Not Quite Enough (Not Quite series)

by Catherine Bybee

  Trent ended the call to Jack and called his brother back. “Hey, Jason.”

  “Everything OK?”

  “No, actually. I need to go to LA.” He glanced into the hangar at his ride. “And I’m going to blow my cover to get there.”

  “Seriously? Must be bad… or good. You gonna be a daddy or something?”

  Trent actually stumbled when he walked into the hangar. He hadn’t even considered the possibility.

  “Trent?”

  “Ah. No.” Shit… maybe. “It’s important.”

  “Do what you gotta do. We have your back.” Jason hung up.

  Trent opened the hatch to the Citation and jumped inside. He took in the cockpit, checked the hours, did a quick once-over, and then exited the plane. He noticed one of the airport mechanics and waved him down. After a quick instruction, he made his way into the pilots’ lounge and dispatch. The girl behind the desk smiled as he approached.

  “I need the Citation fueled and a flight plan filed for a one-way to LA. I’ll be leaving in an hour.” He wanted to get out of Seattle before the storm that was following this drizzle set in.

  She narrowed her eyes. “I didn’t get a call.”

  Frank heard him and walked over. “Watcha doing, TJ?”

  Ignoring him, Trent walked into the manager’s office. Frank followed and took his ridiculous glasses off his face.

  The manager, Cornelius something or other, shared a confused look as Trent went to the logbooks to check the maintenance schedule. “I’m taking the Citation. Probably be gone a couple of days.”

  “Excuse me?”

  For the first time he realized he looked like a lunatic. Trent grabbed the book he needed and turned toward the boss. He extended his hand. “Trent Fairchild. Call Jason if you need a replacement.” He flashed a smile at Frank and took a brisk walk to his car. He could be at the hotel he was staying in, pack a bag, and be in the air within an hour.

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  Monica sat beside not one, not two, but three lawyers who wore suits so expensive that she’d have to work for a month to pay for all of them, and this was only half of the team. Mr. Goldstein was the senior lawyer in this trio. Back in Texas Mr. Goldstein had two other associates whom Monica lovingly referred to as Mr. Silver and Mr. Platinum. Not their names, but it was how they presented themselves.

  Goldstein sat beside her with his sharp suit and cologne that was a little too potent for her taste, but she had to admit he smelled nice. It was as if the olfactory nerve was on trial and he planned on beating anyone within a foot into submission.

  “This is only a deposition,” Goldstein told her. “You’re not on trial, though you might feel you are.”

  “Do I have to answer everything they ask?”

  “Yes. If they ask anything objectionable, I’ll stop them. Answer everything as truthfully as possible and don’t elaborate. If you don’t remember, say you don’t remember and leave it at that.”

  Goldstein had already spent several hours with her talking about the case. He determined early on that she had nothing to hide. That didn’t stop the hospital attorneys from attempting to make a case against her. Not that Monica had any intention of working there again. But a discharge based on the crap they were spewing—and a loss of her license—would certainly prohibit her from working anywhere else.

  Katie took her shopping before the deposition. Monica wore a pencil skirt, matching jacket and the perfect flats because her leg had only been out of the cast for a week and she couldn’t wear heels without falling on her face. Monica felt like she belonged next to these high-powered lawyers. More so, she was bent on proving she wasn’t some needy woman desperate for a vacation who would use a charity to score a free airplane ride.

  She may not have been one to flaunt her sister’s new family, but she didn’t have any problem helping her accusers connect the dots so they could see how asinine their claims were.

  A petite woman made her way into the conference room first. She reached over and shook the hands of Monica’s attorneys. She introduced herself as the court reporter and set up a laptop.

  Monica sat up straight in her chair and rubbed her leg absently. Goldstein spoke with his colleagues in hushed tones as they waited for the hospital representation to arrive.

  A lone man stepped into the large room, his abdomen preceding him by a good six inches. The sweater-vest he wore with a lack of a jacket, mixed with the thinning hairline, was a testament to the man’s disregard of the case. Monica couldn’t help but notice his general lack of polish. Suddenly she realized that her team knew exactly what they were doing, dressed the way they were. Her team stood and shook hands with the opposing attorney. He smiled at her, but didn’t bother putting his hand out.

  Good. I don’t want this guy to think I like him or who he represents.

  Mr. Hudson set his papers on the opposing side of the table, but didn’t sit.

  “Looks as if the nurse union has stepped up their attorneys,” he said with a laugh that could only be described as guarded.

  Goldstein sat back and said nothing while his colleague corrected him. “Oh, no, Mr. Hudson. There isn’t any union representation here.”

  Hudson shot a look at Monica. The cocky smile on his face fell.

  “Is that right?”

  “That’s correct, counselor. Miss Mann has waived her right to a union attorney.”

  Hudson started to smile again. As if he knew something none of them did.

  Goldstein’s right-hand man, literally, removed a card from the inside pocket of his suit and handed it to the other attorney. All the while Goldstein had said nothing.

  Hudson glanced at the card and Monica would swear she could hear his heart palpitate from where she sat. She really hoped this guy was healthier than his fast food lunch gut made him appear. It would suck to have to render aid to the enemy.

