Still Life by Joy Fielding Page A

and swallowing the catch in her throat. “I’m sorry, but Janine had to leave rather suddenly. She broke a tooth on a bagel, of all things, and the only time the dentist could squeeze her in was …” Why was she rambling on this way? “I’m Casey Lerner, her partner. She asked me to fill in for her. I hope that’s all right.”
    “More than all right,” Warren said, making himself comfortable in the red velvet chair across from her desk. “Interesting room,” he said, penetrating brown eyes casually absorbing the leopard-print carpeting, the dark walnut desk, and the taupe-colored walls lined with black-and-white photographs of fruit and floral arrangements. “It’s … quirky.”
    “Quirky?”
    “That’s a compliment. I’ve always liked quirky. Who did you use?”
    “I’m sorry?”
    “The decorator,” he explained with a smile.
    “Oh. No decorator. Just me. I did the whole office, actually. Janine’s room, too. She’s not really interested in that sort of thing, and it’s always been kind of a hobby of mine….” She was rambling again, Casey realized, and stopped. “How can I help you, Mr. Marshall?”
    “Well, as I explained to Ms. Pegabo on the phone the other day, I’ve been with Miller, Sheridan for the last five years and I’m looking to make a move. I faxed over a copy of my résumé….”
    “Yes, it’s very impressive. Bachelor in finance from Princeton, law degree from Columbia. I don’t imagine we’ll have much trouble finding you a new position. Do you mind my asking you why you want to leave Miller, Sheridan?”
    “I’m looking for a firm with more vision, more guts,” he said easily. “Miller, Sheridan is a good, capable firm, but they’re also a little old-fashioned, and I prefer …”
    “Quirkier?”
    He smiled. “I don’t want to wait the requisite ten years before being made a full partner.”
    “A man in a hurry,” Casey observed.
    “I prefer to think of myself as a man who knows his own worth.”
    Casey glanced back at his résumé, although she’d already committed all the relevant facts to memory: Warren Marshall had attended Princeton on a full scholarship and graduated Columbia in the top third of his class; his area of expertise was corporate and commercial law; he was already pulling in a salary of several hundred thousand dollars a year. “I’m not sure I can get you more money than you’re getting now, at least to start out.”
    “Sure you can,” he said with a smile.
    He was a little arrogant, Casey decided. But that was all right. In the right hands, arrogant could be very attractive. Providing there was something to be arrogant about. Her father had been arrogant. She found herself checking out the ring finger of Warren Marshall’s left hand and was happy to see it was empty, although that didn’t necessarily mean anything. What was she doing? This wasn’t like her.
    “Look. Nobody becomes a lawyer to get rich,” Warren was saying. “You make a decent living, yes. Okay, more than a decent living. But factor in expenses and taxes and overhead, you’re certainly not retiring at forty.”
    “Is that what you want to do? Retire at forty?”
    “No, that’s not me. But sixty doesn’t sound so unreasonable. Old,” he continued with a laugh. “But not unreasonable.”
    Casey laughed as well. They spent the next half hour talking about his preferences and his politics, his likes and dislikes, his goals and his dreams, all of which were compatible with hers. More than once, they finished each other’s sentences. Casey was surprised at their easy camaraderie, as if they’d known each other for years. He gets me , she thought, wishing she could think of a way to prolong the interview further.
    “So, you think you can do something for me?” he asked, pushing back his chair and standing up.
    “I can’t imagine I’ll have too much trouble,” Casey answered honestly. Warren Marshall was a gift, she was thinking, the easiest commission