Love’s Objections Overruled

By Barbara Butterfield

Arrogant, good-looking attorney Jeffrey Chandler pursues attractive feminist attorney Meghan Moore. The battle of wits is on, and egos clash as Chandler and Moore face off on the rocky road to love, ably assisted by Meghan’s octogenarian aunt.

They soon find themselves treading a downward spiral into the corrupt and delusional dealings of someone who desires control over one of them. In the midst of the turmoil, another aspect enters the picture, one that can have eternal consequences. Question is, will they live long enough to not only discover the way, the truth, and the life but find love as well?

• Language: English
• Publisher: Xlibris US
• Release date: Dec 5, 2018
• ISBN: 9781984570376

Barbara Butterfield

Ms. Butterfield is California born and raised, and currently resides in a suburb of Phoenix, Arizona…where she lives with her favorite feline friend: Baybee. Integrity, suspense, camaraderie, romance, and personal growth are all values that play a vital role in her novels. More importantly, the gospel and spiritual growth are also an aspect of life into which she delves. Ms. Butterfield has written for many years; her first novel having been penned at the age of fourteen. She also studied writing and journalism, becoming the Editor-In-Chief of the school’s newspaper. She is currently working on her 60th novel.

Book preview

Chapter 1

Jeffrey Chandler parked his metallic burgundy, Hyperion X1-9 sports car in the parking lot of the Oakwood Valley Municipal Courthouse.

Grabbing his briefcase off the passenger-side bucket seat, he swung his door open, without first looking. Immediately he heard the easily identifiable noise of tires squealing. Painfully, his head jerked upward, startled by the sharp sound.

Attorney Meghan Moore saw the cars door swing outward unexpectedly just as she was turning her late model, fire engine red, Marseille 500-series compact sports car into the parking space alongside Jeffrey’s X1-9. Her heel-clad foot instantly stomped on the brake to avoid hitting the opened car door, which now obstructed her path, effectively bringing the flashy red vehicle to an abrupt, nose-down stop.

Idiot, Meghan muttered under her breath all the while managing a polite…though definitely tight-lipped smile at the man.

Jeffrey, realizing what he had done, pulled his door shut and graciously gestured for her to pull on into the parking space, which she did.

Meghan threw her car into Park, and avoiding Mr. Chandler’s prying eyes, she gathered her belongings in preparation for her day in court. By the time Meghan had unlatched her car door and began to swing it open, he was there.

Much to Ms. Moore’s surprise, a hand took hold of her door and pulled it the rest of the way open.

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Glancing upward, her distracted…and decidedly irritated dark brown eyes, focused on soft brown orbs that sparkled with a confident, yet impish delight. A roguish grin played about Jeff’s lips as he smiled down at her. His wrist rested comfortably atop the Marseilles wide-open door, allowing his hand to hang casually downward.

Good morning! He greeted as if they were old friends who had just happened to run into each other at lunch.

That remains to be seen, Meghan irritably replied as she exited the vehicle. Appropriately so, Jeff duly took mental note of one long, shapely leg as it extended from the car. But even more so, he noticed just how much of that leg he could see.

Skirts a little short, don’t you think? He queried, meeting her disinterested gaze with a charming leer.

Pants a little tight, don’t you think? Meghan readily countered as she stood up, and flipping his hand off of her car door, she shut it tight, and locked it.

Jeffrey Chandler, he charmingly stated as he extended a hand to her in greeting. Ignoring the out thrust hand, Meghan reaffirmed her grasp on the stack of files that she was holding in addition to her briefcase.

"You know, Mr. Chandler, in the future you may want to actually look before you open your car door."

My mind was elsewhere, Jeff casually explained, adding a shrug for good measure.

That argument would never hold up in court, she advised, and turning around Meghan started to walk off.

I’m in court all the time anyway! Jeff hollered after her.

Janitor? Meghan flippantly tossed over her shoulder.

Not quite. I’m an attorney, Jeff corrected as he jogged to catch up with her.

Bragging, or complaining? She asked without slowing her pace, or looking at him.

Uh…bragging, I guess, he good-naturedly quipped.

It figures, Meghan sighed with a roll of her eyes.

What’s that supposed to mean?

Oh, nothing. You just look like one of the many whose sole goal in life is the rape of our legal system, while you more than adequately pad your silk-lined pockets.

"I’ve never raped anyone, but I have scored a few in my lifetime. But every single time it was consensual," Jeff explained, watching closely for her reaction.

