“Haven't you ever seen those reality shows where they go into some poor sap's restaurant and spend an entire episode insulting him? The restaurant biz ain't for pansies, Alex.

“Now go on downstairs. I thawed out some steaks this morning and I have them soaking in marinade. As soon as Mom calls to tell us she's on the way home you can put them on the grill. I'm going to whip up some side dishes and we'll have ourselves one hell of a supper tonight.

“And don't touch the bacon!" she shouted after him as he clattered down the stairs. "That's for the brussel sprouts!"

Rachel hung her suit jacket on the back of her chair and sat at her desk in her office. She and her team had just returned from the courthouse, and she was entering her notes about the day's proceedings into her computer for review over the weekend.

Nothing surprising had happened that day in court. After her star witness’ stunning turn on the stand the day before, she had wrapped up her side of the case early in the afternoon. The judge had decided to put off hearing the defense side until after the weekend. That was fine as far as Rachel was concerned. She was an old hand at reading Lawyers and juries. Unless she screwed up badly in the next few days, she had the case won. The only question now was how big the punitive damages were going to be. The cross-examinations from the defense team had taken on an almost perfunctory tone, and the jury was firmly in her hand. She smiled to herself as she remembered the looks of undisguised loathing they had given the Antioch Chemical executives who had appeared in court.

Meanwhile, her team had been quietly jubilant during the Lunch break.

She had had to caution some of the plaintiffs not to celebrate too early. Class-action lawsuits were always tricky. And companies like

Antioch had dozens of tricks to avoid payment. Still, she would rather be in her shoes than the defense team's.

Or out of them, she thought, slipping off her heels with a sigh. She wiggled her toes in satisfaction as she looked over the notes she had made for her closing statement. Unless she was wrong, the defense would wrap up their side of the case within one or two days. She would probably be called upon to make her final argument Tuesday afternoon.

Her brows creased in a frown as she looked over her notes. A few days ago, she had liked the tone they set; calm, logical, precise, flowing from one conclusion to the next in an elegant chain of thought. Now, they seemed insufficient.

There's no emotion here, she thought. No passion. These bastards polluted a stretch of river twenty miles Long. Where is the outrage?

She drummed her fingers on the polished wood of her desk, then opened a new document on her laptop. In a few seconds the sound of her fingers on the keyboard filled the room.

She was unaware of how much time had passed until she heard her name being called. "Ms. Wainwright?"

She blinked and looked up from the screen to where her intern was standing in the half-open doorway.

“Jeremy. I'm sorry. Come on in. I didn't hear you." She looked out the window, where Long shadows were beginning to stretch across the city.

“How late is it?"

“after five," he said, entering the office.

“Everyone is taking off for the day. I was wondering if you wanted to come down for that drink we talked about yesterday evening."

She shook her head. "I don't think so. I had a late night Last night, what with nearly running a man over and having to talk to the police

I'd like to get home early for a change. And one drink can turn into two or three once you get a bunch of Lawyers and paralegals into a bar