of a hyperactive child suffering from a sugar rush. How can I be so dense sometimes? "You don't suppose she's—" She couldn't say aloud the conclusion she'd reached; it was too horrible to think, let alone voice. Not that she was a bigot or prejudiced—whatever turns your crank—but she could see where this would lead. More trouble. God, how she despised that word!

"Oh yes." Abby nodded. "And she definitely likes you. Really, really likes you."

Shannon groaned. Cripes. Trouble worst than before? Her thoughts swirled ahead to the days to come like a whirligig, running rampant as she saw herself in all kinds of perilous and infelicitous situations. Goddamnit. Why me, Lord?

Feeling as though she stood on the sill of a very deep, very large precipice, with no where to go but down, her breath came in short spasmodic bursts. A sharp pain ripped through her chest. She was having a heart attack. Oh God, she was too young to die! She placed one hand against her heart, while the other fanned her face The room spun before her eyes, taking on grotesque proportions.

"You're hyperventilating, Shannon. Here!"

Shannon grabbed frantically at the paper bag and cupped it around her mouth. Eyes the color of earth and grass stared fearfully over the top of the bag across at Abby. Shannon inhaled and exhaled deeply, her breathing slowly, but surely returning to normal.

Chapter 31

—"I'm so twisted, I can't think straight" —

Peter reflected on Shannon's response to his attempt to apologize and came to the only conclusion that seemed sensible. The girl had to go. What's it going to take? Must she embezzle money from the firm? He could arrange some evidence, shift around some money. The thought pleased him. He sprinted into Edward's office and shut the door. "For the life of me, I don't understand why you don't let that girl go!" The words rushed out of his mouth.

Edward took a controlling breath, turned from the window and looked at Peter. "Why?"

"Why?" It was a scream. "My God, Ed, don't you see her insubordinate behavior, the insolence, the rudeness?" Jesus, is the man never going to realize what a thorn she is in everyone's side?

Edward eased forward, appearing to ponder the question. After a moment passed, he shook his head. "No, can't say that I do. She's a young girl, Peter. She'll come around to our ways."

Peter couldn't, wouldn't, let the matter drop. He told his friend and colleague about his attempt to clear the air with Shannon arising from the bird fiasco—a détente entente that stumbled into place. "Can you imagine she said to me, 'This is the office of malice'." The remark was downright rude. No manners. No respect. Unmitigated gall, categorical insubordination. He couldn't get past it.

When she should've appreciated the job she had, she didn't. When she should've kept her mouth shut, she didn't. When she should've kept her distance, she didn't. Peter worked himself up again. He paced back and forth across the room. Agitated. Angered. Bittered.

He had countless secretaries over the years—secretaries who were cream of the crop—secretaries who had more than average intelligence, but never had he encountered anyone like her. She brought out the devil in him. Sweat trickled down from his armpits, and his entire body pulsed with life. It took all of what he was not to have it out with her once and for all and not give Edward any choice in the matter.

And yet, for all of the satisfaction he knew that would instill, he felt oddly content to continue with the game. I am so twisted, I can't think straight. He would win, he knew that, and the thrill of the chase mollified him. There's something definitely wrong with me.

Edward's laughter angered him. "You find that funny, Ed?" He felt temper dance in his eyes and stared agog when Edward laughed even harder. What was the matter with him? There was nothing funny about the situation. His thoughts ran back to that moment. If you brushed aside everything, the insults, the rudeness, the insubordination, the disrespect...he laughed himself.

Edward wiped away tears. "If you'll remember, I suggested you bring in those turkeys for the girls. Admit it, you're just upset she got the better of you."

Peter, always the one to do the besting and never out-bested, nodded and admitted begrudgingly that maybe his colleague was right. Just maybe. But he wasn't giving up yet. There was too much water under that bridge. Forgive and forget? He thought not.

"Do you know the meaning of the word "penultimate" right off the top of your head, Peter?"

"No, can't say that I do, Ed. Why?"

Edward waved him out with an 'It's not important' gesture.

Chapter 32

—"A walk on the moon? A roll in the hay? Anything?" —

If it looks like I'm walking funny, it's because I have twelve employees and one very annoying and determined lawyer up my ass, wanting the same thing from me. Which, by the way, they're not going to get, at least not until I'm good and ready to give my notice.

Shannon had another sleepless night, traipsing from one room of her apartment to another, mindlessly roaming, unable to sit still for more than two minutes at a time. Instead of Scarlett helping her with her problems with the staff, she compounded them. She wouldn't be her new best friend or her in with the staff. It was a discouraging realization.

It was another day, but nothing was usual. Abby sat to the side of her desk, observing and monitoring Scarlett who made discreet suggestions about how things could be done, being politically correct at all times.

How Abby could sit so close to Scarlett? Wasn't she afraid? Will I ever come to be that diplomatic and concerned with the feelings of my fellow man or woman? She had no answer, but right up there on her to-do list she mentally added—endeavor to be considerate and tactful.

Though she couldn't have described one shorthand stroke, she busied herself reviewing her notes. Through the mirage of her thoughts she heard Abby telling Scarlett about the firm's precedents and enthusiasm in Scarlett's voice. It was a damn fine set of precedents, but not enough to get that excited about.

She wondered what Scarlett's story was. Everyone had one. Skeletons in closets. Secrets and indiscretions they wanted no one to know, no one to hear. Was it really true that Scarlett swung the other way? She hadn't seen any evidence of it. Maybe she was just a really friendly girl who liked to hold hands with people she first met. Would she recognize the signs? Probably not.

It was true a softness transformed Scarlett's face when she looked at her. She noticed that. Was that any indication? It would take someone a lot more worldly and sophisticated than she to conclusively know.

She didn't feel any animosity toward Scarlett. Though she wished she'd keep her hands to herself. She hadn't liked it the other day when Scarlett ran her hand up and down her leg feeling the texture and quality of her new brand of panty hose. As sudden as heartburn, a thought struck her. Was that really as innocent as Scarlett made it seem? Jesus. Maybe not. Her hair stood on end. It could have been an advance of a sexual nature with all the sexual connotations attached. If it were, then Scarlett would certainly have assumed or been inclined to believe she was of that persuasion too.

Good Lord, she silently prayed, let that not be the case.

Another thought entered her mind, one that touched on her capacity to tolerate and her passionate temper. Insult. Scarlett's instinctive aptitude in these matters should be re-calibrated. Her radar was off. Way, way off.

She thought back over the last couple of days. There'd been no more intimate hand holding and Scarlett had never tried to corner her alone at any time, anywhere. Maybe it was paranoia.

One thing she knew for sure, it hadn't been a smart move for her to make nice with her fellow coworkers.

Had she sent Scarlett a signal that was misinterpreted? Directly? Indirectly? Oh, Sweet Jesus, she could have. A flush of heat traveled from the tip of her head to the tips of her toes.

Was this instinctive for Scarlett, or was there some force at work directing a covert movement? More unanswered questions. Who? Why? Why would anyone want to do her harm? Did she really have to ask herself that question? Did he dislike her that much any lengths were warranted to degrade and destroy her? The answer was probably yes. She thought by showing Peter she was a formidable opponent, it would discourage his vendetta against her. Obviously, that would never happen.

She should get back at him. First, though, before she thought of ways to out-best him this time, some Abstracts of Title needed to be done. She stared at the stack of files that contained descriptions for thousands of acres of land for a nature park. Though Thomas assured her that one thousand abstracts of title wouldn't need to be prepared—quite a few of the grantors owned sometimes as much as six acres—she understood that to mean that instead of preparing thousands of abstracts there would be several hundred. She couldn't take much comfort in that. Either way, the figures daunted her.

Just the sight of the volume of files and property descriptions overwhelmed her. At this rate, she wouldn't be finished the project until August and with it being only January, the thought greatly depressed her. She couldn't be pacified either knowing she wasn't the only secretary working on it. As far as she was concerned, this was a task of monumental proportions and if the April first deadline for completion was to be met, then the lawyers should be plunking away at the keyboards too.

Discouraged, she decided to take a walk and roamed the halls absorbed in her thoughts and worries, acutely aware of the curious glances, the surreptitious nudging of elbows, the indiscreet whispers and the oblique looks exchanged between her coworkers.

Unable to break free from the tines of apprehension and fear plaguing her emotions, she turned brusquely, took the back staircase down to the second floor and walked toward to the privacy of her sanctuary. That too, she ridiculed, would be a luxury of the past what with Scarlett's being Abby's permanent replacement. Everything was changing too fast.

When she walked into her office, Scarlett looked at her from across the room. Was that lust in her eyes? Christ, yes.

Shannon massaged her aching temples, believing now that Scarlett had amorous intentions toward her. She could no longer give the girl the benefit of the doubt. Should she look at it in a different perspective? No.

Another conundrum. It was time to take the blinders off and put on the boxing gloves again. She worked herself up in quite a dither, emotionally overpowered to the inth degree. She felt weak, physically overpowered. Could anxiety rob the body of strength? She groaned and turned in her chair. Abby watched her curiously. Scarlett looked at her endearingly.

What the frig are you looking at, Gay Scarlett?

She checked her watch. Only a few hours remained in this dreadful day. Her one bright spot. How long would she be able to cope with this added complication? What could she do about it? Nothing. The full significance of the entire matter hit home. Jesus, was her sign in the wrong orbit with the moon, or what? With recognizance came preemption and prefiguration, didn't it? Her body and mind idled and she busied herself with the monotonous task of completing one abstract of title after another.

***

Edward bellowed for her. His misuse of her given name now seemed so petty and unimportant and the least of her problems she didn't feel the need to correct him anymore. Now, she rather liked the name. She jumped up, grabbed her pen and pad and ran to his office. Her smile increased in size with each step she took.

Feeling secure in his presence, she happily took dictation as Edward dictated steadily, giving her countless instructions for filing that were almost accurate. Unfortunately, though, her short reprieve came to an end. She didn't want to go back out there. The thought affected her miserably. "Isn't there anything else you want to dictate, Mr. McIntyre?"

"I can give you more, if you want more, Sarah."

Deaf to his sarcasm, she said, "Then please do."

He looked at her long and steady for a moment. "No, no, this is fine for now. We'll save some for another day."

She bit at the end of her pen. "Can I get you a cup of coffee, then?" Anything? A walk on the moon? A roll in the hay?

"Jesus, no!"

She jerked backward in her chair. Well, you didn't have to bite my head off. A simple yes or no would have sufficed.

"Thanks, dear, but if I have a cup of high test now I won't sleep tonight."

"Decaf, then?"

"It's not necessary to be obsequious with me. I like you just the way you are."

She sat with her mouth agape. Jesus, there was just no pleasing these guys. Whatever she said was the wrong thing to say. Whatever she did was the wrong thing to do. She left his office feeling disconsolate and disgusted.

While within the security of Edward's office she'd felt tranquil, but now, walking toward her office, the feeling abandoned her. In the doorway, she looked out the corners of her eyes to the left and was elated to see Abby sitting alone. She breathed a sigh of relief—the mother of all sighs—and fell onto her steno chair, paying no mind to Abby or anything else. With her chin cupped in her head she brooded.

"Problems?" Abby asked.

"No. Geez, I don't know, Abby." She checked the time again. Would this day never end? About to ask where their resident lesbo was, Abby said clairvoyantly, "She's in with Peter."

She nodded and acknowledged the feeling of the call of nature. Damn! She would have liked to sit quietly and enjoy the peacefulness of Abby's company that Scarlett's absence from the room had created. She hastily made her way to the washroom.

How could all that happened not show itself in her face? She moved closer to the mirror. They were the same eyes. Well, maybe a little wiser. It was the same mouth, it just knew more now how to grimace. She had forced herself to go through the motions, looking like she had before, contented to be doing legal work, contented to be working for Edward, but within she felt as though her entire life had turned upside down again. Nothing was the same, nothing would ever be the same again. Hell, she might never be the same again. She had been robbed of her innocence, been forced to show a side of her she wanted no one to see. Peter had done that. The bastard. Now she had Scarlett to deal with too. Would there be no end?

She hadn't known, hadn't expected a lawyer, someone who was highly educated, if not well-bred, at least adult enough to recognize childish behavior before practicing it. He brought to the forefront the person she always thought she could be though. She stared into the mirror. Other than dark circles beneath her eyes, she looked the same.

"God, Mom, what am I supposed to do?" When no answer came, she sighed. "My life is such a mess. Nothing is going right. I just keep getting myself into one mess after the other." There. She said it. Having said them, it actually felt pretty good, as though now that the admission was made, things couldn't get any worse. "Now there's a load off my chest," she said in a whisper. Though how could things get any worse?

She bathed her hands in the soothing warm water, working the disinfectant soap into a sudsy lather. There was something peaceful, comforting with the act. It calmed her. The drain gurgled as the last of the water and soapsuds bumped and ran into each other fighting their way down the drain. She wished her troubles could be as easily and swiftly washed away.

A hand smoothed the back of her skirt. She froze. The hand casually, but tenderly, lingered on the contour of her buttocks. There was no need for her to look around to know whose hand it was. This was intentional, intimate and brazen and could be looked at in no other way.

All of what she had been through—the lies, the gossip, the looks, the snide remarks, Peter, and yes, even Edward's inattentive, hearing-impaired, doofus ways—catapulted through her. She had never felt this before, this keen-edged rage, this want to strike out.

She turned, pulled her arm back and let it fly. Her fist connected with Scarlett's cheek bone. Crack echoed against the walls.

Scarlett staggered backward a few steps, then fell to the ceramic floor, her eyes rolling back in their sockets before her eyes closed.

