Page 93 of A Dead End Wedding

Non-existent budget: Deal with later.

Twenty minutes of radio NPR and one difficult conversation with Aunt Celia later, I pulled up to my office to find a long line of people snaking through the parking lot. The head of the line was at my office door. I parked and climbed out of the car, catching sight of Mr. Ellison rushing over to me. "Hey, girl—Ms. Vaughn."

I almost fell over.Ms. Vaughn?

"Are you sick?" I asked when he skidded to a stop in front of me.

"No, what? I'm fine, he said, panting, then snatched my briefcase out of my hands. "Give me that and get going. You've got thirty-two people waiting to see you already."

I scanned the line, feeling last night's lasagna or something like panic roiling around in my stomach. "Thirty-two? I've never even met with thirty-two different clients in a week, let alone one day. How are we going to handle this?"

He looked up at me, chin thrust in the air. "You listen to me. If I can handle a whole busload of rowdy teenagers, you can handle this. You've got more backbone than you realize, I reckon."

With that, he wheeled around and marched to the door, leaving me gaping after him in surprise. "Finally, a comment on my anatomy that I can live with," I muttered. Then I took a deep breath and pasted a huge "I can do it, I can do it; I've got a backbone" smile on my face and nodded to the people in line as I strode over to unlock the door.

NOTE TO SELF: Give Mr. Ellison a key. After this, he deserves it.

He stood at the door, rocking from side to side. "By the way, I gave everybody cups of coffee from the diner down the street. You can't expect clients to wait out in the cold. You owe me thirty-seven dollars and sixty-two cents."

"In the cold? It's nearly ninety degrees out here, Mr. Ellison," I said.

"Still, it's the principle of the thing. Don't want to get a rep as a cheapskate after you-know-what," he mumbled out of the corner of his mouth.

In a weird way, it was touching. He was trying to protect my reputation. He'd even called me Ms. Vaughn, instead of girlie, in front of my prospective clients. Plus, he'd said I had a backbone.

Oh, oh. I was starting to like him.

"Tell Max to give you the cash out of the petty cash box. Just give her the receipt for the taxes, okay?" I said, unlocking the door. "And Mr. Ellison?"

He turned to look at me, eyes narrowed, probably ready to argue about coffee.

"Thank you," I said.

He flashed a huge smile at me, and it was my turn to narrow my eyes.Damn. I bet Mr. Ellison was quite the hottie in his day.

Okay, now that I've officially gone over the bend, it's time for me to talk to my new clients.

"I'm here, I'm here," Max called, hurrying up behind us. "Sorry I'm late. I . . . I didn't get much sleep last night."

Oh, oh. That was the "Ryan screwed me over again" voice.

I pulled Max to the side, and Mr. Ellison escorted the clients inside and started unfolding folding chairs at the edge of our reception room. "Folding chairs? Where did . . . never mind. Please tell me that wasn't your 'I gave Ryan one more chance, like a big fat idiot' voice."

She wouldn't look at me, but moved so the reception desk was between us, stuffed her purse in a drawer, then locked it. "Full house today. We'd better get started."

"Look, Max," I said, then glanced behind me. Thirty-plus faces looked at me expectantly. "Fine, but we'll talk about this later, okay? You know I worry about you."

"I don't need a big sister anymore, either, D," she said.

"Maybe I still need to be one," I mumbled, then straightened my shoulders. "Okay, triage. Let's take the eldest and anybody who looks frail first. Also," I said, glancing around again, "that woman who's breastfeeding in the corner. I don't want to make a woman and her baby wait around for hours."

I swung around to face the room, then stopped and looked back at Max. "We need to move to compel in Charlie Deaver's case first thing this morning. I emailed it to you last night after I showered the chocolate milk out of my hair."

"What?"

"Never mind. Long story, and I shouldn't eat my 'basketti' after my dessert. Tell you later." I grinned and faced my new clients. "Welcome, everybody. I'm so glad you're here, and I hope we can help every one of you. My name is December Vaughn, and I'm a lawyer."

Why did I ever want to be a lawyer again?

---