people, swimmers, sunbathers or people taking a walk, you wouldn’t be able to see the sand. Here though there were only a dozen or so people spaced out along the wide shore, most of them walking dogs. A couple of people even splashed about in the waves, though Chris didn’t think it was quite warm enough for a swim.
He had the urge to go down, take off his shoes and wander along the sand and so he gave in to it. There was a walkway parallel to the beach and from there paths ran down to the sand. He took the nearest one and walked down the limestone-and-sand slope. At the end of the path he took off his shoes and left them in the pile of flip-flops and other shoes nearby. He walked over the sand, feeling the grains slip under his feet and between his toes.
Again he breathed deeply to release some of the stress filling him. The negotiations were going where he’d guessed they would. Nowhere. The joint-venture partners had good lawyers who knew their stuff and, worse yet, they were in the right. It was his job to convince his employer there was no point fighting it. So far they wouldn’t listen, certain that a particular point in the contract terms meant they had a loophole.
If it was, it was a minuscule hole.
Chris walked down to where the sand was firm and let the waves wash over his feet. The water was cool, but soothing.
He passed a walker going in the opposite direction and she said, “Morning!”
Surprised he said, “Morning, ma’am.”
She grinned at him and kept walking.
Chris smiled. Australians were so friendly.
Most of the time.
He’d spent yesterday advising the Australian branch they needed to give in to the partners, that they had no case against them, but they were being stubbornly persistent. He debated calling head office and asking them to give the directive, but it would kill the relationships he’d built with the people here.
And they would listen to the senior lawyers in Australia over him. He hadn’t proven himself yet.
He continued his way along the gently curving shoreline. Chris sighed and kicked his feet through the water. He was tired of this. Tired of the business trips, tired of the politics, tired of working out ways to screw the people who signed contracts with his company in good faith. It wasn’t what he’d imagined when he’d decided he wanted to be a corporate lawyer. What he’d wanted was the money and the prestige – to be able to show men like Remy Fontaine that he was worth something. He hadn’t realized it would take up so much of his life, or make him so miserable.
The only things that made him feel good about himself were the pro bono work and Imogen.
Imogen. He smiled.
When her profile had popped up on Skype he hadn’t been able to resist calling her, seeing her face and hearing her voice. He couldn’t wait to speak with her again that afternoon.
He was worried about the way she was letting others take advantage of her. She had always been too nice.
Chris wanted her to keep planning her own clothing brand and he’d do what he could to help. There were quite a few organizations set up to ensure the ethical manufacture of clothing overseas if Imogen planned to do that. He could help her work through the options, make sure everything was legitimate, and set up the contracts to ensure the workers were treated fairly.
The thought of a worthwhile cause excited him.
Maybe it was time to change jobs, find something that was emotionally rather than financially rewarding.
A shiver ran down his spine. The very idea made him feel slightly nauseated. It didn’t matter that he had his savings, he still had a mortgage and he remembered clearly those days after Imogen’s father had kicked them out. They’d lived with his aunt and uncle before they could find somewhere to live and his father could find a job. It had been six months of uncertainty before his father managed to set up his own landscaping business with the help of a loan from the bank.
The first
He had the urge to go down, take off his shoes and wander along the sand and so he gave in to it. There was a walkway parallel to the beach and from there paths ran down to the sand. He took the nearest one and walked down the limestone-and-sand slope. At the end of the path he took off his shoes and left them in the pile of flip-flops and other shoes nearby. He walked over the sand, feeling the grains slip under his feet and between his toes.
Again he breathed deeply to release some of the stress filling him. The negotiations were going where he’d guessed they would. Nowhere. The joint-venture partners had good lawyers who knew their stuff and, worse yet, they were in the right. It was his job to convince his employer there was no point fighting it. So far they wouldn’t listen, certain that a particular point in the contract terms meant they had a loophole.
If it was, it was a minuscule hole.
Chris walked down to where the sand was firm and let the waves wash over his feet. The water was cool, but soothing.
He passed a walker going in the opposite direction and she said, “Morning!”
Surprised he said, “Morning, ma’am.”
She grinned at him and kept walking.
Chris smiled. Australians were so friendly.
Most of the time.
He’d spent yesterday advising the Australian branch they needed to give in to the partners, that they had no case against them, but they were being stubbornly persistent. He debated calling head office and asking them to give the directive, but it would kill the relationships he’d built with the people here.
And they would listen to the senior lawyers in Australia over him. He hadn’t proven himself yet.
He continued his way along the gently curving shoreline. Chris sighed and kicked his feet through the water. He was tired of this. Tired of the business trips, tired of the politics, tired of working out ways to screw the people who signed contracts with his company in good faith. It wasn’t what he’d imagined when he’d decided he wanted to be a corporate lawyer. What he’d wanted was the money and the prestige – to be able to show men like Remy Fontaine that he was worth something. He hadn’t realized it would take up so much of his life, or make him so miserable.
The only things that made him feel good about himself were the pro bono work and Imogen.
Imogen. He smiled.
When her profile had popped up on Skype he hadn’t been able to resist calling her, seeing her face and hearing her voice. He couldn’t wait to speak with her again that afternoon.
He was worried about the way she was letting others take advantage of her. She had always been too nice.
Chris wanted her to keep planning her own clothing brand and he’d do what he could to help. There were quite a few organizations set up to ensure the ethical manufacture of clothing overseas if Imogen planned to do that. He could help her work through the options, make sure everything was legitimate, and set up the contracts to ensure the workers were treated fairly.
The thought of a worthwhile cause excited him.
Maybe it was time to change jobs, find something that was emotionally rather than financially rewarding.
A shiver ran down his spine. The very idea made him feel slightly nauseated. It didn’t matter that he had his savings, he still had a mortgage and he remembered clearly those days after Imogen’s father had kicked them out. They’d lived with his aunt and uncle before they could find somewhere to live and his father could find a job. It had been six months of uncertainty before his father managed to set up his own landscaping business with the help of a loan from the bank.
The first
Similar Books
