Mistress of Justice

Beware the jabberwock, my son

Clayton closed the door. "You're very attractive."

Taylor sighed. Doesn't go much for subtlety, does he? She said, "I should be getting downstairs."

He took her hand. To her astonishment she let him and the next thing she knew some undefinable pressure overwhelmed her. She found herself sitting on the bed next to him.

"Wendall."

"Look at me."

Taylor did, feeling a growing power from the partner, a magnet tugging at her soul – and at everything around her. It seemed to Taylor that her hair actually stirred in this invisible wind.

She thought of the playing-card soldiers swirling around Alice. Beware the…

"Wendall -"

"I want to tell you one thing," he said calmly. "This has to be completely clear. Whatever happens – or doesn't happen – has no affect on your career at Hubbard, White. Is that understood?"

She pulled her arm away. "I don't even know you. I've never even spoken to you before." But she was shocked to hear that her words seemed weak, as if she were wavering.

He shrugged. "Spoken to me? I don't want to have a discussion. I want to make love to you."

There was no physical impediment to her leaving. He wasn't even standing in her way. One foot, then the other, and she could troop right out the door. Yet she didn't.

Clayton crossed his legs. He brushed the tassel of his hair off his forehead.

"I have commitments," she explained.

No, no, no. Don't say that. You're meeting his argument. It's like making excuses to your father. Tell him to fuck off. Forget who he is. Forget the case. Just say it now. Fuck off. Fuck Off.

Say it.

"Well, Taylor, we all have commitments. That's not really the issue."

She felt her throat thicken.

Don't swallow. It's a weakness.

She swallowed. "We don't even know each other."

Clayton smiled, shaking his head. "Hey, look, I don't want to marry you. I want to make love to you. That's all. Two adults. I'm telling you that you're an attractive woman."

"I have to go."

"It's not a compliment," he continued. "It's an observation. I know how to make love to women. I'm good at it. Don't you find me attractive?"

"That's not the point -"

"So you do?" he said quickly. He stroked the bed and repeated, "I want to make love with you. Harmless and simple."

Taylor smiled. "You don't want to make love at all. You want to fuck me."

"No." he whispered harshly. Then he smiled. "I want us to fuck together."

Mistake, girl. He likes dirty talk.

"Look." He waved his hand in front of his crotch like a magician. He was erect. "You did this. Not everybody does."

She found herself leaning back, first her palms on the rich bedspread, then her elbows.

"Do you know the first thing I noticed about you?" Clayton whispered, touching a renegade strand of her hair. "Your eyes. Even from across the room."

She rolled onto her side. She glanced down between his legs and said, "You're a pretty gifted man, Wendall. I would have thought that with all the excitement at the firm you'd be more distracted."

He hesitated then asked, "'Excitement?"

"The merger."

He didn't move for a moment. She'd thrown him off stride. He laughed seductively. "I've got a pretty big appetite."

Taylor sca

"Ah, dissipate me, dissipate me." But the words fell short of their intended playfulness and he sounded like a college boy making an inappropriate joke. And suddenly the balance of this contest shifted – barely – to her.

He whispered, "Lie down, put your head on the pillow." He spoke in a mesmerizing voice and Taylor was suddenly aware of his penis pressing through layers of cloth against her leg. Clayton said, "I have some toys."

"Do you?"

"I can make you feel very, very good. Like you've never felt before."

She laughed and more power slipped to her side of the board. When the spell wasn't working, his lines began to sound silly. She asked, "Why do you hate Donald Burdick?"

"I'm not interested in talking about him. Or about the merger."

"Why not?"

"I'd rather make love to you."

"The merger is all everybody's talking about."

"Are you worried about your job? You won't have to be. I promise you that," he said.

"I haven't worried about a job for years. I'm mostly just curious why you dislike Donald Burdick so much."

She sat up. Clayton seemed befuddled. The evidence of his passion hadn't diminished but he seemed uncertain – as if he had met and overcome all types of reluctance in seducing women over the years yet had suddenly run into a new defense a barrage of questions.

"Go on," she said. "Tell me why."

"Well," Clayton finally offered, "I don't dislike Donald personally. He's one of the most charming men I know. Socially, I admire him. He's a fine representative of old money."

"The rumor is that you want to destroy him."

Clayton considered his answer. "I hear lots of rumors at the firm. I suspect those that I hear aren't any more accurate than the ones you hear. The merger is solely business. Destroying people is far too time-consuming."

Finally the partner's spell broke completely.

Taylor Lockwood rolled off the bed and ran her fingers through her hair. "You should go downstairs, I think. You are the host, after all."

Clayton tried one last time. "But…" His hand strayed across the bulging front of his slacks.

"You know, Wendall," Taylor said, smiling, "that's the best compliment I've had in months. Does a girl's heart good. But if you'll excuse me."

After leaving the bedroom Taylor walked into the upstairs bathroom (which, she noticed, seemed to be in perfect working order). There she waited until Clayton was out of sight. Then she slipped into his office.

Inside, in addition to the desk, were an armchair, a Victorian tea serving table, several floor lamps, two large armoires, there were no closets. She turned on a lamp and pushed the door partially closed.

The desk was unlocked. Its cubbyholes were filled with hundreds of slips of paper. Bank statements, canceled checks, memos, notes, personal bills, receipts. Taylor sighed at the volume of material she'd have to look through then sat in the red-leather chair and started going through the items one by one.

She'd been doing this for fifteen minutes when she heard a voice in the doorway say, "Ah, here you are…"

The man speaking was Wendall Clayton.

CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO

Taylor spun around and stood up, knocking a stack of papers to the floor. The sheets spread like spilled water.

Wendall Clayton was outside the door, talking to someone else. Just out of his line of sight, she reached toward the papers then heard Clayton say, "Let's go inside here for a minute, shall we?"

Desperately she kicked the papers under the desk, they disappeared – except for the corner of one letter. She reached down for it but the door was swinging open. Taylor leapt behind the largest armoire. She pressed herself flat against the wall, her head pressing painfully into the hard, cold plaster. Another voice spoke. A man's voice, one she recognized. Ralph Dudley asked, "What is it exactly you wanted to see me about, Wendall?"

The door closed. Clayton said, "Have a seat."

"Is something wrong?"

Clayton's voice was curious. "I don't remember this light being on."

Taylor eased back harder against the wall.

Silence. What were they doing? Could they see the tips of her shoes, the corner of the paper under the desk? Was the chair she'd sat in still warm?