"Freak of nature," Shannon screamed, knowing what she sounded like. She couldn't stop herself, just as she couldn't stop herself from bending down and landing yet another coup.

She straightened and walked over to the basin, filled a paper cup with water and threw it across Scarlett's face, getting a little more satisfaction.

Scarlett's eyelashes fluttered.

"Are you all right, Scarlett?"

"I think so." She rubbed the back of her head.

Shannon extended her hand and helped her from the floor. "My God, what's the matter with you feeling me up that way?"

"Nothing's the matter with me. You misinterpreted."

Shannon had enough—enough games, enough playing dumb, enough covering up, enough benefits of doubt. "No, it wasn't, Scarlett. It was what it was."

Scarlett let out a little laugh. "For God's sake, I was simply smoothing your skirt."

"No, Scarlett. That wasn't it."

"Yes, it was, Shannon." Scarlett stood firm. "I'm not what you think."

Shannon glared at her, knowing there could be no other way to interpret what happened. No one would convince her otherwise. "Yes, it was, Scarlett and yes, you are." She grabbed hold of the door and yanked it open.

In the hallway she took a left. Once inside her office she grabbed her coat and purse from the coat tree, then ran to her desk and turned off her computer. From there she ran out of the room, through the reception area and down the stairs.

She opened the door, jumped onto the verandah and ran down the stairs. Instantly, the frigid air lashed at her. She took a deep breath, the first of the last two minutes. Head throbbing, hand throbbing, she angrily pushed aside a ringlet.

It wasn't until now, when the biting winds from the north parted her hair, that she felt free and safe from the mishaps, infelicitous circumstances and frightening fiends of the zoo these people called a law firm. She didn't look back.

Slowly and carefully, since in her haste to escape she'd forgotten her boots, she walked home, taking shortcuts through alleys and shops, mindlessly taking advantage of every incidental benefit presenting itself. With each well-placed step, she felt a bit more relieved and at peace with herself than the last.

***

Meanwhile, back at the office Abby watched the tiny particles of dust filter through the air Shannon's swift movement created as the last rays of the setting sun shone through the window. What was that all about? She checked the time. There was still thirty minutes left to go. Where was Shannon off to in such a hurry?

When Scarlett entered the office, Abby watched her, noticing the large reddish blotch below her right eye. Were they both in the washroom at the same time? Did Scarlett make a move on Shannon? Did Shannon hit her?

Something must have happened. Must have. That was why Shannon left the office looking like the devil chased her. Whatever happened between them must have been terrifying for her, so terrifying she would risk another humiliating tongue lashing for leaving the office early and without permission.

Did she consider that to be the lesser of two evils?

Abby studied Scarlett more closely.

***

What was that all about? Peter asked himself.

Shannon passed him in the hall without making a remark, or one of her sly smiles. As though he were invisible.

Was that the game she played now?

No, maybe not. She looked scared. He'd never seen that look on her face before. Nervous looking too. Something else was going on.

His curiosity was piqued, but decided not to wonder about it. What did it matter to him? It didn't concern him. All he was concerned about was the noose around Shannon's neck and how he could tighten it even more.

***

Shannon stood in the hallway, rapping her knuckles against the door in a frenzied motion. In a random moment of clarity while she waited for Louise to answer, she assessed her decision to burden her elderly neighbor with her problems. It left her with doubts, but still she knocked again, harder this time. She missed her mother dearly. God, Mom, I wish you were here to comfort me, to give me advice, to love me.

The door swung open and her virtuous consciousness crashed to the side. She held out her arms to Louise, desperately needing warmth and affection, certain that would wash away all the bad that had taken over her entire life. Though she fought with a determined conviction not to break down, her face skewered up.

Louise gathered her tenderly in her arms, enveloping her in an intangible blanket of protectiveness and caring.

"There, there, dear," Louise said. "Everything's going to be fine." She patted her back.

She laid her head against Louise's shoulder. All of the horrible events of the past few months cascaded down on her like a rushing waterfall.

The first two teardrops traveled in single file down her cheeks. A moment later she emitted a high-pitched mewl, then surrendered completely to her inescapable emotions. Her plaintive cries turned to sorrowful and heart-wrenching sobs.

***

Shannon sat on the floor, starting at the dancing flames of the fire in the hearth. She pulled the afghan tighter around her shoulders. It had felt good to unburden herself, something that should have been done a long time ago. She couldn't remember feeling like this in a long, long time. Since her first day on the job actually.

She appreciated that Louise hadn't tried to make light of her situation by saying, 'It can't be that bad.' Her responses had been 'ahs' and 'my, my, my', her eyes filling with sympathy and understanding. She did the right thing when she knocked on her door. Here she was welcome. Here someone cared—and though she had never laid eyes on the woman before she moved into the apartment building—she knew Louise didn't have a hidden agenda. She watched her sitting on the sofa crocheting doilies. Dependable, she thought. Unflappable.

Louise hadn't given her any advice—God knew she needed it—or imparted what she should do, either. To patiently listen was an ability few people had, and if they did, it was for an ulterior purpose. A purpose that ultimately was to their own end. She learned that the hard way, too.

Why didn't she know what to do? She always had all the answers. Now she didn't even know one day from the last. They were all the same. Days filled with anxiety, stress and anger. Was that any way to do her job? Was that any way to live? No, it wasn't.

Thanks to Louise her physical energy was restored and her life force rejuvenated, treading hand in hand with the fire that made her who she was. Intense, tempestuous, and unpredictable. Her mind was refreshed and strengthened. No longer discomfited by the wherefores and whereases, she saw clearly now what she must do, what she had to do. It was an unfortunate matter—one she needed to come away from with her body and soul unscathed. With such a driving force behind her she possessed the wherewithal to defeat this antagonistic sexual transgressor. Bitch! She'd make her pay; she'd find a way. No cavalry would come to her rescue. She had to do this herself.

"Drink the rest of your tea, dear," Louise said.

She sipped the remainder. Feeling groggy, she turned to Louise. "Thank you for your gracious hospitality and your ear. I should be going now." She managed a smile.

"Why don't you spend the night? I'd love the company."

As inviting and tempting as that sounded, she couldn't. "That's so sweet of you, but I can't."

"You need some time alone to think. I understand."

She hugged her. "Thank you so much for everything and for understanding. I don't know what I would do without you."

Chapter 33

—"I'm a secretary, not a clairvoyant"—

Shannon's hands shook as she tidied an already tidy desk. She straightened files, arranged pens and pencils in their holder and skillfully avoided answering Abby's questions, knowing her coworker's curiosity hadn't been satisfied. As much as she disliked being purposely evasive and uncommunicative, what happened with Scarlett in the washroom yesterday was none of Abby's business. Besides it being too humiliating and embarrassing to tell, she felt Abby only appeared concerned about her and her friendship was a camouflage for her true feelings and intentions. It seemed everyone had ulterior motives. Only Edward could be trusted in the office and that was only up to a certain point.

When she left for work this morning, she braced herself with a confident and stalwart resolve, so coming to work hadn't been as difficult as she'd feared. No lawyer made any mention of her early departure from the office yesterday. That was a big relief in itself, and, despite Abby's insistent inquisition, it had not been agonizing at all.

She learned from Abby that Peter dispatched Scarlett down to the second floor to assist Thomas in cataloguing the already completed abstracts of title. That bit of news was akin to breathing in sweet pure air after having been asphyxiated. Then, in addition to that, she learned that Scarlett would be consumed by that work for the better part of the morning. Yippee Kieyea, she thought, and raised her eyes heavenward to give thanks to the Lord, or whoever had been responsible for this tour de force.

With a lull in conversation, she took that moment to turn on her computer and monitor with a calm she wouldn't have thought she possessed. "Disk error" appeared on the screen. She had left a disk in the floppy drive in her haste to escape yesterday. On the heel of that thought the whole horrible ordeal of yesterday threatened to burst into her thoughts. She placed an imaginary dam in her mind to keep the flood of those happenings and the emotions they evoked from breaking free into her conscious mind. Not the bitch and not the bastard would ruin her day. It was a solemn promise to herself.

She decided to do the work Edward gave her yesterday with a teensy bit of guilt for brushing aside Thomas' abstracts. There was justification. Edward's work took priority and precedence over everything and everyone else, unless she was otherwise ordered. There was also the fact that Edward would come looking for his completed work without so much as an inkling she had anything else to do.

Leafing through her shorthand pad, she elected to do first what she least liked to do, saving the best for last. Her entire focus and attention was to that end, reveling in the details. It soothed her senses in much the same way a mathematician found comfort in the science of number, quantity, shape and space. This job was an enjoyable niche from which she derived immense satisfaction and great pleasure. So much so that mere words couldn't properly describe it. It was all the other stuff she had trouble dealing with. An unfortunate attachment to a fulfilling means of accomplishment.

When Edward shifted the keyboard beneath her fingers, she was lost in thought, deaf and dumb to her milieu. She jumped back.

How will I explain leaving the office early yesterday?

How will I explain punching Scarlett?

With the truth?

Yeah, right, like she'd be believed. She was screwed. For a maiden, it was becoming a familiar feeling. She looked into his face and smiled crookedly, apologizing for not being at his beck and call.

Edward was already seated behind his desk when she entered his office. She looked at him just as his telephone buzzed. She watched in fascination as he plucked the receiver in his hand—like he knew what he was doing—and began the "What Line Am I Wanted On" game with the telephone control pad and Gisele. Shannon had acknowledged defeat to Edward's way of answering his intercom long ago. Sometimes you just couldn't teach an old dog new tricks.

Finally, he connected with the correct line, showing his elation by loudly exclaiming an "Ahah" as though the telephone line were an elusive little bastard and hard to catch.

Ten minutes later he replaced the receiver in its cradle with a loud thud. Taking his feet from the top of his desk, he swiveled around in his chair and turned to her. He muttered beneath his breath, barely audible and completely unintelligible, like he was trying to determine where he'd left off.

Shannon could tell focus was not coming easy for him.

He took correspondence from one place and put it in another. "Now, where were we?" he asked just as his intercom buzzed again.

She jumped up and depressed the intercom button connecting him with Gisele. It was a broken promise to herself, but could have cared less. She handed him the phone.

Edward sat back, raising his feet to rest on the top of his desk. "Gisele? Gisele who?" he asked the receptionist.

She imagined Gisele—impatient by nature—rolling her eyes to the ceiling, throwing her arms in the air in exasperation, and cursing his deafness and perception deficiency. When he said, "I don't know any Gisele," she thought she heard her scream.

Gisele should have been smarter. She shouldn't have introduced herself to him. She should have just said, "Line—". Was there wisdom in showing him he should answer his intercom first, then be told what line to answer? His way might be best for Gisele, but not necessarily so for whomever called in. Maybe she should mind her own damn business. There was certainly enough of it.

When Gisele yelled through the telephone, "Line Two," Shannon realized that knowing what blinking light was for him wasn't any assurance his large finger depressed the correct button. When he said, "OOPS, sorry" twice, she held back a chuckle. Someone shouted from the other end of the line, "Ed" in a successful attempt to catch him before he depressed yet another button. Edward sat back in his chair.

Three minutes later, he ended the call. "Now where were we?"

She looked up from her steno pad. I'm a secretary, not a clairvoyant. "Now, where were we?" A tickle of laughter danced in her throat at his comical facial expression. "That's where we were, Mr. McIntyre, 'now where were we?' You weren't able to get into anything before your telephone rang."

Unfortunately, she didn't possess telepathic abilities. Too bad for him. Too bad for her. A problem existed, but for once it wasn't hers. She wondered how long it would take him to remember the reason for her summons. Then, quite to her surprise, he began dictation.

Twenty minutes and ten pages of shorthand notes later, he ended her brief respite from the tumultuous happenings of the outer office by calling a halt for a coffee break.

She experienced some anxiety walking to her desk. When she saw Abby sitting alone in their office, she brightened and dived head on to her rapidly increasing work load.

Chapter 34

—"As dumb as a bag of hammers"—

Instinct told him something was amiss. Edward didn't need to ask himself why Peter made him antsy lately. Even now, suspecting the reason for the visit—to complain again about his secretary—he couldn't help feeling resentful. Hopefully, he thought, shifting to a more comfortable position in his chair, he would be able to quell these troubled waters again. Maybe once and for all.

After a few minutes where Peter paced back and forth across the length of the office, Edward grew even more anxious. If this had something to do with Shannon again, he didn't want to know about it. He'd never seen fur fly. Maybe it was time to let them duke it out between themselves. Regardless of the cost of the question though, he had to ask and prayed this wasn't about Shannon. Not again. "So, how is it working out with your new secretary, Peter?"

Peter stopped pacing long enough to say, "All right, I guess."

"Didn't you tell me she worked for numb nuts over at Blaine, Smith for ten years?"

"Nine years."

"Everything okay with you, Peter?"

Without a break in step, hands clasped together at his back, shoulders hunched forward, Peter said, "Everything's fine, Ed."

"Uh-huh." Edward regarded Peter out the corner of his eye. "Didn't you say she has experience in all areas of your expertise?"

Peter stopped abruptly. "You're just not going to let up on the subject, are you?"

Edward shrugged. "Not if this frame of mind of yours concerns your well-being or that of the firm."

Peter couldn't find the right words to explain the situation. He was thunderstruck. This was a predicament like none other. Why had he not come by this information earlier? He cursed himself for being so easily taken in by beauty and charm. Who would have thought that beautiful face was but a flowery subterfuge for what truly laid within?

All a façade. I'm getting old and as dumb as a bag of hammers.