  “If you’ll excuse me?” Hudson said as he left the room.

  “Where’s he going?” Monica asked as she watched him retreat.

  Goldstein reclined in the surprisingly comfortable conference chairs.

  “Recruiting reinforcements.” A smile played on her attorney’s face.

  Suddenly Monica had a new appreciation for lawyers.

  Ten minutes later, Mr. Hudson returned with two more attorneys, one woman in her midthirties with sharp eyes and a pinched face, and a man somewhere in his fifties dressed to the nines. Would you look at that, Monica mused. Mr. Hudson found his jacket.

  Everything began with cordial tones. State your name for the record, show us your ID, and your nursing license so we have that as well… everything Goldstein told her to expect. Forty-five minutes into the deposition and the only questions raised were about where Monica went to school and where she was raised. She didn’t see the importance of her childhood home address but Goldstein didn’t stop her from answering the questions.

  Finally, after what felt like hours, they asked about her involvement with Borderless Nurses.

  “How long have you been on their list of recruits?”

  “A year and a half,” she answered.

  “And have you ever gone on an assignment with them before the recent relief effort in Jamaica?”

  “No.”

  “They’ve never sent you anywhere?” Hudson asked.

  “No… well there was a training I went to in Florida.”

  “Mandated?”

  “Yes. The first few days were mandated, I opted to stay for the more detailed course since I was there.”

  “So a week in Florida?”

  She smiled and felt like she was being led. “Yes.”

  “Did you meet anyone on this trip to Florida?”

  “Sure. There were a lot of physicians and nurses from all over the country all there for the same training.”

  “Anyone else?”

  Monica glanced at Goldstein. He sat forward and for the first time during this deposition said something. “What are you getting at, counselor?”r />
  “Did you meet anyone romantically, Miss Mann?”

  Her face grew cold.

  “I don’t see what this has to do with Jamaica,” one of Monica’s other attorneys said.

  “It’s OK,” she interrupted him. “I didn’t see anyone in Florida. The hotel was on the beach and the organization did spring for a farewell dinner the night before I came home. Didn’t even stop in Disney World or anything.”

  “So you enjoyed your time in Florida?”

  Monica placed a syrupy smile on her face. “I was doing what I love to do with many other people who feel the same way. It didn’t suck.”

  Goldstein placed a hand on her shoulder to encourage her to remain composed. She took a deep calming breath through her nose and slowly exhaled. Didn’t work.

  “When was the last time you took a vacation, Miss Mann?”

  “A friend of mine married last summer.”

  “Where did you go?”

  “Texas.” Katie and Dean were married in the same church Jessie and Jack tied the knot.

  The opposing lawyers spoke to each other under their breaths before the woman started asking questions.

  “How much money do you make as a nurse a year?”

  Monica glanced at her lawyer, who nodded.

  “I claimed a little under sixty thousand last year.” And she was damn proud of her accomplishments.

  “So your take home was what, forty-five?”

  “I guess. I didn’t add it up.”

  “Student loans?” Hudson asked.

  “Yeah.”

  They spent the next twenty minutes whittling away at what Monica made. By the time they were finished with the questions, she felt like a pauper.

  “So according to your own accounts, you don’t have the finances to fly to Jamaica for a vacation?”

  “Objection!” Goldstein sat forward, his stare penetrated the wall behind the lawyers on the other end of the table. “Save that for a trial, counselor.”

  “It’s OK, Miss Mann. No need to answer that question. I think we have a clear picture of what we need.”

  Monica shook her head.

  For the next two hours, they talked about what she did on the island in reference to her job. Easy questions and in Monica’s head, nothing damning.

  When they took a fifteen-minute break, Monica turned to Goldstein. “Why don’t they ask how I can afford you?”

  “My guess is they already figured that out.”

  “Wouldn’t my sister and Jack dispel the questions of my using Borderless Nurses for a free ride?”

  “That depends. Have you ever taken money from your sister in the past? Asked to use their air accommodations for your own personal use?”

  “Of course not. It was hard enough asking that they help me out with this.”

  Goldstein raised a brow. “All of which would be brought out in court. They don’t have the actual answers to those questions, and they don’t want to look like the idiots here. They’ll ask for your bank statements, credit card statements, phone records.”

  “I have to show them all this?”

  “You do if you want to keep your license. Your job.”

  She shuddered. “I feel violated.”

  Goldstein placed a reassuring hand on her shoulder. “Try not to show it. If they think you’re weak, they’ll pounce.”

  “Why? It’s them trying to screw me. I should be suing them for unlawful termination, slander.”

  “Pain and suffering,” Goldstein’s second hand said behind her back.

  “Exactly.”

  Goldstein gestured to his colleague, who placed his briefcase on the table and removed a stack of papers.

  “I’ve taken the liberty of having these drawn up.” He handed the packet to Monica. She glanced at them, confused.

  “What is it?”

  “The papers to file suit.”

  Her eyes slowly looked up. “Seriously?”

