by Mae Wood
Risking Ruin
Mae Wood
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, places, events and incidents are the products of the author’s imagination or used in a fictitious manner. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, entities, or actual events is purely coincidental.
Copyright © 2014 Mae Wood
All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed, or transmitted in any form or by any means, including photocopying, recording, or other electronic or mechanical methods, without the prior written permission of the publisher, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical reviews and certain other noncommercial uses permitted by copyright law.
ISBN 9780986288609
Dedication
To my husband who gave me the space to create.
Preface
A lawyer shall not have sexual relations with a client unless a consensual sexual relationship existed between them when the client-lawyer relationship commenced.
-- American Bar Association Model Rule of Professional Conduct 1.8(j)
LAWYER, n. One skilled in circumvention of the law.
-- Ambrose Bierce, The Devil’s Dictionary (1911).
Chapter One
“They just got sued again,” sighed Marisa. She blew the steam across the top of her milky coffee, looked away from the morning’s docket report and gazed out her office window across the skyline. While taking a small sip, she stopped her gaze and focused on the Brannon Company’s monument to itself. Branco’s tall glass building took up most of her view. She took a second sip and looked back down at the disaster that was her desk. Most prominent amongst the mess was a pile of Branco-related pleadings. In the past six months Branco had been a magnet for lawsuits. Each one of these recent lawsuits had been filed by people who worked in Branco’s skyscraper. At first she didn’t mind the business. But now she was worried. Worried about the company’s health and her own law firm’s fortunes.
After a few quiet minutes of wandering thoughts, Marisa bellowed for her assistant. “Jane, do you have my Bankers Box packed with the exhibits I flagged yet? I’ve got to leave in about an hour.” Jane popped her head in Marisa’s office.
“I was two feet outside your door, Marisa,” said Jane. “Here’s half. I’m still working through the rest. Give me twenty minutes. And stop yelling at me.”
“Sorry about that. I wasn’t thinking. I know you’re working on it.” Marisa was facing the window again. She took one last sip from her mug then turned to face Jane. “Branco got sued again. This time for sexual harassment. It’s like they are jinxed. While I’m at court, will you pull the complaint for me and run conflicts? I’ll call John when I get back about this new one.”
Marisa stood, straightened her fitted pinstriped pencil skirt, and placed the mug on the credenza. “Jane, thanks again. I know I’m a pill right now. Have you seen my court shoes?”
“I can find your shoes or finish your exhibits. Your choice,” snarked Jane.
Her favorite shoes. Her kick ass, look at me, take-no-prisoners lucky shoes. Black pumps. Five hundred dollar black pumps that made her feel like a million and brought her height more in line with the men who usually filled the courtroom.
“Stilettos,” muttered Marisa as she began her hunt. Stilettos, named in tribute to the long thin Italian daggers used by mercenaries. Having shoes styled after weapons made her feel even more deadly confident. That they hurt her feet was no matter. She kept them at the office and wore them when she headed to a contentious court date. Some people had a rabbit’s foot. She had these two beautiful hand-crafted torturers of feet. Plus, she knew that they made her legs look miles long. Sexy enough to cause opposing counsel to underestimate her. When the seasoned lawyer on the other side of the courtroom paused to briefly check out her calves, she knew that at some point he’d let down his guard and allow her to go in for the kill. “Found them! Jane, I found them! Oh, sorry for yelling again. I’ll be in the conference room walking through my argument one more time. Let me know when the exhibits are ready.”
Four hours later, Marisa Tanner returned from court, dropped her briefcase and box of papers on the floor, and kicked off her court shoes toward a pile of manila files. She was completely spent. Her toes ached. And all she got was a “Thank you, counsel. I’ll get a ruling out” from the bench. She closed her door and slid out of her tailored suit jacket. Her silk emerald camisole was soft and feminine. It matched her eyes and made her feel like a woman again instead of a warrior. She breathed deeply and stretched her arms to the sky, trying to work the stiffness and lingering adrenaline out of her body.
