Anything You Can Do(19)
Probably about where to go for lunch, Austin thought wryly. "And what was his feeling about a merger?"
"Negotiations take time."
Austin's fingers drummed silently on the padded arm of the chair. "As we discussed before, perhaps I should help with the negotiations since you and Stafford are friends."
"I've been doing business with Stafford Morris for a lot of years."
"Tell you what. Why don't you arrange a meeting to include me, just as an observer? Shall we say next week?"
"I'll see what I can do."
That meant about a fifty-fifty chance.
"Fine. Don't forget our meetings with public relations firms on Tuesday and Friday."
With a vague nod, Lewis turned his attention back to the papers on his desk, dismissing Austin. As he left the office, he heard the older man mutter, "Public relations for lawyers. Humph!"
Returning to the tiny cubicle he was using as a temporary office, Austin flopped into the creaky chair and made an effort to unclench his teeth. Damn it, he'd been chosen for this job because of his proven abilities. But these people were fighting him at every turn, making him prove everything all over again.
Picking up a pencil, he tapped the eraser end on the scarred desktop. Well, if he had to, he would, starting with this merger. The firm had approved the merger by majority vote. Now it was his job to see that the deal was consummated.
However, while the idea of taking in Stafford Morris' group had its merits, he'd recently come to realize there could be a problem. The pencil snapped in his fingers. What about Gordon? Kearns, Worley expected all their employees to maintain a consistently high level of productivity. Somehow he'd have to protect Gordon or make him work harder.
He tossed the broken pencil into the trash. Protecting him would probably be the easier way to go.
*~*~*
"Can't do lunch today," Gordon advised Bailey on Friday when she called him. "I'm taking Paula over to the newspaper office to pick up her replies to her personal ad so she won't have to wait for them to be mailed."
"Good thinking," Bailey responded. "If she gets any, take them away from her and burn them."
"Mm, well, got to run. Okay if I come by tonight?"
"Of course. You know where the spare key is if I'm not there. Some of us have to work."
"Paula'll be there," he reminded her.
Bailey breathed a sigh of relief as she hung up the phone. Good old Gordon. He'd see that Paula didn't get involved with any nuts as a result of her impetuous ad.
When she finally made it home after an extra long day, she found the two of them on the white sofa in her living room, reading, discussing, and grading Paula's replies.
"That one is a definite No Way, " Gordon advised as Paula's hand hovered uncertainly over the three stacks of letters on Bailey's glass and brass coffee table.
"I don't know," Paula demurred. "Sipping wine in front the fireplace, walking in the rain—he sounds kind of sweet. I think the Maybe stack."
"You're both nuts!" Bailey exclaimed, picking up Samantha and heading for the kitchen. "All those letters belong in your No Freaking Way stack. Sipping wine and walking in the rain—they're probably all wet, drunk mass murderers, and married besides." She scowled over the pass-through bar from the kitchen into the living room. "And you, Gordon! I can't believe you're aiding and abetting this insanity."
"Ignore her," Paula said, dropping the letter in her middle stack.
"I usually do," Gordon drawled.
"I suppose you'd rather I went to a bar to meet somebody." Ripping open a cream-colored envelope, Paula raised an eyebrow in Bailey's direction.
"I'd rather you joined a nunnery," she retorted. "Go back to school. That's where you met your ex-husband."
"Right. In grade school."
Unable to argue with that, Bailey turned her attention to scooping dog food into a royal blue bowl with SAMANTHA in white letters. "Come see what I cooked for your dinner, sweetheart," she said, placing the bowl on the white kitchen tile.
The dog pranced over, sniffed, then looked at Bailey with an aggrieved expression.
"Okay, so it's only dog food out of a can. You ought to be glad. What if you actually had to eat my cooking?"
"Hey, listen to this," Paula called.
Bailey scratched Samantha's head and, leaving her to her repast, crossed the room to join Paula.