Legally Tender. Michele Dunaway

to pass, and within seconds she’d entered the twenty-by-twenty-foot room. An early twenty-something woman whom Christina assumed to be Angela stood up. Her stomach protruded.

      “Hi,” Christina said. She held out her hand. “I’m Christina Jones. You must be Angela. Congratulations on expecting.”

      “Thank you.”

      “You’ll be working with me on the case?” Christina asked.

      “Only for the duration of it,” Bruce told her smoothly. “I’m sure you’ll have your own paralegal at some point. Make sure Reginald hires you one.”

      Making it very clear that although Christina may have taken his promotion, she wasn’t getting his office staff, as well.

      Angela’s gaze darted between the two of them, as if she was trying to decide what the best course of action was. “I’ll be here until Christmas, and then I’m on maternity leave for at least three months,” she said. Her face broke into a wide smile. “She’s my first.”

      “I have a little girl,” Christina said, trying to find some common ground. “Bella’s eight.”

      “Well,” Bruce said with an obvious cough before Angela could answer, “that’s all very nice, but we have work to do.”

      “I’ve got all your files stacked and your messages are right there. Do either of you need anything else?” Angela asked.

      “No, thanks,” Bruce said. “Just close the door behind you.”

      “Will do. Nice to meet you, Ms. Jones.”

      After Angela left, Christina faced Bruce.

      “What?” he asked.

      “You know, I’m surprised you didn’t have her branded before she arrived. Tell you what, Bruce. Why don’t you get all your anger off your chest early. Your paralegal, your partnership. Both now mine. Perhaps you should admit you’re upset. If we clear the air, it might help us work together. After all, as you pointed out, we have a job to do.”

      “Do you have a degree in psychology, too?” He didn’t wait for her to shake her head. “I didn’t think so.”

      In a movement of control, Bruce sat down at the table. Christina remained standing. “Let’s get a few things straight. I’m a Lancaster. I’m the founder’s direct descendant. Roy Lancaster is my grandfather. Remember the Supreme Court case Wedlock v. Storm? He argued that one, and only one judge dissented. I descend from multiple generations of legal stock. I was top of my class and got the highest score on the bar that year. I could have worked anywhere.”

      She jutted her chin. “Your point is?”

      The right corner of his mouth twitched. “Tell me, why should I be upset about waiting another year for a partnership? I’ll be old and gray and this will still be my firm, my heritage. It will belong to my children, my sons and daughters. So don’t try to use your pseudo-psychology on me. I’m not angry about the partnership. You couldn’t be more wrong.”

      He paused for a few seconds, and Christina knew the litigator inside him wasn’t finished. He’d only just begun.

      And as much as she didn’t relish the conflict, she found it slightly invigorating. She could already tell that he had a razor-sharp mind. He was quick on his feet, a man in control. He was self-assured, even when dealt a blow. She had to admit this man intrigued and stirred something inside her.

      “Hmm,” he finally said, “let’s see how clever you really are and if we can do what you suggested and clear the air enough so that we can work together. How about you start by telling me what I have to work with. Since I was in Indianapolis, I missed your interview with Reginald. You only interviewed with him, correct?”

      “Yes, once past the initial screening.”

      “That’s what I thought. Your hiring went quickly. How many cases have you won lately?”

      “That’s on my résumé. I’m sure you could ask to see it. Or tomorrow I’ll provide you a copy. I was a junior partner fast-tracked for a senior role at my last firm.”

      “So you feel you’re qualified to work here?”

      “Of course. There were other finalists and Reginald Morris thought I was the best. I did graduate Harvard top of my class. I did not just go there for an MRS degree.” She paused only briefly. “I also have impeccable references.”

      He rolled his eyes. “Ah, stop avoiding the question. That’s not what I asked. I asked how many cases you’d won lately. Do me a favor and be frank. I can at least respect honesty. Now you might understand why I’m truly upset. It’s been eight years since you’ve last practiced. This is my case. I brought it in. I’m going to win it. While you might have had an impressive record years ago, your major qualification is that you speak Spanish.”

      “We—”

      “Don’t interrupt unless you have good reason to object. It’s impolite and frowned on, especially in court. Let me simply sum up. You are here to be the female attorney the women can relate to, and to play interpreter. That’s not any type of sexual harassment, either, just role definition and job description. You haven’t had trial experience in years, and I’m not going to let you waltz in here and start over with a case as important and groundbreaking as this one. You’re an outsider here, and that can be as grating as nails on a chalkboard.”

      “I’m—”

      He ignored her interruption. “None of these women will know what Harvard is, much less know where it is. Most of them didn’t even finish grade school. They won’t wear designer shoes. They can’t even afford the clothes that they make, even though they slave over each and every stitch. This is rural Indiana, not some big city. It’s not an area that’s culturally assimilated, or that has resources that celebrate ethnic heritage. You may be the same ethnicity as they are, but you are so far above them socially and economically that you might as well be one hundred percent white.”

      “Are you done?” Christina asked, her posture rigid.

      “No, I’m not.” Bruce swallowed, drawing his cheeks tight. “This is not playtime. It’s not some genie costume, set off a smoke machine and everything will still be okay. Harassment is real for these women, and any misstep might cost us this case, and their futures, dearly. That I will not allow.”

      Christina froze her face into neutral and resisted the urge to clench her hands into fists and beat Bruce Lancaster into a pulp as she once had her cousin during a visit to Mexico City. She’d beenten. He’d pulled her pigtails.

      Bruce Lancaster had done much worse. He’d insulted her integrity. He’d judged her incompetent based on a series of events beyond her control. He’d also belittled her—almost, but not quite, as much as Kyle.

      Bruce was a jerk, probably just as bad as the ones they would be fighting. Mr. Hunk might be attractive, but he was not nice.

      She took a deep breath and gave herself a much-needed continuance. She and Bruce would finish this conversation later, after she’d proved herself. Then she would rub his nose into every word he’d said. He deserved nothing less.

      “Well,” she managed calmly, her face a mask to hide her inner fury. “Now that you’ve finished venting in a misguided attempt to put me in my place, shall we actually begin to work on the case, or shall we continue to simply waste more valuable time?”

      He stared at her, blue eyes wary, and she knew she’d caught him off guard.

      “You see, Bruce—may I call you Bruce? I might not have a win record as long or impressive as yours, or even have close to your extensive courtroom experience, but that doesn’t make me incompetent. I had an ex who spent years trying to prove that I was, and if he didn’t succeed in convincing me, you won’t, either. You’ve tried and convicted me based on circumstantial evidence and preconceived notions. Let me assure you, I won’t fail.”