Sawyer, Meryl Read Free Page B

into
his arms as the band began to play another waltz.
    She told him about the revised plan for the show. He gave her a
reassuring smile; once again she realized how startlingly handsome he was. But
unaware of it. Just being with him made her happy. Despite being rich and
outrageously good looking Brent was down to earth and so affectionate. He had
many of the qualities she had admired in her father.
    If only his parents accepted her, everything would be
perfect—except for Mitch, of course. How could she conduct a brilliant
interview, an interview that would annihilate the competition and win her the
show, when she hated Mitch so much, she could hardly speak to him in a civil
tone?
    "Watch out for Mitch," Brent warned. "He'll do
anything to get even with me."
    "Why?" She'd assumed the Farenholts disliked Mitch
because of his unconventional courtroom tactics, the antithesis of the staid
firm headed by Ward Farenholt.
    Mitch had successfully defended Zou Zou Maloof who'd been accused
of murdering her husband for his insurance. He'd convinced the jury to acquit
her using the "Halcion defense," claiming his client had been
paranoid from prolonged use of sleeping pills and hadn't known the knife she'd
plunged into her husband's heart was actually going to kill him.
    "Durant has a hair-trigger temper. He can be violent for no
reason." Brent looked at his father, who was dancing nearby with Caroline;
obviously the family felt duty bound to entertain the former girlfriend.
"He broke my jaw when we were at Stanford, you know."
    "Really? Why didn't you tell me?" She ventured a glance
at Mitch, who was standing by the table talking with Mrs. Dillingham. There was
more than a hint of aggressiveness to him. His stance, legs slightly apart,
suggested the readiness of a fighter, creating a compelling quality some women
found exciting.
    "I didn't mention the fight because I was ashamed."
Brent shrugged, his cute one-shouldered shrug that had become so familiar.
"I wanted to get back at Mitch for being at the top of our class, so I
called him a redneck and a cracker. I'd been first in my class at Yale and
thought Stanford law would be a piece of cake, but there's always someone smarter,
richer—"
    "Prettier," she finished for him. "That's what I
like about you, Brent, you're unfailingly honest." He smiled at her and
she couldn't help feeling he had the sincerest smile. When Mitch smiled she
always wondered what he was really thinking.
    Brent glanced over at his father. Ward Farenholt was laughing at
something Caroline had said. "My father gave me hell for not being top gun
at Stanford."
    She nodded sympathetically, her eyes on Ward as he twirled
Caroline Rambeau around the floor, still laughing, which was rare. Hidebound by
generations of wealth and tradition, Ward set rigid standards for his only
child. Brent had committed the ultimate violation of those standards by not
marrying Caroline.
    "Do you know what happens when you try to pet a junkyard
dog?" Brent asked. "He goes for your throat because he's been trained
to attack. Remember that when you deal with Mitchell Durant."
     
    Mitch's beeper went off just as dessert—some pastry with a fancy
French name he couldn't pronounce—had been served.
    "Damn," he cussed under his breath. All he needed
tonight was someone hearing the Miranda and howling for an attorney. He tilted
the face of the beeper to the candlelight and caught the number with a sigh of
relief. Not someone in jail, but Jason.
    Mitch excused himself and everyone smiled at him—except Royce
Winston. She didn't even spare him a glance. What did he expect? The five years
she'd lived in Italy hadn't changed anything. She was still ready to drive a
stake through his heart.
    Royce couldn't possibly love Brent, could she? For chrissake, she
had to be smarter than that, but the Farenholt money might have done the trick.
After all, she'd been quick to tell him about her engagement ring. Okay, so who
could blame her? Five minutes at