by Blake, Jill
“And your point?”
“My point, counselor, is that labeling a problem as insignificant doesn’t make that problem go away. If you want to get buy-in from the residents, S&L needs to create a plan to mitigate the issues that the DOT raised.”
“So basically what you’re saying is that you expect S&L to solve all of Santa Monica’s traffic problems.”
“Don’t put words in my mouth. You don’t need to solve problems that already exist. You just need to avoid adding to them.”
“You’re splitting hairs, Angie. But let’s move on. Next issue…?”
“You’re getting rid of rent-controlled units.”
“We’re replacing them,” he corrected. “With brand new, code compliant affordable housing.”
“Not enough. Tier III projects—and yours definitely qualifies—are required to replace more affordable units than they remove from circulation. Thirty percent of new housing needs to be affordable to households earning thirty to one hundred fifty percent of the area’s median income. And five percent of housing has to be set aside for households earning below that.”
“We’re a for-profit company, Angie. You realize that, right? Construction in Santa Monica is never cheap, and S&L prides itself on doing top-of-the-line work. High quality materials, expert workmanship, no shortcuts.”
“I’m not disputing that.”
“Then you understand that at some point, we have to make money. Margins are slim as is. What you’re asking us to do will shave profits down to nothing.”
“Don’t exaggerate, Zach. You’ll still lease the commercial space to high end retailers, restaurants, offices. Rents in Santa Monica are sky-high. You’ll make your money back soon enough.”
He hoped she was right. But given his father’s precarious health, time was of the essence. This was the make or break project, and Zach couldn’t afford any missteps.
His voice hardened. “You can’t have it both ways, Angie. If we increase the relative proportion of residential to commercial space, like you suggested, then we can’t take an even bigger loss on the housing end.”
“Well, then, I guess we’re back to square one.”
“Angie, be reasonable.”
“I am, Zach. You’re the one who’s refusing to budge.”
“The city council approved our proposal as is. At least they understand that rehabbing the area will bring in more money and business, which in turn benefits everyone. Including your client.”
“Not if she’s forced to move because you’ve demolished her home.”
He tapped his pen on the notepad in front of him. “She can still stay in the area if she wants.”
“Are you really that dense?” Angie snapped. “Have you seen what rents are these days?”
“We’re offering a very generous relocation package.”
“It’s not enough.”
“Ah, now we’re finally talking.” He leaned back in his chair. “How much?”
“This isn’t just about the money.”
“What else is there?”
“Hello? Haven’t you been listening?”
“I have, Angie. Very carefully.” He paused. “Remember that joke about Churchill? The one where he propositions a woman for a million pounds and she agrees? And then he offers her five pounds instead. She slaps his face and says, ‘What do you think I am?’ To which he replies, ‘We’ve already established that, madam. Now we’re just haggling over price.’”
He smiled at her sharp intake of breath, wishing he could see her face. When she was angry, her gray eyes darkened to the color of the Charles River on a blustery day. He imagined running his thumb over the furrow that formed between her drawn brows, smoothing it out. And then tracing the graceful curve of her cheek down to the soft lips that parted in anticipation, just for him.
Her stiff voice jarred the fantasy. “I’ll have a request for production on your desk by morning.”
Okay, she wasn’t ready to haggle just yet. But hopefully she wouldn’t keep him waiting too long.
CHAPTER SIX
Angie spent much of the following week wading through the digital document dump Zach and his team sent to her office. Even with the assistance of two paralegals and an IT expert who implemented some data-mining algorithms to sort the wheat from the chaff, the review took a tremendous amount of time and effort.
In the process, Angie found that S&L had failed to turn over a number of the documents she had requested.
“Can you believe it?” she railed to her partner Naomi, after receiving yet another terse refusal from Zach for specific records. “He’s claiming attorney-client privilege. Again. For the company executives’ appointment schedules, on the grounds that any communication he has with anyone at S&L or on behalf of S&L is protected.”
“He is in-house counsel for the company,” Naomi pointed out.
“Yes, but officially he’s also listed as ‘Executive Vice President.’ Which means he’s likely providing business and legal advice. And if that’s the case, any communication that isn’t specifically and primarily for the purpose of rendering legal advice would not be protected.”
Naomi watched her pace. “You can always file a motion to compel. And sit down, would you? You’re wearing out the carpet.”
Angie sank into a nearby chair. “He’s driving me nuts.”
“Why? There’s always some gamesmanship and saber-rattling during discovery. You should be used to it by now.”
True. But for some reason, this felt more personal.
Though Angie would never admit it out loud, she had always been hyperaware of Zach. When he entered a room, she knew he was there before she even saw him. And when he left—typically accompanied by some other woman—Angie inevitably felt deflated.
It’s not that she expected him to all of a sudden turn around and fall in love with her. Given his track record, she doubted he was even capable of love. But lust? Absolutely. And at least in the early days of their acquaintance, she would have gladly settled for that.