A rap on the door brought her back to the real world. “Come on in,” she said. Marisa spun around ready to share with Jane all the details about the hearing that they had both so intensely prepared for this week. Marisa’s eyes grew large. John, her contact at Branco, was standing in her doorway. John didn’t do pop ins. His office was at Branco’s building and she was usually summoned to him. This was new.
“Hey, John. So nice to see you here. “
“Nice to see you, too, darling,” drawled John.
Marisa suddenly felt naked. Her bare shoulders seemed out of place. Marisa tugged at the camisole, willing it to grow a few more centimeters to cover her. “Do we have a meeting? I’m sorry I just got back from a long hearing.”
“No,” said John, his eyes moving to her face. “I’ve got some news that I want to share in person.” Without waiting for an invitation, John closed the door to her office and sat in a guest chair. Marisa put her suit jacket back on and settled in across her desk from John. The desk was a good physical barrier, she thought.
Marisa always liked John. He was north of sixty, over twice her age, and he was a terrible flirt. Who calls their $400 an hour attorney “darling,” “sweetie,” or “honey”? John Millard, General Counsel at Branco, did. Or at least that is how he regularly addressed Marisa. He’d begun working with her when she was a baby lawyer, fresh out of school, and Branco was sending its work to her former boss. Over the past nearly dozen years, the dynamic had changed. Slowly at first and then all at once John called her when Branco had a problem. She knew of his fondness. She knew that the fondness wasn’t solely due to her tailored suits and a body sculpted by her daily runs. She also knew to keep him at arm’s length.
“So, you’re welcome here, but I have to say I’m a little confused. You don’t normally come to my firm. Should I be worried?” asked Marisa. She was mentally calculating the accounts receivable for Branco. If this were news that the company was folding, it was going to be a major hit to her law firm financially as well to her as personally. John’s singing her praises to others had opened doors for Marisa, allowing her to grow her practice. For her firm, having Branco’s name on its client list brought some respect in the business world and helped bring in additional clients.
John glanced out the wall of windows behind Marisa, toward the Branco building a few blocks away. “I’m leaving Branco,” he sighed. Marisa’s breathing paused. Okay, this wasn’t the end of the world for her, but it was quite a shock. She exhaled and looked at John.
“Oh.” She searched for an appropriate response, but found none.
“It’s not retirement exactly. I’m moving into a consultant role for the company, but I won’t be at Branco on a daily basis. We’ve been interviewing for a replacement. Headhunters found us some great candidates.” Another hitch in Marisa’s breath. Was John here to get her to work at Branco rather than work as its outside hired gun lawyer? Before her mind could wander too far, John’ s voice came back into focus. “I think you’ll like Trip. He’ll be able to recognize your good work. No complaints from the C-suite about you, so don’t worry. I’ve gushed over yo
u, honey. I don’t think Trip or Branco is going to a get a roving eye for new outside counsel. Now, how about you buy me a drink while I’m still a client and you’re able to expense it?”
“That sounds great, John. Congratulations. What if I just pack up a few things and meet you at Cal’s Pub in twenty?”
“Perfect,” perked John as he stood to leave. “I love mixing business with pleasure and some gin.”
Chapter Two
Marisa was already at her desk the next morning, nursing a slight hangover with milky coffee. She shouldn’t have let John talk her into that fourth glass of wine last night. But as always, his charm and their mutual fondness for conversation prevailed over her better judgment. She was glad she had suggested Cal’s Pub. It wasn’t fancy. It wasn’t a dive either. It was a package store with a small bar tucked on the side. The pub was also within stumbling distance of her condo, which made it an ideal place to unwind, enjoy an adult beverage, avoid the dreaded taboo of drinking alone, walk home, and get to bed at a reasonable hour. She was usually chatting with Cal, playing on her phone, or treating a professional contact to a drink. It was her home turf.
After two cups of coffee, a review of all of the nonessential past twenty-four hours of emails, and a quick glance through The Commercial Appeal’s homepage, Marisa shook her head as she heard someone saunter past her office and down the hall towards the break room. It was time to get to work.
