Pamela Callow - Damaged

Friday, April 27, 5:00 p.m.

S pringtime in Halifax was not known for its warmth or sunshine. Nor was Lyons McGrath Barrett, one of Halifaxs premiere boutique law firms.

Kate Lange allowed herself a one-minute break and gazed out her window on LMBs associate floor. Drizzle specked the glass, obscuring the line of cars snaking along Lower Water Street. Friday night rush hour was just beginning.

She turned back to her deskan elegant mahogany-finished number with matching credenzaforcing her eyes to focus on the separation agreement spread out in front of her. The fourth this week. The twenty-seventh since shed joined LMB. She grimaced. The irony was not lost on her. Shed left Marshall & Associates because of a preponderance of family law clients.

A rapid knock on the door broke through her thoughts.

Her pulse jumped in her throat.

It was Randall Barrett. Himself.

Shed never met LMBs managing partner before. Hed been in absentia during her job interview. She suspected it was because she was the former fiance of Ethan Drake, the criminal investigations detective he believed sent an innocent man to jail. Two years before, Ethan investigated Randall Barretts old soccer buddy, Dr. Don Clarkson, for the death of a critically ill patient. The media buzzed with the story: Had Dr. Clarkson misjudged the amount of morphine the patient could handle or had he perpetrated a mercy killing? The autopsy was inconclusive. The case hinged on the testimony of the patients son, who claimed Dr. Clarkson had assured him his mother would not suffer any longer. Randall Barrett believed Ethan unduly influenced the teen.

Don Clarkson bankrupted himself with his defense but was convicted nonetheless. Randall Barrett stepped in to handle his appeal. But despite Randalls attempts to convince the Court of Appeal that Ethan had thrown the investigation, the appellate judges upheld the conviction two to one. Neither Randall Barrett nor Ethan Drake had gotten over it. The hostility ran deep.

Kate stood, smoothing her skirt. Hello, Mr. Barrett. She gave him a brilliant smile, grateful she wore the new suit shed bought with her last paycheck. It had been a toss-up between replacing her old articling clothes or the old kitchen piping, but the lure of the Jackie Ostyle suit had been too strong. When she heard the pipes groaning that night, shed regretted her extravagance. But she couldnt bring herself to take the sleek cream suit back and ask for a refund. Shed learned a long time ago that there were no returns in life.

Now, eyeing Randall Barretts exquisitely tailored gray suit, she was glad shed kept it. He, of all people, needed to see that she belonged in this office, that her name would have a place on LMB letterhead. Because it didnt, not yet. Not for another two months.

And only if she cut it.

He smiled, showing off his strong, white teeth. It did nothing to ease her jitters. Please, call me Randall. He raised a brow. May I come in?

She straightened. Flushed. Of course.

He walked toward her, filling her office with plain, old-fashioned male virility. Geez. Now I know why all the single women in the firm get flustered when his name is spoken.

He stopped in front of her desk. A manila folder was tucked under his arm. In her heels Kate was almost as tall as he was, but his charisma gave him the benefit of a few extra inches. His brilliant blue eyes drilled into hers.

She forced herself to hold his gaze. It gave nothing away. Which was what she supposed she could expect. But it still rankled. Known for his keen analyses and eloquent arguments, she could learn a lot from him. If he gave her a chance.

His eyes sharpened, then drifted away, lazily scanning the piles of folders on her desk, resting for a moment on the stack of Reports of Family Law. You busy?

Now there was a loaded question. She had no doubt that hed used that casual inquiry on every new associate who entered the firms hallowed corridors. If she said no, shed surely go to billable hours hell. And if she said yes, shed sound churlish to LMBs top dog.

Can never be too busy, she said.

A blond brow lifted. Good. He tossed the file on her desk. Youve got a new client. Shes waiting for you in the reception area.

Hed done this on purpose, wanted to test her. She flipped open the file, knowing Randall Barrett wouldnt be giving her what she wantedthat wasnt his styleyet unable to control the small hitch of hope that maybe, finally, shed be able to show him that she was capable of so much more than the family law cases that had been thrown her way.

The file contained only one sheet of paper. Four words had been hastily scrawled in black pen: Marian MacAdam. Custody matter.

The sight of it filled her with disappointment, resignation. Resentment, even. But not guilt. That would come later.

She closed the folder carefully. The writing was on the wall. Randall had her firmly slotted in the family law group. All the platitudes her mentor, John Lyons, had given her about the probationary period being a time to assess her strengths and see where she best fit in the firm were bull. She hadnt received a single litigation, insurance or corporate case since shed been here. Just family law. The pink ghetto.

She met Randalls gaze. His was cool. Amused, even. Damn him. He knew she was pissed off. And he liked it.

She circled her desk, crossing her arms. I have only two months left of my probationary period.

A small smile curved his mouth. He turned and held open her office door, waiting for her to collect her latest family law client.

His lack of response was specifically designed to intimidate her, she knew. She strode through the doorway, knowing he was too much of a gentleman to walk in front of her, no matter his natural inclination to be one step ahead. Over her shoulder, she said, When John Lyons recruited me the slight lifting of Randalls brows showed he hadnt missed her meaning he told me Id be working in the civil litigation group. She began walking down the hallway.