  “Right now they think of themselves as the hunters. As long as they think they have a case they’ll continue. When they’re done they will either mess up your life just to walk away, or they will violate you and walk away. Or violate you, pay you for your trouble, and walk away. Your call.”

  Hell yeah. These assholes shouldn’t get away with this.

  Monica held out her hand. “Does someone have a pen?”

  “We’ll file them at lunch,” Goldstein told her.

  If Monica thought she was violated before the personal questions began, she was wrong.

  They didn’t bother with any easing into the personal when they reconvened.

  “Did you have an affair on the island?”

  She swallowed. “Yes.”

  “How could you have had time for an affair if you were busy every minute of every day?”

  “I had to sleep, eat?”

  “Having an affair is more than sleeping and eating.”

  “That’s not a question,” Goldstein stated.

  “How many days were you in Jamaica?”

  “Six before we were trapped in the cave. Five after.”

  “And of those, how many did you see your lover?”

  Monica clutched her hands at her side to stop from throwing a punch. Since when had she become so ready to hit someone? “He wasn’t my lover the whole time.”

  “Answer the question.”

  It wasn’t possible for her to answer the question without it damning her. “He flew the helicopter to the main hospital the first day there. Early the next he was my ride to the clinic. The clinic that didn’t have any place for me to sleep except beside my patients.”

  “So you decided to sleep somewhere else?”

  “Trent offered a bed, to sleep. I was exhausted.”

  The lawyers smiled at each other.

  Monica wondered if she could sue them all twice.

  “So the third day you spent with your lover?”

  “He wasn’t my lover then.”

  Hudson ran a hand through his thinning hair and sneered.

  “Since there is no one to agree or disagree with that point—”

  Goldstein broke in. “We’ll call the man by his name for the record. Skip the dramatics, counselors. It’s common knowledge that Miss Mann and Mr. Fairchild were rescued together. Miss Mann has told you of her brief affair. Get to the point.”

  “Did you see Mr. Fairchild daily while in Jamaica?”

  “Yes,” she muttered.

  Hudson leaned back, smug. “I think that’s all for now.”

  The woman on their team offered a smile to Goldstein. “We’ll break for twenty and bring in the next witness.”

  Goldstein nodded.

  Everyone stood, except Monica, who felt her knees shaking so badly she didn’t think they would hold her weight.

  Once the other lawyers left the room, Goldstein helped Monica to her feet. “You did well, Monica.”

  “Really? They made me sound like a whore.”

  Goldstein offered a sympathetic look. “I’m sorry for that.”

  Not half as sorry as she was. She reached in her purse and sent a quick text to Katie to let her know she was finished. “I’m exhausted.”

  “Go home, rest.”

  “What’s next?”

  “We have one more depo today. We’re meeting with Dr. Eddy tomorrow, and flying to Kansas to meet with Dr. Klein in two days to obtain his statement.”

  Stiff from sitting, her leg didn’t cooperate as she took a few steps toward the door. Goldstein lent his arm to help. He opened the huge wooden doors to the law office to let her out. “I have it from here,” she told him.

  “You sure?”

  She ignored the pain and took a step out the door without his aid. “I’m good. Thank you.”

  He stepped into the hallway with her as she turned around.

  She gasped and held her hand out when her gaze collided with Trent’s.

  Goldstein took hold of her arm again, and kept her from falling. Trent stood outside the door of t
he lawyers’ office looking nothing like the man she’d met on the island. He wore a three-piece suit that rivaled her attorney’s. His hair had been cut short, much more than it had been when she met him. He was just as tan, just as magnificent as she remembered. His eyes sparkled with appreciation before something clouded over them. “Barefoot?” she whispered.

  Chapter Twenty-Four

  Trent thought he was prepared to see her again.

  He wasn’t.

  “Monica,” he said her name, tasted her on his lips.

  The man at her side stepped forward and reached out a hand. “You must be Mr. Fairchild.”

  Monica moved aside and watched him.

  “Larry Goldstein. We spoke on the phone.”

  Ah, the lawyer. Trent shook the man’s hand.

  “Wait, you two spoke?” Monica asked.

  Mr. Goldstein nodded. “Early this morning.”

  They all had to step aside as someone from inside the office exited. Monica stumbled and Trent shot a hand out to hold her up.

  Her lawyer held her as well. “Are you sure you’re OK to walk downstairs?”

  Trent’s hand and arm sizzled with the contact.

  “I’m fine,” Monica said. “The more I move, the better it gets.”

  Trent’s gaze moved down her leg. A thin pink line where they’d put her back together, peeked from under her skirt. A skirt that hugged her too-thin curves. She’d lost weight. He had too, but managed to put it back on after leaving the cave.

  Mr. Goldstein offered a smile and nodded toward the office. “We’ll be inside when you’re ready,” he told Trent, who hadn’t let Monica’s arm go.

  “Call if you have questions, Monica. We’ll be in touch.”

  He should retreat with the lawyer, but it didn’t seem as if Monica was rushing off and Trent couldn’t let her leave without seeing her smile again.

  Why torture yourself, Trent? he asked himself as if he were on the outside looking in. She belongs to someone else.

  Without realizing what he did, he glanced at her left hand and noticed it bare.