“I humbly beg your forgiveness, sir,” I said in an exaggerated, over-pronounced, and mocking tone. “You were standing right in front of the bathroom door, you know. Blocking the entrance. I have an easement for access, you know. So, you were infringing upon my rights first.”
It was like I was watching myself from above. All of the awkwardness I had expected to feel was absent. I had been so worried about him seeing me earlier; now that I had just run into him outside the ladies’ room, there was no time to overthink anything. I just reacted in the moment.
He laughed lightly. Not a sarcastic, caustic laugh, but one of genuine amusement. I smiled back at him. When we were in his office, he had been so abrasive I hadn’t really thought about anything else. But there in the hallway, in the low light of the rooftop bar, he looked so hot that I forgot how upset he had made me before. I felt a tingle of excitement spread all over my skin, like I was anticipating being touched. Not that there was any indication that was going to happen. He hadn’t moved an inch since I had run into him. The air grew thick, heavy with anticipation. I was sure he could feel the energy between us. But he didn’t do anything.
Unable to control myself, I blurted out a question that seemed specifically designed to let the air out of the moment.
“What happened to that woman you were with before?”
Why had I asked that? Was I trying to reestablish boundaries, to create distance?
“I’m not sure. She left a little while ago.”
“Oh, ok.” I wasn’t sure where I wanted this to go. He wasn’t offering anything. He was just letting me bathe in the awkward silence, drawing me out. I could see what he was doing. The frustrating part was that it was working. I felt compelled to speak, but I didn’t have anything good to say. I just needed to fill up the void that had opened up between us. A void that threatened to suck me in against my better judgement.
“Date didn’t go so well, huh?”
Oh, god. Why was I trying to be so casual and playful? That wasn’t me. I didn’t know where this sarcastic, joking person had come from. He wasn’t even doing anything, saying anything. Just something about his presence made me uncomfortable. He made me feel like I had to perform, to impress him.
“It wasn’t a date. She’s just a friend.”
What was he trying to say? I couldn’t read him, he was too buttoned up. Was he trying to give me an opening to make a move? I never made the first move and I wasn’t about to start with the guy who was going to be my boss for the summer. What if I was totally misreading things? What if the intense energy that I felt was entirely one-sided? Then I would just make things weird for no reason. Besides, even if there was some kind of connection there in the hallway outside the ladies’ room, that didn’t mean anything. I was buzzed and he probably was, too. I was sober enough to realize that doing anything other than going back to my table was a bad idea.
“Ok, well, I guess I will see you on Monday then.” I tried to sound more casual than I felt.
I turned to walk away and go rejoin my friends when I felt his hand grip my arm. He held it firmly without squeezing hard. I could feel how strong he was, stronger than he looked. I mean, he definitely looked like he worked out, but he wasn’t huge. And even in his tailored suit, you couldn’t tell what was going on underneath. I had always hated how men’s clothes hid all of their flaws while women’s clothes exposed them. A guy could be packing a beer belly or a six-pack and, if they were wearing a suit, it was hard to tell the difference. But when I felt his hand clasp my arm just above the elbow, it was clear he was at least accustomed to the gym. I tried to pull my arm forward, but it didn’t move.
I turned back to face him, ready to unleash a verbal tirade and let him know that he had no right to put his hand on me, but before I could get the words out, his face had closed the distance between us. I inhaled his aroma, a mix of sandalwood and mint, clean and rich. Time slowed down as I saw his lips approach in slow motion. I had no ability to react, I was so taken aback. I took in every aspect of his face. The bulge of muscle at his jaw that formed a ridge leading up to his high cheekbones. The valley of his cheeks, his skin tight and clean-shaven. His jawline was strong without being pronounced. Everything was in proportion. And his lips, the lone spot of softness on his face, his lips were slightly open, the lower one rounded and thick, the upper one thinner with a little dip in the middle.
Even though it felt like long minutes passed as we stood in that moment, it was still a shock when his lips finally touched mine. I stood there, frozen, unable to move. His kiss was hard, at first, or maybe it was my own lips that were tensed. I didn’t have time to think about what was going on, to query whether this was a good idea. I was wrapped up entirely in that instant that seemed to stretch out in every direction to infinity. And in that moment, I wanted to kiss him back. I relaxed my body, melting into him, and softening my lips to receive his kiss.
I let myself be pulled closer to him until my breasts were touching his chest. I could feel his rock-hard muscles under his shirt. His other hand reached around to the small of my back, pulling me even tighter. I had entirely forgotten about my own arms.
