The Single Life. Liz Wood

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СКАЧАТЬ an expensive leather bag on the table, the brand name visible. “The dean has asked me to head another committee. It really is a nuisance. But there you are. I have to do what I have to do. It’s so difficult to delegate. I’m sure you understand.”

      Without bothering to really look at Lauren, Diane waved the waitress over and ordered an espresso.

      “One shot. And please make sure it really is only one shot.” Turning to Lauren, she said, “Sometimes they add too much water, you know. It tastes like drip coffee. Not at all what I want.”

      Lauren gave the waitress an apologetic smile, ordered bottled water for herself, then returned her attention to Diane, who was talking again about the accumulated responsibilities of her life.

      “…and that’s why I wanted to see you. I was sure you would want to contribute to the fund-raiser. I thought you could do a reading. Maybe present some of your more recent material. That would be wonderful. I’m sure everyone would love it.”

      Lauren had been practically hypnotized by the brightness of Diane’s scarlet nails, so she wasn’t sure she had heard right.

      “I’m sorry. Did you invite me here today to discuss a fund-raiser? For Western University?”

      Diane’s hand froze in midair. With a smile as stylized as her dress, she looked at Lauren. “Yes. I was sure you would want to help.”

      Lauren laughed without humor. “I think there’s been some misunderstanding. Actually, Diane, I called because I’m looking for a job. I was wondering if that workshop you offered me a while ago—two years ago—was, well, a possibility.”

      Diane frowned. “You’re looking for a job?”

      Lauren nodded.

      “I’m sorry, Lauren, I’m so sorry. I didn’t realize… I had heard that…but I didn’t realize…” Diane waved her red-tipped fingers in the air to fill in the spaces she left blank.

      Lauren doubted that the woman’s sympathetic look was genuine.

      “Yes, Diane, I’m looking for a job. With the divorce and everything, I’m a bit short on cash.”

      “I understand.” Diane wrapped a cold hand around Lauren’s wrist. Lauren resisted the urge to push it away. She waited to see how understanding the other woman really was.

      After a moment, Diane withdrew her hand, leaned back in her chair and sighed heavily. “I realize that it must be really terrible, what you’re going through. My husband is such a wonderful man, I can’t imagine what it would be like to lose him. But surely you must know that our workshops are planned at least a year in advance. Anyway, after the last offer, I thought you weren’t interested.”

      “I was interested. It was just, well… It was just a bad time for me.” Lauren smiled as sweetly as she could. If she concentrated hard enough, she could hold back her tears. She didn’t want to cry. She didn’t want Diane to know how much she cared. “I guess now is a bad time for you.”

      “Unfortunately, yes.”

      “And I don’t suppose there would be a teaching position open for the next semester?”

      “There might be something, but surely you understand I can’t offer you anything, Lauren. It’s been several years since you’ve published, and our students want to be instructed by cutting-edge writers, those who can help them get into print. I don’t know if you have that kind of clout anymore.”

      It took all Lauren’s concentration to keep her eyes fixed on Diane’s face. Everything inside her was screaming at her to walk away before hearing another humiliating word. But she couldn’t leave, not just yet, not without exploring one more possibility.

      “I was thinking more on the lines of basic writing skills, composition classes, written expression, that sort of thing.”

      “When was the last time you taught such a class? Ten years ago?”

      Lauren hesitated. She could bend the truth a little, but what was the point? She shook her head. “Longer.”

      “More than ten years! Lauren, you don’t really expect us to hire someone without recent experience? Besides you’re overqualified. We rely on our graduate students for those courses, sometimes even the advanced undergrads. They do just fine, especially since they’re more in touch with the needs of their peers.”

      “So there really isn’t anything?”

      “Not at the moment. But if anything should come up, you’ll be the first in mind.”

      Which was obviously Diane-speak for “Don’t hold your breath!”

      Clare Hanley pressed the intercom button to address her personal assistant.

      “Anything I need to deal with in the next hour or so?”

      Anne Wright relayed recent messages, reminded Clare of an upcoming meeting and reported that Anton Muller was waiting to see her. “He wants to go over the McGrady case.”

      “Send him in. We need to deal with it as soon as possible.”

      Anton stepped into her office a few moments later, an enormous file under his arm. Clare motioned him toward the table in the corner of the room.

      When Anton had joined the firm several years ago, Clare had been skeptical about how they would work together. She had hoped the job would go to one of the women candidates she had been committed to promoting, but, in the end, she’d conceded that Anton’s qualifications were strong and his decade-long experience as a Chicago police officer was a considerable asset.

      It was his law-enforcement experience that had made her so wary. The firm was already sufficiently testosterone-charged. She really didn’t need another junior associate—especially one close to her own age—whose previous profession probably didn’t dispose him to taking orders from a woman. For despite all the recent publicity, Chicago’s finest could hardly be more gender sensitive than Clare’s Ivy League male colleagues. And she knew what Neanderthals they were when it came to working with women, let alone taking directions from one!

      So it had come as a complete surprise to discover that Anton was not only an efficient, diligent and cooperative team player, but also extremely respectful of her position and authority. Not that he was a pushover. After working with her on only a couple of cases, he had begun to question her interpretation of the law. Surprised, she had listened to him, and their discussion had shed light on the situation and ultimately helped them to win the case. She appreciated his conviction. She also liked his courteous, diplomatic manner. More and more, she found herself seeking his opinion and collaboration.

      This had everything to do with his competence and nothing to do with his looks, she now reminded herself, nothing to do with his broad shoulders and flat stomach and trim waist. Moving toward the table, he turned his back to her, offering her a tantalizing view of a very firm behind, covered in a conservative suit that did nothing to conceal his strong masculinity.

      More than once, she had found herself mesmerized by his sleek, pantherlike movements. When she wasn’t admiring his gracefulness, she was wondering how his thick hair would feel under her fingers. It was almost as dark as hers, but he had no need to dye the graying streaks. Why should he? They made him look СКАЧАТЬ