He'd placed himself into another untenable position, not to mention the dubious position he might have inadvertently put the firm. He dallied with the idea of whether this moment was the time to inform Edward of the all too brutal news or whether tomorrow would be more convenient and timely. Should he give himself another day to recoup his wits? Tomorrow would be today. Then he might even be able to formulate a more carefully regimented plan of action.

"Peter, you're scaring the bejesus out of me." There was more force in Edward's voice than patience.

Peter sat. Edward's correct in his appraisal. There was really no need for him to linger in the matter. A wave of nausea overtook him as his mind replayed in a fast forward motion the events of the past few days. It still amazed, while at the same time depressed him, to realize how easily he'd been caught up in the glitz and glamour. Too much pomp and ceremony and not enough substance. That was how he thought of himself at the moment.

How would he begin to explain? How would they handle the situation without placing the firm under yet another cloud of guilt and uncertainty? He didn't see any way out of it without walking in mire. Not on this one.

Peter cleared his throat, focusing his eyes on a crack in the wall on the opposite side of the room from where Edward sat. "It seems Scarlett is a dyke."

Peter awaited the dreaded words of exclamation, the disparaging words of reprimand, but to his total wonder and amazement, there was nothing but silence. His declaration of truth didn't have the effect on Edward he thought it would. Or that it should. "Did you hear me, Ed?"

"Uh-huh."

Peter faced Edward. His colleague looked deep in thought, perhaps in a reflective sense. He ran a cold and clammy hand across his forehead and massaged the muscles of his aching neck. The only sound in the room was his labored breathing.

"I don't see what the big deal is with nationality, Peter. We couldn't have all been born to the fatherland. You know, as well as I, there are different cultures right here within this very firm."

Peter had stood the moment he thought Edward was about to begin his reprisal speech. Now he jerked his head in a backward motion, snapping his attention to the direction that Edward's mind had obviously traveled. What did their native Ireland have to do with what he said? Was this the beginning stages of Alzheimer's? Edward couldn't flake out on him now. Not when he needed him the most.

"What does that have to do with anything right here, right now, Ed. Non sequitur, don't you think?" His voice was soft, sympathetic.

Edward brought his feet down from his desk in a swift and unexpected motion, waving his hand erratically in the air. "Well, you were the one who brought up Scarlett's heritage, not me."

It was Peter's turn to be confused. After a moment of reflection, he brightened. "What I meant to say, Ed, was that there have been events and circumstances that have happened of late that lead me to believe, conclusively, that my new secretary, Scarlett, is a lesbian." He paused to take a deep breath, then elucidated. "A homosexual." There would be no further confusion or room for misinterpretation. To say it once was chilling enough for him. Having said it three times gave him the willies and it didn't get any easier to accept the more times he said it.

The matter needed to be handled with the utmost diplomacy, prudence and discretion or else dire consequences could ensue. Both for him and the firm. A hand movement caught his attention.

"Ahah."

"Is that all you have to say? Ahah. To be quite honest with you, Ed, I thought you would have brought the roof down on my head." Obviously, Edward had not visualized the spectrum of the matter. This required finesse. He felt a twinge of regret and remorse for his past actions, but most of all for having to use Edward. There was no point, though, in regret. Nothing would be changed by it. Though he sometimes felt he should be treated like a pariah, Edward always treated him with respect. That was hard to accept too. He would understand if Edward would show some disappointment and anger, but there was none of that either. There never was.

Edward sat back, folded his arms across his chest and shrugged. "Dem's da breaks."

Dem's da breaks? What the hell? Peter couldn't, wouldn't accept his lumps and move on. Maybe Edward wasn't seeing the whole dynamics of this situation. That would be sensible to think in light of his glib remark. His mind jumped like jumping jacks ahead to the future. There were repercussions to be considered. Unjust dismissals were on the rise. The various human rights associations with the new-age awareness at hand would be a problem. There were a lot of methods to address the issues of today. We...I could be in very deep shit in a very short while.

"What steps do you think would be prudent to take in this matter, Ed?"

"I'm not sure any are warranted at this time. I guess you're just going to have to grin and bear it." Edward grinned. "No pun intended."

The thought of having to work with Scarlett every day for the foreseeable future sickened him. He just wouldn't be able to do it, and no one should ask him to. Peter had a difficult task before him to convince Edward that the firm and Scarlett must part ways. No doubt remained now he would have to gerrymander this situation. His head ached as he thought how to do that. Then out of nowhere came a sudden epiphany. Lord God, why had he not seen it before?

Peter prepared himself to give his partner an edification in creative semantics as well as a three-dimensional view of probable risk in relation to probable cause. He would guide his dear friend to the approximate epicenter of the issue at hand and allow him no choice but to see the matter as he wanted him to. He felt no mercy. He felt no shame. A man had to do what a man had to do. "I came upon this information quite by accident, you know. Through Abigail."

"Really? That surprises me. I thought you might have picked up on that right away yourself."

Peter made a move to suggest—'Hell, I was caught up in the beauty and charm. Thinking with my dick and not my brain.' "I'm not oblivious to a woman's charm, Ed. I suppose that blinded my foresight." He jutted his jowls.

Edward waved Peter away from his shortcomings. "So, tell me how Miss Abigail found this out."

Peter felt he was about to deliver the closing argument of his career and did so with careful and unhurried thought. "In retrospect, I see now quite clearly what I should have seen on the interview. You know, at the time I was swept away by other things. Abigail's notice to leave came as a shock. The time of year presented a problem too. Who leaves a job in the winter? I thought I'd have a hard time finding a replacement."

"Uh-huh."

"Well, apparently on her first day of work Scarlett stopped first in Abby and Sha—Sarah's office." He paused a moment to make certain Edward still paid attention. Satisfied that was the case, he continued, "She introduced herself in a normal and polite manner, in other words, uneventful. When Scarlett turned to Sha—Sarah to introduce herself, she," he stopped to stress, "now this is according to Abby and strictly hearsay."

"Uh-huh."

"Scarlett was quite smitten with our young, red-haired little girl with the curly locks, holding her hand a little too long, making cooing sounds and looking deeply and affectionately into her eyes, etc. etc. I'm sure, Ed, I don't have to detail the sexual machinations that would have followed of a Homo sapien in heat, whatever the gender." He stopped only long enough to work up saliva. "Now, according to Abby," he decided to refer to Shannon as Edward seemed only to know her, "Sarah was not aware Scarlett was a lesbian and didn't understand the moves she put on her. The only thing at the time Sarah was upset about was, so Abby says, that Scarlett wouldn't let her hand go." He stopped again to gauge the level of Edward's attention. Edward nudged him on again with a nod.

"Abby said it wasn't until later when she teased Sarah about Scarlett really, really liking her that she caught on to the fact she may have been targeted as a potential love muffin for a lesbian lover. Then she had a panic and hyperventilated." Geez, what I wouldn't have given to see that.

Peter was thankful Edward was of the old school, but he needed to be perfectly sure Edward would handle the matter the way he wanted, the way it should be handled. When he thought this was a true testament to the lengths he would go to achieve his goals and attain his desires, he quickly rationalized it.

"Abby also said that yesterday Sarah returned from the washroom white as a ghost followed a few minutes later by Scarlett. Abby reported that Scarlett sported an ugly bruise just below her right eye and the end of her nose looked like, well, like it was put in a vise, like it was pinched, I guess. Abby couldn't find out from either Scarlett or Sarah what exactly happened between them, but she knows something did. Whatever it was horrified Sarah because she left the office immediately thereafter. Thirty minutes early. Without permission and without her snow boots and without saying good bye. So, by deductive reasoning, something atrocious and appalling definitely happened between her and Scarlett."

He was happy to see from Edward's facial expression that he saw the matter the same way as he. Now all he had to do was wait for his colleague to determine their course of action. The ball had been lobbed in his court.

"So, are we absolutely sure Scarlett is what you say she is?"

"Unfortunately, yes. I called one of the partners at Blaine, Smythe and he told me the whole story, the real reason why she left their employ."

"And?"

"Well, apparently she had the hots for one of their female employees and made a pass. You can imagine what followed. Technically, they let her go, but made it appear as though it was her decision."

"Getting back to Sarah, why wouldn't she say anything to Abby?"

Peter shrugged. "I suppose there are some things women can't tell another woman. Who knows?" Another shrug. "Geez, I'm way past trying to figure out the female gender, Ed."

"Do you think one of us should question Sarah and find out exactly what happened?"

"Do you really want to do that?" Peter asked, so hoping Edward wouldn't force the issue.

"Well, one of us should."

"Why?"

"Because we have to know the truth, Peter."

"Jesus, do you think she'll tell the truth?"

"Yes, she would, Peter. In fact, I know she would."

"Do you think she'll discuss the matter with you, or me, men, when she wouldn't discuss it with Abby, a woman and her friend?"

"That's true." Edward opened the bottom drawer of his desk and took hold of the forty ouncer of twelve year old scotch along with two shot glasses. He twisted off the cap and poured them each a generous shot, handing one to Peter. Edward took hold of his and tipped it back.

When Peter raised the glass to his lips, he saw the time on his watch and hesitated. 11:02, too early in the day for liquor, but he threw back the shot anyway. It passed his teeth, flowed down his throat and landed with a fiery reverberation in the pit of his stomach. His eyes brimmed with water and a cough threatened. A pedestrian act that separated the men from the boys. Still the same, he held out his glass for a refill.

After Edward refilled their glasses, he asked, "How do you suggest we handle the matter?" Before Peter opened his mouth, he added, "And I don't want to hear any flippant and witty remarks."

Peter regarded his colleague out the side of his eyes. "Well, I hoped you would help me with that, Ed. You are the mastermind for these things and the voice of reason, of course." He smiled—a smile that bespoke his utmost and total trust in his friend's ingenuity.

"Would Abigail have any problem staying on here a bit longer?"

Peter wondered where that question led. "I wouldn't think so, for a short time anyway. I think she's just anxious to get as far away from Jerry as she can."

"Ah, yes, the wandering husband. Didn't you tell me that Abigail's husband works for Davidson as an insurance adjuster?"

"Yes, that's right." He wasn't sure what track Edward was on, or if he had derailed entirely.

"Peter, check with Abigail to see if she's able to stay on here and get back to me and find out the details of their marital assets and debts. What they consider each other's, etc., bank accounts, life insurance, if Jerry has any, to remain in place naming her as beneficiary, etc. You know the drill. Ask her what she thinks it would take to pay Jerry out from that marriage, and if he's hired a lawyer."

Peter knew now which path Edward traveled, or at least, he thought he did, and all but ran from the room. There would be a happy end to this living nightmare after all.

What would it cost him?

***

Edward's stomach roiled. These pins and needles he sat on were from his arthritic hip, he told himself.

A lesbian.

Here in his office!

And after my girl!

Inside he sizzled. His head hammered. He pressed his hand firmly against the side of his face. His anger and astonishment palpable in the stillness of the room.

If it weren't for Shannon, he would let Peter stew in his own juices, let him deal with it himself. That much he deserved. But, unfortunately, helping one helped the other, looking after one, looked after the other.

He sat back and convinced himself there was no breach of ethics in the plan. He knew it might seem excessive to some, but it made sense to protect a million dollar investment at all costs. It wasn't unusual, but a well known fact, that schemes were hatched from time to time to cover up lapses in judgment, indiscretions and the like. It was the way they kept the clients coming in.

He made a list of everything that needed to be done. There was a twist too, one that Peter might not like. That was too bad.

Chapter 35

—"The older the violin, the sweeter the music" —

Peter entered Edward's office with a flourish. "Abby says there's no problem for her to stay here longer. She thinks ten grand should cut her husband loose and to her knowledge he hasn't retained anyone yet. They don't have any bills, other than their student loans, and they've agreed to each take care of their own as they have been doing. As far as wanting any maintenance from him she said, and I quote, "I don't want one red cent from that bastard! Dead or alive. I just want to be rid of him forever. So, I guess we could conclude that would be a no to the life insurance."

"Hell hath no fury like that of a woman scorned," Edward said before he made Peter privy to the plan he was about to set into motion.

Peter had a few questions as he listened to Edward, but found he was in no position to ask. This scenario could ultimately cost him, but he kept silent and unassuming. The first hurdle, probably the most crucial, was jumped. Abby would stay on indefinitely. Now they were on to phase two. He was anxious to put this matter to rest quickly, but most of all without repercussions.

Edward called a colleague and scheduled a tentative two o'clock appointment for Abigail's husband for independent legal advice and representation. That done, he instructed Peter to draft a separation agreement. "The settlement should reflect the division of their marital property assets as outlined in the attached schedule "A" and a lump sum settlement of ten thousand dollars will be paid to the horny bastard in exchange for sole ownership of the house and contents. Each shall maintain ownership of their respective cars as they do now, any bank accounts to remain." Edward stopped abruptly. "OOPS, sorry, Peter, I got caught up in the moment. Okay, get that separation agreement done and cut the cheque for the ten G's and make sure all of Abigail's interests are covered and protected." He sat back and thought for a moment. "What do you think about a release for him to sign? You know, in consideration of etc. etc. relinquishes all rights, etc. etc."

Peter weighed the prudence of having a release executed by Abby's husband. In any other circumstances, it was unnecessary and overkill. All they needed was a duly executed separation agreement stipulating the conditions and agreements between the parties. But this time? Deciding it would be better to err on the side of caution, he said, "You know, Edward, that's not a bad suggestion. I do have one question though. Why don't we just have someone here represent Abby's husband?"