The problem was that Zach seemed blind to the fact that she was a woman. Or maybe she simply wasn’t the type of woman he was attracted to. She wasn’t blond, or particularly busty. And she sure as hell wasn’t dumb.
Given the circumstances, that was probably a good thing.
~
Ten days and another motion later, she received the last of the files she’d requested.
While scrolling through a batch of records dating back to the time of S&L’s acquisition of the property in question, Angie came across a small notation in Zach’s calendar.
7pm - Jeannine @ Spago.
A few lines down, the same name, different venue.
Over and over. Jeannine, then Jean, and then simply J—assuming the initial referred to the same woman.
Angie blinked and turned to gaze out the window of her high-rise office. She would never have guessed. Unless Zach habitually conducted business in the evening at some of L.A.’s swankiest restaurants, this repeat entry meant that Mr. do-’em-and-leave-’em was actually capable of having a long-term relationship.
She resumed scrolling. Around the six-month mark, the J’s petered out, giving way to a rapid montage of Alices and Barbies, Chloes and Danas, Eloises and Felicitys, all the way through the alphabet and back again.
Ah, that was the Zach she knew and—
Wait, what was this?
A different set of documents, and Jeannine resurfaced. This time with a last name followed by a series of credentials: Jeannine DeLuca, PhD, BCEE. Board Certified Environmental Engineer. And her signature graced the bottom of one of the key reports commissioned by the city as part of S&L’s environmental impact study.
Coincidence?
Angie frowned and clicked open a new browser.
She didn’t believe in coincidences.
A quick Google search yielded a photograph of a blond swimsuit model-type whose CV was even more impressive than her figure.
Angie spent a few more
minutes trolling the Internet for information, then added Jeannine DeLuca to her deposition list.
Oh, this was going to be good.
CHAPTER SEVEN
“Nice game.” Zach stripped off his glove and safety glasses.
Mike grunted. “Would have been better without the hangover.”
“Rough night?”
“Thirsty Thursday, down at Seasons 52. You should come sometime. Good crowd, if you know what I mean.”
Zach put away his racquet and shouldered the gym bag. “I’ve been a little busy lately.”
“Oh, that’s right. How’s the lawsuit going?”
“We’re still in discovery.”
Mike followed him to the juice bar in the gym’s atrium. “And how is plaintiff’s counsel?”
“What do you mean?”
“You nail her yet?”
Whatever tension Zach had managed to work out on the racquetball court returned full force. “Excuse me?”
Mike raised his palms in self-defense. “Sorry, I forgot you’re friends with the family. My bad.”
“Jesus, show a little respect, would you? You’re not living in a frat house anymore.”
“I said I was sorry. No need to make a federal case of it.”
Zach took a deep breath. He needed to tone it down. Sure, Mike was an asshole when it came to women. But it had never come between them in the past. Strange that this time Zach was ready to tear into the guy just for assuming that Angie was an easy lay.
How hypocritical was that? Less than three weeks ago, Zach had pretty much accused her of prostituting herself on behalf of her client. He’d meant it in a metaphorical sense, of course. But an insult was an insult, and she hadn’t taken it well at all.
He stepped up to the counter and ordered his usual after-workout smoothie. While they waited for the barista to prepare their orders, a steady stream of women in yoga pants and sports bras filtered through the atrium to line up for the next group fitness class.
Mike sized up each woman as she passed by. “You know, your girl used to work for Baker/Roth.”
Angie wasn’t his girl, but Zach let the comment slide. Now that he thought about it, he did recall her mentioning a BigLaw employer during the buyout fiasco four years ago. Since she’d chosen to forgo official channels and handle the negotiations privately, Zach hadn’t paid much attention to it at the time.
“Came to us straight out of law school,” Mike continued. “Didn’t last long, though.”
“Why is that?”
“She was boffing one of the senior partners. It was common knowledge, but everyone was willing to look the other way. At least until the shit hit the fan.”
“What happened?”
“Turned out Kirkpatrick was doing two women at the same time.”
Zach stiffened. Kirkpatrick. He should have known. Hadn’t he warned Angie to stay away from the man? The only question was why she was still seeing the bastard after he’d treated her that way. Unless… “Are we talking a ménage?”
“Nah.” Mike laughed. “Though I’d pay good money to see that.”
Zach suppressed the impulse to smash his fist into Mike’s face. Luckily, the barista interrupted, letting them know their orders were ready. He took a moment to collect his drink and his emotions. “So you’re saying the guy was cheating on her.”
“Yeah. He was screwing some other associate on the side.”
“Did Angie know about it?”
“Doubt it. At least not until everyone else did.”
Zach could imagine how humiliating that must have been for her. He’d watched his father go through something similar, and wouldn’t wish that kind of experience on anyone. “So what ended up happening?”
“The other woman sued for sexual harassment. Management settled the case, hushed everything up. The woman left, and Angie got her walking papers.”
“You’re kidding me,” Zach said. “They fired her?”
“Relax, man. This happened—what, three, four years ago? Old news.”
Zach forced himself to take a deep breath. “Right. Go on.”