There was none.

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I bet you’d make a great poker player, he added quickly.

Why’s that? Meghan queried as she turned sideways ever so slightly to be able to get her files and briefcase between yet another row of tightly parked cars.

Because nothing shows…your expression is completely devoid of personality. You aren’t a zombie or anything like that, are you? He asked, his brown eyes narrowing on her form ever so slightly.

I’m an attorney, if you must know.

A female attorney…yep, a zombie, Jeff mused.

"What’s that supposed to mean?!" Meghan challenged hotly.

Oh, nothing, Jeff shrugged. "It’s just that most of the female attorney’s I’ve come into contact with spend way too much time studying their briefs, and not nearly enough time playing inside of them," he managed to explain while still keeping pace with her.

Crap, you are such a moron, Meghan drolly exclaimed. What firm do you work for?

Why?

I want to make sure I never apply for work there.

Hanson, Babcock and Arbuckle, Jeff proudly replied, as he arrogantly straightened his tie. I didn’t mean anything by what I said, I just thought that you were probably some attorney’s secretary, or something.

Why? Meghan asked pointedly, and she stopped so suddenly that her action caused him to run into her backside. Whirling about, her 5’6 stature confronted his 6’2 frame. "Because I’m a woman? So therefore I can’t possibly be an attorney? But only a secretary?!"

Hey now, don’t let a secretary hear you say that! Jeff cautioned, waggling a finger at her.

"I know secretary’s work hard, well…at least mine does."

So does mine, Jeff defended, and she just rolled her eyes at him. What was the eye roll for?

Oh, nothing, Meghan replied, and turning back around she continued on her quick-paced trek toward the county courthouse building.

Aha! Jeff exclaimed suddenly as he pointed an accusing index finger at her back. "You assumed that because I said my secretary works hard that she works hard in my bed, am I right?!"

No, Meghan replied simply.

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I’m not right?! Jeff asked, his brows knitting together into a perplexed frown.

"Shocked, eh counselor? To not be right?" Meghan laughed right out loud.

Then what did you mean by your statement?

Just that you hardly come across as serious legal counsel. Your charcoal gray pinstripe Christiansted suit is nice, but that tie! You’re not married, are you, and her comment was much more of a statement, than a query.

No. Why?

Because no self-respecting wife would allow her husband outside of the house in the morning wearing something that looks like some radioactive alien being vomited on your tie!

It wasn’t vomit, Jeff defended, as he lovingly stroked at the length of his tie. It was diarrhea and the poor thing was very ill.

You’re disgusting, replied Meghan as she jogged up the wide cement steps toward the courthouse doors.

"Me? I’m disgusting? You’re the one who brought up the vomit!"

You’re sick!

No, I’m not…but the alien was, Jeff offered as he pulled the door open for her allowing her entrance ahead of him.

Thanks, offered Meghan as she briskly brushed past him.

You’re welcome, Jeff replied as he continued to follow her. Anything else?

Yeah…loafers? Really? With those little tassels? This is the twenty-first century, babe. Don’t you think it’s about time you crawled out of the ‘70’s?

Me?! What about you?! Jeff hotly countered.

What’s wrong with me?! Meghan shrieked, her voice a full octave higher than it should have been.

Oh honey, there isn’t enough time to enumerate, Jeff chuckled.

Give it a shot, big boy, Meghan blatantly challenged him.

First of all, the skirts a little short, don’t you think?

Not at all! Three inches above the knee…

Four, he interrupted.

"Four is acceptable. Anything else?" She added, mimicking his earlier query.

Yeah, that double-breasted blazer? How ambassador’ish, he chided.

It’s a nice look, it’s cultured and tailored, Meghan defended herself as they walked side-by-side down the long, wide corridor, the heels of their highly-polished shoes clicking in time on the linoleum flooring.

Yeah, for a tour guide at Disneyland maybe.

Are you quite through? Meghan asked, turning perturbed eyes on him as she punched the button for the third floor on the elevator’s keypad.

Pumps? He asked skeptically, casting a dubious glance down at her feet.

Forgive me, but I’m going to be on my feet all day long, I felt I should leave the stilettos at home!

"You own a pair?! Jeff asked, his eyebrows rising perceptibly. Meghan turned a contemptuous glare on him as she was barely able to maintain her patience. Maybe you shouldn’t be on your feet so much, ever get off your feet? Like…perhaps, after work…say, after dinner maybe?"