Edward shot Peter a look that said, 'Honestly Peter, sometimes you can be so dense,' but said quite congenially instead, "Well, conflict of interest, of course."

Peter, red-faced at his own obtuseness for not remembering an item of law a first year law student would know, only nodded. Tension sometimes made the brilliant brainless, or had it been the liquor talking? He would never quite know for sure, but would make it a point in the future to never again misjudge Edward's law acumen or his proficiency for a strategic manipulation.

Edward dismissed Peter's shortcomings with a wave of his hand. "Make sure all of Abigail's interests are protected and make that agreement and release ironclad and boilerplate, okay?"

Peter executed a small compliant salute and left to fulfill Edward's instructions. This unpleasant situation would be resolved to his satisfaction. He hadn't been sure of that until now.

***

Edward checked the time on the cuckoo. Picking up the telephone, he silently prayed this part of the plan would play through without a hitch. If it went the way he planned, Abigail's husband would, this afternoon, feel at one moment one sorry son of a bitch, then in the next moment consider himself one lucky bastard.

Meanwhile, Peter was back in his office drafting a release for Abby's husband to sign, a task he would admit to no one, caused him a bit of anxiety and apprehension since it would have to stand up to the scrutiny of his long time friend and mentor. He would have preferred more time in its preparation, but sometimes time was just not your friend. He wished he had not partaken in the Dutch courage in Edward's office, but that, too, seemed beyond his control. Now, as he put the finishing touches on the documents, he was satisfied with the end result.

He took the draft to Abby for a hard copy after explaining in a condensed version what was about to transpire. Abigail, ever the consummate secretary, curtailed her questions to a bare minimum. There would be many questions and verbal agreements to follow from Abby. He would prepare himself. This was quickly becoming a very complicated and complex matter, and all for what? A tight ass, an ample bosom and long lean legs. God.

***

Edward greeted Peter with a wide smile and took the original and the three copies of the completed agreement and release along with the cheque for ten thousand dollars from his proffered hand. "God must be in your corner today, Peter, because everything is going your way. I have not encountered one obstacle yet." He knocked on the hardwood of his desk. "In the plan. Everything is just progressing so smoothly, I can't believe it myself." He rubbed his hands together. "I love it when a plan comes together."

Peter nodded. "What's next in the plan?"

Happy for the interruption—his mind had been spinning out of control—Edward grinned. "Now you have to call that pitiful excuse that passes for Abigail's husband to ensure his prompt attendance at the two o'clock with Basile." He thought for a moment how Peter should broach that subject with Jerry and several ideas popped into his head at the same time. Taking what he thought was the best and most judicious way, he said, "Make a subtle suggestion to him about how the firm has this magnanimous offer for him on behalf of our most treasured employee, Abigail, and how we are most anxious to have her be again the bright and zesty young woman we have grown to trust and appreciate. That we can understand the predicament he finds himself in and that we sympathize, etc. etc., these things happen." Edward said. "Blah, blah, blah."

Peter nodded.

"If the young arrogant guttersnipe is uncooperative or tries to hold out for a bigger payoff, gently, but firmly, allude to the possibility of criminal charges for assault with malicious intent being laid against him. Charges that will stick to him like a fly to shit! Then tell him how those criminals in the crowbar hotel will like a pretty boy like him to use for ball practice. Ask him if he's ever been someone's bitch. If he's still uncooperative or it looks like he wants to hold out for a bigger pay-off, bring the sanctimonious bastard's attention to the possibility he may end up with zip, nada, zero, nil, nothing, the big old goose egg if he goes to jail." Edward grew feverish. "Oops, sorry, Peter, I got carried away again."

"No need for an apology, Ed. I know how you abhor spousal abuse and marital misconduct," Peter said. "I'll make that phone call right now." He checked the time.

"I'm sure I can count on you to obtain our objective, Peter, with your usual flair for success and diplomacy. Let your charisma and brilliance guide you," Edward said to Peter's retreating back.

"No pressure or anything." Peter executed his compliant salute and took his exit.

Edward searched through his Rolodex. This was not an essential or plot-blowing part of his plan, but it was one he would like to do, if only for his own peace of mind. He punched in the telephone number and waited for someone on the other end to answer his call.

***

Back in his office behind the privacy of a closed door Peter rehearsed what he would say to Abigail's husband. Satisfied with the content, he set the tone. He congratulated himself, confident he would encounter no problems whatsoever with the jerk-off s.o.b. If he did, he had a plan to cover that contingency too. Jerry would not see these curve balls coming. He would be struck out and struck down in the opening inning of the game.

Ten minutes later, Peter sashayed into Edward's office just as he placed the receiver noisily into its cradle.

Edward whooped out his glee waving his arms in the air. "The older the violin, the sweeter the music." He issued Peter a wily look. "I hope you were as successful as I."

Peter bowed and placed his palm against his midsection and pirouetted, performing a simple and unexaggerated form of a moon walk. "Mission accomplished," he said shamelessly.

"Any trouble?"

"Nothing I couldn't handle. I simply convinced Jerry of the error of his ways and strong-armed him somewhat. Then, with the talent of Picasso, I painted him an abstract picture of what the future could possibly hold for him if he didn't capitulate." He smiled. "He didn't take long to agree to our way of thinking."

"I'm happy to hear that, but there's more to be told, isn't there? You look like the cat who swallowed the canary."

"Uh-huh. As well I should. Jerry agreed to sign over the house and contents to Abby in contrition and penitence for what he put her through over the past few months."

Edward broke out in a cold sweat. "Peter...er...just to make absolutely sure. There was no coercion, cajolery, persuasion, or any force whatsoever, was there? We want this done to the letter of the law, by the book. We don't want this to come back and bite us in the ass some day." He held his breath.

"No, no, Ed, there was nothing like that." Peter issued a grimace that conveyed: Do you think I'm an idiot? "I laid out the facts, er...the simple truth to him, and all of the happenings that included Abby contracting those repulsive infections as a direct result of his nefarious and obviously, voracious, to the point of gluttony, I might add, sexual appetite for women other than his wife." He took a deep breath.

"After which I said, 'And, as if that weren't bad enough, you assaulted her!' I knew right then and there I had him, Ed. After all, just about every one of us here saw the evidence on Abby's face what he did to her, even though she tried to cover it up with sunglasses and saying she had a sty. Yeah, right! The sty was a right hook. He didn't even attempt to deny it." He shook his head. "Can't dispute that evidence of spousal abuse. Of course, I crafted a clause stating there was no coercion, force, etc. on the part of any party, etc. and incorporated the same within both the agreement and release. Accordingly, I drafted the deed and made a special insertion into the marital property affidavit describing briefly the agreement made by both parties."

"Okay, then." Edward grabbed the agreement and release in one hand that he noted had been redrafted to reflect the changes, he placed the now needless cheque to one side of his desk. He inserted the documents along with the deed neatly into a legal size manila envelope, hastily writing Basile's name and address on the front. Handing the envelope to Peter, he said, "Have this messengered to Basile with all due haste." He checked his watch. "There's little time to spare."

Peter hurried from the office to accomplish yet another step in their plan. In a brief moment of insanity, he felt degraded for how little say he had in anything presently materializing, but only for one very brief moment before his pragmatic self regained control.

***

While Peter attended to the last detail, Edward picked up the phone and punched in the Ottawa number that would get him directly to his nephew, the DPM of the country. Before the telephone lines made the connection, he slapped the receiver back in its cradle. He took a calming breath and sat back in his chair, steepling his fingers beneath his chin. "I am getting too old for this," he told the cracked walls of his office.

"I'm so tired of the endless games of cat and mouse, the brilliant legal maneuvers to out best the best legal maneuvers, the tiresome schmoozing, the boring dinner parties where only "the best" are invited," he said to his ink blotter.

No matter how far he distanced himself, the annoying office politics seemed always to catch up to him. Maybe it was the right time to put an end to this torture. Maybe one day in the not-too-distant future.

Picking up the phone once again, he hit redial. There are some benefits, he thought, to this new age of technology after all. When his nephew answered, Edward explained the situation in a condensed version—an unlawyer-like fashion—quickly and methodically arriving at the juncture where he solicited his help. He welcomed the answer he had hoped to hear, then he wondered why he had thought there might have been a problem.

For all the time he'd spent on the telephone these past couple of hours, it had not cost him one favor. The debts of others had been fulfilled, however, but that was fine since he had to repay no one as a result of today's accomplishments. He knew first hand the cost of repayment of a debt.

Chapter 36

—"Miss Fruity-Two-Shoes"—

Edward exhaled a breath fierce enough to shuffle the papers on his desk and handed the check to Peter. "Have the bookkeeper cancel that check when you have a chance."

"Sure."

"Now, it's just a matter of waiting to hear back from my nephew with the arrangements for the final part of the plan. Then, of course, we still have to wait to hear from Basile that everything went smoothly on that end."

"Basile will be billing us for this independent legal advice and execution?"

"Yes, he will. He wanted to do it ex gratia, a professional courtesy, you know, but I told him our client, and that would be you, Peter, will be picking up the tab. I didn't want any conflict with Abby's husband in the future about coercion, etc."

Peter nodded.

Edward decided to use this time efficiently and have his talk with Peter sooner rather than later. Nothing about what he intended to say filled him with dread or distaste, but in all the years of their association, he would never have expected there would be a need. When these things occurred, and they did, to the best of us, he silently strengthened, for whatever reason, Peter had always been the one he relegated to have a talk with this one, or that one. Now who could he turn to to carry out "their little talk"? Sadly the buck stopped here. First, though, they both needed another drink.

"You know, Peter, in the past I've turned a blind eye or a deaf ear to your minor indiscretions. This matter with Scarlett is just one example." Edward handed Peter his shot of whiskey and he took a long swig of scotch straight from the bottle. "It's time now to set the record straight. Despite the general consensus, not too much gets past me.

"Maybe I should be held accountable for not nipping in the bud your somewhat indulgent ways with regard to the female gender when I first became aware of them." He noticed how Peter sat on the edge of his seat. Well he should.

"I'd like to make it clear this is not a character assassination, Peter, by any means. As I said, it's time to set the record straight." He chose his next words carefully. "Sometimes a little innocent flirtation is fine, maybe even good, and sometimes, unfortunately, it doesn't take much to cross the line. Now with these sexual harassment issues sweeping into the office and business world, it would be prudent for everyone to adapt a more cautious behavior when performing our day to day duties.

"But that's neither here nor there." He looked directly into Peter's eyes. "I'll let those sleeping dogs lie. What has me concerned is the criteria with which you based your decision to hire Scarlett. I looked through the applications for Abby's position and found more than enough suitable applicants. You choosing Scarlett over all the others leads me to believe that she was the easiest on the eyes. Am I right?"

Peter grimaced his acknowledgement.

"I'm sure I don't have to tell you I will not be a happy barrister if we have another John Richardson in this office." He shook his head sadly. "What is this with you fellas anyway - mid-life crisis?

"Not to drag this out, what I would like from you right now is your assurance you will do everything in your power to entice Abby to stay on with us indefinitely." He thought about his wording. "Now, by "entice" I mean, an extra week of paid vacation, and your generous offer of free legal representation in her upcoming divorce and house sale, etc. I'm sure you get my drift."

"Of course, Ed."

"Well, I don't think I have anything further to say." Edward smiled lopsidedly. "I'm glad we had this little chat, and just for the record, I'd like to say just how very much it grieved me. Once I step down, you'll be taking over the reins, and I'd like to feel the firm will continue on to provide the distinguished and impeccable legal services to our clients it has in the past."

"Perhaps I should have followed your example you set with the way you hired Sarah - just call the college and choose the student who was in the highest standing."

Edward recognized the fishing expedition. He gave away nothing.

The telephone rang and he picked up the only blinking light on the control panel and listened. After a moment he gave Peter a thumbs up. Everything they had planned for Scarlett was becoming a reality.

Distasteful talks behind them, they sat peacefully across from each other and awaited Basile's confirmation call. To idle the time away, they agreed more scotch was in order, wantonly passing the bottle back and forth to each other across the desk.

Edward felt the need for liquor because of the speech he gave. At his epoch and stature in life the obligation had not come effortlessly.

Finally, the awaited call arrived. After he ended the conversation with Basile, he extended his hand to Peter. "You're one lucky son of a bitch. This matter with Scarlett could have had astronomical and hazardous repercussions, the vibrations of which we could have felt for years to come."

Peter stood.

"Do you think Miss Fruity-Two-Shoes will go along with it?" Edward asked.

"Why shouldn't she? We're placing in her lap the opportunity of a lifetime. I'll be back to let you know how I made out with Scarlett. No pun intended."

While Peter finalized the deal with Scarlett, Edward decided to take this opportunity to check on Shannon. He stood from behind his desk, allowing for the unpleasant ache in his hip before slowing gaining momentum.

He stood quietly in the doorway and took a moment to observe her working steadily and conscientiously at her desk. She seemed oblivious to her surroundings and the happenings of the last few days. None the worse for wear, he thought and breathed a sigh of relief.

She looked over at him and smiled that crooked little smile he loved so much. He beckoned her forth with a crook of his index finger.

"How's everything going?" he asked after they were seated in his office.

"Fine."

He sat without moving, thinking of a way to broach the subject of Scarlett, but came up empty. Maureen handled these matters with their children. He could not, at least not until Peter had spoken to Scarlett, tell her she had nothing further to fear from the woman. Feelings of guilt for Scarlett skittered into his conscious mind. Was it really necessary to dismiss her? Had he faced the devil and won? Only time would tell.

