If the Shoe Fits (33 page)

“Yes, sir.”

He shot her a piercing
“Why didn’t you say so?”
glare before he turned to the last page of the document. “Do you have a pen, Ms. Bartlett?”

She rummaged through her very small purse and suddenly grabbed the arm of a passing waiter. “A pen? Can you get us a pen?”

“Certainly,” he answered. “Just one minute.”

“My kingdom for a pen!” she joked as Hillman skimmed over the injunction document.

“I’m surprised at him,” the judge muttered. “He’s been sticking it to Veronica all along, as if she’s the one at fault here, as if he’s played no part in it.”

“That’s what I’m trying to stop,” she said, snatching the pen from the approaching waiter and placing it into Hillman’s hand. “And you can help me, Your Honor.”

He scribbled his name on the paper and handed it back to Julianne. “You realize this is only a temporary fix, Ms. Bartlett. My
Judgeship
doesn’t carry much weight when all is said and done. You need more than my signature for a binding—”

“Yes, sir. We just needed something for opposing counsel, something to get us through the weekend; a sort of spirit-of-the-law kind of thing until I can request a hearing first thing Monday.”

Will suddenly joined them, and Julianne smiled. “Oh, hey, Will. I was going to find you in a minute.”

“Evening, Hanes,” the judge said with a nod.

“Judge.” He returned the nod before his eyes landed on the paperwork passing between them. “What’s this?”

“It’s for Veronica. I’ll tell you all about it over dinner.” She turned toward Judge Hillman and said, “I can’t thank you enough, sir.”

“Good luck,” he said as a woman hurried toward him and asked him to come along with her. “And keep me posted on this, Ms. Bartlett,” he said before he followed.

“I’ll do that.”

Julianne bottom-lined the story for Will, from Veronica’s panic to her conference call with the other attorney and her revelation that Judge Hillman was scheduled to attend the gala, as they slowly headed across the ballroom. She spotted Paul at a large round table next to Lacey, and the two of them chatted amiably.

“Your date looks very nice,” Julianne teased. “Did she tell you we had a little mani-pedi session together today?”

“She did not,” Will replied, a strange and crooked smile spreading over his face like warm butter. “That must be quite a tale.”

“You have no idea.”

Will touched Julianne’s wrist, and she looked up at him curiously.

“Jules. You look …” He waved his hand from head to toe and shrugged.

“Magnificent?” she finished for him.

“Beyond.”

“Ah, thanks, Will.” She planted a kiss on his cheek and squeezed his hand. “My own date hasn’t even said that.”

“You’re joking.”

“Nope. I guess I forgot to add that clause to the dating contract. Oh! But guess what. Suzanne sent her company limousine to pick us up! We actually rode here in a white stretch limo. Can you believe that?”

By the time they reached the table, Phoebe and Julianne’s mother had joined them.

“Don’t you two look beautiful,” Will said as he sat down next to Lacey. “Weaver and I are the luckiest guys in the place tonight.”

“Paul, you’ve met Phoebe, and it looks like you’ve met Lacey James already,” Julianne told him. “But this is my mother, Amanda Bartlett.”

It looked a little like an afterthought that followed a few tugs to his bow tie, but Paul at least got to his feet as he shook her hand. “Pleased to meet you, ma’am.”

Amanda’s smile didn’t betray to anyone except the two people who knew her best that she didn’t really mean it when she replied, “Glad you could join us, Paul.”

“And Mom, this is Lacey. She and I are up for the same award tonight.”

“Well, you’re both People of the Year as far as this table is concerned,” Amanda told them. “Nice to meet you, Lacey.”

One of Lacey’s coworkers and his wife rounded out the table of eight, and they all settled in just about the time that the salads were served. Phoebe took the paperwork from Julianne and slipped it into a cardboard envelope. Julianne slid it into the groove between the back of her chair and the upholstered seat before she sat down between Paul and her mother and unfolded her napkin.

She wished the awards ceremony could precede the meal because of the butterflies swarming around her stomach, and her mother seemed to sense it because she reached over and smoothed the stiff skirt of Julianne’s dress and whispered, “You look really lovely, honey.”

“Thanks, Mom. You do, too.”

Amanda leaned close to Julianne. “I can see why your head was turned,” she whispered. “Paul
is
sort of a hottie.”

Julianne giggled. “Mother!”

“I’m not dead yet, you know.”

“I am aware.”

Lacey caught her eye for no more than an instant, but something seemed odd and unmistakable. On such a festive evening, Julianne thought it uncharacteristic to find Lacey’s enthusiasm so diluted. She waited, hoping she might stumble into Lacey’s line of sight one more time, but her focus had been wholly captured by the salad that apparently needed to be cut into five thousand minuscule bites. When Will looked at her instead, Julianne scrunched up her nose and gave her head a quick nod toward his date.

“What’s going on?” she mouthed.

Although his expression confirmed that there was indeed something to tell, he hadn’t betrayed another speck of information.

“Don’t let me lose track of the time,” Julianne announced. “I have to run down to the lobby at eight to meet the messenger.”

She wondered if Paul had really groaned under his breath, or had she imagined it? The thought of going anywhere in those tight shoes made her want to groan a little, too. Maybe his bow tie had choked it out of him.

Somehow, the idea entertained her.

Will pushed away
the plate of rubbery chicken as Julianne greeted a passing colleague from her days with the public defender.

“Janice, I’d like you to meet my mother, Amanda Bartlett. And this is my date,” she said and beamed, “Paul Weaver.”

