by Nic Tatano
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
Tish picked up Socks on Saturday morning, loaded her into the carrier and drove to the local fire station that had responded the night her house went up in flames. They’d asked her to bring the cat by for a fundraiser since Socks was, after all, a kitty who had saved her owner.
She had to park a few blocks away since there was apparently a really big crowd, so she walked a few blocks with Socks meowing the entire way. “Can’t wait to get back home either, huh? I know you hate cars. And apparently going for a walk as well.” Madison, A.J. and Rory were already there when she arrived, sitting in the front row with a seat saved for her. Hundreds of chairs had been set up and were already taken. Tish put the pet carrier on her lap as she took a seat. “Wow. I never expected a crowd. I thought this was the usual fireman on the street corner holding a boot collecting loose change.”
Madison shook her head. “Didn’t they tell you what was going on?”
“They said it was a fundraiser and it would be nice for people to see a famous cat. Why, what am I missing?”
A.J. pointed at the stage without turning to face her. “That.”
She looked up as It’s Raining Men blasted from a couple of speakers and twelve shirtless firemen paraded on stage to huge cheers. “What the hell is this?”
Rory sipped a soda from a straw as she stared at the hunks. “It’s the annual release of their firefighters’ calendar. Hubba hubba. Bring on the new year.”
Tish turned around and noted almost all of the people in the crowd were women who were screaming at the firemen. She shook her head as she turned back to the show. “So, you guys aren’t really here to see my cat having a photo-op.”
“Well, some people think we are,” said Madison, flashing a sly smile. “I told Nick you’re shy and needed moral support.”
“Uh-huh. May I remind you that you are engaged to a wonderful man who’s pretty hot in his own right?”
“I can look at the menu and work up an appetite as long as I have dinner at home.”
“It’ll probably save Nick the trouble of foreplay,” cracked Rory. “Poor guy won’t know what hit him.”
A.J. was busy snapping pictures. “Hell, I want to have one of them for dinner.”
The song finished and one of the firemen moved to the microphone. “Thank you very much. What a great turnout to see a famous cat!” The crowd laughed as he motioned for Tish to come on stage. “Seriously, we appreciate your support and hope you’ll buy lots of calendars as stocking stuffers.”
A.J. licked her lips. “He can stuff my stocking anytime.”
The fireman put his arm around Tish as she looked up at this tower of muscle who had to be six-foot-five. “Now a few weeks ago this young lady’s house caught fire during that big electrical storm. She’s such a heavy sleeper and the smoke alarm didn’t go off, but her cat woke her up and they got out in the nick of time. So we thought you’d like to meet a furry lifesaver. Please welcome Tish McKenna and this year’s honorary firefighter, Socks the cat!”
The crowd cheered as Tish pulled Socks from the carrier and held her up. Amazingly, the cat was calm despite the noise. The fireman then placed a miniature firefighter’s helmet on the cat, which got a big laugh. Socks, like most cats who do not wish to wear any additional attire, did not look pleased, but Tish stroked her under the chin and her frown disappeared. She put Socks on a table and a few newspaper photographers moved forward to take some pictures.
The fireman put his hand up. “Hang on a minute, guys. At least show how we rescue people.” With that he effortlessly scooped Tish into his arms, cradling her.
“Oh, my.” She couldn’t help but blush as she wrapped her arms around the neck of this Greek god. “What are you doing?”
“Getting publicity,” he said. “Smile for the camera.”
“Well, okay.” She faced the camera and smiled as the sounds of camera clicks filled the air. She noted her friends were snapping photos as well.
“Thanks,” said one of the photographers, as they all moved off.
Tish looked up at the fireman. “You can put me down now.”
“If you give me your phone number I’ll be happy to rescue you tonight.”
“I’m already spoken for, but I think you’ve got a few hundred takers out there. And see those two girls next to the redhead in the front row who are drooling over you? They’re available.”
The fireman looked at Rory and A.J., then put her down and patted her on the shoulder. “Thanks, you’re a good sport. C’mon over to our autograph table. We’re signing calendars and people can meet you and the cat. She can do paw prints.”
*
Tish headed into the kitchen on Sunday morning to find Madison already fixing a cup of coffee. “You’re up before me. That’s a switch.”
“Cat alarm. Bumper thinks he’s a rooster on occasion and howls for the hell of it. Unfortunately, cats have no snooze button. If they want you to get up, you have no choice. Want coffee?”
“Stupid question.”
“Right.” Madison pointed at the Sunday paper sitting on the kitchen table as she poured another cup. “You’re in The Post.”
Tish rolled her eyes. “I’m already sick of this trial coverage and it hasn’t even started. I cannot wait for it to be over.”
“It’s not about the trial.” Madison carried two cups of coffee to the table and sat down. “Cute little article about that fundraiser at the firehouse.”
“Oh, well, that’s nice.”
“You might not think so when you see the photo. Hope Spence isn’t the jealous type. You’re on Page Six.”
Tish sat and flipped the paper open to the city’s most famous gossip page.
There she was in the arms of the hunky fireman, looking up at him like she wanted to be carried away. “Oh, geez. This looks like the cover of a romance novel.”