Shannon was cute and everything. But, my God, couldn't Scarlett have kept her hands to herself and repressed those feelings of lust towards their employee who was, without any doubt in his mind, an unwilling recipient of her passion and rapture? If she had, this would not be happening now, in all probability. He knew if this were between a man and a woman in the office, the same necessary steps would have been taken. At least, he would like to think so.

Talking idly with Shannon about mundane and totally unrelated work issues, he discreetly observed her state of mind. An encounter with a person of the same sex would probably not have affected most people greatly, but for her, protected and coddled from the true elements of the world for the better part of her life, this could have damaging aftereffects for her. Hell, she'll probably never look at the same sex the same way again without her doubts and suspicions.

He decided to put an end to the repertoire. Judging by the weird looks she gave him, it was none too soon.

He had only a few moments alone before Peter burst into his office with full exuberance and excitement. There'd been no need to worry.

"Everything cool," Peter stated the obvious.

"What did you say to her?" Edward's curiosity overcame his patience.

"Essentially, I appealed to her sense of compassion and general goodwill toward her fellow woman. Now, it was necessary to fudge the truth as we know it to present an elaborate and colourful illusory version of what was actually the case. I told Scarlett that Abby had made an unfortunate mistake by giving her notice to resign, that she had been hasty in making that decision as a result of her marital difficulties, she had been first in shock, then in a state of turmoil, anger, etc., etc." He twirled his finger in the air indicating the usual parlance.

"Then I told her the bottom line was that I could not in all good conscience refuse Abigail's request to withdraw her resignation. You know,...that I felt an obligation to her. I explained further that, unfortunately, there was not an available vacant spot for one more secretary. I said I was sorry things worked out this way for her and that I looked forward to having a long and productive working relationship with her, etc. blah, blah, blah.

"I told Scarlett 'through Mr. McIntyre's political connections', you were able to secure a position for her in the federal building as executive secretary to the manager. I outlined the pension benefits, the annual salary, and all the other perks you outlined to me, Ed." He paused a moment before he added, "And, oh yes, I almost forgot, I gave her the next two weeks off with pay which is when she reports to her new job. The cost for which, by the way, I'll personally absorb. And the rest, as they say, is history."

"What about John Richardson? Doesn't he need a secretary? Wouldn't she know about that?"

Peter grinned. "Yes, he does, but I covered that too. I explained that John practises solely property law and where she has no experience in that area of law, she wouldn't fit the bill."

"She was okay with that?"

"It appeared so."

"So, what happens if Scarlett and Abby get together to discuss war stories?"

"Well, after Scarlett agreed to accept the new job, I again expressed my regrets as I walked her to her coat and purse, down the stairs and out to her car."

Peter seemed quite pleased with himself, Edward thought, conceited in his belief the two girls would never again cross paths, and probably believing Scarlett had not been at the firm long enough to forge any close or lasting relationship with Abby. It might be a foolhardy assumption. "Will you tell Abby the whole truth of the part she unknowingly played in this stratagem, Peter, just in case both girls have a chance encounter somewhere?"

"Yes, I will."

Something else bothered Edward, nagged at him. A small detail, but crucial, that needed to be buttoned up. An overlooked petty point based on the strict application of rules that could cause collateral damage. What in the hell was it? Oh well. They would cross that bridge when they came to it if, indeed, they did. He did so enjoy damage control. Some days there was just too much of it, though.

Edward slapped the palm of his hand against his desk. "That's it then, I guess."

Peter spun from his chair and was able to place his hand on the doorknob before Edward's biting words stung the back of his head.

"Oh, and Peter, can I be assured there will be no more supersonic inclinations for oscillation, no more canoodles and no more flying files in the air, etc. etc.?"

Peter nodded.

"Will there by any more marathon and hyper speed dictation to my secretary or subtle innuendoes as to her competency and disposition, and any more nasty rumours about her integrity or her sexuality?" Edward asked calmly despite the tremor of anger this fact instilled in him.

Peter shook his head and without further adieu, fled the office while his hide was still reasonably in tact.

***

Shannon sat at her desk in a contemplative mood as the penultimate hour of the day neared an end. Much troubled her about the coming and going of Peter and Edward, the coming and going of Abby and Scarlett, the hurried visit of the bookkeeper to Peter's office—not just once but twice—and the secret and special eye-holding glances that passed between Abby and Scarlett. Amateur dramatic performances carried out with such cloak and dagger that would have proved laughable to an observer who wasn't quite so insecure and fearful of her continuing long-term existing employment.

Just what was that mid-afternoon chat Edward seemed all too determined to have with her? Was her imagination running wildly, or was there something going on beneath her nose she should see but didn't? When she first noticed Edward's solemn countenance, she had thought she was about to receive the old heave-ho. Her imagination had conjured up all sorts of horrifying images, the least of which not being she was about to get the ax for leaving the office early yesterday without permission. They'd coax and entice Abby to stay in her place. She would be callously discarded and dispensed with just like Rose Mary Bush.

If that had been the case, she was ready to throw in the towel. When she thought about it now, she found she was more than ready to give up. It was time.

As it turned out, though, that hadn't been what it was about at all. At least not at that time.

She heard Peter's office door open noisily on its oxidized hinges. She turned, but not so much he would notice, and saw in her peripheral vision Peter's gentle touch on Scarlett's elbow as he took her coat and purse from the chair. She watched as he ushered her down the hall toward the staircase.

Well, that's weird too, she thought, no longer holding her head discreetly to the side. She glanced at Abby and saw that she, too, watched them.

Somewhere on the circumference she sensed she had played a part in whatever transpired today. In that case, she should have a right to know what happened, shouldn't she? She didn't want to appear nosy on top of all her other not so charming qualities, but... "Abby."

"What?"

"Do you know what went on here today?" Her voice was hushed.

"From what I can gather, Scarlett received this unbelievable opportunity for an executive position with the government, one she had applied for at the same time she applied for this job. She was notified today she got the job and told Peter. He, as the story goes, told her to take it.

"So the end result is that Scarlett is gone, off to bigger and better things, and I'm stuck holding the bag while Peter goes through the whole hiring process again." Abby sounded disgusted. "I guess I'll be staying on a bit longer than I thought."

Shannon absorbed every word of Abby's accounting of the events, but found fault with it. She chose not to question her further. Instead, she focused her attention on the significant fact that Scarlett was gone from the office— hallelujah—and that she, it seemed, remained. That was what was important, she thought, with not one iota of guilt. Not the fact it took almost five hours for Edward and Peter to say 'yes' to Scarlett's decision to leave. Something bigger and badder had been in the works. The truth, the whole truth, would come out sometime down the road. It always did.

When she noticed Edward and Peter descending the stairs, she thought how much of a hurry they seemed to leave the office. It was good to know it was not only her who was anxious to get out of this loony bin come the end of the day.

Chapter 37

—"Good legal secretaries are a dime a dozen"—

Abby, poised to take dictation, looked through the window of Peter's office while he spoke on the telephone, her thoughts rambling.

Though she had been dissed, she yielded to what was worthy of her consideration and thoughts—that she was free of her despicable husband, the bastard; that she owned a house; that she had all of the household furnishings; that she owned a car and other than her student loan, she had no bills. Though she still had yet to go through the legalities of a divorce, she was as good as divorced and for all intents and purposes free as a bird.

How had she become so fortunate? For so long nothing had gone right, hours passing into days, each more horrid than the last.

How blind she had been to Jerry's wandering lust.

How can two people, married for five years after a three year courtship not know each other at all? She wouldn't ask herself the why's, the how's, the when's or the where's of her husband's supernumerary libidinous pursuits. That would only steer her down the path of sorrowful self-recriminations and feelings of dejection. If she didn't give in to the sad truth of what she lost—her marriage and the love of her life—she would be fine and on the mend.

When there had been so many choices available to her, she chose to take a legal secretarial course. Now, she counted her blessings for that decision. Lawyers had their value and not all of them deserved to be at the bottom of a lake. A necessary evil. Maybe the way things worked out yesterday would not have worked out the way they had otherwise. Oh, she was sure of it.

She envisioned Jerry last night hurriedly throwing clothes and grooming necessities into a carryall, while informing her of his unexpected move to Moncton. One moment he'd been antagonistic—probably because he'd just lost everything—and the next he seemed humbled. This wasn't the first time she was unable to explain Jerry's mood swings. She was glad he was gone. Gone from her bed, gone from her life, gone from the city. A small part of her saddened, though, at the thought that eight years of her life ended so abruptly.

Wasn't it better to regret what you did do than regret what you didn't do?

Wasn't it a stroke of luck for Peter that Scarlett was offered that job with the federal government? How fortuitous was that?

Thinking of Peter and his flirtatious ways and how he loved to strut his stuff, she smiled. He exuded his masculinity with every twist of his wrists, every shift of his head and every thrust of his hips, all of which would have fallen on Scarlett's oblivious eyes. Her mind boggled with various hot-blooded scenarios, all of which had him suffering tremendously as his emotions coiled and gyrated out of shape. He would have suffered terribly having a lesbian for a secretary. Didn't he deserve it, though? She almost giggled out loud at the thought, but was quick to remember where she was and who she was with.

What part had Edward played in all of these circumstantial occurrences, for surely he had what with Peter dashing in and out of his office so many times yesterday? It was almost as though he had been consulting with Edward.

Wracking her brain to come up with a reason for Peter's visits to Edward, left her with a headache. She wouldn't normally consider Edward sharp, smart, shrewd or snappy but, appearances could be deceiving. Maybe that was the outer package, the inner package being something totally different and surprising.

Her frenzied feelings overtook her, but she controlled the urge to squeal with delight. She, through Peter, had categorically socked it to her husband. It looked good on him. An entree of justice supplemented by a cold dessert plate of revenge.

What had been done for her yesterday would be considered a favor? Hell, yes. When would they call in the favor? That was how they phrased it, wasn't it?

An arctic chill crept up her spine as the cold reality of what was yet to come fought its way to the forefront of her mind. As that thought slowly dissipated, on its tail another one followed even more hair-raising that the last.

What would she have to do to repay this favor?

Had she gone from the pot to the fire?

She rubbed her forearms as goose bumps insinuated their way up through to the top, prickling her skin.

"Earth to Abby."

Weightlessly adrift just on the edge of awareness she brought herself back to the present which still looked rosy to her, just not quite so vibrant as it had with the knowledge of an indebtedness yet to be repaid. "I'm sorry, Mr. Montgomery, my thoughts drifted for a moment. What did you say?"

"I thought we should discuss what happened yesterday."

She sat on the edge of her seat, waiting for the bottom to fall out of her cozy nest. "Yes, okay."

"First of all, I want to thank you for staying here a bit longer. I appreciate it. You helped me out of a tight spot. Now that's out of the way, would you be receptive to staying on indefinitely?"

She was dumbfounded. This came from left field. Bowing her head, she looked down at her steno pad in her lap—never leave home without it. Would it be so bad for her to stay? Did the need to move away still remain? She couldn't leave Peter high and dry, could she? She did owe him something, didn't she? Maybe this was her way to repay him for his assistance and consideration in her time of crisis—offering her secretarial services, for the time being at least. She was not in so much of a hurry to leave as she once was, she realized.

She weighed the pros and cons of her staying on before she committed herself fully, then to her surprise she said, "No, I have no problem with that. Besides which, it will be my way of repaying you for what you did for me yesterday. That went way beyond the call of duty."

"First of all, Abby, you don't owe me anything or the firm anything for what transpired yesterday, so there is nothing for you to repay." Peter paused, a muscle in his jaw pulsating. "Abby, you saw the long line of potential candidates I had for your position. There wouldn't have a problem finding a replacement for you."

Abby flushed with embarrassment at her assumption this favor could be so effortlessly repaid and shuddered to think what he had in mind when he would call in that favor. And he would call in that favor. There was no doubt about that.

Though Peter thought good legal secretaries were a dime a dozen, she knew they were not as plentiful as that, nor was it a simple matter to find the right fit. So, why then was Peter doing this? She had been around lawyers long enough to know this reeked of conspiracy and manipulation. The transversing effects drifted around her in every direction and at all angles. "I'm sorry. I stand sufficiently corrected. I didn't mean to give you the impression I'm indispensable." When she saw his self-satisfied smile, she thought, up yours with a rubber hose. She smiled.

"Have you given any thought to whether or not you'll keep your house now that you own it solely, or will you go ahead with your original plan to sell it?"

She hadn't given it any thought. There had been too much else for her to think about in the seventeen hours that passed since yesterday, nine of those she'd slept away. Now that she thought about the possibility, it held a certain appeal to her. Owning a house. Without a husband. Without any man. She wouldn't have any problem making the mortgage payments. "I haven't had time to really think about it yet."

He nodded. "The interest rates are choice right now. Advantage should be taken of that, don't you think?" He bobbed his head. "When is your mortgage up for renewal?"

"In May." She couldn't understand the reason for his sudden interest in her well-being. He had never been so magnanimous or solicitous toward her before. Should she beware of an Irishman bearing gifts?

"What was the interest rate at that time?"

"Eleven percent, I think. Why?"

"Yes, that sounds about right." Shuffling loose correspondence, he said, "The interest rate now is less than half of that." He shrugged. "It might be something you want to think about. Owning versus renting, you know. The house would be a good investment for your future."

She studied him. What was his hidden agenda? There always was. "Well, thank you for the advice. I'll certainly keep it in mind when I'm making that decision." A sudden thought popped into her thoughts.

"Something else bothering you, Abby?"

