Out of Order. Barbara Dunlop

Judge Weinberger, and he was hooking up with Greg for racquetball and a beer before he caught the Cubs game on ESPN.

      If he could convince Eamon Perth to put them on permanent retainer, he could announce the coup to Greg tonight, giving Greg bragging rights for his meeting with Preston International in New York on Friday. A couple of cornerstone clients like Perth-Abercrombie and Preston International, and the sky would be the limit for their budding law firm.

      As Mondays with possibilities went, it didn’t get much better than this.

      He headed toward the hallway that led to his office, but caught a bright flash in the corner of his eye, bringing him to a stop. Something was out of place.

      He slowly turned toward the receptionist’s desk, and his mouth dropped open a notch as he stared at a pair of black, spike-heeled pumps, impossibly long legs, a shiny gold dress over a perfectly rounded rear end, and a head of riotous, auburn hair barely tamed in a knot.

      His mouth went dry as last night’s dream popped, full blown, into his mind. His palm turned slick against his briefcase handle.

      Allan appeared at his side. “Did you meet our new receptionist?”

      Something settled like a lead weight in Dallas’s stomach.

      The woman pivoted to face him and he nearly dropped his coffee onto the three-week-old, hand-knotted, golden-onyx carpet.

      “Dallas Williams,” said Allan. “This is Shelby Jacobs.”

      Shelby’s bright red lips curved into a friendly smile. The silky-smooth lines of the gold dress hugged her knockout figure. Gathered, capped sleeves barely covered her shoulders, and a heavy zipper was pulled just low enough to stimulate his imagination.

      “What the…?” He barely sputtered out the question before his vocal chords shut down in sheer incredulity.

      “We’ve met,” said Shelby. “Great to see you again, Dallas.”

      Dallas? What were clients going to think when the receptionist called the partners by their first names? What were clients going to think when the receptionist looked like she belonged on a Vegas runway?

      He glanced at the newly decorated wall behind her—its arched, Italian bookcase, leather-bound law books, bronze-and-marble statues, the wing chairs, the fresh flowers and the custom oil paintings that nearly screamed class and success. Then he looked back at Shelby—sexy, spectacular, totally inappropriate, Shelby.

      Was this a joke? He turned his horror-stricken face to Allan. Blinking, waiting for the man to burst out laughing.

      He didn’t.

      “Can I get you anything?” asked Shelby, shifting in Dallas’s peripheral vision. “Coffee? Files?” She gestured to the bookcase behind her. “A reference book?”

      Dallas spoke to Allan through clenched teeth. “Can I see you in my office for a moment? Bring Greg.”

      He turned to take one more look at Shelby. He’d found the woman in handcuffs. In the Haines Street lockup. He wasn’t even sure she was innocent. And even if she didn’t steal the artwork from their walls, they sure as hell couldn’t make her the first thing clients saw when the entered Turnball, Williams and Smith. Clients like Eamon Perth.

      Eamon Perth.

      Good God, Dallas had less than two hours to get her out of here.

      With the barest of nods in her direction, he strode into his office, resisting the urge to slam his leather briefcase down on the polished desktop.

      Greg entered behind him, closely followed by Allan.

      “What’s going on?” asked Greg affably.

      Dallas turned to glare at him. “You hired a receptionist without even talking to me?”

      Allan quickly closed the office door.

      “Allison said you’d met her, and you seemed to like her,” said Greg.

      Dallas moved behind his cherrywood desk, bracing his hands on the high back of his chair. “I met her in the Haines Street lockup.”

      “But they didn’t arrest her.”

      “Only because I was there.”

      “Allison asked me to thank you for that.”

      Dallas bit back an unflattering observation about Allison’s influence over Greg.

      Allan took a step forward. “She seems very nice.”

      “Nice?” Dallas’s voice came out strangled. “Did you check her references? Her police record?” Had they even bothered to step back and take a good, long look at the woman?

      Greg straightened. “Her police record?”

      “When I met her Friday night, she was under arrest.”

      “She doesn’t have a police record. She’s Allison’s roommate. From college.”

      Allan stepped in again. “I think we should give her a chance.”

      Dallas couldn’t believe they were ganging up on him. He rounded the desk and brushed past them both, opening the office door and gesturing out into the reception area.

      He kept his voice low. “Has it occurred to the two of you that she is the first person our clients are going to see when they walk in?”

      Greg and Allan both peered out.

      “So?” asked Greg.

      “I don’t get it,” said Allan.

      “Am I the only one who cares about making a professional impression?” asked Dallas.

      “She is kind of pretty,” said Allan. “But I don’t see how—”

      “Kind of pretty?” asked Dallas.

      “She’s making Harold Bouthier smile,” said Greg.

      Dallas glanced out the door. For a second his heart stopped beating. “She’s flirting with Harold Bouthier.”

      “That’s not flirting,” said Greg. “She’s just being friendly.”

      Shelby laughed at something Harold had said, her green eyes lighting up. He leaned a little closer. She didn’t back away, simply listened with interest.

      “She’s flirting,” said Dallas.

      “You can’t even hear her,” said Greg.

      “With those legs, everything is flirting.”

      Both of his partners turned to stare at him in amazed silence.

      “What?” asked Dallas. “You mean to tell me neither of you noticed her legs?”

      Greg’s face slowly broke into a grin. “I don’t think we can legally discriminate against her based on the fact that you’re a leg man.”

      Allan joined in, smacking Dallas on the shoulder. “Just keep a lid on it in the office there, Dallas.”

      “I’m not discriminating against her based on—”

      “She’s attractive, I’ll give you that,” said Greg. “Can’t hold a candle to Allison, of course.”

      Dallas shot Greg a quizzical look. Allison was cute enough, but Shelby was in a whole other league. Clients were going to walk into walls while staring at her. Who knew how many personal injury claims they’d have to settle?

      He quickly shook himself. “We’re allowed to discriminate against her based on qualifications and experience.”

      “Allison says she’s experienced,” said Greg. “Maybe you should spend a little time on your personal life. Get out there on a few dates. You know, halve the testosterone concentration so that you don’t—”

      “This has nothing to