Determined to get her money’s worth
, Will decided. She had introduced the ditch digger to every person in the room except the uniformed waitstaff. Just about every third step she’d taken that night had elicited a wince, and when she rose from her chair to greet Janice Buckholt, the corner of her mouth curled up tight in an instant replay. Will recognized it as the too-tight-shoe dance she did so often. Although the crystal-encrusted ones she wore for this special occasion were indeed dazzlers, he couldn’t understand why she didn’t simply invest in a couple pairs of more sensible everyday shoes.

“I’m going down to meet the messenger,” she told him when she returned to the table and grabbed the envelope. Waving it, she called, “Be right back.”

When she reached the ballroom door, he caught sight of her as she kicked off her shoes and carried them into the hallway.

“I probably should have gone instead,” Phoebe speculated. “She can’t be late for the awards.”

“She’ll be back in two shakes of a lamb’s tail,” Amanda replied, patting Phoebe’s hand. “Don’t you worry.”

With Lacey immersed in conversation with the group at the next table, Will went over and took Julianne’s chair between Paul and Amanda.

“Have I told you how spectacular you look tonight?” he asked Julianne’s mom.

“You have, but feel free to tell me again.”

“You’re breathtaking,” he said, and her cheeks blushed as she placed her hand over his and squeezed. “Pop doesn’t know what he’s missing.”

Amanda’s expression dimmed, and she leaned toward him. “Why do you suppose he didn’t want to come tonight? Is he feeling worse than he’s telling?”

“Oh, you know … aside from seeing you looking so pretty, Pop wouldn’t have enjoyed this kind of thing. He’s not comfortable in big groups these days.”

Weaver squirmed next to him, tugging at his collar.

“This thing is a torture device,” he said when he caught Will looking at him. “I don’t know how you do it so often.”

“I only break out the tux a few times a year,” he replied.

“Yeah, but you wear a suit and tie every day, don’t you? Man wasn’t meant to be all packaged up like this all the time.”

Will suppressed the reply that ached inside him. Instead, he simply said, “I guess you’re right.”

Will raked his fingers through his wavy hair, pumping up the volume on the Disney song about the muscular oaf who wanted to marry Belle. He had to push it out of his mind when the ditch digger turned to him and asked, “How much longer do you think this thing will last?”

“They still have to get the awards ceremony under way.”

He groaned, squirming in his chair, looking like a ten-year-old who’d had his ice cream and wanted to go home now.

“Look, Weaver—”

The overhead lights slowly dimmed, and a representative of the Bar Association tapped on the microphone at the podium.

“Thank you all for coming tonight,” she said.

“Finally,” the ditch digger puffed.

“Should I go find Julianne?” Phoebe asked Will.

“I’ll go.”

Just as he pushed up from the chair, Lacey grabbed his wrist. “William, you can’t go. They’re just about to start.”

“I have to. Julianne will miss it.”

Will put several paces between himself and Lacey’s sour, disappointed face, and he hurried from the ballroom just as Judge Hillman took his place at the podium as master of ceremonies.

The elevator whisked him down one floor to the lobby, and he jogged across it until he spotted Julianne and the messenger.

“Jules!” he called. “They’re starting.”

“Ohh,” she squealed, and she shoved the clipboard back at the messenger. “I have to go. You know what to do with this, right?”

“Yes, ma’am.”

“It has to be delivered tonight.”

Will took hold of Julianne’s arm as she snatched her shoes from the seat of the upholstered chair, and they ran across the polished marble-floored lobby toward the elevator.

“Every attorney in Cincinnati is in that ballroom upstairs,” she exclaimed as they boarded, “except the one I need to serve with paperwork! How far into the ceremony have they gotten?”

“Judge Hillman was up when I left.”

“Oh!”

The instant the elevator doors slid open, Julianne bolted across the threshold, hopping along as she attempted to slip into her shoes and run at the same time. Will reached her when she paused in the doorway.

“… all such worthy nominees, but our sixteenth annual Cincinnati Person of the Year is …” Hillman tore the seal on the scroll and opened it “… Lacey James.”

The room erupted into applause, and a white spotlight roamed the ballroom until it landed on Lacey, already weaving her way through chairs on her way to the stage. Julianne joined them, clapping as she craned her neck to watch Lacey accept the engraved plaque that she’d been coveting for herself.

“Oh, well,” she said, shooting Will a conciliatory smile. “There’s always next year, right?”

He slipped his arm around her shoulders and squeezed. “That’s the spirit.”

The subtle deflation under his embrace could not be missed, but Will decided to pretend that it was.

“There’s going to be cake,” he bolstered. “So all is not lost. Let’s go back to the table and indulge, shall we?”

“I’m just so honored and humbled,” Lacey said over the loudspeaker. “Certainly we don’t invest our time and energy into these worthy causes for the accolades, but the fact that the legal community has taken note of my efforts … well, that’s gratifying. Thank you so much.”

Paul had excused himself to find the men’s room, and Will stood a few tables over chatting with some friends from his old firm. Julianne kicked off her shoes underneath the table with a sigh as Lacey slipped into Paul’s chair and leaned over toward her.

“You just couldn’t let me have my moment, could you?”

“I’m sorry,” she said, shaking her head slightly. “What are you talking about? You won the award, Lacey. I’d say the moment was all yours.”

“You know what I’m talking about. You disappeared on purpose so William would come looking for you and leave me sitting all alone when they called my name.”

Julianne inhaled sharply and grazed Lacey with a controlled glance.