You’re disgusting!

Why? What did I say?! Jeff exclaimed, feigning abject innocence.

It’s what you alluded to that was disgusting.

What?! Jeff challenged as the elevator door slid open with a near-silent whoosh and they both entered the car.

Sex.

Ha! There you’re wrong, you dirty-minded little girl! I was simply meaning…do you ever get off your feet after work, you know, when you can rest.

Your body language and eyes conveyed a completely different meaning, counselor, Meghan surmised as she hugged the files more closely to her chest. And your tone of voice clearly cheapened what is meant to be a sacred act exclusively between two married individuals, one male and one female.

Circumstantial, my dear Miss…I don’t believe I caught your name?

That’s correct, you didn’t.

Over-ruled, Jeff announced.

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Would you please go play judge on someone else’s playground?

"But I like your playground," Jeff added, and tilting his head sideways, he looked her over from head to toe just as the elevator door opened. In her impatience, Meghan almost flew into the corridor…exiting the elevator with Jeff right behind her.

Look, Meghan began as if in anguish as she suddenly turned to face him. You don’t need to know my name, it’s not important…nor necessary, since quite likely we’ll never see each other again, but just for the record I’d like to say one thing.

I’m all ears, but hurry up, looking at you is making these darn pants fit even tighter, Jeff commented as he slightly shifted his hips from side-to-side as if trying to get more comfortable.

You are absolutely, positively disgusting! Meghan sneered, eyeing his moving hips.

Yeah I know, I believe we covered that already, Miss…

Nothing!

Miss Nothing, interesting name…were your parents foreign born?

Were your parents first cousins? Meghan spat irately.

Oh, low blow, Jeff mused. Which reminds me…

Look, the next time you park your car, why don’t you just look before you open the damn door, okay?! Someone could’ve gotten hurt.

"Someone did get hurt," Jeff sadly corrected her.

Who?! She challenged.

Will you go out with me tonight?

Not on your life!

See? I’m hurt, he replied, a distinct pout touching his features.

Oh, why don’t you go play with yourself! Meghan replied in frustration and then shoved her way through the ladies room door.

I’m going to have to! Jeff shouted after her as the door closed slowly on silent hinges. Especially since you won’t go out with me tonight! At least he had the satisfaction of hearing her slam a stall door closed before the exterior door shut completely. Grinning, Jeff jammed his right hand into the pocket of his dress slacks and strode off down the corridor.

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Chapter 2

Jeff pulled open the right-hand side of the over-sized and ornately carved courtroom doors entering the silent, hallowed chamber. Windowless, the large room was illuminated with bright fluorescent lighting. Now, this served to facilitate the reading of small print, but certainly didn’t do anything to remedy the many headaches that either started…or ended in the place.

The furniture was sparse; a couple dozen wooden chairs resided in neat rows to either side of the aisle and of course there were the two requisite attorney’s tables and chairs. The jury’s box resided off to the right side, along with the judge’s bench and the bailiff’s workstation. All were highly polished and still smelling like new as the courthouses construction had only recently been completed.

The darkly paneled walls and matching wainscoting lent an aura of distinguished power to the room. Seemingly as if an omniscient being presided over the proceedings that convened in these auspicious chambers. However, at the moment the ‘being’ was in his chambers blowing his nose. Judge Frederick Horne was sick…and tired.

Two more days till vacation, he kept muttering to himself as he tossed the soiled tissue into a trashcan that resided under his desk. Missing the canister by three inches, the tissue hit the floor and there it stayed.

Never could make a decent hook shot, mumbled the judge as he shuffled through the files, which lay on the desk before him. In two days I’ll be in Tahiti laying on the beach with a woman in both arms, even if I have to pay them! He mumbled irritably as file-after-file was glanced at, and then set aside.

Myers vs. Charity, Jackson vs. Tyler, Pemberton vs. the State…how’d that get in here? Judge Horne muttered out loud as a meager frown crossed his forehead, and then he just simply tossed that case aside too.

Fields vs. Warren Oil, Stanford vs. UCLA, ha! He guffawed right out loud, knowing that his clerk had inserted that fake file into the stack of records in order to bring a smile to his face and help brighten his day. Larson vs. Evans…hmm, that’s a new one, he muttered as he flipped open the front cover of the case. Scanning the paperwork he let out an audible sigh. Leaning forward he braced an elbow on the desk, letting his fingers rub wearily at his feverish brow.

