Anything You Can Do(65)
"Let me get back to you on that, Margaret," Bailey responded, icicles dripping from every word.
"That's okay," Austin said. "I need to get on to my appointment." He pushed past Margaret and moved into the hallway.
He wasn't eavesdropping, he assured himself, but his slow footsteps were probably a direct cause of his overhearing Margaret's angry comment just before she closed the door.
"I took it to Stafford. We can't just—" The door slammed.
Austin's steps became slower, but his mind raced. Can’t just what? Continue to represent a client who was perpetrating fraud?
It would seem that Bailey had no intention of admitting that her client was in the wrong. That knowledge hit hard. He'd expected more from Bailey—lots more. Never, no matter how angry he'd become with her, had he ever entertained the slightest doubt about her integrity. But even that associate knew Bailey wasn't acting ethically.
"Well, if it's not Jimmy the Greek." Paula greeted him with a big grin as he approached her cubicle.
"Hello, Paula," he replied, trying to pull out of his reverie and sound friendly, although small talk wasn't even a possibility considering the big things that were racing through his head. "I think your boss is expecting me."
She nodded and picked up the phone to announce his presence. "How about a cup of coffee?" she asked, ushering him into the corner office. "It's really concentrated this time of day. A few sips are all it takes. All you can take, too."
"No, thanks." He needed a drink, all right, but coffee wouldn't cut it.
When Stafford told him the merger had been voted down, he found he wasn't even surprised. Somewhere inside he'd known from Bailey's reaction to his appointment with Stafford. Through a haze, he watched the man's lips moving and heard some of the conciliatory phrases— "admire what you're doing," "recommend clients we can't handle," "just not right for us." He studied the long ash on the cigar Stafford waved around and tried to deal with his new knowledge of Bailey, a deceitful Bailey who voted against the merger just to win against him.
In hypnotic fascination, he watched the cigar ash drop onto a pleading clipped to the front of a file folder. Stafford brushed it away with no break in his discourse, but Austin's gaze remained riveted to the file. On the top left corner, a piece of notepaper printed with the words FROM THE DESK OF BAILEY RUSSELL partially covered the name of the case, but he saw enough to know it was a new pleading in the Service Insurance/Miller case. On the notepaper was the handwritten message in Bailey's unmistakable scrawl, "Margaret, handle ASAP." Bailey was pursuing the case when she knew her client's claim was fraudulent.
Austin realized Stafford had stopped talking. Turning his attention back to the man, Austin felt something freeze in his chest. The room took on a crystal clarity, every detail distinct. He could count the hairs on Stafford's balding head.
"I'm sorry to hear that," Austin said, responding to the comments about the merger. "Just for my edification, how close was the vote?"
Stafford chuckled quietly, complacently, Austin thought. "Can't tell you that. Doesn't really matter. Majority rules, one or seven."
And that, Austin thought, told him what he needed to know. Bailey had been included in the voting to make seven, and the majority had probably been by one vote. She had beaten him. Simply for the thrill of winning, she had sabotaged his efforts, his career, and was assisting in defrauding his client. She knew what she was doing was wrong. That's why she'd been so cold to him a few minutes ago.
Somehow Austin managed to stand, smile, and shake hands with Stafford. Paula's mouth was moving as he walked past her, but he couldn't hear the words over the roaring in his head.
Bailey's door was open. When he charged in, she stood, her ivory skin becoming even paler, her eyes huge.
"I had to do what I felt was right," she said quietly, her voice strangely calm considering the circumstances.
"Right?" he stormed. "All you want to do is win. Right isn't even part of your vocabulary."
Her gaze narrowed and her face flushed with sudden color. Splaying her hands on her desktop, she leaned toward him. "You're having a temper tantrum because you lost, and you have the gall to accuse me of only wanting to win?"
"That's right, trying to win at any cost, and I emphasize the word trying." He leaned toward her, narrowing the distance, getting so close, he could see the faint freckles on her nose, smell her clean freshness. His teeth clenched as he reminded himself her character was neither clean nor fresh.