“Is it gonna be a problem?”
“I don’t think so. Spence is so easy going. And I did tell the fireman I was attached.”
“Yeah. Just be glad he wasn’t there to see the guy pick you up. Anyway, I told you things would work out with him.”
“So far, so good.”
A quick knock at the door preceded Rory and A.J. carrying bags from the deli for brunch. “Sorry we’re late,” said Rory. “We were, uh, out a little late last night.”
Tish gave Rory a sinister grin. “Yeah. Getting home at one-thirty-four is definitely past your bedtime.”
Rory’s eyes widened. “What the hell, are you spying on me?”
“Payback’s a bitch, huh? You don’t like it when the shoe’s on the other foot, do you?”
A.J. laughed as she started pulling the food from the bags. “Glad I don’t live on this street. It’s like Ground Zero for Big Brother.”
Tish started to pour the mimosas from a pitcher. “So you guys got dates with firemen, huh? Which ones?”
“Tom,” they said in unison.
Madison furrowed her brow. “Which two guys were those?”
“Same one,” said A.J., flashing a devilish grin. “The one built like Thor who scooped up Tish.”
Tish’s eyes widened. “You both went out with the same guy?”
Rory leaned back with her drink. “He’s big enough to handle two women. I don’t mind sharing. And A.J. isn’t greedy.”
Madison’s jaw dropped. “Since when are you guys into three-ways?”
A.J. laughed. “Awww, we’re kidding. I went out with Tom and Rory was with one of his buddies. I’ve never dated a fireman before.”
“So how was your date?” asked Tish.
A.J. smiled. “You know what they say. Firemen carry big hoses.”
Madison waved her hands. “Okay, enough.”
Rory turned to Tish. “So, speaking of firemen and the fact that you weren’t interested in that hunk of muscle who picked you up, am I to assume you are exclusive with Spence now that you’re back together?”
“You know damn well I can’t date more th
an one guy at a time.”
“Still can’t believe you’re the one who broke down and went to see him,” said A.J. “It’s like the planet going off its axis.”
Tish shrugged. “I finally realized that I was the one who was wrong, so I apologized. And then he told me there was no reason for me to be sorry about anything. He wasn’t the slightest bit upset. We had this great date on Friday night. He cooked dinner for me and then we had this wonderful slow walk back to my hotel. He’s so sweet…it was cold and he gave me his jacket.”
A.J. leaned forward. “And…”
“And what?”
“Was he still there Saturday morning or did he just leave after—”
“We didn’t sleep together!”
A.J. shook her head. “Woman leads man to hotel room, then sends him home. What is wrong with this picture?”
“I’m not ready yet. Neither is he.”
Rory waved her hand like she was shooing a fly. “Pffft. Men are always ready, despite what they say.”
Tish stuck her nose in the air. “Spence is different. He’s old fashioned. Likes to take things slow.”
Madison nodded. “That’s probably because he’s picked up on the fact that you like to take things slow and he doesn’t want to lose you by making a move too fast.”
Tish shook her head. “No, I think we’re generally alike when it comes to that. Besides, I sorta…attacked him in his apartment.”
Rory dropped her fork. “Madison, major breaking news again, call the network.”
“So let me get this straight,” said A.J. “You take the initiative at his place, you don’t sleep there, then the guy walks you back to a hotel and you send him home with a bag of ice?”
Tish furrowed her brow as she put up her palms. “Why in the world would I give him a bag of ice?”
Rory rolled her eyes. “Oh for goodness sake. She means the guy needed a cold shower.”
“Oh. Well then don’t say bag of ice, say cold shower.”
“Let’s put it in a way even you can understand,” said A.J. “Yesterday this hot, shirtless fireman whose muscles have muscles picked you up like he was going to carry you off to the bedroom. How did you feel when he was holding you and you had your arms wrapped around his neck?”
Tish blushed. “It was, uh, not unpleasant.”
“Yeah, right. Then you spend the afternoon sitting next to eleven other hot shirtless firemen. How’d you feel when you left? More importantly, what would you have done to Spence had your date been last night instead of Friday night?”
Madison shrugged. “She probably would have done the same thing I did to Nick.”
“Where is your darling fiancée, anyway?” asked Rory.
“Still in bed. He’s basically an invalid right now. I drained him of all bodily fluids.”
Tish turned beet red. “Can we please change the subject?”
“No!” came the answer in unison, followed by a lot of laughs.
Madison reached over and patted Tish on the hand. “We’re happy for you, sweetie. But I want you to know one thing.”
“What?”
“As long as you’re staying in my guest room, feel free to have a guest spend the night with you.”
Tish shook her head. “I couldn’t do that to Rory.”
Rory furrowed her brow. “Huh?”
“You’d never get to sleep waiting for him to go home.”
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
Two weeks later…
Tish readied herself for the first deposition with Peter Brent, confident that, if nothing else, her examples of the massive public outcry against him along with the financial losses he’d taken would finally force him to cave and offer a decent settlement. Still, she had plenty of ammunition up her sleeve if he didn’t.
