by Cindy Dees
She stood up, and Leon gaped at her in open shock. Good. If she wasn’t going to last a year, anyway, she might as well go out with a bang—or rather, not a bang—and teach these jerks that women didn’t have to stand for being treated like mindless sex objects anymore. The very first lesson she’d learned in her very first negotiation class in law school was that, if she wanted to be the person in a position of power in a meeting, be the one to end it and walk out.
“You should wear that blouse to your next meeting with Cam Townsend,” he said pleasantly. “It’s lovely.”
“Yes, I’ve recently been informed that I was hired for my tits and ass. That reminds me. I’ll have to look into who I file sexual harassment complaints with at the New York State Bar Association.”
Leon’s stare gave away nothing. The old turd was too experienced to give her an easy read on whether or not he was last night’s raspy voice. She spun on her heel, being sure to twitch her WMP Select ass on the way out the door.
She made it all the way to the elevator before the shaking set in. Holy crap. She’d just threatened the senior partner of her law firm. A man who could undoubtedly get her blackballed with every law firm on the east coast if he felt like it. Good thing she’d always had a secret hankering to be a public defender in a small town slightly east of Timbuktu. Crap, crap, crap. What had she been thinking?
Of course the answer to that one was a no-brainer. She hadn’t been thinking at all. She’d been ticked off and had let it get the best of her. A gauntlet had been thrown down last night and she was too much of a brawler not to pick the damned thing up. Well, in the two minutes before Whitney fired her, it would be interesting to see if the raspy-voiced snake in the grass gave himself away.
Of course, there was one person who could call the snake by name. But no way would Cam Townsend give away the speaker. The guy was already deep up WMP’s ass and about to be the firm’s next golden boy superstar.
She was till fuming when a cab deposited her in front of the county jail. No meeting was actually scheduled with Alexei Koronov this morning, but it wasn’t like his social calendar was that heavily booked in lockup. She waited while he was fetched and brought into the meeting room with her. The scarred walls, linoleum floor and handcuff bar on the table reminded her of the meeting with Cam Townsend yesterday. Which, of course, reminded her of that carnal kiss in the ladies’ room. Which made her face hot and her pulse hectic by the time her client was led in wearing an orange jumpsuit.
She studied him carefully as he sat down in front of her. He was paler than the last time she’d seen him. Thinner. But for some reason, he looked more peaceful. Maybe some time in jail had calmed him down a little. Scary thought. “Hey, Alex. How’re you doing?”
He shrugged noncommittally. Handsome guy. Couple years younger than her. Lean but athletic. Dark hair, light eyes, great bones. Closed off, though. Both his hostile stare and defensive body language screamed for people to leave him the hell alone.
“As we expected, the DA’s office made you a relatively generous offer. Five-thousand-dollar fine, two years probation and a thousand hours community service.”
“No!” Alexei ground out angrily. It was the first sign of real life she’d seen out of him today. “Turn him down!”
“I already did,” she replied soothingly. “Just like you told me to. I said it before and I’ll say it again. I work for you. I’m not going to do anything you don’t want me to.”
That had been one of Koronov’s two ironclad conditions for her to represent him and not demand another attorney. He’d made her promise to do what he told her to, even if it sounded crazy. The other condition had been that she wasn’t to push for answers to any questions he refused to discuss. So far that one hadn’t been an issue. He made no secret with her of the fact that he’d been drunk as a skunk the night he tried to go supersonic in a car on the New Jersey Turnpike. The weird bit was he didn’t seem to care if that was made known in court, either.
One thing she knew for sure about this case. No way was she putting him on the stand and letting Cam Townsend get a shot at cross-examining Alex. He’d likely end up in jail for the rest of his natural life if she did. Leon Whitney would have a coronary. It would almost be worth it if not for the fact that she didn’t want this guy in his early twenties to throw away the rest of his life in a fit of depression or rebellion or whatever the hell it was motivating him right now.
