"So you decided it was best just to surprise me with the news at work?" J.C. stormed through her open office door and circled her desk. Dumping her pad on top, she crossed her arms and stood there fuming. If real life imitated art, she would have had puffs of smoke coming out her ears. "Now that I look back on it, you must have been beside yourself when I started to go on about how I'd had this bad day at work and that -- what were my words -- some other clown was given my client?"

Liam faced her from the other side the desk. He plunged his hands in his suit pants pockets and attempted to project a conciliatory stance. "Believe me, it came as much of a shock to me when you barged through Baldy's door. It was a good thing he was still holding onto the coffee, otherwise I would have spilled it all over his dirty bucks," he said, using the "Old Boy" term for this particular type of beige suede tie shoes.

"Baldy?" J.C. tapped her foot. She was wearing a pair of red suede Arche shoes with cutouts at the toes. They normally put her in a very good mood. This wasn't normal.

"Yeah, Baldy's what everyone's called Archibald Armstrong since he was in first form at Groton."

First Form. Groton. A world as foreign to J.C. as Outer Mongolia or Vanuatu. She uncrossed her arms and dismissed his explanation with a wave. "Well, maybe not EVERYBODY."

"Besides, how could I possibly know you were working on this case when I didn't even know your name, let alone your profession. Anyway, if we're going to get technical, I believe you were the one who mentioned something about being a black jack dealer."

"Was," she corrected, still not completely satisfied. "Which maybe if you had returned any of my calls, I might have been able to clarify."

"As if I could. I couldn't find it when I got home, and only later when I remembered where I'd left it, I found out my niece had broken it."

And only later, had he had a moment to reflect on his involvement with J.C. It was all happening so quickly, potentially evolving into something that went beyond a simple fling. But was he ready? The broken phone was a sorry excuse -- seeing as he knew J.C.'s name and address, and it would have been a simple matter to look her up in the phonebook. Yet a call would have meant further contact, and further contact would imply what? A desire to take the relationship beyond the physical? Commitment? He didn't know the answers. More to the point, he wasn't sure he was ready to find out the answers.

"Your niece broke it?" J.C. coughed at his excuse. "That's almost as good as claiming the dog ate it. And it still doesn't explain why didn't you mention taking on the farm as a client when you ran into me on Friday?"

"You mean the Borden place?" he asked. He noticed she kept an abacus next to a UNLV paperweight.

"Ah hah! I see you don't deny knowing the owner's name."

"Of course I know the Bordens. Chip and I played lacrosse together."

"And I presume you also knew the Borden deal represents one of the largest land trusts in New Jersey, which if you do the math-"

"Something I know you've already done."

J.C. wasn't deterred. "Which if you do the math, translates into one of the largest cases this law firm has ever handled."

"I swear I didn't know that this was the case I was being brought in for." He held up his hand when she dropped her jaw in disbelief. "All right, that's not entirely true. What I did know was this: that an old local family was trying to preserve a sizeable piece of farmland, protecting it from development while not saddling the heirs with ridiculous estate and inheritance taxes. Have I got the picture correct?"

J.C. nodded.

"And since open space issues and farmland preservation happens to be my particular area of expertise, Baldy gave me a call, having heard through the grapevine that I was considering coming back to Grantham."

J.C. frowned. "Hold on a minute. Since when have property lawyers from Montana become such experts in open space in New Jersey? In general, we're the ones running the numbers on the deals for new corporate headquarters or closing down the latest manufacturing plant."

"Since this particular property lawyer. New Jersey is the most densely populated state in the Union, and it should wake up to the wisdom of preserving open space. It's called the Garden State, after all. So it might be nice to be remembered for being more than a collection of strip malls, movie megaplexes and Ford truck dealerships. Call me na•ve, but I'd like to think that in times to come there'd still fields to play baseball on or grow Jersey corn or maybe roll in the hay with your sweetheart."

J.C. was not going to argue. Even for someone whose idea of nature was the median strip running down the center of Route One. His lofty vision aside, what Liam said made sense.

"Once land is gone, it's gone," he summed up quietly but no less passionately.

J.C. waited a beat then wet her lips. "It figures."

Liam barely heard her words, distracted by the way her pink tongue moistened her mouth. He had distinct memories of just what kind of things that tongue was capable of doing.

"What figures?" he finally asked, wondering if she'd be offended if he leaned across her desk, grabbed her by the shoulders, and kissed her senseless.