Why Lord, did I have to draw a case with Jeffrey Chandler prosecuting this morning? Why? What have I done to tick you off? The judge lamented as he opened a bottle of aspirin and quickly downed another two tablets.

And Meghan Moore, defending. Oh my Heavens, God just take me now. Jeffrey Chuckles and Meghan TooMuchMoore, he mused, using the lawyer’s in-house nicknames. Okay, I can handle these two. I’m the judge, I have power over them. I’ll just keep reminding myself of that. I foresee a long morning, making absolutely no headway in the case and charging both of these people repeatedly with contempt. Oh well, it’s a decent way to bring some revenue into the court, he murmured, and sneezing again, he relaxed back into his chair wishing fervently that the day was over with.

Chapter 3

Pushing his way through the swinging gate that, within minutes, would separate the legal combatants from the audience in attendance, Jeff placed his briefcase upon the table and took a seat. Opening the leather attaché, he started to review his case, but then stuffed the paperwork back into the briefcase. With a decidedly bored sigh, Jeff lowered the lid, latching it securely and sat back in his chair.

No use in reviewing it, it’s too simple, cut and dried. No decent judge would even agree to hear such an asinine case, Jeff chuckled as he straightened the cuffs of his sleeves, making sure the gold, inlaid onyx cufflinks were firmly attached. There would be no surprises in this one.

‘Sad really,’ Jeff thought to himself. He had noticed recently that he’d been becoming a bit bored with the cases he was representing. What he needed, or so he thought, was something that he could really sink his teeth into, something with a lot to be gained from it, mainly in the areas of notoriety, good press for him, and a tidy sum to add to his checkbook balance.

* * *

Before too much longer the doors opened again as spectators, having been funneled through the security system, were now allowed entrance into the courtroom. Quiet conversations brought the noise level up to a subdued hum, and the doors opened again as Jeff noticed his client enter the room. Looking somewhat ill at ease, John Larson made his way over to where his attorney sat and took a seat right next to him.

How are you this morning, Mr. Larson? Jeff asked cordially as he shook the man’s offered hand.

Good, I guess. I’m a little nervous about being here.

Nothing to be concerned about Mr. Larson, replied Jeff, relaxing back into his chair hoping that his client would notice the obvious body language and relax. You were wronged, we have proof, they’ll pay, and pay well, case closed, Jeff added with a blasé tone of voice.

I wish I had your confidence, Mr. Chandler, replied his edgy client. I heard about the attorney for the defense. I hear she’s pretty rabid, he added keeping his voice lowered as he leaned closer toward Jeff.

Meghan Moore? Jeff chortled. Oh please, not to worry. I’ve handled her before, commented Jeff realizing that his statement came complete with two entirely different meanings.

You have? In court? Mr. Larson asked, seeking solace from his counselor.

Yes…and no, Jeff grinned in reply. Mr. Larson, do not be concerned about Ms. Moore, I know her, I’ve worked with her, the overly confident lawyer lied. Trust me, I know the right buttons to push, he added, and glancing away he allowed his thoughts to roam, inspired by his own words. In his mind, both buttons had been attached to a lovely, light blue silk blouse, and had come unfastened far too easy. Though his momentary reverie had nothing to do with Ms. Moore, but were from a brief…though memorable, liaison of a few nights prior.

Well, I’m glad you’ve had experience with her, the worrisome client commented, and his huge sigh of relief he expelled just then did quite a job of puffing out his ruddy-hued cheeks.

Consequently, Jeff was more than a bit surprised when the door opened and the attorney for the defense strode determinedly into the courtroom.

Attorney Meghan Moore was no less shocked to see the prosecuting attorney was none other than Jeffrey ‘I’ll Open My Car Door When I Want To’ Chandler. Espying her erstwhile colleague, Meghan’s strident pace slowed perceptibly and she stared slack-jawed at Jeff for the briefest of moments before regaining her thoughts.

Pushing her way through the swinging gate, Meghan totally ignored Mr. Chandler and took a seat at her sides’ table. Opening her burgundy leather attaché case, Meghan quickly began perusing the paperwork in preparation for defending her client to the best of her ability. Jeff stared at her as Mr. Larson leaned forward again.

"Is that the bitch? He asked, over Jeff’s shoulder. She doesn’t look the part."

