Briley has just stepped out of the pink-marble ladies’ room at Franklin, Watson, Smyth & Morton when another associate nearly runs her over in the hallway. Jim Myers is carrying a stack of files under one arm and focused on the paper clutched in his free hand.
“Hey!” After stepping out of Jim’s way, she peers over his shoulder and spies the Chicago Tribune’s online masthead on a printout. “What’s so interesting?”
He looks up, his eyes flashing when he recognizes her. “Did you hear the latest about the Tomassi case?”
“What?”
“They just arrested the wife.”
“Wow.” She crosses her arms and leans one shoulder against the wall. “Any word on the cause of death?”
“Nothing in this update, but we’ll probably be among the first to hear.”
“How’s that?”
“Didn’t you know? Tomassi keeps a couple of our real estate attorneys on retainer, and the firm represented the family in a civil suit back in ’96. They won three-point-something million in damages.”
Briley whistles. “What kind of case was it?”
“Libel, I think. Anyway, the Chicago papers learned not to publish rumors about the Tomassis.”
She laughs. “You make them sound like the Mafia.”
Jim glances right and left, then leans closer. “I wouldn’t say that too loudly, if you know what I mean. The family business is respectable, but I wouldn’t want to dig into their books. What we don’t know can’t hurt us.”
“Oh, come on.”
“Watch what you say. And by the way, these files are for you.”
Briley stares, dumbfounded, as he dumps his burden into her arms.
“The case involves three teenage girls charged with battering a classmate over tickets to an Oprah taping. Franklin thinks you should be first chair on this one.”
“Why, because I have breasts?”
“Maybe because you used to be a teenage girl. All I know is, he wants you to look over the files and talk to the state’s attorney. See if you can plead them out as a group.”
She makes a moue. “What if I don’t want to deal with an overblown catfight?”
He grins. “Come on, Counselor, remember your oath to help the defenseless and oppressed.”
With that sorry jibe ringing in her ears, Briley carries the files to her office and dumps them on her desk. Three years of practicing law in a respected firm has brought her—what? A good income, sure. Steady work. Approving smiles from the woman next door. But what good has she actually accomplished?
She used to dream about making a difference in the world, but three years of dealing with criminal defendants has taught her that the practice of law would be far more enjoyable if she didn’t have to deal with so many guilty people.
Her father dealt with people every day, and he loved his work until the day he died. She’d thought she could honor his altruistic example by practicing law, but the unending parade of remorseless clients has dulled her idealism.
Serving others is a noble goal, but a lawyer who hopes to make a real difference is doomed to eternal frustration.
Because Dax Lightner is having lunch with a producer, Timothy is free for a couple of hours. Delighted by this unexpected opportunity, Briley slips into a restaurant booth and smiles across the table. “It’s so good to see you in daylight,” she says, reaching out to catch Timothy’s hands. “I can’t believe I have you all to myself for an entire meal.”
“Or at least until Dax and his producer have a falling-out,” Timothy says, grinning. “My man’s been a bit touchy the past few days.”
“Is he really as bad as all that?” Briley struggles to keep any trace of annoyance from her voice. “I mean, he’s been out of rehab for what, three weeks now?”
“Which only means the confidence rush is over.” Timothy’s eyes darken as they search her face. “And you know addicts. It only takes an instant for someone to slip.”
“You’ve never slipped.”
“I have a good support system. But even here in Chicago, Dax is surrounded by people who’d do anything he asks, including getting him another fix.” Timothy shakes his head, sending a sheaf of dark blond hair into his eyes. “I seem to be the only person willing to tell him no.”
“You’re paid to tell him no. And I wish the man would develop a little backbone, because it’s awful not being able to see you as much as I want to.”
“Come on, give the guy a break.” Timothy squeezes her fingers, then releases her hands. “You should meet him sometime. I think you’d like him.”
Briley snorts. “Like I’d have anything to say to a British movie star. I don’t hang out with people who grace the cover of…well, People.”
“Not everyone in rehab is an A-lister. Most are just like me and you.” His mouth twists in a crooked smile. “You know what they say—if you want to bake a cake, you have to crack a few eggs.”
“Who on earth says that?”
“I do. I made it up. I’m trying to say that if you want to make a difference, sometimes you have to make a mess.” When she doesn’t respond, he smiles and spreads his hands. “You know—when you crack the egg, the runny part and the yolk splash all over the counter.”
Briley shakes her head. “Remind me never to bake a cake with you.”
Timothy picks up the menu and scans the front cover. As the waitress at the next table scrapes food from a plate, he lifts his gaze: “What’s good at this place?”
Ignoring his obvious attempt to change the subject, Briley lowers her voice. “I know you want to help your client. I love that you’re the kind of man who wants to help others. But honestly, Tim, how long are you going to take these gigs? When you’re working, we can only see each other in bits and snatches.”
He drops his menu. “I thought you’d understand. You work long hours.”
“But they’re dependable.”
“Surely you have legal emergencies.”
“A well-run case never results in dire situations. One thing I learned from my father’s example is that you can’t let people eat you alive. You have to set boundaries. You have to compartmentalize. Otherwise people will take and take until you have nothing else to give.”
Compassion struggles with humor on his strong face as he studies her. “Do you remember the first time we met?”
“Of course.”
“If I’d been mingling at that benefit on the front side of rehab, I don’t think you’d have looked at me twice. I wasn’t worth much when I was using, and I didn’t believe in anything but my next fix. But once I got clean, I was able to find myself again. And then I found you…and you’re one of the reasons I’ve been able to stay clean.”
Briley blinks away a sudden rush of tears. Timothy is always waylaying her with some sweet declaration when she has something important to discuss.
“You’re not clean because of me,” she insists. “You’re clean because you’re a strong person. You have character.”
“So do you.” He picks up his menu again. “So does Dax, though he doesn’t realize it yet. The man needs someone in his life who cares more about his future than his next movie.”
Briley props her elbow on the table and drops her chin into her hand, realizing that the conversation has hit a dead end. Timothy is determined to save the addicts of Chicago, one soul at a time, and there’s nothing she can do about it. At least not during lunch.
She scans her menu. “I was going to suggest we have a picnic this weekend, but I might have to interview a witness on Saturday.”
“See? You work as much as I do.”
“But I’m doing it under protest. You seem to enjoy spending time away from me.”
“I’ve heard enough.” He shoves the menu aside as he leans toward her, his eyes bright with frustrated affection. “I adore you, Briley Lester, but sometimes I wonder if we’re going to make it. You’re brilliant and you’re beautiful, but you’re also infuriating.”
She leans forward until her lips are almost touching his. “I’m not beautiful, but thank you. And we are going to make it, because in at least one way we’re very much alike—neither of us likes to quit.”