LITMIR.BIZ

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principal high and dry, he would be teaching Jason that it was all right to give your word and then break it on a whim.

      He might not be the world’s best father, but at least he knew that much was wrong.

      Jason’s teacher, Mrs. Reyes, had placed two folding chairs in the front of the room, putting them a few feet away from her own desk. The intention was that the speakers wouldn’t feel as if they were “on” the entire time. Her aim was to afford the speakers a clear view of the classroom and its occupants, even while keeping everything at a safe distance.

      Steve took his seat, wondering who else had been roped into this “sales pitch to seven-year-olds,” as he had come to think of the experience.

      He didn’t have long to wait for an answer. No sooner had the question occurred to him than the classroom door opened and he heard a rather melodic, softly compelling voice say, “I’m sorry I’m late. I’m afraid my staff meeting ran over.”

      “I’m just glad you could make it,” Mrs. Reyes said, smiling broadly at the owner of the voice. There was more than a measure of relief echoing in the teacher’s own voice.

      Steve turned to look at the late arrival and found himself suddenly and completely captivated. The young woman, carrying what appeared to be a wide valise or case of some sort, was all swirling strawberry-blond hair, bright blue eyes and heartwarming smile.

      Unlike him—he was wearing a light gray suit—she was dressed casually in a light blue summer dress that brought out her eyes even more than nature already had. To top off the picture, the woman had the best set of legs he’d seen since—well, he couldn’t quite remember since when.

      “Hi,” the woman said to him as she took the seat beside his. Her eyes swept over him as she asked, “Are you giving a Career Day speech, too?”

      “Yes.” Suddenly at a loss for words, all he could do was smile at her—and feel utterly inept. Something that had never happened to him before.

      “What’s your career?” she asked in a deliberately low voice. She was intent on not distracting anyone in the classroom; however, the low timbre managed to distract Steve big-time. “Well, you’re in a suit, so it must be something important,” she assumed, then made a guess. “Doctor?”

      He barely shook his head. The rest of him felt as if he had been frozen in place, trapped in her eyes. Who was this woman? “No,” he breathed.

      “Lawyer?” was her second guess.

      “How did you know?” There was no L on his forehead, no aura particular to lawyers. He couldn’t see her managing to figure it out on her second guess.

      She smiled and he found himself even a little more captivated than he already was—if that was possible. “The old nursery rhyme. You know—rich man, poor man, beggar man, thief. Doctor, lawyer, Indian chief. You said no to doctor and you didn’t look like a chief, so I took a stab at lawyer.” That out of the way, she asked the next logical question. “What kind of a lawyer are you?”

      “A good one,” he replied.

      His own answer sounded almost flippant to him—and that just wasn’t like him at all. He was good, fair and dedicated. None of those attributes had any leeway for flippant.

      “Ah, one with a sense of humor. That’s good,” she pronounced with a smile that for a moment rivaled sunbeams.

      The next moment, she was leaning into him. “Which one’s yours?” she asked in a hushed whisper that at the same time seemed incredibly sexy to him, given the circumstances and where they were.

      Could a voice in a second-grade classroom even be sexy? Steve couldn’t help wondering.

      “That one over there, the towhead with the cowlick,” he told her.

      It took her a second to find the child he was pointing out. “Very handsome boy,” she told him with a nod of her head. Steve knew what she’d just said was a standard reply and maybe it was just his imagination, but she seemed to mean what she said.

      “Which one’s yours?” he asked, thinking it only fair to put the same question to her.

      “Oh, I don’t have one in this class,” she replied.

      He found that odd. Weren’t you supposed to have a kid in the room before you could address said class?

      “Then—?”

      As if anticipating the rest of his question, the woman beside him said, “The assistant principal thought it might be a good idea for me to come by today and address the class.”

      Steve came to the only conclusion he could. The woman had to have a unique career.

      “What’s your career?” he asked outright, unable to even venture a guess, especially not one that would involve a valise.

      She opened her mouth, apparently to answer his question, when Mrs. Reyes spoke up and by the very act commanded that they all give her their undivided attention.

      “Well, it’s my favorite Wednesday of the month again. Career Day,” she emphasized with feeling. “And first we will hear from Jason Kendall’s father, Steven Kendall, who is going to talk to you about what it means to be a business lawyer.” Turning toward him with a bright, welcoming smile, Mrs. Reyes said, “Mr. Kendall, the floor is yours.”

      With that, Mrs. Reyes gestured around the classroom, in case he missed her meaning.

      Steve rose and instantly became aware that his legs felt a little stiff. The last time he’d felt that, he recalled, he’d been in court, pleading his very first case. He’d won, but only by a hair, and while others might have become cocky because a win was a win, his win humbled him because he knew how close he had come to losing that first case.

      It was then that he realized that things were decided by the whimsy of fate and although he was always prepared, always did his best, he never lost sight of that humbling lesson.

      Coming before the class now—Mrs. Reyes had vacated her desk, so he stood behind that as he spoke—Steve remembered beginning, remembered his mouth moving as his brain raced from point to point, trying to hit all the points he’d jotted down for himself earlier.

      He was acutely aware that while his audience of seven-and eight-year-olds all sat at their desks listening politely, not a single face in that audience looked the least bit interested, much less inspired by either his vocation or anything that he had just said to them.

      Not that, he silently admitted, he had said anything terribly interesting or inspiring.

      And certainly not very memorable.

      When he was finished, applause came after a beat. Polite applause as if they had been coached to applaud anyone who appeared to have stopped talking. He was glad to reclaim his chair and sit down.

      “And next we have Ms. Erin O’Brien.” Instead of announcing the next career, Mrs. Reyes smiled at her class. “You’re in for a treat,” she promised. “I think you’ll find Ms. O’Brien’s career very interesting.” Mrs. Reyes looked toward the next speaker, exchanging glances with her as if they had a shared secret. “Ms. O’Brien, the class is all yours.”

      Rather than the young woman saying anything in response to Mrs. Reyes, another voice was heard. A muffled voice as befitting one that came from inside a suitcase.

      “Hey, it’s dark in here, Erin. Lemme out.”

      Erin’s hooded eyes covertly took in the room. Apparently, she had the entire classroom in the palm of her hand as children exchanged giggles and nervous glances with one another.

      Erin looked at the valise on the floor next to her chair. She had a pseudoexasperated look on her face. “Tex, I told you to be on your best behavior.”

      “This is my best behavior,” the voice coming from the valise insisted.

      “If I let you out, you have to promise

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