Looks, Mr. Larson, can be deceiving, mumbled Jeff without bothering to turn toward his client. I’ll be right back, Jeff tossed over his shoulder and standing, he straightened his tie and jacket before walking the short distance to where Meghan sat studying her briefs.

Ms. Moore, I presume, Jeff greeted her suspiciously.

Yes? May I help you with something? Or are you lost? And how did you find out my name? Meghan queried, eying him closely.

I have my ways, Jeff replied, with a wink.

I’ll just bet you do, she countered, her right eyebrow raised skeptically upon her forehead.

It’s quite simple, actually…my dear Mizzz Moore, your name is listed on the docket. You know, court paperwork? I’m sure you’re familiar with it. Deciding to not rise to his bait, Meghan just turned her attention back to the contents of her briefcase.

What’re you doing here? Jeff persisted. I was supposed to be up against Melanie Anderson this morning.

"Ms. Anderson, or I should say, Missus Anderson, went into labor in the wee small hours of the morning and couldn’t be here today," Meghan explained, without bothering to glance up at her colleague.

It figures that she’d fall back on the sex card to escape meeting with me here today, mused Jeff, casting a sidelong glance distractedly toward the judges’ bench as he quickly worked, mentally realigning his attack strategy.

Sex card? The woman was almost ten months pregnant! Meghan exclaimed.

And she couldn’t wait just one more day? Jeff arrogantly questioned. Oh, pulllease.

Look, if that’s all you want, why don’t you go ask the bailiff if he could get you a nice, happy ice cream cone, okay little boy? Meghan suggested, assuming a baby-talk sort of tone to her voice.

I was just surprised to see you, that’s all. I mean, what were the odds…

Sorry to disappoint you, counselor, remarked Meghan, still without deigning to glance up at him.

We’ve just met, worried Jeff. I had great hopes for our relationship, which won’t be helped at all now by what’s going to happen here this morning.

Why? Planning another rape of society?

You sure seem to have rape on your mind a lot, offered Jeff. How often do you have sex? Was it any good? And did he give it to you just the way you…wanted it?

Would you get the hell away from me, replied Meghan, and though her outward appearance remained calm as she continued to leaf through her documents, Jeff could easily see her jaw muscles working as the tension mounted.

You really should try to relax more. So much pent up tension isn’t good in a woman. There are societally acceptable methods of coping with…and releasing, such tension that don’t involve rape, if…that is, you’d be interested in such things.

Don’t you think you should be studying your briefs, counselor?

Naw, I’m having too much fun studying yours, Jeff retorted, and Meghan slammed her paperwork, face down, onto the table. "I didn’t mean those briefs," he winked, and then sauntered back over to his table where he sat back down, contented that he’d sufficiently rattled her cage enough to throw off her performance this morning.

* * *

He didn’t do what he was supposed to do! Jeff shouted, only an hour into the cases hearing as he slapped the palm of his hand down upon the smooth, cool surface of the oak table that he stood behind.

Yes, counselor, he did! Meghan shot back at him, remaining seated and more firmly in control of the situation than Jeff appeared to be.

Mr. Evans did not! Jeff exploded again, and every pair of eyes in the courtroom automatically bounced back to Meghan’s side of the room as if watching a legal tennis match. He did not repair my client’s big screen TV!

My client maintains that the unit in question was working when it left his repair shop, Meghan countered sharply, trying desperately to maintain an outward appearance of professional decorum even though on the inside she was getting an acid stomach from butting heads with Mr. Chandler. He has the repair shops tracking sheet, which details every step of the repair and verifies the final testing of the unit. Which, by the way, demonstrates that the unit was working at the time it was sent out on delivery!

Well, it didn’t work by the time it arrived at Mr. Larson’s place of residence! Jeff sarcastically countered.

That…counselor, is not my clients problem.

Jeff took a deep breath, momentarily turning back toward his client who remained seated next to him. He took a minute to think even as the bailiff walked soundlessly forward, handing his client a hand-written message. Moments later, having read the brief note, nervous fingers plucked at Jeff’s coat sleeve.

Mr. Chandler, he uttered, keeping his voice hushed.

What?! Jeff snapped, a bit more harshly than he would have wanted.

We have a problem.

What is it? Jeff asked, sitting back down.

My wife.

That’s a whole ‘nother issue, Mr. Larson, Jeff muttered, sighing wearily.

No, I mean she tried the TV and it works now.

What?! Jeff snapped, and then rapidly ducked his head, surprised at his sudden outburst.

