Page 65 of A Dead End Wedding

"Now, you wouldn't want to leave an old man helpless against the muggers, would you?" He gave me the puppy-dog eyes look, which might have worked if he hadn't threatened my life a few minutes earlier.

"I think it's the muggers who would be helpless against you." I muttered, still holding out my hand.

He grumbled, but pulled the pepper spray out of his pocket and handed it over. I tried not to think about what other instruments of death might have been concealed in his pants. The old pervert.

"Max, get in here." I yelled.

Max, who'd been lurking right outside the door — if a woman dressed up like a matador can ever lurk — popped her head in the doorway.

"You bellowed?"

"Mr. Ellison is going to be working for us for a while. I have to get ready for my ten o'clock, so please get his information for the employment forms and figure out something for him to do."

Max stared at me in disbelief. "You're kidding, right? What'shegoing to do?"

"Hey, I'm right here, chickie. What the heck are you wearing, anyway?" My new employee drew himself up to his full nearly five and a half feet of height and squinted down at Max. Visually speaking, it was an interesting contrast. Matador meets shuffleboard chic.

I sighed. Hugely. "Mr. Ellison, what did you do before you retired? I assume youareretired?"

He puffed up his tiny chest. "You bet. Forty-five years as a school-bus driver. Best safety record in the Claymore County school district."

I dropped my head in my hands as Max led my new employee out to the reception area. School-bus driver. Well,that'ssurely an under-used talent in a law firm. I tried not to think aboutwhat adding another person to the payroll was going to do to my rapidly vanishing bank account. I'd shoveled everything in my 401K plus the small inheritance from Dad into the new practice. I'd traded in my sweet Mercedes convertible for an ugly but practical Honda and some cash. I was even living in my aunt and uncle's rental house for no rent, like some kind of deadbeat college kid.

One of my ex's pet phrases for me flashed through my mind.You jump without bothering to figure out where you're going to land, December. You'resuicidally optimistic.

I refused to admit he might have had a tiny point.

Iwould have pulled out the file on my ten o'clock, but I didn't have one. He was a potential new client, referred by my Aunt Celia. So I shuffled papers around, pulled out a clean legal pad, and practiced looking like a seasoned personal injury attorney, trying to ignore the crashing noises coming from my file room.

"I'd go with the pose where you lean forward with your hands clasped on the desk, honey. You look all Lawyer Barbie that way."

I jerked in surprise, then glared at Max. "Do you need something, or are you just here to mock me?" I'd been hearing "Barbie" since I turned about fourteen. The long legs, long blonde hair, and blue eyes made me an easy target. Sometimes I thought about dying it brown, just for a change, but I never did.

Maybe red?

"Well, Mr. Deaver is here for your appointment, but mocking is good, too." She grinned at me when I gave her my Reserved for Opposing Counsel Death Glare.

"Save your death glares, girlfriend. You forget I've known you since high school, when you were the annoying dweeb who sat in front and raised her hand all the time." She had a little dimple when she smiled. It'd been her pageant circle secret weapon.

Then the smile faded. "Plus, you owe me for putting up with your new hire. That . . . mean man called me chickie. He does it again, and I'm going to help our nation's Social Security deficit by one paycheck." Max being scary wasn't actually scary. It was mostly just cute. But I could never tell herthat. It would hurt her feelings.

"Quit with the scowl. You'll scare the clients. Plus, I stopped doing the hand-raising thing in tenth grade. You better . . . Oh, forget it. Please show Mr. Deaver in." I shook my head. So far, if my first two employees were an indicator of the future success of my firm, I was in big trouble.

My dad's words rang in my ears.Great at book learning, but no common sense. Even two years after he'd died of the heart attack he'd spent forty years chasing, Dad liked to pop in occasionally and poke at my self esteem.

Putting aside for the moment the fact that I was arguing with a dead guy, I poked back.Ha! Takes more than book learning to run your own law firm, doesn't it?

As he always had in life, Dad had the last word.Three weeks isn't exactly a track record.

I shook off my burgeoning brain meltdown and stood up to greet my new client, as Max showed him in to my office. "Mr. Deaver, I'm December Vaughn. How are you? Can we get you some coffee or water?"

"BDC Pharmaceuticals killed my wife, and I want them to pay."

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Okay, no coffee, then.

I stepped forward to shake Charlie's hand, then dropped into one of the guest chairs and gestured for him to take the other. Charlie Deaver was a young guy, good looking, probably only twenty-four or five, with dark hair and eyes. He was dressed neatly in khaki pants and a white shirt, and he was twisting a Florida Gators ball cap in his hands.

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