You mean besides the fact I have to live with knowing I couldn't keep my husband happy in bed? Besides the fact I'm living in limbo? Besides the fact I'm stuck with you because I won't break a promise? "The house is already listed for sale. Jerry and I signed a three month agreement with our realtor. Wouldn't it be breach of contract if I wanted out now?"

"Well, there are mitigating circumstances to be considered in defense of the breach and aside from that, I've found most of these realtors are fair. I'm sure you should have no problem withdrawing your house from the market."

"Do you think so?" She was now more than a bit feverish with the thought of keeping her house.

"Oh, I don't think there will be any problem at all. Would you like me to call and speak to your realtor?" He pulled a foolscap before him. "What's the name of your realtor?" he asked as though it were a fait accompli.

She nearly fell from her chair. What, pray tell, was the matter with him? He'd never been willing to be helpful in any way toward her before. For the life of her she couldn't come up with any explanation for his bizarre behavior. And his behavior was bizarre. There were no two ways around that. In fact, before this he had been downright rude and obnoxious to her. The movie Invasion of the Body Snatchers sprang into her mind. She searched the office for a fragmented pod.

Accepting his offer would only obligate her to repay an even larger debt. One that she might not ever be able to repay. She was suspicious, also, of his true intentions and ulterior purpose. "That's very kind of you, but I can handle it myself. You've already done too much for me as it is."

"It's up to you, but you know where I am if you need me."

"Okay." She hoped this third-degree interrogation had come to an end. She was curious to know how he had convinced her husband to sign over his share in their house without a cash settlement, without a fight, without shouting, without throwing things around, without banging doors closed, without profanity. All of this she knew would have been reminiscent of times past. This compliance on her husband's part was so out of character it constituted questionable behavior.

Curious to know the answer, but not curious enough to jeopardize her present state of relative happiness by asking a question she didn't already know the answer. Wasn't that the prime objective of a question, though? Didn't the litigator Peter tell her once never ask a question of a witness you don't already know the answer. Hmm, good advice. She felt the earth steady beneath her feet.

"That will be all for now, Abby. I'll catch up with you later."

***

Peter threw his pen across the desk.

Abby wasn't thinking straight if she thought providing secretarial services to him, something she was paid to do and by him, would repay this favor. Indispensable? Hell, no! She could be replaced as easily as a snap of his fingers.

Her tentative agreement to say satisfied him. He planted the seeds of reason with her for keeping the house and mentally congratulated himself.

If Abby kept her house, she'd have to keep her job. Then when all of this nasty business was behind him, he would take whatever steps necessary to rid the office and himself of her. That plan had worked out so well in the past when he tried it on Shannon, he thought. Maybe he should rethink his strategy. Be more conniving. Be more malicious. He could do that. It wouldn't be the worst thing he had done in his life.

What a web we weave when we practice to deceive.

He massaged his temples, thinking he had taken too much help from that alcoholic beverage of a stud Jack Daniels yesterday. Or was it Johnnie Walker? Today he would have to take Mr. Acetaminophen. Extra Super Strength. He mentally chastised himself for his weakness for having to rely on mind-numbing substances.

Opening the top drawer of his desk, he pushed aside the bottle of the pink stuff and searched for the bottle that would relieve him of this piercing headache. When he didn't find it, he wondered if Shannon stole the bottle. He wouldn't put it past her. She knew the headaches she gave him. The witch!

He sat in the solitude of his office to deal with his problems while in the adjoining office Edward experienced his own.

Chapter 38

—"It's your wife, Mr. McIntyre. Say hello."—

Shannon sat head bent, pen at the ready and mindless to Edward who sat at his desk directly opposite her. It wasn't unusual for him to forget about her while he put his brain in gear. The only difference this particular morning was that she had much to occupy her thoughts.

Instead of dealing with these idle moments in her usual way by wonder and question of trivial and mundane issues, she had a great many topics for mental consideration and interest.

At the start of the day yesterday, the outlook for her long-time employment with the firm looked grim, not showing any promise or optimism. Indeed.

She had been unable to come up with any course of action to deal with Scarlett other than to ensure their paths would never cross. It might have proved difficult to accomplish, but she felt it was doable. Perseverance and fortitude would have triumphed. She did possess the tenacity to be victorious, didn't she?

Some things puzzled her and her curiosity was getting the better of her. She couldn't make logical sense of what had happened. It couldn't be explained as simply as Abby said. There were gaps, uncertainties and inconsistencies. Still yet with her experience in office politics, she couldn't piece together the parts of the puzzle.

She would sit tight and wait for the answers to come to her rather than ask questions to which she would undoubtedly receive deceptive and ambiguous responses with a great abundance of double entendre.

Glancing at the cuckoo, she realized thirty minutes slipped by with her idle thoughts. She turned her attention to Edward and gasped.

He seemed in another world. More so than usual. His mouth hung open, his eyes unfocused. Drool slipped down his chin. Her normally unflappable boss was in a freakish state. It terrified her.

"Mr. McIntyre!" She jumped up and leaned close to him, fanning her hand in front of his face. He didn't blink. Minutes passed. He should have blinked at least once by now, right?

She was on the verge of outright panic when his intercom buzzed. She waited for him to make his usual mad dash for the receiver to play his little game with the gadget. He just remained as he was, unblinking, unfocused and oblivious to the persistent chime and his surroundings. The buzz of the telephone usually had the affect on him she had on Peter. There was something definitely wrong with him, she realized, but not for the first time.

"Yes?" she said into the telephone.

"Mr. McIntyre's wife is on line one for him, Shannon," Gisele said.

Without thanking Gisele, she replaced the receiver in its cradle and leaned forward on the desk. "Mr. McIntyre, your wife is on the phone for you." Her voice was soft, her tone pleading. She needed some indication her boss was in the here and now and not the hereafter. There was nothing. Her anxiety escalated, tears formed in her eyes. She bit the inside of her cheek and silently reprimanded God — Don't you let him die!

When she acknowledged her qualms and verbal urgings were not about to revive him, she placed the phone roughly to her ear and answered the call. "Hello."

"Shannon, is that you, dear?"

Maureen McIntyre's melodic voice calmed Shannon. "Yes." It was a squeak.

"How is my husband doing this morning?"

It amazed her Edward's wife would have such an extrasensory perception and connection to her husband's state of mind and well-being. She fanned Edward's face one more time, hoping to be able to tell his wife her husband was A-Okay. Sadly, Edward remained as he was, one arm in his lap, a shoulder slumping downward, his head at an uneven keel with the room, half-wit in a half-mast position. "Mr. McIntyre doesn't seem to be quite himself this morning, Mrs. McIntyre."

"Does he seem lethargic to you, Shannon?" Maureen was still upbeat.

Lethargic? Good God, he's semi-comatose. "More than that, I think. He hasn't blinked once in the last two minutes."

Muffled laughter came from the other end of the line. Her husband might be chatting with St. Peter at the pearly gates as we speak and her fancy is tickled? It wasn't just her imagination. There was something definitely weird with these people. With their wives, too.

When she decided it was time to throw the phone down and scream for the paramedics, Maureen said, "Shannon, dear, Edward is going to be just fine. He just needs to rest for awhile. This morning he took a few of Darrow's tranquilizers, neuromuscular relaxants actually, mistaking them for his vitamin pills. I suppose I shouldn't have put the dog's tranquilizers on the counter next to Edward's vitamins." Maureen giggled.

"I see," was all Shannon could muster, relieved that Edward would be okay in a bit. He was going to be okay, right?

"I called the vet and explained what I thought happened. The vet said he'll be fine. The affects of the drug just have to wear off."

Shannon heard Maureen cover the mouthpiece, but that didn't cover up the sounds of laughter. "The effects of the drug will be to the highest degree of intensity on Edward since his body is unaccustomed to drugs of any kind. He doesn't even take so much as a pain reliever for a headache, you know." More laughter.

"Oh."

"Can you put him on the phone for me, dear?"

She placed the telephone receiver to his ear and said, "It's your wife, Mr. McIntyre. Say hello."

He gurgled ridiculous noises. More drool slipped down his chin. She grabbed a tissue and wiped away the spittle, then placed the receiver back to her ear. "Did you hear that, Mrs. McIntyre? I think your husband just gave you a piece of his mind."

Maureen burst into gales of laughter. "You might be right, dear."

"Mrs. McIntyre, what should I do with him? He can't sit like this all day. Maybe you can come get him?"

"No, I don't think that's a good idea. He wouldn't want anyone to see him like that." A few seconds ticked by. "Is Peter in?"

"Yes, I think so."

"Can you get him for me, dear. I'll stay on the line."

She slammed the receiver on the desk and dashed toward the door. She turned back before she reached it and retraced her steps. "I'll be right back, okay," she said, patting him on the shoulder. When she stood face to face with Peter's closed door, it didn't deter her. She yanked it opened, and yelled, "Come quick. Come quick. Mr. McIntyre needs your help."

***

When Peter entered Edward's office, he stopped short, paralyzed by the sight. Time seemed to stand still while he observed Edward's cockeyed facial expression and slouching body posture. He had no idea what had happened, but found himself totally unprepared for what appeared to have happened. Emotions of all different sorts surged through his body at the one time—surprise, shock, fear, pity, regret, before the utilitarian Peter brought to an abrupt end the emotional ambush of his mind and he was able to run to Edward's side.

"Ed." Peter was frantic and Edward was unresponsive.

He brushed his open palm across his face, but Edward remained as he was. Unblinking, horribly prostrate, staring vacantly and gurgling without control. Drool rushed from his mouth down his chin in a merciless attack on his pride.

Up until this moment he had been ignorant to Shannon's calm but insistent entreaties as she stood to one side of Edward's desk, holding the phone tightly in her hand, a calming presence for his hysteria. "Mrs. McIntyre would like to talk to you, Mr. Montgomery."

He plucked the phone from her hand and placed it to his ear, all without taking his eyes from Edward. "Peter here, Maureen."

Shannon listened to Peter's exclamations of "Ahahs", the "My Gods", the "Well, well, wells", followed by "Darrow?", "Oh, the dog", "Uh-huh, uh-huh", "Are you sure?", then the "oks" and the "Well, yes, of course, if that's what you think is best", then the "Bye bye".

Peter bent in front of Edward, observing him closely. Nothing had changed. He shook his head and turned to Shannon. "Do you know what happened to Edward, Shannon?"

She nodded, then turned her eyes and stared at Edward's apathetic form.

"Maureen feels that Edward is best left here to sleep off the tranquilizers." Peter muttered, "Can't leave him like this." He brightened with an idea, but it would take two people to carry it out. "Shannon, do you think you would be able to help me get Edward onto the sofa?"

"Of course, I can. I'm stronger than I look, Mr. Montgomery."

Yeah, mind and body. "Okay. What I want you to do is balance him as I walk him to the sofa. Think you can handle that?"

"Think I can handle that? Don't you know who you're talking to?"

"Uh...er...I should have known better."

He pulled Edward and his chair away from the desk and they assumed their positions on either side of him and placed Edward's arms over their shoulders.

"Now, Shannon, I'll lift him on three, then I want you to balance him from that side. Okay?" He second-guessed his decision to have her help him. Maybe he should have gotten one of the other lawyers, one who could keep his mouth shut.

"Okay, Mr. Montgomery. I'm ready to boogie."

"One," he called out, then paused a second. "Two." He took a moment to again reconsider his decision before finishing with, "Three."

In perfect synchrony they raised Edward from his chair. She placed her body tightly against his side, wrapping her arm around his back. They walked him to the middle of the office where Peter stopped to readjust himself while she patiently waited.

When they got to the sofa, she peeked out from beneath Edward's arm, waiting for further educated direction.

"Shannon, come around to the back of Edward and guide him into place while I lower him," Peter said.

She did as instructed and turned him as Peter lowered him with a flop onto the Naugahyde cushions of his sofa.

Her took her elbow in the palm of his hand and ushered her near the door out of earshot of Edward. Maybe their patriarch was still a bit coherent. Highly unlikely, but still a possibility.

She stood quietly beside him. His crimson face and his disheveled hair didn't go unnoticed.

Leaning in close to her face, he whispered, "You are not to breathe a word of what happened here today to anyone, do you understand?"

She snorted. "No, of course not. You, of all people, should know I am not a gossip. I understand the need this be treated with the utmost discretion and delicacy. Believe me when I say that no one will hear about this from me." She forced a smile and formed a cross against her heart.

He studied her, assessing her. Yeah, yeah, yeah. I heard you the first time. "Hear about what, Shannon?"

"What are you talking about, Mr. Montgomery?"

"Good. What's Edward's schedule like today?" He pronounced schedule like shedule.

"Where'd you learn to pronounce schedule like that—in shool?"

"Shannon."

"Okay, okay. Other than a one o'clock, his calendar is clear."

"Can that appointment be rescheduled?"

"Sure it can, but everything might not fall into place tomorrow."

"Explain."

"Edward's clients are coming in today to sign the documents for their property closing scheduled for tomorrow morning at ten o'clock. Even if we rush, the closing may not happen on time."

"Are we buying or selling?"

"We're buying, Mr. Montgomery, so I'm sure you can appreciate all that will have to be done in an hour or so in the morning."

"Hmm." He drummed his finger against his chin, his eyes searching the ceiling. "Is everything all ready to go? Any problems?"

"The search of title has been completed, of course, and other than one outstanding mortgage that will be paid out on closing, the property is clear. The land surveyors have already delivered the building location survey to us and that, too, is all clear. The house is well within the boundaries of the lot and there are no encroachments. The preliminary report on title has already been delivered to the mortgage company and the requisition has been made for the mortgage proceeds cheque for the morning that they know we need before ten o'clock." She stopped her unrehearsed recital to take a quick breath. Peter always left her feeling breathless. "I guess it's now just a matter of explaining all of the documents to the purchasers and witnessing their signatures and notarizing the documents and getting the money due on closing from them."