She found Herman stuffed into the DVD player. Once she got him out, it worked just fine.

Herman? Jeff asked, his eyes narrowing ominously on his client, who seemed to shrink back into his chair.

Dead…goldfish, the client hesitantly replied, adding a shrug for good measure.

I can just see the newly re-printed owner’s manual from the manufacturer, ‘DVD not for use with dead sea life’, whispered Jeff.

I think we better call this off, suggested the client.

Ya think? Jeff caustically replied, and wearily rolling his eyes as he stood up, he took a long, deep breath before speaking. Your honor, he calmly began, and all eyes were suddenly on him, and Jeff actually thought he felt the temperature rising in the courtroom just then. Twisting his neck just so, and in doing so he adjusted his collar, which seemed to be getting tighter with every passing moment, Jeff took another deep breath. I’m afraid sir, that an error has been made.

An error? Queried the judge as his right eyebrow rose ominously upward on his forehead.

Yes sir, it would seem that my client, Mr. Larson, has just received word that the television in question is now working…quite well in fact.

It is? Asked the judge glancing at Jeff’s client, who just hung his head sorrowfully. Well, if it’s in operating order and everyone seems content with that… and he paused while glancing at both attorneys in a silent, yet hopeful request of ‘speak now, or forever hold your peace’.

I have nothing further to add, your honor, Jeff somberly replied.

My client is satisfied with the outcome, sir, answered Meghan, nodding to the judge.

Well then…case dismissed, Judge Horne announced, and the ornately-carved walnut gavel smacked sharply down upon its pedestal announcing the end of the trial. Court will reconvene in twenty minutes, he announced. I would encourage those whose cases will be heard today to not be last, lest you try my already waning patience, the judge urged as he trudged down off the bench, quickly withdrawing to his chambers.

Chapter 4

Life can sometimes be quite contrary and so it seemed almost inevitable that Jeff and Meghan would run into each other again. In fact, oddly enough, it was becoming an all too frequent occurrence.

Frankly, on some level, Meghan was beginning to wonder if Jeff didn’t have her office bugged, or a GPS unit secretly attached to the undercarriage of her car.

The most recent instance was a continuing education class of which there are literally hundreds offered, day in and day out, all across this country. Yet, in spite of the odds, Meghan and Jeff ended up in the same class, on the same day.

This is just too weird, thought Meghan suspiciously when she saw Jeff walking down the corridor toward where she was waiting outside the classroom door.

Fancy meeting you here, Jeff smiled amiably as he strolled up to her.

‘Always that damn cocky grin and ‘struttin’ my stuff’ stride,’ Meghan thought caustically to herself. Stoically, pasting a tight-lipped grin on her face, Meghan forced herself to be cordial with the swaggering peacock.

Hi, she curtly replied.

What happened? He asked, maintaining his charming demeanor. Get up on the wrong side of the bed this morning? Or wake up…alone?

None of your damn business, Mr. Chandler.

"We could make it our business," he offered, lowering his voice.

What makes you think that I’d be interested in you, even in the slightest? Meghan asked, narrowing stern brown eyes on him.

You’re a woman, Jeff shrugged, complacently. Incensed by his arrogant attitude, Meghan helped bolster herself by taking a deep, cleansing breath first, and then she turned on him.

How dare you say that to me? What do you think I am anyway?! Just another loose-lipped, wiggle-hipped, bosom-bulging trollop to warm your bed?!

No, not exactly, but let’s not dismiss the idea too soon, shall we?

Oh! She huffed, trying to steady herself. Mr. Chandler, you are the most obnoxious, condescending, self-absorbed…

Hellllo…Judge Wilkins! Jeff shouted, elaborately offering his hand, and effectively stemming Meghan’s tirade as their esteemed guest lecturer suddenly appeared from around the corner.

Good morning, Mr. Chandler…Ms. Moore, the judge greeted as he nodded amiably in Meghan’s direction. Calming herself, she took another deep breath, assuming a more personable demeanor.

Good morning sir, beautiful day out this morning, isn’t it?

The best, the elderly judge smiled. Much too nice to be in here, but work is work and we must be about our business. Speaking of that, Mr. Chandler, the Beaver case is on my desk.

Beaver…? Jeff questioned initially, since his mind was clearly on another sort of animal at the moment.

‘Beaver,’ thought Meghan to herself, turning terribly disinterested eyes on the younger man. ‘It figures he would be on a case with a name like that.’

