Anything You Can Do(2)
The voice jarred into her concentration, causing her to make a misstep and lose her stride.
The dark-haired man ran beside her. Knowing he was a lawyer, Paula had doubtless sent him packing, and now he thought he'd get to her through her friend. He wouldn't be the first to try that.
"I doubt it," she said. "I'm a thief. I stole this shirt from the lawyer who's defending me."
She increased her pace slightly, pulling away from him, concentrating on regaining her stride.
When the water table at the end of three miles came into view, she still had scarcely broken a sweat. Neither, she noted as she approached the table, had her friend, Gordon Thomas. At least he had made it out of bed in time to help serve water.
She smiled as she watched her friend, perfectly tanned and immaculately clad in white shorts, lounging beside the bottled water, handing out soggy paper cups. Gordon had probably never broken a sweat in his life except in a sauna or steam room.
"There are people ahead of you in this race!" Gordon exclaimed, holding out two paper cups. "It's not like either of you to allow that."
"I'm still running faster than you are," she retaliated.
At the same time a familiar voice declared, "The race isn't over yet," and as she reached for one of the cups of water, another hand clasped the same paper cup.
She looked up into electric blue eyes. At least the man wasn't smiling anymore. He looked as confused as she felt.
"I have two cups," Gordon said. "One for each of my friends."
"You know him?" Bailey asked.
"Turn loose of the cup, both of you," Gordon insisted, offering two fresh waters. "Of course I know him. This is Austin Travers. Austin, Bailey Russell."
With a brief nod of acknowledgment, Bailey accepted a new cup, gulped the tepid water, and tossed the paper into a convenient barrel. "See you at the awards, if you don't fall asleep and miss the whole thing," she called to Gordon as she loped away, consciously controlling her pace, resisting an urge to run full out until she left Austin Travers and his compelling eyes far behind.
How distressing to find that man was Austin, Gordon's old college buddy. Gordon had been anticipating Austin's impending arrival in Kansas City for some time, and she'd been looking forward to meeting him, to having another friend like the easygoing Gordon. She was pretty sure Austin would not fit into that category. She suspected he was highly competitive.
She forced herself to concentrate on the run, on settling back into her satisfying rhythm. The race was about half over, and already her steady pace carried her past many of the runners who'd passed her earlier. At the end of the next mile she could begin to stretch out a little, start to move up, then sprint the final mile.
"Gordon's told me a lot about you, Bailey Russell."
Bailey almost stumbled. That man again. And now that she knew who he was, she supposed she had to be nice to him.
"Ditto," she said. No point in overdoing the nice.
"He and I went to school together," he continued.
"Yes," Bailey acknowledged. "So I've heard." And now she could see the stories in a different light.
Gordon, who'd been born with a platinum American Express card in his mouth, was proud of his self-made friend. Austin had put himself through school with jobs and scholarships while still having the best grades, the prettiest women, the most honors. She'd assumed all those things would matter as little to his friend as they did to Gordon. That assumption was likely erroneous. Though to be fair, she supposed she'd have to give him the benefit of incomplete evidence thus far. Just because he looked like a movie star and came to the race wearing new running shoes didn't necessarily make him all bad.
"Gordon tells me you've come all the way over from St. Louis to shape up Kearns, Worley's branch here in Kansas City," she said, making an effort to be polite.
"I missed the last partners' meeting and got elected." He tossed the information out casually, though it was a glaringly obvious way to work into the conversation that he was a partner. So much for incomplete evidence. The man was an arrogant jerk, no doubt about it.
Since she couldn't think of any subtle way to retaliate by letting him know that she was up for a partnership in the very near future, she just kept running, increasing her pace slightly even though they were starting up a hill.
He stayed right with her, and while his face was shiny with perspiration, he continued to breathe through his nose, a feat she was finding increasingly difficult. She grudgingly gave him credit. He was doing a lot better than she'd expected.