"Yes, if everything is as you say it is," he said. "Have the purchasers see me when they arrive and I'll look after everything. Do you know how Edward explains the mortgage document to the mortgagors?"

"Of course, I know. I'm his secretary. He holds up the mortgage between the tips of his index finger and thumb, waves it back and forth across their faces and says, "If you don't make your payments every month they're going to come and take your house away from you!

"Isn't that what you told me before he does. Oops, sorry, I didn't mean to infer you were getting senile in your...Excuse me for a moment, Mr. Montgomery, while I take my feet out of my mouth."

"You know, you can get athlete's foot that way." At that moment Edward chorused a blaring snore.

Chapter 39

—"Of course his only concern would be for her" —

The time was early, too early yet for anyone else to be about. Peter believed they were the only two in the office, but he knew from experience not to rely too heavily on human awareness. He would like a chance to observe without being observed. With a stealthy step, he approached the open doorway. Standing to one side, he peeked in.

"Well, good morning, Peter," Edward said.

Peter chuckled, feeling silly he thought he would be able to sneak up on him. "Well, a good morning to you, too." Walking to a chair, he placed his hands on its back in his customary stance and waited for Edward to broach the subject of yesterday.

Edward raised his head, looked at him and smiled. "Was it so terribly embarrassing for me yesterday?"

"No, there's nothing to be embarrassed about." He waved his hand in the air.

"Glad to hear that."

After an awkward pause, he said, "Darrow's trank, eh."

"Uh-huh." Edward sat back in his chair and laced his hands together behind his head.

"I'm glad you're all right." He made a move to leave but Edward's booming voice stopped him in his tracks.

"Could you just answer me one question?"

"Sure. Anything."

"Why in hell didn't you just roll me across the room in my chair?" The smile on his face belied the harshness of his voice. "My toes have rug burns on them."

Peter looked back at Edward's feet through the opening at the front of his desk.

Edward laughed.

It was the oldest trick in the book and Peter fell prey to it. Mitigate the factor by transposing the onus. The sly bastard, he thought, he shifted the heat from himself to me in one shrewd move.

He had no quick and educated answer. Why hadn't he thought to roll him across the office in his chair? He had second-guessed Shannon's ability and strength, but not himself. Go figger, he thought. He smiled and shrugged.

"Was Shannon terribly upset?"

Of course, his only concern would be for her. "Well, by the time she came to my office, I think she had already suffered through the shock and fear, though she was still a bit upset." He recalled the moment and laughed. "Too bad you were out of it. You missed quite a sight. The freckles on her face stood out like high beams on a moonless night against the stark whiteness of her skin and I swear to God, Ed, her hair was straight."

Neither of the scholars attempted to control their laughter, feeling secure there was no one else in the building to hear them.

When Edward regained his composure, he said with a straight face, "Shannon might not be cut out for this type of work." They guffawed.

As quickly as the matter became jovial, Edward changed the ambiance to business with the accordingly proper decorum one would expect of their professions and asked, "Did I miss anything yesterday?"

"No, not too much. I saw your one o'clock and had everything signed, witnessed and notarized, Ed. The file is right there." He pointed to it on the desk.

"No problems?"

"No. None. The Harris' wondered about your absence, of course, but I explained it away by telling them it does happen occasionally. Rather than postpone the closing and on your explicit instructions, I carried out what you would have normally carried out. And since I had been available, etc. blah, blah, blah," he said, waving his hand in the air in a repetitive motion wordlessly saying, You know the drill.

"What reason did you give for my absence?"

"That you were unavoidably detained elsewhere. They understood, Ed. No problem. Rudimentary."

Edward nodded.

Peter extended good tidings for the day to his long time friend, anxious to get a start on his day. By the aura surrounding him, it promised to be a tranquil one, a welcome change from the topsy-turvy ones of late.

***

Shannon took notes as Edward issued instructions in his customary, erratic and contradictory manner with his usual flair for understatement and underestimation. She smiled, happy he didn't suffer any ill or adverse effects from Darrow's drugs.

For the fifth time in the last twenty minutes, she assured him the Harris closing was all set to go as scheduled. She ran through everything that had been done, what was now in the process of being done and what precisely had yet to be done. It didn't matter how many times she told him, he still remained doubtful. Whether this was a result of her lack of self-assuredness or a lack of adequate communication, she didn't know, but it was certainly unnerving by times. Would she persevere to stand the test of time, patience and Edward? That was the question.

"You okay for work?" he asked.

"There's always the abstract of title work for Thomas." There didn't seem to be any end to that. Because it was important and a lucrative project for the firm didn't make it any less monotonous or boring.

He issued her one of his blank looks. "Okay, then."

She stood.

"I hope I didn't frighten you yesterday."

Cripes, you idiot. Of course, you frightened me. I thought you'd bitten the dust right before my very eyes. She shook her head, showing off her goofy grin and strode to the door. The resonance of his chuckle filled the vacant air behind her.

She was almost left to her own resources for the next little while. Maybe even the rest of the day. The thought was both frightening and exhilarating.

At her desk she discreetly observed Abby. The change in her was virtually unbelievable. She had a joie de vivre that was contagious. It was a refreshing and welcome change from the young woman whose whole world was collapsing around her, careening in a downward spiral and corkscrewing out of control a short time ago.

She would like to personally congratulate the potent de facto influence and power that caused the adroit metamorphosis of Abby's personal affairs. Surely there had been someone manipulating the situation behind the scenes.

On impulse she decided to take a walk around the office to acquaint herself with her coworkers and those lawyers who appeared receptive to her casual banalities and friendliness.

Taking a corner short, she approached a hallway on the opposite end from Eva. Oh God. She scurried backward as a frightened mouse would to tread on the same ground she had but a few seconds ago covered. She sprinted back to her office just in time to answer her buzzing intercom.

Leaning over her desk, she placed the receiver to her ear and listened as Gisele said that the lawyer, Emile Bouchard, was holding on line two for her since Edward was unavailable. Hmm. She detested being second best. At anything.

"Hello, this is Shannon, Edward McIntyre's secretary," she said. "May I help you?"

"Well, I don't know that you can," came the alto voice of Emile Bouchard.

"Maybe not, but I can try though, can't I?" she asked playfully and listened for a chuckle or two. Nothing, nada, zip.

"I'm calling on the Brideau property matter. I'm going to need a few extra days to prepare for the closing. Two weeks is insufficient time to conduct a search of title and to thoroughly and properly conduct all of the other requisite requirements necessary to this closing, not to mention the preparation of all obligatory documentation. And I still have not made a request for a building location survey—"

When she heard "building location survey", she turned a deaf ear to what Emile had further to say. It didn't sit right with her. After a moment of thought the answer pulsed through her. Should she say anything? Was it her place to make a lawyer aware of something he should already know?

"I'll have to set this realtor straight with regard to scheduling property closings."

"You say, Mr. Bouchard, you're requisitioning a building location survey for this property?"

"Well, yes, of course. I don't know how long you've been at your job, young lady, but the mortgage company always requires a building location survey on each of its mortgaged properties. A building location survey is where the land surveyors go on site to determine if the house is within the boundaries of the lot by surveying it. It's standard procedure. It would be foolhardy and reckless of me to proceed to closing without it. In fact, I would not be the lawyer I am if I were to allow it. I have an obligation to both my clients and the mortgage company to ensure that their lien is without encumbrances and everything is as it should be."

Didn't that just figure!

Emile overlooked one very important fact. Should she say anything?

"Hello, is anybody home!"

"Mr. Bouchard, are you aware this closing is for a trailer?"

"Well, duh, yes, of course I am."

The receiver virtually exuded venomous condescension in her ear.

Well, that does it! "The fact this is a trailer should be an enlightening hint a building location survey would be unnecessary in this case. And as far as the mortgage company requesting one for this particular property says a great deal about the ineptitude of their mortgage officer." She stopped abruptly. OOPS. Maybe she went too far, but sometimes some people needed to be hauled down from that high horse and brought down a peg or two.

She came by the information in a friendly chat with the sellers that the mobile home was not on any kind of permanent foundation, only skirted and shored, as most trailers are. A detail Emile had either overlooked, or didn't have the foresight to question. She waited patiently for the arrogance.

"It doesn't matter whether this is a trailer or not, a B.L.S. is still required." It was a lawyer-emphatic statement.

Since he was obviously a little slow on the uptake, she decided on a different tact, "You know, Mr. Bouchard, it's strange sometimes how our society labels inanimate and animate objects trying to create an affluence to something or someone not really warranted."

"What does—"

"In this decade, Mr. Bouchard—"

"I'm not listening to—"

"Please, bear with me."

He emitted a withering sigh. "Go ahead."

"Thank you. In this decade, Mr. Bouchard, these homes are called mini-homes. Back in the eighties, they were called mobile homes and back in the seventies they were called trailers." She snapped the rubber band on her wrist. Yieoww! "What does the name "mobile home" say to you, the operative word, of course, being "mobile"?" She forced calm.

"That it's a trailer!"

"I'm sorry, Mr. Bouchard. Maybe I should have been more explicit for you." If she had her way, the idiot on the other end of this line was going to listen and understand. "Mobile," she said, loud and clear. "I'm sure I don't have to say that if it is mobile, that is to say, on wheels, then how can a B.L.S. be necessary? Seems to me like a cost your clients should not have to incur since the trailer could be within the boundaries of the lot one day and quite possibly encroach on an adjacent lot the next, since it is on wheels. Mobile, in other words. I don't know, call me stupid if you want, but the request for one just sounds ludicrous to me." She tired of this game of one-upmanship. When she heard the monotonous hum of a disconnected line, she smiled.

If Emile had read the fine print of the agreement of purchase and sale like she had, he would know the purchasers were only purchasing the trailer. Not a monumental amount of time would have to be expended on a chattel search; hence, the two week closing period.

She wiped the distasteful memory of the telephone call from her thoughts by immersing herself fully into her work. When Edward requested her presence in his office thirty minutes later, she was not the least bit surprised. In fact, she'd expected it.

"Have a seat, Shannon. There's something I'd like to discuss with you."

She sat and tried to figure out from his expression how unpleasant this would be for her. Though accustomed to these little talks of his, they still frightened her.

"I got a call from Emile Bouchard."

"Oh."

"Would you mind telling me what happened between you two that has him in such a dither."

She took a deep breath, then meticulously related both sides of the telephone conversation. She didn't downplay her ire of Emile's arrogance toward her or his toward her. "Should I swear to that on the Holy Bible?"

"No, no, that's not necessary. I thought it might have been something like that." He shrugged. "I wanted to get your take on the matter. Emile's more than a bit upset."

"Why?"

"Why?" He arched his eyebrows. "Well, he thinks you acted improperly towards a superior."

"Mr. Bouchard is under a gross misconception, Mr. McIntyre."

"What's that?"

"That he's my superior."

Chapter 40

—"I'm not as stupid as you think" —

Edward hoped he'd done the right thing. It was a first for him. It took the better part of three hours, not that he complained. He'd do just about anything for Shannon.

He envisioned each of their faces as they first entered the conference room and saw him sitting at the head of the eight-foot long oblong cherry wood table. He hadn't lost his touch. The mere sight of him could still make his employees quiver in their shoes.

He'd taken one in after the other. All twelve files sat on the table next to him to refer to if he forgot any of their names. They all looked the same to him, but he hadn't needed to refer to any file.

After he asked the time of the day and if there were any problems, he delivered his spiel. And a fine one it was. Direct and right to the point. There was no beating around the bush.

It's come to my attention that there is some animosity felt toward Shannon by all of the staff."

He hadn't waited for an answer, just went on to the next question.

"Can you give me any plausible reason why this is?"

Some had the gall to deny they felt any animosity toward her or harboured any grudges. When he heard this, he gently persuaded the truth with a look that said—I'm not as stupid as you think. After they stuttered and stammered for a while, some of them actually acknowledged their hatred. Then he asked, "Why?" That had turned out to be the million dollar question no one could answer.

It amazed him and at the same time depressed him not one of them could come up with a reason for their animosity, but he helped them out anyway. "Do you think it's because preconceived opinions have been placed in your head about her." They were quick to see their salvation.

It had been jealousy. Pure and simple. Of course, Peter had a lot to do with it.

Now that everything was out in the open, he hoped the atmosphere in the office would no longer hang like an inky cumulus cloud overhead. He wouldn't like to think all he did was for naught.

Chapter 41

Edward's retirement six months later...

"How did she take it?" Peter asked.

Edward shrugged. "All right, I guess. No quivering lips, teary eyes, trembling hands or fright." He sighed. "Are you sure you don't want my office, Peter? It's larger than yours and has a beautiful view of the bay."

"No. The sight of rolling waves makes me seasick. I'm a landlubber by heart."

Edward shrugged as his thoughts centered on Shannon.

"So the young fledgling has spread her wings and flown from the protective embrace of her creator without so much as a backward glance," Peter said. "What was once a wee acorn is now a mighty oak."

"Uh-huh, yes, it would seem," Edward responded perfunctorily.

"Does that bother you, Ed?"

"A little, I guess," he answered. "I expected a fuss."

"Is it possible her blasé acceptance of your retirement was a facade disguising her true feelings thereby sparing you needless emotional turmoil."

Edward considered the interpretation. "You may be right." As he had always tried to spare her feelings, maybe she tried to do the same for him.