“I wasn’t privy to all the details.” Mike shrugged. “It was before I made partner.”
“What about Kirkpatrick? Did he get reprimanded?”
“What do you think? That man can slog through a mountain of shit and still come out smelling like a rose.”
Zach digested that in silence.
Mike finished his drink. “Well, I’m off. Same time next week?”
“Yeah. Sure.” Zach glanced at his watch. Barely seven a.m. Too early to call her. Besides, what would he say? She’d made it clear she wasn’t interested in his opinion on her personal life.
Even if her choices were obviously idiotic.
He tossed his cup in a nearby trash bin and headed for the showers.
CHAPTER EIGHT
“Objection,” Angie said. “Mischaracterizes earlier testimony.”
Zach tightened his lips. At this rate, they were going to be here all night.
He glanced at Phyllis Callahan, who seemed to be holding up pretty well, considering they’d all been cloistered in an airless conference room since nine this morning.
“Okay, Mrs. Callahan.” He placed a single page document in front of her. “Do you recognize this letter?”
“Yes.”
“Would you mind telling us, for the record, what it says?”
Mrs. Callahan offered a rambling response that required several redirects and additional prompts.
The deposition continued, with a brief break for lunch, until both sides finally ran out of questions.
Zach took his time packing away his files, waiting for the court reporter to leave, and for Angie to usher her client out. He was skimming through email messages when Angie returned to the room.
“So,” he said, glancing up. “You like Chinese?”
“What?”
He slipped the phone into an inner pocket. “There’s a great place on Lindbrook, five minute walk from here. Or we could order in.”
“Unbelievable.” She donned her suit jacket, buttoning it over a V-neck blouse that had distracted him repeatedly through the day. Every time she bent down to extract a folder from her briefcase, or leaned over to hand something across the table, he’d gotten a flash of silky skin and shadowy cleavage. Modest compared to what he was used to, but for some reason completely riveting.
He realized he’d lost track of the conversation when she crossed her arms over her chest and glared at him.
“Sorry.” He rose, adjusting his own jacket to disguise his body’s reaction. “Can you repeat that?”
Her nostrils flared. “I’m up here, Zach.”
“Right.” He blinked and raised his eyes. “So, what are we doing for dinner?”
She dropped her hands. “We’ve got another deposition early tomorrow morning. I suggest we both head home and get some rest.”
“If we head home, I guarantee you won’t get any rest,” he grinned. “But if that’s what you want, I’m game. Your place or mine?”
She shook her head and picked up her briefcase. “I’ll walk you out.”
“Is that a no?”
“Give the man a prize,” she muttered, flipping off the light switch.
Zach followed her out. Her jacket nipped in at the waist and ended just a few inches below. His gaze drifted down to the dark tailored slacks.
He hated to admit it, but Mike was right about one thing. Angie did have a very fine ass.
Funny he hadn’t really noticed before. If not for this case bringing them into such close proximity, Zach probably would have remained oblivious. For all his talk about their family connections, he really hadn’t seen her all that often. Certainly not since the last time they’d clashed over Eva’s settlement.
Too bad she was so hostile. Maybe if he kept pushing, she’d soften up and see reason. It wouldn’t take much. The way she kept looking at him, he could tell that he already had her off balance.
She glanced at him again, and he felt the kick of anticipation. Oh, yeah. He was looking forward to providing that incentive.
CHAPTER NINE
Jeannine DeLuca worked in one of the high-rises on Wilshire, just a few blocks from Angie’s office.
Strange to think that all this time, Zach’s old girlfriend had been less than half a mile away. In a neighborhood as pedestrian-friendly as Westwood, where everything was within easy walking distance, that meant they’d probably crossed paths without even realizing it. At the salad bar in Whole Foods, or the corner coffee shop that offered free Wi-Fi, or the local pharmacy that was open 24/7.
In person, the woman was much friendlier than Angie had anticipated. Gorgeous, accomplished, and nice. Damn. If this paragon couldn’t hold Zach’s attention longer than six months, what chance did ordinary mortals have?
Once the court reporter showed up, they got down to business. A quick run-through of the rules, then the swearing in, followed by a brief review of Jeannine’s credentials for the record.
“Dr. DeLuca.” Angie slid a document across the table. “Can you identify what this is?”
“It’s a geotechnical report.”
“Commissioned by…?”
“The Santa Monica Planning and Community Development Department.”
“And the subject of the report?”
“A mixed-use project proposed by Stewart & Landry LLC.”
“Who prepared the report?”
“I did.”
“Can you summarize your findings?”
As the woman cataloged the project’s seismic hazards, hydrocollapse potential, and soil analysis, Angie’s attention drifted to Zach. He lounged back, eyes half-closed, elbows resting on the arms of his chair, fingers casually interlaced over his stomach.
Did he still have feelings for his ex-girlfriend? It was hard to read anything in his expression. By the time Angie had arrived for the deposition, he had already been there, laughing and standing way too close to Jeannine.