“Now what?” Alex asked, startling her out of her dark thoughts.
“A judge will be assigned to your case, and there will be a hearing where we formally enter your plea. The judge will then set a date for jury selection and a preliminary date for your trial. A few more administrative details having to do with entering evidence and pre-trial motions will happen, but they’re not especially important to you. I’ll worry about those.”
“I want to know everything.”
One thing she’d already learned about this kid. He was ridiculously smart. By the time his trial happened, he would probably know as much about law as she did. She nodded. “Okay. I’ll go over all that stuff when it gets a little closer to your hearing, then.”
The tension went out of his shoulders.
“How are you doing in here? Is there anything I can get you? Other prisoners aren’t hassling you?”
A shrug.
“Look. I like you, Alex. I don’t mind helping you out.”
“I don’t want help,” he mumbled, staring down at the table.
“Why not?”
He glanced up, and for just a second, stunning intelligence flashed out of his stormy-gray eyes like lightning striking from the depths of a thunderhead. He answered tightly, “Not on the approved list of conversation topics between us.”
Crap. Her training said it was vital to develop rapport with her client. Get to know him. Find the side of him that would most appeal to a jury. Learn how to draw it out of him.
She leaned back in her chair. “I’m not a shrink and I’m not trying to be yours. I’m just trying to understand what’s going on with this case so I can best defend you.”
“Don’t bother.”
“I beg your pardon?”
“If you’re going to do your best, I’ll fire you and ask for the worst hack public defender the city has.”
She stared. “Are you kidding me?”
Again, that laser stare. “No. I’m not. Screw this case up or I’ll get a lawyer who will.”
Her jaw dropped. He pushed away from the table and moved to the door, banging his open palm on the steel panel while she stared in shock. The guard outside opened it and Alex walked out without a single backward glance. What on earth?
She gathered up her belongings at the check-in area, made her way back to midtown and went for a long walk. The noise and bustle of the city soothed her, or at least anesthetized her until she felt no more shock. Who’d ever heard of a client who insisted their attorney do a lousy job of defending him?
Eventually, she pulled out her cell phone and called Zoey. “Hey, Zo. It’s Dani.”
“Ooooh, girlfriend, what did you say to Whitney?”
“Why?” she asked quickly “Did he do something?”
“No, no. But he’s been on the warpath since you sailed out of his office this morning. He actually made Janice cry, and she’s been his secretary for like thirty years. She said in the break room that she’s never seen him this pissed off.”
“Any rumors that I’m going to be fired floating around HR?” she asked lightly.
“Of course not! What did you two talk about?” Zoey demanded.
“Sorry. Case. Confidential.”
“Dammit!” Zoey exclaimed. “I was so looking forward to the juicy gossip!”
“Sorry. Hey, I have a work thing for you. Got a little time for a project? Two projects, actually.”
“Yeah, sure. The Ore-groan case is pretty much wrapped up.”
Dani grinned. A client had gotten into some sort of dispute with the State of Oregon, but insisted on
WMP defending it. They were a New York—based firm and it had been a huge pain in the ass to interface with a Portland law firm to get all the relevant case law to the offices in New York and comb through it like first-year law students. The paralegals and suits had nicknamed it the Ore-groaner.
“Can you have one of the private investigators on retainer with the firm run a background check on Alexei Koronov?” She spelled the last name for Zoey.
“Isn’t his old man that spy who got arrested a while back? Russian dude convicted of treason?”
Dani stared blindly at a lamppost in front of her. Her client’s father was a spy? “I don’t know.”
“I’m on it. I’ll bill it to the firm as a charitable donation. We’ve got this hot new P.I. I’ve been dying to get in the sack, and this is just the excuse I need to make my move. What’s the second project?”
“Glad I can help advance your sex life. Second project: can you pull some basic statutory information on sexual harassment law? Maybe a few case law citations?”
“What kind of workplace?”
“Law firms.”