Where was Jane? It was nearly ten. “Jane! Where is that new Branco lawsuit?” Marisa could hear Jane’s oversized quilted floral tote bag plop on the carpeted floor. She sighed. Jane often sauntered in around midmorning. “Jane!”
Jane swooped into Marisa’s office. “Hey, I told you I’d be in late this morning. I had. . .”
“Fine,” said Marisa tersely, cutting her off. “I need the new Branco lawsuit. Also, John said something about Branco hiring a guy named Trip to run the legal department. You’re good at snooping. Can you use your Google-skills to figure out who Trip is? John acted like I should know who he is, but I can’t place him.”
“Sure thing. I’m on it,” responded Jane, only slightly miffed by Marisa’s harsh tones.
“Here’s the new suit,” said Jane, popping into Marisa’s office a few minutes later.
“Thanks,” murmured Marisa as she looked up from her computer, and took the papers from Jane’s hand. Marisa fished a pencil and a fresh yellow legal pad from a drawer and set the inch-thick document on her desk blotter. A new lawsuit was a new adventure for Marisa. She loved drilling down on all of the facts, interviewing witnesses, unearthing key documents, and then crafting legal arguments to save her clients’ bacon.
Plus, it didn’t hurt that Marisa practiced employment law. She was constantly flabbergasted by what happened at workplaces and the salacious personal details that employees shared in public legal documents. Judging by the thickness alone, Marisa had a hunch this one might be a wild ride. She was right. It didn’t disappoint. What? Really. . . Marisa’s thoughts were a swirling fog. She hadn’t made it past the first five paragraphs and she already felt unmoored. John. Susan. Is this a joke?
She read on, first confused and then angry. John hadn’t moved into retirement like he’d led her to believe. He knew he was about to get walloped with a sexual harassment suit by his longtime assistant Susan and wanted to make an easy exit. Susan was always so prim and exacting. Sure, a fling was entirely within the realm of possibility for a man whose favorite saying was “Variety is the spice of life and spice is the plural for spouse.”
But this wasn’t a fling. The allegations were gruesome. The affair started then years ago and when Susan broke it off, John supposedly used a sex tape the two had made years before as blackmail to keep Susan servicing him at work. Marisa’s mouth hung open and her pupils dilated. The lawsuit was filled with descriptions: John forbidding Susan to wear panties under her staid ankle length floral skirts; John directing Susan to take him in her mouth while he was on conference calls; John buying a tattoo for Susan to “mark” her as his own; and late nights in his office filled with bondage and spankings. Marisa set her pencil down in disbelief. She needed some fresh air.
Thankful that she had worn her comfortable red patent kitten heels that day, Marisa returned to her office a half hour later. A short walk outside among people busy with their own lives, not knowing or caring that hers had been turned upside down, she felt better. The world wasn’t ending. She’d survive. The Memphis heat had melted her makeup and the humidity flattened her brown tresses, but she knew that the next few phone calls she would make wouldn’t be pretty either.
For her entire career, she had always called John to give him her initial impressions of a suit. But that was out of the question now. She couldn’t call John first. No, she had to talk with Jimmy Brannon.
Jimmy Brannon intimidated the hell out of Marisa. Whereas she and John shared gallows’ humor, Jimmy was simply grave. Jimmy was the CEO of Branco, and grandson of the founder, Edward Brannon. Edward Brannon had been successful in the cotton industry, but diversified his business holdings so that only about a third of the company’s interests were in cotton by the time the handed the reins to his son James. Jimmy had only grown on his father’s success in his twenty years of being control of the company. Now in his 60s, Jimmy oversaw an empire of diverse interests that included luxury real estate developments, fishing lures, PVC piping, dollhouse furniture, and a chain of bowling alleys. If the Brannon family could make money in it, they owned a company that did it.
