Finding Mr. Right. Gwynne Forster
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want an apology in The New York Times, and you can get that for me.” That wasn’t reason enough for her insistence that he take her case. She had met him at a reception in the mayor’s office and asked for his card. He remembered her. Any man would remember a woman who looked like her. But blond hair and blue eyes didn’t turn him on. The opportunity arose earlier than he’d expected.
“I shouldn’t take up so much of your time, Mr. Whitley. Why don’t we discuss this over dinner and drinks. We’d both be…more relaxed, and we’d get more done.”
He forced a half smile. “I don’t discuss business after my working hours, Mrs. Foxx. No, thanks. In fact, I advise you to get another lawyer. This case is not for me.”
He stood and extended his hand. “Thanks for considering me.”
She took his hand and held it. “It would have been nice. Very nice.” Head held high and shoulders back, she walked out of his office as if her brazen suggestion had not been thwarted. He buzzed his assistant. “Get me some information on Mrs. Foxx’s husband, please.”
“I have a file on them, sir. I’ll bring it right in.”
He flipped through the file. Hmm. Just as he’d thought. She’d married a rich man many years her senior and she was paying the price. He put the file in his out-box and buzzed his secretary. “Whenever Mrs. Foxx calls, I’m unavailable.”
A glance at his watch told him that if he wanted to speak with Tyra, he’d better call right then. He dialed her number.
“Hello, Tyra, this is Byron. How are you?”
“I feel as if I could jump across the Potomac. I just got a job, and I think it’s perfect for me, that is, if I get some interesting clients.”
“Congratulations. That’s good news, indeed. What will you be doing?”
“I’ll be counseling at the Legal Aid Center, and they want me to start tomorrow.”
“This is wonderful. I marvel at how much you and I have in common. When you get down to it, a lawyer is a counselor.”
“I hadn’t thought of the similarity, and I definitely wouldn’t compare what I’ll be doing with what you do.”
“Yes, but if you’re successful, a lot of people won’t need me. I called because I want to see you. We could go to the Kennedy Center or hear Kiri Te Kanawa at Wolf Trap. If that doesn’t suit you, I could pack us a picnic basket and we could go to Meridian Hill or the Tidal Basin and just be together. The sun doesn’t set before nine-thirty.”
Her silence told him that he had either surprised her or that she didn’t care for his plans. Well, he had patience. Finally she said, “I love the picnic idea, but I haven’t heard Kiri Te Kanawa sing in a long time, so—”
“There’s no reason why we can’t do both, and I’d be much happier. The concert is Saturday evening. We could have our picnic Friday evening in Meridian Hill and at the same time listen to a baroque ensemble. Would you like that?”
“Byron, you’ve discovered my weaknesses. I think it’s a great idea.”
“Then I’ll be at your house Friday afternoon at five-thirty so we can pick a good spot.”
“I’ll be looking forward to seeing you.”
He hung up. She’d hesitated, and he wondered why. She was attracted to him, and they both knew it, so what held her back? If she was in a dilemma about him, he’d make up her mind for her the first chance he got. And if an opportunity didn’t come along naturally, he’d make one.
Byron Whitley was rushing her, and although she wanted to see him, she also wanted the experience of finding the kind of man she liked for herself. She didn’t need a matchmaker to fix up her life. She closed her eyes and imagined him kissing her. Her annoyance at Clark and Darlene had all but disappeared, but she still intended to show them that she was capable of managing her own love life. She was attracted to Byron…at least so far, but they didn’t have to know it.
“You going in for a swim?” Barbara asked her the next day at lunch. “The pool’s right behind us. It belongs to the Parks Department, but it’s never crowded. A lunchtime swim can relax you for the rest of the day.”
“I didn’t bring a swimsuit, but I’ll have a look at the swimming pool.” She took the elevator to the ground floor and followed the signs. At a door marked POOL, she read a plaque: “Gift from Morris Hilliard to the Legal Aid Center workers with gratitude.” Very interesting, she thought, wondering what the center had done for Morris Hilliard. Streams of water cascaded from a single, fifty-foot wall, in a waterfall of rainbow colors. Blue and white tiles paved the entrance to the pool and the area surrounding it.
She glanced at the man sprawled out in a red chaise longue. She couldn’t see his face, but his swim trunks advertised his seemingly more than ample equipment. She walked in the opposite direction in hopes of seeing his face without him noticing. The dark glasses did little to camouflage him, because they hardly covered his eyes. Christopher Fuller. She should have known.
Pool or no pool, it doesn’t seem appropriate for the office. But oh, the tantalizing picture he made lying in that chaise. She shrugged, and admitted to herself that she had no right to judge Christopher Fuller.
In the staff cafeteria, she bought a quiche, a bottle of lemonade and an apple, went back to the pool, and took a table in a shaded area to eat her lunch. Several people went for a swim, but she focused on her meal.
“I was wondering when I’d see you again,” the male voice drawled.
She looked up into the face of a man she didn’t know. Seeing that he was tall and easy on the eyes, she let herself smile. “I don’t think we’ve met,” she said after dabbing at the corners of her mouth with her napkin.
“And what a pity that is,” he replied. “I’m Matt Cowan. Are you going to tell me who you are?”
“I’m Tyra Cunningham.”
He pulled up a chair and sat down. “Don’t let me interfere with your lunch. What do you do here?”
Very direct she thought. “I’m a counselor. Some people would call me a psychoanalyst, but they’d be wrong.” He crossed his legs and appeared to get comfortable, so she continued eating.
“What is your field?”
She stopped eating and stared at him. Curiosity was one thing, but rudeness was something she wouldn’t tolerate. “Psychology,” she said. “And that’s the last question I’ll answer.”
He stood and wiped the front of his left trouser leg with his handkerchief. “Sorry if I annoyed you. I tend to do that to people.”
“You didn’t annoy me, Mr. Cowan. I stopped you before you got that far.”
He smiled. “I’d like to know you better. But right now, I have to meet a client. We’ll pick this up again later.”
“Mr. Cowan, I had a cat who ignored me until he wanted something. He didn’t let me pet him or even touch him. One day I decided to let him know who held the power.”
Matt walked back and stared down at her. “What happened to him?”
“He loved milk and liver. When he didn’t get either for three days, he began following me around the house, rubbing against my leg and looking up at me and meowing. He got plenty to eat, but not what he craved. After a week, I relented, and he no longer treated me as if I were his servant. He was at my heels all the time.”
“And the moral of this story?”
“I don’t appreciate arrogance.”
“Okay. I stand corrected. Why don’t we have lunch tomorrow?”
“I’ll let you know.”
He looked at her for a minute. “I’m about