Silence. Then, “Is everything okay, sweetie? You can talk to me, you know. I won’t tell a soul if you’ve got a problem.”
“I’m fine. Oh, and can I get a list of names of women attorneys who been hired and subsequently left WMP?”
“I know a guy who can kick any asses in need of a swift kick. He’s quiet, too. Low key.”
“Thanks, but I’m good for now. I’d prefer it if you were pretty loud about your research. Rattle the bars of the cage a little bit so I can see what shakes out.”
“What’s this about, Dani?”
“I’ll explain when I can.”
“Okay. I’ll pull some stuff together for you this afternoon. Loudly.”
“You’re the best, Zoey.”
“And don’t you forget it,” the paralegal laughed.
Dani disconnected the call and stared at her phone for a second of indecision. Why not? In for a penny, in for a pound. She scrolled through her recent calls and hit redial.
“New York County District Attorney’s office.”
“Cam Townsend, please.”
“One moment. May I tell him who’s calling?”
“Dani Wellford. Whitney, Marcos & Pinter.”
“One moment, ma’am.”
A familiar voice murmured in her ear, “Hey, hot stuff. How’s the sexiest lawyer in the Big Apple today?”
“I have no idea how she’s doing. Who is she?” Dani snapped.
A chuckle caressed her ear and tickled its way down her spine. “Decided to change your mind about accepting that plea deal?”
“Not at all. But there is something I’d like to talk with you about. Not related to that case. Well, not directly, at any rate. Is there a time we could get together?”
“You busy after work today?”
“Uh, no. I guess not.”
“Perfect. Ma Foulle. Seven o’clock. I’ll take care of the reservation.”
She blinked, startled. Ma Foulle was one of the hottest restaurants in the city, right now. Reservations were impossible to get. “Um, okay. See you there.”
Holy cow. She was having dinner with Cam Townsend. Leon Whitney would be so proud of her. In fact, that gave her an idea. She called the office to tell her secretary she would be working out of the office for the rest of the afternoon and ducked across the street and into a high-end department store. She had a little shopping to do. And it was going on her corporate expense account, by God. She would love to see how the firm’s accountants justified a naughty lingerie purchase as a business expense when she turned in the voucher.
The lingerie turned into a sexy little black dress, sheer silk thigh highs, high fuck-me heels—with a matching purse of course—and a big shopping bag full of the skankiest bras and thongs the department store had to offer in its rather gigantic lingerie section. It was shocking how entirely satisfying revenge shopping could be. No wonder wives did it when they caught their husbands cheating on them!
By the time her spree ended, she didn’t have time to run back to her loft to dump the bag and make it back to Ma Foulle by seven. The sky looked threatening today and cabs were at a premium with rain threatening. She settled for hanging onto the bag and showing up a few minutes early at the restaurant. She slid onto a high stool at the bar, vividly aware that her short hem let the top of her stockings and a glimpse of garter strap show.
Every male who entered the bar zeroed in on her display like a heat-seeking missile. She never failed to be amazed how dirty all men’s minds were at the end of the day. But then, in her experience, women’s minds weren’t much better. They just denied thinking about sex because nice girls didn’t do that. And heaven forbid that a nice girl actually liked doing it. Eww.
She would never have survived in an earlier era. At least not as a respectable woman. She’d have made a hell of a mistress, she supposed. Although she sucked at keeping her opinions to herself, and her understanding of the majority of human history was that women were not supposed to think at all, let alone express what thoughts they had. She sipped at her wine and did her best to ignore the stream of men finding excuses to brush the back of her stool.
If Cam reacted half as strongly, this was going to be a very interesting legal consultation.
CHAPTER FOUR
“HEY, beautiful.” A warm, tingling hand landed lightly on her bare shoulder. Or maybe that was her doing the tingling. She glanced up at Cam wryly. Staking his claim on her, was he? That was okay. It played right into her grand plan.
“Hungry?” he murmured.
“Starving.” She let just a hint of innuendo creep into the word. Not so much as to be cheap, but enough to let him know she was not frigid.