Jimmy had never been anything other than polite to Marisa. He was formal and aloof. He spent years on the East Coast. First for boarding school, then four years in New Haven, and after a brief stint running one of Branco’s subsidiaries near Boston, business school at Stern. Though Jimmy had been born in Memphis, he wasn’t exactly a local. Marisa dialed his direct line. His assistant picked up. “Marisa Tanner of Selden Hodges for Jimmy, please.” Less than a minute later, the soothing hold music stopped.
“Miss Tanner,” said Jimmy. “It’s been a while since our paths have crossed. I guess you heard the news about John leaving us.”
“Jimmy, it hasn’t been that long and you know better than to be so formal with me. And yes, I’m calling about John.”
“It was about time for him to do something else with his life beyond solving Branco’s legal headaches.”
Marisa cringed. This conversation was going to be awkward. “Jimmy, there has been another suit filed and it’s an ugly one,” stated Marisa plainly.
“So, talk to John about it. He’s got another few weeks left before Trip moves in.”
Again Marisa paused, not sure how to break the news. She took a breath and blurted it out. “It’s a sexual harassment claim against Branco. The suit is by Susan, you know, John’s assistant. She claims she and John were having an affair, she cut it off, and he’s been sexually harassing her at the office. I’ll spare you the details over the phone. It’s pretty graphic. I’ll email you the lawsuit as soon as we hang up. Obviously, it has potential PR consequences. As you know better than me, John has been with Branco for over twenty years, so this is a situation that may need management outside of what my legal representation affords. I didn’t want you to find out from someone else.”
The line was quiet for a half a minute. Marisa knew she had dropped a bomb and stood back, waiting to see if it was going to go off.
“Send it over. Let me take a look. Seems like Trip will have his hands full. Let’s set up a meeting. We’ve got to get on top of this fast. How many of these do we have going on right now?”
Marisa did a quick tally in her head. “Eight. This one makes nine. All sexual harassment claims from corporate headquarters. It’s natural for these types of suits to come and go in waves, but I can’t explain nine being filed in this year alone.”
Jimmy harrumphed.
“Okay, I look forward to hearing from your end about a meeting. Despite the circumstances, it was good speaking with you, Jim
my.” The call had gone better than Marisa had anticipated. Maybe she was the one shocked by the allegations against John.
Chapter Three
Jane stuck her head into Marisa’s office. “Someone from Branco is on the phone for you,” she said. Marisa stopped typing and spun around in her high backed black leather office chair. She reached for the phone, placed it to her ear and with authority declared her name.
“Marisa Tanner.”
“Marisa? This is Jenny Murphy at Branco. I’m Trip’s assistant. Are you available to meet in Jimmy’s office tomorrow morning at ten to talk about strategy?” Marisa spun around and accessed her Outlook calendar.
“I’ve got a nine o’clock. Can we make it eleven? If they’ve got time afterwards, I’d like to get on their schedules for lunch.”
“Okay. I’ll book it with Jimmy’s assistant. Eleven tomorrow morning with lunch to follow.”
The next morning, Marisa took extra care getting ready. A meeting with both Jimmy and the new General Counsel was not part of her ordinary day. She needed to make a good impression. A strong, capable impression. Wrapped in a fluffy white towel, she checked her nails, making sure her neutral polish manicure was even and fresh on her short, rounded nails. The contrast between her uber professional hands and her feet always made her smile. Her toes were currently ombré pink. Dark magenta on her big toes and the color worked out to a light rose on the pinkies. Marisa let the towel fall to the floor and slipped into her steel grey lace panties and matching sheer bra. She would hide both under a rose colored silk blouse and knee-grazing charcoal skirt suit. Finished off with a double strand of pearls, it was her “lawyer costume.” And no one knew the girly girl hiding underneath.
She blew out her chestnut hair, making sure the ends were evenly turned under. Her makeup was natural on her creamy complexion, but emphasized her eyes with thin dark liner and thick mascara. After wiggling into her nude hose and completing her dressing, Marisa examined herself in a full length mirror. There was a competent, polished, intelligent lawyer looking back at her. Marisa stepped into her lucky stilettos that she had carried home the night before. She was going to knock Jimmy and this new guy’s socks off.