Free Three Classic Thrillers by John Grisham Page B

Sheetrock and bare. She had picked out some artwork. He determined that the Ego Wall would face the desk, behind the wing chairs. The diplomas, etc., would have to be mounted and framed. The office was big, for an associate. Much larger than the cubbyholes where the rookies were placed in New York and Chicago. It would do for a couple of years. Then on to one with a better view. Then a corner office, one of those power ones.
    Miss Nina Huff knocked on the door and introduced herself as the secretary. She was a heavyset woman of forty-five, and with one glance it was not difficult to understand why she was still single. With no family to support, it was evident she spent her money on clothes and makeup—all to no avail. Mitch wondered why she did not invest in a fitness counselor. She informed him forthrightly that she had been with the firm eight and a half years now and knew all there was to know about office procedure. If he had a question, just ask her. He thanked her for that. She had been in the typing pool and was grateful for the return to general secretarial duties. He nodded as though he understood completely. She asked if he knew how to operate the dictating equipment. Yes, he said. In fact, the year before he had worked for a three-hundred-man firm on Wall Street and that firm owned the very latest in office technology. But if he had a problem he would ask her, he promised.
    “What’s your wife’s name?” she asked.
    “Why is that important?” he asked.
    “Because when she calls, I would like to know hername so that I can be real sweet and friendly to her on the phone.”
    “Abby.”
    “How do you like your coffee?”
    “Black, but I’ll fix it myself.”
    “I don’t mind fixing your coffee for you. It’s part of the job.”
    “I’ll fix it myself.”
    “All the secretaries do it.”
    “If you ever touch my coffee, I’ll see to it that you’re sent to the mail room to lick stamps.”
    “We have an automated licker. Do they lick stamps on Wall Street?”
    “It was a figure of speech.”
    “Well, I’ve memorized your wife’s name and we’ve settled the issue of coffee, so I guess I’m ready to start.”
    “In the morning. Be here at eight-thirty.”
    “Yes, boss.” She left and Mitch smiled to himself. She was a real smart-ass, but she would be fun.
    Lamar was next. He was late for a meeting with Nathan Locke, but he wanted to stop by and check on his friend. He was pleased their offices were close. He apologized again for last Thursday’s dinner. Yes, he and Kay and the kids would be there at seven to inspect the new house and the furniture.
    Hunter Quin was five. His sister Holly was seven. They both ate the spaghetti with perfect manners from the brand-new dining table and dutifully ignored the grown-up talk circulating around them. Abby watched the two and dreamed of babies. Mitch thought they were cute, but was not inspired. He was busy recalling the events of the day.
    The women ate quickly, then left to look at the furniture and talk about the remodeling. The children took Hearsay to the backyard.
    “I’m a little surprised they put you with Tolar,” Lamar said, wiping his mouth.
    “Why is that?”
    “I don’t think he’s ever supervised an associate.”
    “Any particular reason?”
    “Not really. He’s a great guy, but not much of a team player. Sort of a loner. Prefers to work by himself. He and his wife are having some problems, and there’s talk that they’ve separated. But he keeps it to himself.”
    Mitch pushed his plate away and sipped the iced tea. “Is he a good lawyer?”
    “Yes, very good. They’re all good if they make partner. A lot of his clients are rich people with millions to put in tax shelters. He sets up limited partnerships. Many of his shelters are risky, and he’s known for his willingness to take chances and fight with the IRS later. Most of his clients are big-time risk takers. You’ll do a lot of research looking for ways to bend the