He smiled knowingly. “Our table should be ready by now.” He picked up her drink and carried it through the bar for her to the maître d’s podium.
Not only had Cam pulled off a table at the place, he’d scored a private booth tucked in the back corner complete with a drippy candle on the table. It screamed of seduction. This was going to be even easier than she’d thought it would be.
“How was your afternoon, Counselor?” she asked over the menus.
“Interesting.” He launched into a brief explanation of a tricky legal argument and how he’d avoided the circular trap a clever defense attorney had laid for him. She leaned forward, intrigued, and made a suggestion for how the defense attorney could have sucked him back into the trap. Cam laughed and countered.
The waiter interrupted long enough to take their orders, and they resumed the vigorous debate. Finally, Cam leaned back as the waiter refilled their wine glasses. “I believe we have reached a draw.”
She smiled over her glass at him and savored the fresh bite of an exceptional Bordeaux.
“How was your day?” he asked.
The guy sounded like he was actually half-interested in her answer. Huh. She’d pegged him as a whole-world-revolves-around-me type. “I had a fascinating chat with Leon Whitney this morning.”
“About?”
She watched him closely. “I suspect you know what.”
His gaze flickered up toward the ceiling. Evasion. Oh, yeah. He’d definitely sicced the old fart on her. All he said, though, was, “And?”
“And my client isn’t budging. I saw him this afternoon, and he remains committed to going to trial.” She left out the bit about Alex threatening to fire her if she did too good a job defending him.
“Based on our conversation so far this evening, I have to say this should be an interesting trial. I’ll look forward to what gambit you pull out of your ass to save a guilty man.”
She laughed in genuine amusement.
“You do realize it’s nothing personal, right, Dani? You and I are both just playing our parts so the legal system can do its job.”
“Yes, Cam. I am vaguely familiar with the purpose of defense attorneys.”
“Just sayin’. There’s no need
for us to be enemies because we’re sitting on opposite sides of the aisle.”
“I got that memo in ninth grade debate,” she replied dryly.
“I did debate, too.”
She studied him over her wine. “I’ll bet you played football, as well. Let me guess. Star quarterback of the state champion team.”
“We lost in the state championship. Got pummeled by a team with a defensive line they imported from somewhere in the South Pacific. They were all eight feet tall and weighed five hundred pounds. Took me a week to walk upright again after that game.”
She grinned as the first course was set down before them. “I played girl’s basketball. Vicious sport. No pads and long fingernails.”
They traded animated tales of their athletics endeavors, moved on to war stories of their worst professors in law school and migrated into favorite books and films. The main course finished without a resolution to the debate over the best film of all time.
Finally, he announced, “Obviously, a head-to-head viewing of the movies is called for, followed by a final vote.”
“You name the time and place,” she challenged.
“You interested in dessert?”
“Not me. I’m stuffed.”
“Now, then.”
She blinked. “Excuse me?”
“It’s Friday night. You don’t have to log billable hours tomorrow to meet your quota, do you?”
“Nah, I’m on volunteer public defense duty. I get a flat paycheck based on eighty hours of billed work per week.”
Cam rolled his eyes. “Lord, what a sweet deal. I get paid in bags of chicken feed and loaves of stale bread.”
“Yeah, but it’s great experience to work in a big city DA’s office. Don’t most guys in your position jump to private practice eventually and make a fortune as defense lawyers?”
His gaze shuttered cautiously. Crap. She’d said too much. She leaned forward, using her elbows to shove her breasts together and practically out the top of her dress. On cue, his gaze dropped. And promptly heated up to approximately the melting point of tempered steel.
“Check, please,” he called to the waiter.
She smirked to herself. Given how sharply he’d pulled back from talking about her firm recruiting him, she would probably have to get him liquored up and distracted before he would tell her who the owner of that raspy voice had been. But he was practically drooling, now. How hard could it be to get some booze down him and loosen his tongue?