After what felt like an eternity, he began to pull away. He kept my bottom lip between his lips with a bit of suction. I felt a surge of electricity as all of the sensation concentrated in that one small point on my lip. And then, with a pop, the seal broke and my lip snapped back into place. I stood there, stunned. The whole kiss probably only took a moment, but it felt like we had been there for hours. I was surprised that nobody else had come through.
He had taken a step back, more than an arm’s length away. His face was unreadable, his expression flat.
“See you Monday,” he said. Then he turned and walked off, taking a few steps down the hallway and then turning onto another corridor and disappearing. I was left alone outside the bathroom, unsure of what had just happened.
Did my internship mentor really just kiss me? Did I want him to? I definitely wanted him to in the moment, but was that just a combination of post-exam euphoria and alcohol? Could I even walk into the office on Monday?
I shook myself, clearing my head like an Etch-a-Sketch. What did I have to be worried about? He was the one who kissed me. He was clearly into me. All I had done was not push him away. He was the one who had exposed himself, put himself out there. He should be the one to feel awkward.
I told myself these things while I continued standing in the hallway. I was doing a good job, I thought, of making a reasonable argument, based upon the available facts, that I had the upper hand.
So why didn’t it feel that way?
Chapter 7 - Cora
I woke up Sunday morning with a hangover. I hadn’t told my friends about the kiss. I had been too unsure how I felt about it when I got back to the table, I didn’t want to talk about it. Instead, I just sat quietly, allowing them to go back and forth, replaying the greatest hits from the various fact patterns they had encountered in their exams. In some ways, the replays were worse than the exams themselves. It gave you the opportunity to figure out exactly how you screwed up. I preferred just letting it go and waiting until my grades came in. I wondered how it would feel when I was actually practicing, when my mistakes didn’t just affect my grade, they affected someone else’s life. Would I be able to just let it roll off my back? Or would it stay with me, haunting me for weeks and months? I wasn’t sure what I would prefer.
I thought back to what Asher had said in his office. About how you didn’t get rich defending innocent people. He seemed not to care about how his clients’ lives were affected as long as he got paid. I didn’t want to be like that.
In the bright light of morning, I was shocked that I had let him kiss me. I was shocked that I had enjoyed it. But maybe he was different than how he had appeared when we first met. Maybe I had seen a glimpse of the real Asher in that hallway. A lot of lawyers had a kind of bravura, a tough persona that helped them to keep themselves protected in the cut and thrust of
practice. You couldn’t let the angry, sometimes vicious, arguments get to you personally. So, sometimes lawyers created a kind of hard shell to protect themselves. Maybe I saw Asher’s shell at the office. The real him was the one who kissed me.
I guess I would be finding out on Monday.
Monday morning broke with a haze of low clouds. The technical term for it was the marine layer, a cover of clouds that came in from the cold Pacific Ocean most mornings in the early summer. Most people just referred to it as the June Gloom, even if it did start in May. It was kind of nice, it kept the days from getting too hot and it always burned off by noon.
I woke up an hour before I needed to. I rolled about in bed for a few minutes until it became clear that I wasn’t going to be able to get back to sleep. I pulled myself out of bed and stumbled into the kitchen to make a cup of coffee. I was nervous for my first day, but that nervousness hadn’t translated to energy, so I was stuck in a combination of anxiety and sluggishness. It wasn’t a comfortable place to be. Coffee would help. While it was brewing, I grabbed a bagel, popped it in the toaster, and took some raspberries out of the fridge. Breakfast ready, I sat down at the table and read the news on my phone.
Apparently, an arrest had been made in the murder of Art Crane, the director. The crime had been all over the news in recent weeks. Crane was big-time back in the early 2000s, but hadn’t done much in the past few years. He had been in the middle of production for a new project that was supposed to be his come-back when he was found dead in his office, shot twice in the chest. The person who had been charged with the murder was his assistant, Amber Warner, a young woman who had worked for him for two years. The rumor was that she had been his lover as well. But Crane was said to be reconciling with his wife and the police were saying that she had killed him out of jealousy. I had my doubts.
I wasted time for a while, since I didn’t have to be at the office until nine. But as often happens, when you have too much time, you end up being late anyway. By the time I got into my car, I had just enough time to make it up Flower to the Citigroup Center. I gave my name to the security guard and got a security badge. It wasn’t a temporary badge, either; it had my picture on it and everything. I clipped it onto my jacket and walked to the bank of elevators.
Stepping out of the elevator on the fortieth floor, I felt a confidence, a spring in my step that I hadn’t expected. Maybe it was having been to the office before, maybe it was the calmness that comes with the end of expectation and anticipation, maybe it was the fact that Asher had kissed me the other night. Even if he was going to be my boss for the summer, I wasn’t going to feel intimidated. He had exposed himself, put himself out there. I felt like I had the upper hand.