"The whole aw-shucks-it's my-fault-so-let-me-take-care-of-you-and-I-have-a-goofy-mutt-and-by-the-way-I'm-your-fantasy-come-true-but-we-should-get-to-know-each-other-first-and-I-don't-wear-underwear thing."

Liam wrinkled his brow. "You want to run that by me again?"

"Not really." J.C. cleared her throat. "Listen, I applaud your earnest motivations for going into property law, even if they are a bit unusual."

"By unusual, I presume you mean they're not your motivations?"

"Well, not exactly, no."

"What are they then? After all, it's not everyday that someone abandons the flashing lights of Vegas for-" he looked around J.C.'s office, which, even though small, boasted solid wooden furniture and a decent oriental carpet "-all this?" He raised a brow.

She felt his implied criticism immediately. "Let me tell you, only the truly privileged can afford to be disapproving of all this, as you so succinctly put it," J.C. retorted. She pressed her fingertips to the well-waxed surface of her mahogany desk.

"Strange as it may sound for someone of your ilk," she went of, noting Liam's brow raised further, "I went into this profession to better myself and maybe help some people. I'm the first person in my family to go to college, or even to think about going to college. The fact that I'm a bit slow to get my act into gear is a testament to the diminished expectations of my social background."

Here J.C. took a breath. "Okay, I also farted around for a while, more than a while, exploiting the only thing I was any good at - numbers."

"The only thing?" Liam asked dubiously.

J.C. wasn't sure how to take his comment. Best not to dwell on it, she figured. "Well, the only thing that could make me money, that is," she amended. "Anyway, sometime after I got divorced-" she saw his head snap up "-yeah, well, there's a lot you don't know about me. So, after my divorce, I decided it was time I started having a life plan beyond pi–a coladas on Friday nights."

"The divorce was that bad?" He had visions of physical cruelty, abandonment."

"No, it was entirely uneventful, much like my marriage."

Liam found he was relieved.

"So, being a slow learner, it took me a while to notice that all around me, marriages were busting up, and the only people making out like bandits were the lawyers. And that's when it hit me."

"That you wanted to be a divorce lawyer?"

J.C. cringed. "Are you kidding me? Watching people use their children as bargaining chips as part of their own personal vendettas is not my idea of fun. No, I'm talking law -- business/property law. Real, hardcore numbers-crunching stuff that could actually do some good."

She held up her hand to stop him from interrupting, noticing at the same time that she could really do with a manicure. "And don't get all do-gooder, man-of-the-people on me. I'm not out to line the pockets of the fat cats. Not someone with my background, not growing up in Hightstown and seeing first-hand how much people in Jersey have suffered from the decline in manufacturing. They've had to give up dreams, for themselves and their children."

J.C. needed to gulp a lot of air at this point because she was starting to hyperventilate. She unbuttoned the jacket of her suit and placed her hand on her chest above the lace neckline of her silk blouse.

"You want a glass of water?" Liam asked. He watched the rise and fall of her breasts.

J.C. narrowed her eyes and stared at him. Caught, he shifted his eyes up.

"Listen, I not here to go on and on about my ambitions," she emphasized, "but I decided on this specialty because I wanted to help create jobs in a way that could benefit the little guy as much as the fat cat. And what better way to ensure equity than to get in on the ground floor of the business deals? Because despite the long-standing corruption of New Jersey politics, I believe in this state, believe that I can help my neighborhood, your neighborhood." She stopped. "Well, maybe not your neighborhood. Your neighborhood doesn't need my help."

"I'm not so sure about that." He could imagine J.C. unionizing the household help.

"So, you see, your coming in here and usurping my role on this case jeopardizes the welfare of the working man."

"Let's forgo the common man. I seriously doubt that preserving the Borden property is going to do much to put food on the table in Hightstown, Trenton or Grantham for that matter." Liam leaned forward and rested one hand on her desk.

When he spoke, J.C. couldn't help noticing that his chin stuck out in a very heroic way. She shook it off. "Maybe, but it definitely screws up my chance at making partner since there's only one opening for a full partner, a full partner specializing in property/business law. Anyone with a modicum of decency would immediately recuse himself from the case and let me do the job that I am more than capable of doing."

"This case isn't just about you, you know? Other people also had a stake in proving themselves on this one."

She blinked dramatically. "Are you kidding me? A member of the hallowed McDonald clan really needs the self-affirmation provided by putting together a land deal? We're not talking world peace here."