While she wasn’t thrilled about doing the whole thing in Spence’s office, at least he wouldn’t be in the room. He’d kept his promise, staying completely out of the process and not having a single thing to do with the case. And they’d not spoken about it when they were together.
Still, with the ton of publicity the case was getting, she wanted it over and done with.
Of course, if she didn’t win, her practice might be over and done with as well.
*
Spence wanted the case out of the way. Ariel had tried her best to get Brent to settle, but he was beyond stubborn and didn’t care about the hit his company’s reputation and bottom line was taking. His personal reputation was pretty much in the dumpster at this point. Good luck finding an objective jury in New York City.
Of course he secretly wanted Tish to win, knowing how desperately she needed the victory and knowing Brent was in the wrong.
While their relationship had returned to a smooth one and discussing the case was forbidden, the damn thing was always lurking overhead and impossible to ignore since it seemed to be front page news every day. This morning one of the New York tabloids had put cartoon horns on Brent with the headline Devil May Care… When His Company Goes Bankrupt.
He heard Tish’s voice in the reception area, but didn’t go out to greet her as Peter Brent was there as well and he had no desire to shake hands with that creep. The sounds of footsteps told him Ariel was no doubt leading everyone to the conference room. He heard the door shut and then muffled voices.
He turned back to working on his own case, but it was really hard to concentrate knowing what was going on in the room next door.
Twenty minutes later his curiosity got the best of him. He got up and quietly opened the air vent that connected with the conference room. Tish’s voice poured through. But not with the tone he’d gotten used to on their dates.
Jaws was in the house. Mrs. Spock was destroying Brent with pure logic.
He pulled his chair up to the vent and listened.
“So, Mr. Brent, isn’t it true that your company’s stock nearly tripled within one year after the rollout of my client’s product?”
“Objection to the characterization of the product as belonging to the plaintiff,” said Ariel. “It is the property of Mr. Brent’s company.”
“I’ll rephrase,” said Tish. “Since the rollout of the product that was the invention of my client, did the company stock nearly triple within one year?”
“Yes,” said Brent, “but that could have been be due to—”
“I just needed a yes or no, Mr. Brent, not an explanation. Please pay attention and listen to my questions before answering. Meanwhile, the opening price of the stock this morning was ninety-eight dollars, which is lower than the day before you rolled out the product. Market analysts trace the decline to the story breaking about this case, the following negative publicity and the massive loss in sales.”
“That’s because—”
“Please respond only when I ask a question and I’m not finished asking it. Isn’t it true that within three days of this story breaking and the stock taking a major hit, that you dumped more than fifty percent of your own shares?”
“Yes, but I was simply taking profits—”
“Again, a yes or no answer will suffice. Mr. Brent, do you know how many shareholders have stock in your company?”
“I have no idea.”
“Well I do. More than one hundred thousand. And lots of mutual funds invest in your company as well, so even more people have a vested interest in your success. Any idea how much of a loss they’ve had due to all the negative publicity?”
“Objection as to the cause of the stock price decline,” said Ariel. “That’s speculation.”
“I’ll rephrase again. Any idea how much of a loss your stockholders have suffered since the stock reached its high water mark?”
“No, but the stock market—”
“Taking this morning’s opening price into account, nearly one billion dollars, Mr. Brent. Does that bother you, Sir?”
“Of course.”
“Would you agree that the negative publicity surrounding this case has hurt your company’s bottom line?”
/>
“We’ll come back. The public has a short memory and they are addicted to our products.”
“I’ll take that as a yes. So what exactly would your marketing campaign be to turn things around?”
“Rolling out new products always gives the stock a bump.”
“I’m so glad you saved me the trouble of bringing that up. But are you referring to new products, or new versions of older products?”
“Both.”
“And for the rest of this year, do you have any new products, or new versions of older products on the calendar to be released?”
A long pause. “This year, uh, just new versions.”
“Actually it’s just one upgrade, isn’t that correct?”
“Yes.”
“And it hits the stores on the day after Thanksgiving, Black Friday, the biggest shopping day of the year. I note you will release the new version of a specific product. Which product would that be?”
Silence.
Spencer leaned closer to the vent.
“Mr. Brent, I’ll be happy to show you about a dozen articles from technology magazines talking about the product that will be out in time for the holidays and was supposed to be on the top of just about everyone’s Christmas list. Do I need to refresh your memory?”
“No.”
“So, would that product be version two-point-oh of the product my client invented?”
“Yes.” Brent’s voice was barely audible.
“And when you do introduce new products, your company lets people place orders months before the rollout, correct?”
“Yes.”
“And stores that carry your products have been taking pre-orders since April, correct?”
“Yes.”
“And since the story about this case broke, what percentage of pre-orders have canceled?”
“I have no idea.”
“Well, Mr. Brent, lucky for you I did a little research on your behalf, though you probably read it in the newspaper the other day and suffer from selective memory.”
“Is there a question in our future?” asked Ariel.
“Yes. According to a few of the stores that sell your company’s product, they’ve had between forty and sixty percent cancellations. Are you familiar with the term…boycott?”