“His loss.” Anton brought his hand down, draping his blazer over his other arm. He tilted his head toward the stool next to her. “Mind if I join you?”
“You’re on your own?”
“Not if I’m here with you,” he teased. “I came with some friends, but they’re leaving.”
He waved to a group of several men and women who were exiting. Clare was relieved to see there was no one from Bailey, Brooks, Kantowicz and Hanley. Office gossips would have a field day with this encounter, not to mention the martini she had practically guzzled.
He looked down at her, waiting for an answer.
“You know,” she said, blinking to avoid the blue of his eyes. “We never celebrated the Dubovski victory. Let me buy you this drink.”
He hesitated, then nodded. “Sure. If you’ll let me get the next round.”
“It’s a deal.”
She waved at Jimmy the bartender, wondering at the wisdom of what she was doing. She hadn’t eaten anything since a sandwich at lunchtime and she was beginning to feel light-headed. But she and Anton did have something to celebrate, and Clare had never properly expressed her appreciation. What was a drink between colleagues?
She ordered her second martini. It was exactly what she wanted, strong and pungent, the kind of cocktail her father always drank. His preferences had certainly given her a lifelong taste for the stuff, as well as a deep-rooted revulsion.
Jimmy put their drinks down. She reached for her glass.
“To Mrs. Dubovski. Let’s hope she’s much happier without Mr.”
Without waiting for Anton’s response, Clare drank her martini like she might lemonade on a humid Chicago summer afternoon. Anton had a sip of whatever he was drinking, his eyes never leaving her.
“Are you okay?” He put a hand on her shoulder.
She could feel the heat of his hand through the silk of her blouse. Was it the alcohol that was burning her, or something else?
“Fine.” She shrugged off his hand. “Just fine. Nothing another shot of gin won’t help. If I’d known this bar had become so stingy with the drinks, I wouldn’t have stayed. Come on, drink up, Anton. We have another round to go.”
But Anton took his sweet time, rolling his glass between his hands, tilting it against his lips, rubbing it against his mouth. Clare tried not to look, but it was hard. And her alcohol haze didn’t help.
On the contrary. It was a great boost to lowering her inhibitions, to helping her imagine something else in the place of that glass—like her lips or her face or her breasts.
Those thoughts were enough to send heat like flames up her whole body. She shut her eyes to chase the images away, but they only appeared ten times more vivid.
Anton finally put his empty glass down.
“Good! You’re done!” Clare said. “Now, let’s see if we can get Jimmy to look this way. You’d think he’d know me by now, after all the times I’ve been here and all the tips I’ve left.”
“I think he’s having the same thoughts I am.” Anton stared at the empty glass that she was clutching.
“And what would those be?” She looked up at him. His face was blurry and unclear.
“That you’ve had too much to drink as it is,” he said in the same matter-of-fact tone he used when advising a client.
Without another word, he took her glass away from her and emptied the little that was left into his own. She didn’t have the energy to protest. She just looked at him as he pushed off the bar and straightened to his full six foot three. She had to tilt her head all the way back to see his face. It took her several seconds to make out his concerned expression.
“He’s not worth it, Clare. Whoever he is. If he stood you up like this, he must be a jerk.”
If she weren’t so dizzy, she might have burst out laughing. Sweet of Anton, but much too earnest and wholesome for a lawyer and an ex-cop. Yet she really could get a rush from the way he was looking at her. Maybe she could talk him into adoring her body—minus the sags, the cellulite and the wrinkles—but she’d have to open her mouth and move her tongue. She closed her eyes and concentrated very hard.
“Save it,” she managed. “I know all about jerks.”
“And not enough about good guys. They do exist, you know.”
“Not in my world.”
“Maybe it’s time you tried mine.”
Clare wasn’t sure she had heard right or that she understood what he was saying. She turned her head so quickly, the room spun around her. She reached for the bar to steady herself. Somehow, she found herself leaning against Anton, enveloped in the scent of his aftershave, his warmth and his strength. She didn’t move for a moment. Comforted by his steadying hand, she turned her head to look up at him again. His mouth was close. All she had to do was lift her lips a bit, and they would be kissing.
Kissing? No kissing. No kissing Anton.
She drew her head back instead, her hand grasping the bar tightly. She needed to leave before she did something stupid, but she didn’t know if she could leave. Hell, she didn’t even know if she could stand straight. Her head sagged forward. The world spun around her in a kaleidoscope of faces, forms and objects. Her ears registered sounds without meaning. She felt Anton’s hand on her shoulder.
“Are you sure you’re all right, Clare? Can I do anything?”
She stared at him for an instant, and then suddenly the sound of clinking glasses, conversation and laughter from a nearby booth broke through her haze. With it came an embarrassed awareness of where she was and what was wrong with her.
She pulled away from him. Wouldn’t the office gossips have a field day with this?
“Clare, I—”
She wanted to shake her head, but she was too dizzy. “I think you’d better call me a cab,” she said, her voice as clear and firm as on her best day in court.
Lauren considered the letter she had just drafted. It sounded professional, efficient and convincing. Surely one of the names she had gotten off the online job listing that Chrissie had given her would belong to someone who would want to hire her as a writer. But what did she know? It had been such a long time since she had written such a letter, she really had no idea what was right. Business etiquette couldn’t have changed that much, but after her dreadful encounter with Diane and all the other demoralizing rejections she’d received, Lauren didn’t know. She needed another opinion.
Lauren glanced at her watch. Too late to contact Chrissie. It was already ten in the evening in Vienna. Clare was a better bet. She was always hiring people. And didn’t she mentor a group of female law students? Clare must give out this kind of advice all the time. She could do the same for Lauren.
Lauren dialed the number, but the machine picked up. Clare was probably at her office. It wouldn’t be the first time she worked on the weekend. Lauren wouldn’t disturb her there, but she decided to try Alice.
Alice may not be as much in the know as Clare, but she wasn’t totally ignorant either. However Lauren was in for another rude surprise when instead of her friend’s usual warm greeting, Alice practically barked hello into the phone.
“It’s me, Alice. Lauren. Are you, um, all right?”
“Yes, yes, I’m fine,” Alice answered through what sounded like gritted teeth. “What do you want?”
“If it’s a bad time, I can call back.”
“That’s okay. I’m fine.”
There was a long pause, in