"I think you have an unrealistic view of what it's like to be a member of my family, nor do you comprehend just how hard it can be sometimes."

"It must be tough having to go to all those debutante balls and charity tennis tournaments," J.C. scoffed. She didn't like sounding shrill, but so be it.

"I'm not even going to justify that comment with a reply." He didn't like the tone of her voice either. "So I'm sorry if you believe that working with me is somehow a threat to your promotion chances to make partner, but I am not going to go away just to accommodate your career ambitions. If you're really worth being made partner, you'll prove it by working with me to cut the best deal possible for our client, for this firm's client. And when we've accomplished that and the time comes for recommendations, I can be a good ally to have in your corner."

"Meaning?" J.C. frowned.

"Meaning I agreed to come back to Grantham and work on this case. I never agreed to anything beyond that." It was the truth. Beyond that, he hadn't the faintest idea what he was going to do.

J.C. mulled his words. He talked a good game, but somehow it still didn't add up.

So she decided to push. Just a little. See which way the wind really blew. All business, she re-buttoned her jacket. "What guarantee do I have that you won't change your mind and decide to vie for the same spot?"

"None, but then there aren't any guarantees in life anyway."

Hadn't Phoebe expressed the same sentiment to her no more than forty-eight hours ago?

"So it's agreed?" he said in that non-questioning way.

"Do I have any choice?" She tried ending her question with the same downward inflection, but was woefully unsuccessful.

"J.C.?"

She frowned and looked up.

"The choice has always been up to you," he said.

They both let that hang in the air.

"So what do you know about this case?" he finally asked, moving on.

"Not much more than you," J.C. conceded. She pointed at the legal folder that she'd dumped on her desk when they'd come back to her office.

"Triple A-"

Liam held up his hand. "Excuse me?"

J.C. sighed. "Sorry, that's my name for Baldy." Liam raised his eyebrows and nodded. "Yes, well, he only told me about the case Friday morning, indicating it was mine and that it was a rush job - needed to close by the end of the following week, meaning this week. I had barely looked at the file when the afternoon rolled around, and he told me someone else was being brought in."

"So what's the rush here? Why do we have to hammer out an agreement so soon?

She shook her head. "No idea."

Liam thought a moment. "Maybe Borden has plans to polo in Palm Beach? The season's about to start."

"Well, it's not like I thought he was into hanging around the dog tracks." She ignored his smile. "Anyway, in the best of all possible worlds, I suppose it is doable."

"Are you trying to tell me this isn't the best of all possible worlds?"

"All I have to go on is prior experience. And my experience tells me that even the most straightforward case has its share of I's that refuse dotting. With a transaction of this size and value, I've yet to be convinced."

"But we'll give it our best shot."

"More than our best shot. We'll get it done," J.C. affirmed. "Because it's important to me," she couldn't help but add.

"Because it's important to us," Liam amended.

J.C. nodded begrudgingly. "So-" she motioned with her chin toward the case folder "-shall we see what's before us?"

Liam hesitated. Then he raised his own chin. "About us..."

J.C. diverted her eyes. Getting to know Liam McDonald, making love with him, had been the answer to a dream. Any continued involvement, especially one that was doomed to failure from the start, could seriously jeopardize whatever working relationship she could muster to bring this case to a successful conclusion. And if there was even the slightest chance of salvaging her career, she was going to take it.

She stared him down. "Us? There is no us. Whatever happened over the weekend was just a fluke. I'm convinced of it -- the product of teenage memories, several bumps to the head, and a floral emergency."

"That's right, how could I forget what Phoebe said?" Liam said in an off-handed way, except there was nothing subtle about it.

"What do you mean what Pheobe said?"

"That the women in your family -- once they reach the age of thirty, they think their jobs are the only thing in life."

Assuming her most professional demeanor, J.C. picked up her pencil and flipped it in the palm of her other hand. "I advise you to pick up A&S's employee handbook. Under no circumstances should a member of the firm ever, EVER, get involved with a co-worker."

She pointed the pencil at Liam's throat, and he backed away from her desk. Still, it didn't stop him from smiling.

"You realize the dangers of this relationship-" he held up his hand when she was about to object "-the dangers of this professional relationship?"

"You mean putting two people together in close quarters for long, intense periods of time, under extreme stress, especially when they've proven they can't keep their hands off each other?"

Liam considered her reply. "Well, there is that. But that's not what I meant."

"It's not?"

"No, I was talking about the dangers of putting two idealists together. There's bound to be trouble."