"You're not having a problem with the new guy being next in line behind you, are you? You know, that's the only way we could get a lawyer of his caliber."

"No, Ed, it was a good move on the part of the firm and I suppose in the end, that's what matters."

Edward studied Peter a moment. "So, what's your opinion on the go-getter?"

"From what I've seen and heard, he seems personable enough. I think he'll work out just fine. Did you know he has a bachelor of science degree, as well?"

"Uh-huh," Edward said, his attention already lost.

"Did you also know he hasn't lost a court case yet? And he's argued more than one." Studying his friend more closely and with a certain degree of anxiety, he said, "Haggerty & Asociates loss is our gain. He'll be arguing his next court case on Mars."

"Uh-huh. That's nice, Peter."

"You will be sorely missed here, Ed."

"Jesus, Peter. I haven't died. I'm just retiring!"

Chapter 42

—"What's the problem, goofball?"—

The feelings Shannon experienced by Edward's retirement confused her. The emotional rush those two small words, 'I'm retiring', infused alarmed her, but she hoped she had sufficiently masked her true feelings from him. He, perhaps intuitively sensing her discomfort, happily related it would be more like a semi-retirement. She would still be "his secretary" for his consultant position with the firm in addition to being the secretary for the lawyer taking over his clients and pending cases.

A tremor of anxiety taunted her skin at the thought of working for someone other than Edward, though she was more than capable of performing her secretarial functions efficiently and expertly. After all, she had studied under the tutelage of Professor McIntyre in the Secretarial School of Hard Knocks.

He assured her this fellow was a "good lawyer"—which he said with a wink and a goofy look—and he believed the two of them would work very well together. He graduated in the top ten of his class and had been practicing law for a few years. She was not taking any bets or holding on to a fool's false hope and making no assumptions or raising her expectations before first at least meeting the man and forming her own opinion. Then, she supposed, time would tell.

Would this be considered a demotion for her? she wondered. In the lawyer's rank, that certainly would be true. Then again, how could anyone fill Edward's shoes? When a person had worked for the best, anyone would be considered lesser. She did consider him the best.

In spite of this devastating news, she warmed to the idea of starting a new chapter in her life. She had known all along this day would eventually come. Knowing that Edward's retirement was now reality didn't make her future with the firm any less threatening or foreboding, though.

"Step into my office, please."

She looked up at Will, nodded and followed on his heels.

Sitting across from him, she studied him closely, comparing the reality with what her mind had conjured up. How wrong she'd been! Overweight and not good looking, but his smile was to die for and those blue eyes...Well, they're downright gorgeous. She felt he had a great sense of humor. An added bonus.

"I'm really going to need your help getting acquainted with everyone here," Will said. "I hope I can count on you for that."

She crossed her legs at the knees and twirled the pen in her hand. "Yes, of course, any way I can help, Mr.—"

"I'm not big on formalities, Sarah. I'd much prefer to be called Will, otherwise I'd feel the need to call you Ms. Murphy, and that sounds,...well, too formal."

He sounded sincere. He looked like he spoke the truth. Even so, she was wary. Hadn't she earned the right? "Sure, that's fine with me." She deliberately sidestepped the use of his first name. That would take some getting used to.

Was now the time? she wondered.

Would a more opportune time present itself?

"How do you feel about Shannon?" she asked.

When his skewered up in a quizzical expression and his hand slapped the desktop, she jerked backward. Way back.

"Who in the hell is this Shannon girl anyway? I keep hearing her name so much from just about everyone that my opinion of her is tainted by preconceived and unpleasant notions. You need this, see Shannon. You need that or the other thing, see Shannon. If you have any questions, ask Shannon. Honestly, I haven't been here that long and already I've heard about this," he stopped a moment to make air quotes, "Shannon, ad infinitum, ad nauseum." Brilliant blue eyes looked across the desk at her.

What's in a name anyway? What's so wrong with "Sarah"? I've been called worse.

It seemed inevitable that somewhere down the road he would come to know they were one and the same person. How would he take the news? Now, she was apprehensive of his reaction to the truth, so why not play dumb? She had learned to do that very well and there really was no prudence in alienating her new boss in the first hour of his first day in the office.

She managed a smile. "Shannon is not important right now. What is important is that we take this time to get acquainted, don't you agree?"

"I agree."

She studied her new boss as he sat with his arms flat on the desk— Edward's desk, she thought wistfully—deep in thought. What was he thinking about? Was he having second thoughts about his decision to come on board? Was he dissatisfied with her? Already? Was he upset with the fact his partnership with the firm was contingent upon keeping her as his secretary?

He raised his head and looked directly in her eyes. "I don't know what kind of pull you have around here, but it won't matter to me if you don't perform your secretarial duties to my standards and the need arises to let go. It seems you're well thought of, but that shouldn't change your attitude toward your work or toward your coworkers and the other lawyers. In other words, don't get cocky and think you're indispensable because you won't be when push comes to shove."

Did you eat razor blades with your prunes this morning, Will?

What had she done to this man to deserve that censure? They had only just met. And there it was again—a pat on the back and a slap across the face. She opened her mouth, then closed it abruptly. Her face heated and an unspoken comeback blazed on her tongue. She snapped the rubber band on her wrist. Yieoow!

"Well, now that's out of the way, I'd like to have that little get acquainted chat."

Feeling stripped to the bone, she nodded. Now she was uncertain if this would work, but she would hear him out.

"I think I'm easy enough to get along with and open and direct. I'll treat you with respect and I hope that as time goes on and you get to know me, I'll earn your respect. Now that said, I look forward to us working together for a very long time. I know the job of a legal secretary is not an easy one and we, as lawyers, are a strange and sometimes bizarre group of people to a lay person."

She gasped. In one simple declaration, he confirmed one of her opinions.

He hesitated, then smiled. "I'm not immune to seeing things as they are or who I am. I'll endeavor to make your job as easy as possible for you and from time to time, I'll, undoubtedly, ask the same of you. If that's all right, of course."

She nodded. She liked him again, but before she jumped into bed with him, she'd let time tell the tale. "Well, thank you, for that, Will, and I suppose since we're purging and bonding I should tell you something about myself." In a split second decision she thought it best he find out for himself what made her tick. She wouldn't want her new boss to drop dead from fright on his first day on the job.

She waved her hand in the air. "No, strike that. I'm sure you will be quick to recognize who I am in short order anyway. Why spoil the surprise? You seem insightful and knowledgeable." Kissing ass was not beneath her, after all, she was but a mere secretary. Ha!

"If I may, Will, I'd like to ask something of you". She noted that not once had it been necessary for her to raise her voice louder to compensate for hard hearing, nor did she have to repeat and repeat because she had lost the attention of the listener. Remarkable.

"If, at some point in the future, you feel the need or desire to see me gone from here for whatever reason, I'd greatly appreciate you being forthright and tell me so. I wouldn't want to tell you how I'd react to hearing that through the office grapevine."

"You got it, Shortcake. Duly noted." He lifted a file and threw it to one corner of the desk. "I guess I've been properly forewarned." He yawned. "Oh, I'm sorry. I was up until the wee hours of the morning." His stomach growled, a loud, low rumble. "That pepper steak dinner didn't sit well with me last night, either." He massaged his midsection.

"You don't like pepper steak, Will?"

"Oh, I love it."

Well, then, what's the problem, goofball?

"I was at a dinner last night the Rotary put on. We ate sometime around midnight. I was under the mistaken impression dinner would be served around eight o'clock. Well, at nine o'clock I'm pretty hungry, so I started substituting glass after glass of the bubbly for food. By eleven o'clock, I'm feeling pretty good." He crossed his eyes and stuck his tongue out the side of his mouth. "Whaa id ombod sa nudder ddd..rink?"

She guffawed. I like this guy!

He sat, dignity personified, a What? expression written across his face.

Veni. Vidi. Vivi. (I came. I saw. I conquered.)

Amen.

Epilogue

Winter found its way into spring; albeit not without announcing one last time how ferocious and prevailing the season can be on the northern shores of New Brunswick with an accumulated snowfall of approximately three feet accompanied by malevolent winds and Siberian temperatures. It was an authoritative presence commanding an impotent state of paralysis for those who would have otherwise been inclined to venture outdoor for recreation. It had been a long and harsh winter in more ways than the weather.

In a show of power and strength, spring eventually mushroomed from the depths of ice and snow. There was a wide array of spring flowers in their evolution of new varieties of different shapes, sizes and colors in contrary juxtaposition to those reminiscent of springs of earlier times when there was but one shape and color of tulip.

From there it was a simple but wondrous transformation and an easy transition into the season that a good many await - summer. And in all its glory brought bountiful harvests of sunshine, summer flowers, sultry days and warm balmy nights.

Abigail gave new meaning to the phrase "stay on here a bit" by making no effort whatsoever to leave. Sometimes the grass was not greener on the other side of the fence and Abby was sagacious enough to recognize that fact. Everything appeared to be kosher between her and Peter for the most part. Oh, there were the odd times when he seemed on the verge of reverting back to his old ways by treating her callously and with disrespect (the ulterior motive being that she would seek employment elsewhere thus freeing him to hire a more younger, prettier replacement, one who was not cognizant to his philanderous ways). A not-so-subtle modus operandi that she promptly identified and nipped in the bud. On those few occasions she, despite her fear of immediate dismissal for insubordination, would nevertheless point out to him the error of his ways with subtle references to the homosexual population. Sometimes all it required was a delicate reference to closets.

With not one iota of compunction for keeping him hostage to his past indiscretions, she aspired to maintain a stronghold on her secretarial position. She would be discarded like an old and worn out shoe with a robust enthusiasm for someone new should she give up or abandon her position of predominance.

She enjoyed her newfound freedom, rising from the ashes of her failed marriage a phoenix. Dispelling the shadow of her ex-husband, she overcame the feelings of guilt and shame so often accosting the ex-wife, emerging from those particular errant feelings stronger and independent than ever before. With a new zest for life and an appreciation for the simplest of pleasures, she approached everything and everyone with curiosity and generosity. Treading softly where the opposite gender was concerned, she had no intention of becoming involved with anyone any time soon regardless of the persistence of certain males. She politely refused to see those inquiring looks and ardent gestures—at least for the time being.

After articling with the firm for six months and successfully completing the Bar exam, Charles Anderson became the newest associate. Shannon had been accurate in her analysis of Charles' demeanor as she, from time to time, studied him from afar, noting his stooped shoulders and his harried facial expression as he scurried to complete the endless tasks put upon him by the senior legal eagles. She didn't see that much of him. He kept a measured distance from her for some reason.

John Richardson finally retained the secretarial services of a middle-aged efficient woman. Granted, she was not blond, blue-eyed, beautiful or buxomy, but she was John's perfect catch. It was the general consensus of the other secretarial staff that he settled for a Baptist with brains and brawn. One whose kidneys have never filtered any liquid more potent than mineral water or a brain that was never influenced or altered by any sort of pharmaceuticals, professionally prescribed or not.

Shannon never did learn in surety the identity of the presenter of "the mug". Though there was not a preponderance of physical evidence to indicate its roots, she thought Peter was the cheeky benefactor, no doubt hoping to wordlessly convey his judgment on her forthright manner. The Don Juan, in all probability, had played on her insecurities and vulnerabilities, locking on to her like a heat-seeking missile. Shut up or be shot. Those days of old where women should be seen and not heard have come and gone. Hallelujah! Harboring no grudge against him, she considered the episode merely a tiny bump in the road, a minor inconvenience. She, instead, endeared herself to him through quality secretarial services and her pippy personality. He slowly came around.

She fulfilled most of her New Year's resolutions taking a fastidious and painstaking approach to their attainment. She was vigilant in her quest to seek out new and different pastimes while at the same making new friends and learning new things. Becoming "one of the gang" at the office had proved to be an awesome and sometimes overwhelming task, but she prevailed, or at least made some inroads, partly due to her obstinate and unrelenting nature.

She, almost all of the time, became more aware of her forthright manner, gradually reigning in those foolhardy impulses, consequently becoming more carefree and amiable. Not the least of her newfound friendships was the one she forged with Abby. It was a long and ardent struggle, but Shannon could certainly say they were now very best friends. How that came about was anyone's guess. Maybe it was because there were no more innuendoes, backbiting or back stabbing remarks by a certain someone intent upon seeing her departure from the office. Or maybe other forces were at work unbeknownst to either of the girls.

It amazed her she possessed the stamina to persevere and overcome the obstacles life and her career threw in her path. She had found working for Edward was both exciting and stimulating, while at the same time, exasperating and vexing. She was enthusiastic to learn more about all aspects of civil law and in that respect was greedy for knowledge.

To date, the past year was by far the most entertaining with its ups and downs and twists and turns. The time before the present judged she'd weathered the storm. Now pragmatism challenged whether it would be clear sailing for the time to come.

Edward had tried repeatedly, without success, to convince her to further her education by pursuing a law degree. "Why?" she asked.

He had been flabbergasted with her question. It seemed he could not understand her unwillingness to want to better herself.

She couldn't understand why anyone sane would willingly and knowingly self-inflict one hundred hour work weeks on themselves, only to be considered through blasphemy and association one of a whole of what was fastly becoming a sullied profession.

Persuasion came under different guises—flattery, psychology, influence; a perfect authoritative instruction to do something she had no desire or intention to do. Despite his persistent praise of her intelligence, intellect and ingenuity, she remained steadfast, but she did give him an A plus for effort. No longer adrift on the raft of wherefores and whereases, she blossomed into a warrior.

Amen.

The End