Oh! Right…Beaver! Brian and Becky Beaver, now I remember, smiled Jeff, nodding his head.

Sad case really, replied the judge solemnly.

Divorce is always heartrending sir, I agree totally, Jeff commented. Meghan watched him…wide-eyed, thinking that if he only tried a bit harder, he might be able to actually cry real tears.

But we will work for the best of our clients, won’t we? The judge added, clapping Jeff on the back.

Of course, sir. We are always looking out for the best of our clients who depend on us to come through for them. After all, to many of them sir, we’re all they’ve got to stand on, Jeff somberly emoted, and Meghan suddenly choked. Sir, in essence…and sadly enough, there are times that we are the only hope they have, Jeff completed, tenderly holding his hand over his heart, while turning a quizzical look on his female legal combatant.

Indeed Mr. Chandler, truer words have never been spoken, and then turning toward Meghan, he continued. "Miss Moore, are you all right?’ Asked the judge, casting a concerned glance at the young woman.

Yes…yes, Meghan spoke, and her voice sounded hoarse as she cleared her throat. I’m fine, thank you.

Good. Well then, I’ll see you both inside, replied the judge as he pulled open the door and entered the classroom.

What happened…swallow a bug? Jeff chuckled, taking a step closer to her.

No, I just found what you were saying a bit hard to swallow, that’s all.

Why? I speak the truth, Jeff shrugged.

Mr. Chandler, you speak from the truth of your wallet, Meghan criticized.

"And tell me Ms. Moore, what’s so wrong with making money? I’m sure you paid good money for those lovely…pumps you’re wearing again today. Money you made…working?"

Go to hell, Meghan murmured as she pushed her way past Jeff, going on into the classroom.

Sorry…can’t, have much too full a schedule. Remember the Beavers, he admonished.

And that’s another thing, Meghan suddenly challenged as she turned about just inside the door. Her abrupt change of direction caused Jeff, who was following close behind her, to run directly into her front side. This was not something she particularly wanted him to have any contact with whatsoever. Why the long, sad, distressed face over a divorce? I saw you work the room quite well over the Spencer case not a week or two ago, there was no sadness there!

The bitch was taking the poor guy to the cleaners! Jeff replied, aghast at her comment.

He’s a multi-millionaire! Meghan exclaimed defensively.

So? That doesn’t mean that Mrs. Bitch had a right to everything, including the shirt on his back!

She didn’t want his shirt!

She would’ve had him skinned and taken his flesh if she thought she could’ve gotten away with it, and you damn well know it! Jeff shouted, clearly desiring to defend his client all over again.

Listen jerk…er, Jeffrey…that woman stayed home for years raising his children, never worked a day in her life…outside of the home, and now he’s out bed-hopping and wants out of the marriage just because he’s bored. She had a right to enough of his assets to get by in life! She made the sacrifice for him and his children!

"And what about his sacrifice?!" Jeff challenged.

What sacrifice? She queried with disdain.

The man gave up every beautiful woman on the face of this earth to sleep only with the little Missus. Did you get a good look at her? Bow-wow-wow.

"He married her! That is the very nature of vows Mr. Chandler, something I doubt very much that you will ever be able to understand, nor commit too."

Hey now, don’t be delving into something of which you know nothing about, Jeff cautioned, holding a single index finger up right under her nose.

"I know your type," Meghan hissed.

Oooh, profiling, Jeff whispered, openly mocking her. Risky business, probably the only risky thing you do, huh?

You won that case for him!

You’re damn right I did…the bitch was rabid!

She had a right to her fair share!

Yes! I agree, counselor…though I use the term loosely at the moment, the operative word there being ‘fair’ share. But, no, she didn’t have a right to everything. He had rights too!

The right to cheat?!

Whatever. We all make decisions, Jeff muttered, and thrusting his hands into the pockets of his slacks, he seemed to suddenly grow weary of the conversation.

So you’re saying the man had a right to cheat on his wife, because she was unattractive? Meghan asked, and Jeff actually had the audacity to take a moment to stare off into space to think about it.

You’re impossible, stated Meghan. You still didn’t have to act all sad and like ‘Oooh, so sad the man is going through a bad divorce’. You’re so full of crap, I can’t believe it.

Sad? I wasn’t sad. Hell no, I skipped all the way to the bank on the Spencer case.

See? Money, money, money!

I hate to disappoint you, but I don’t offer my services on a volunteer basis, Ms. Moore, Jeff explained, and then added with a leer. However…for you I might be willing to barter an arrangement.

