Page 16 of Take the Bait

The taxi gods were kind to her and she managed to flag down a cab with a grizzled Russian driver who knew a shortcut around the worst of the construction in Manhattan and got her to the curb in front of the WMP offices with three minutes to spare. She tipped the guy a twenty as she hustled out of the cab.

The elevator gods were not so kind, however, and she ended up having to run down a long hallway on the twenty-third floor in her wobbly, painful heels to skid into Mr. Whitney’s outer office with seconds to spare.

Of course, having made it to the meeting by the skin of her teeth, Whitney kept her sitting and waiting for twenty frustrating minutes. His secretary ignored her, not even bothering to offer her a bottle of water or a cup of coffee to take the edge off her pounding headache.

He was definitely going to fire her. Why else would he give her no notice about this meeting and then play head games with her, making her cool her heels out here as if she’d been called to the principal’s office and was in such big trouble her parents had been called to come in.

Not that she’d ever gotten in that kind of trouble in school, of course. She’d been a model student, quiet and respectful of teachers, punctual with her homework, and never rocking any boats of any kind.

Which was part of why she was so acutely anxious now.

Boat rocking was not her deal, but this was totally a moment that called for some serious rocking. Heck, maybe even capsizing this particular boat.

If she had to threaten Mr. Whitney with a lawsuit to keep her job, she’d made the decision somewhere in the past hour to do just that. Even if it was totally out of character for her.

But still. It was scary as hell. Her stomach churned even more aggressively.

She silently cursed herself for not taking time to choke down a slice of dry toast or at least a few saltines as her stomach roiled like a vat of radioactive waste.

“He’s ready for you now, Miss Wellford,” the secretary finally announced with a distinct note of disdain in her cool voice.

Dani stood up and took a moment to smooth her sweaty palms down her wool skirt. This was no different than going to court. Control her emotions, stick to the facts, and don’t let Whitney see it if he rattled her.

You can do this.

She walked resolutely to his door and raised her hand to knock.

“Just go in. He’s expecting you,” the secretary said a teensy bit more kindly.

The senior partner stood when Dani entered his office. He gestured at a chair in front of his desk and waited to sit back down until after she’d perched nervously on the edge of the leather-upholstered seat. Old school manners, Leon Whitney had.

He leaned back in his desk chair, checking her out thoroughly from head to toe—or as close to it as he could manage over the edge of his walnut desk. Make that, old school, sexist pig, manners.

“You’re looking as attractive as usual, Miss Wellford.”

Seriously? When male lawyers walked in here, did he say, “You look totally beddable, today, young man?”

She gritted her teeth and mumbled something inane. Screw her lights out if you feel like it. That’s why we hired her.

Was Leon’s voice raspy enough to be the one she’d heard last night? Throw in the desiccation of a few martinis to his vocal chords and she supposed it was possible.

Something dangerous rattled around in her gut. If she had any balls at all, she would bait the guy. See if he gave himself away as the firm’s senior pimp. To hell with being able to pay her bills. Homeless and unemployed was the new cool, right?

“So, Dani. I hear you’re being difficult with the district attorney’s office on a pro bono case.”

Oh, thank God. This wasn’t a firing for failure to screw Cameron Townsend, after all. At least not yet. Maybe the old geezer was working up to that part of this conversation.

As tempting as it was to defend herself and her management of Alexei Koronov’s case, she held her silence. Whitney hadn’t asked her a question, after all.

“Well?” he demanded.

“Well what?” she asked innocently. After all, she was just a pair of tits and not expected to understand much.

“What do you have to say for yourself?”

“Nothing. My client turned down the district attorney’s plea offer and demanded that I take him to trial.”

“It’s an open-and-shut case, and we’re going to lose!”

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