You make me sick.

But I have the cure.

I’m immune to such antics.

"Immune…to intimacy? That would be a first. Uh…wait, you are straight, aren’t you?" He asked, with a decidedly sickened look on his face.

"Mister Chandler!" Meghan began, after first taking a deep, steadying breath.

Okay, good…straight, he confirmed. I didn’t want to be…you know, wasting my time.

Is that all life is to you? Just one big Happy Hour?

Happy Hour is fine, but it’s the Happy Bed afterward that truly motivates me.

Mr. Chandler, life is not just all about bed hopping.

It’s not? Jeff asked, looking genuinely perplexed.

Oh, why don’t you grow up?! The irritated counselor hissed.

I’m 6’2, I am grown up! Or, are there other dimensions in which you’d be more interested?"

Meghan inhaled to say something in order to rejoin the attack, but words failed her, and even though she worked hard to find them, they just didn’t come. Swallowing hard, she closed her eyes, fighting to keep her temper in check. Jeff just watched her, and a small grin touched his lips as he observed her inner struggle, enjoying the moment.

Without looking at him again Meghan turned, and dropping her attaché case down onto a desktop, she took a seat. Jeff sat down too…in the empty seat right next to hers.

* * *

Sorry darlin’, Jeff purred into his cell phone. I’m busy tonight, he added, and then fell silent as he listened. Babe, maybe this weekend, okay? You can wait until the weekend, can’t you?

Meghan really tried to keep her attention on the instructor of this continuing education class in which both she and Jeff were sitting. But, as the teacher labored with his notes, steadily droning on about the merits of tort reform, Meghan found herself blinking hard, trying to keep awake.

Clearly Jeff’s phone conversation, though he kept his voice low, was more intriguing than what the instructor was lecturing about. Still…on the other hand, it was nauseating to say the least.

"Oh don’t be silly, I’m not that good," Jeff commented, and he chuckled quietly. Meghan cast a sidelong glance at him, surprised to see him actually blushing, slightly.

Ahhh, Honey Buns, I’m built just like every other guy, but that’s nice of you to say, Jeff cooed, and Meghan listened even as her fingers reached into her purse for an antacid tablet.

Yes, I want you too. Yes, I remember the last time, Sugar Babe, how could I forget?

The clock on the wall continued to audibly tick, making her painfully aware of the excruciatingly slow passage of time. Meghan steadfastly continued to divide her attention between the teacher…and her classmate, both of whom were now beginning to make her sick. She could only hope that the class would end soon.

Chapter 5

Two weeks later found the able-bodied female attorney attending a business-oriented, cocktail party at the mansion home of her boss.

Ms. Moore, so good to see you here this evening, intoned the deep baritone voice of the senior partner of the law firm for which Meghan worked.

Thank you! She replied cheerily as she turned to greet the elderly attorney. It’s nice to see you too, sir. It’s a lovely soiree, she added, holding the champagne glass in her fingers, the base of it resting in the palm of her left hand.

Thank you kindly, my dear, the man smiled, you know how Marjorie loves to plan these little events, he added, referring to his wife of nearly sixty years.

Meghan just smiled as she lifted the glass to her lips once again. ‘Little?’ She thought to herself, ‘there’s at least two hundred people in this house!’

Meghan always loved attending these corporate meetings at the Harkness estate. It was nice to mingle with her associates on an informal basis, but it was also a formal event so it gave her an opportunity to dress to the nine’s for a change.

Of course coming to the Harkness’ home also gave her a chance to pretend. Pretend that this palatial estate was her own; for it was certainly a wonderful opportunity to see how extravagantly the other half lives.

The event tonight was in honor of Mr. Harknesses eightieth birthday. Colorfully wrapped gifts were piled high upon two tables in the spacious foyer. Champagne and various liqueurs flowed freely, and hors d’oeuvres were constantly plied to the guests as tuxedo-clad servants routinely swept the room offering trays of the delicious tidbits. Meghan was about to wander off, seeking more youthful counterparts with which to converse, when her departure was thwarted.

Miss Moore, there’s someone I’d like you to meet this evening, the elderly birthday boy commented suddenly.

Oh? Who might that be? She asked kindly, watching as he stepped to one side. Putting his hand to a colleagues elbow, he turned the other elderly man toward him. Unfortunately, it was the man to whom the guest had been speaking that