I said good morning to the Cosmo cover behind the reception desk and walked through the glass doors and down the hallway to Asher’s office. The floor was already buzzing with activity. Rows of cubicles in the center housed paralegals and assistants while the associates had rooms ringing the building, the more senior the attorney, the more attractive the view.
After a few moments, I realized that I had forgotten the way to Asher’s office. It didn’t help that everything looked the same, identical furniture, partitions, nothing to serve as a guide. I nearly completed a lap around the building when I remembered that the view from his office faced straight west. I looked out the nearest window and saw the Staples Center down the street. I turned right and kept walking until I reached the corner and walked up the west side of the building. I finally recognized where I was. But my little detour meant that I was a couple of minutes late.
Asher was standing when I walked in, leaning over a pile of papers spread out over his desk. Another person was in the office as well, his paralegal, Rebecca. She was leaning over the table as well. Her blouse was unbuttoned, not so much as to be obviously inappropriate, but certainly enough to allow anyone who was interested a fine view of her large, rounded breasts. They didn’t look fake at first glance, but given her narrow waist and toned, muscular legs, I had to imagine that they were. I didn’t think anyone was lucky enough to gain weight in their breasts without putting it on elsewhere as well. Me, if I put on any extra pounds, they went first to my hips. Not to my butt, that wouldn’t be so bad, but right on the sides of my thighs. So, I tried to stay thin all over, which meant my own chest wouldn’t come close to spilling out the way Rebecca’s threatened to with every breath.
They were speaking quietly, so I couldn’t make out any of the words. Not wanting to interrupt, I just stood by the door, waiting for them to finish.
Without raising his head or looking in my direction, Asher raised his voice and spoke to me.
“You are late. I said to be here at nine.”
My presence having been acknowledged, I took a few steps forward. My feet were a little unsteady. His tone was cold, unexpectedly so.
“I’m sorry, it took me a few minutes to find your office again.”
He had turned back to Rebecca, speaking low enough that I couldn’t hear clearly. But, apparently, it was quite funny, because the paralegal laughed musically, then straightened up, the buttons on her blouse straining to contain her. She smiled at me as she left the room.
Chapter 8 - Cora
Asher sunk down into his high-backed chair and put his feet up on the desk. He rested his chin in one hand and with the other motioned to one of the chairs opposite.
“Sit,” he commanded.
I bristled at his tone. I wasn’t used to being ordered about. But, at the same time, it didn’t feel like this was the hill to make my stand on, so I pulled out the chair and sat. I locked eyes with him across the desk, trying to read him, to see what he was feeling or thinking behind his cold and stern demeanor. But there was nothing there. His face was a mask, giving away nothing.
He sat, staring at me, for a long while. He must have been trying to rattle me, to make me feel uncomfortable enough to start talking. I wasn’t going to give him the satisfaction. I didn’t know why he was playing at this, whether he was testing me or engaging in some kind of power play, but I had been top of my class in the negotiation seminar and I wasn’t going to be unsettled by a little silence. We sat quietly for what felt like an hour, but in reality, was just over a minute. Finally, Asher spoke.
“Art Crane. You know him?”
“The director? Sure.”
“Are you familiar with his murder?”
“Just what I read online. They just arrested his assistant, right?”
“Amber Warner. We have just been retained as her defense counsel.”
I felt a little thrill run up my spine. I had never wanted to be a defense attorney and I never wanted any of the limelight that seemed to draw many lawyers to that practice area, but the idea of working on a case that was going to be all over the news was exciting. And scary. I knew when I took this internship that there would be a chance that I would be working on a serious case, but I never expected that I would be thrown into a murder case on my first day.
“Did she do it?” The question popped out of my mouth before I had time to think. I knew it shouldn’t have mattered to me, as a defense attorney you had to defend your client, regardless. But I wanted to know. Whether born of morbid curiosity or a desire to modulate my sense of moral obligation to this young woman, I wanted to know if I was going to help defend an innocent person or a guilty one.
Asher looked at me quizzically.
“She did.”
“How do you know?”
“She wouldn’t have hired me if she didn’t.”
I didn’t understand what he meant and it must have showed on my face because he elaborated. But not before giving an exaggerated sigh, as if he was annoyed at having to explain something that should be obvious.
“A young, attractive white woman is accused of murder. If she was innocent, there would be no need to hire the best defense attorney in the city. If you can’t get a not guilty verdict for a hot white woman who is actually innocent, then they should take you
r license. No, if she was innocent, she wouldn’t need me. The only reason to hire me is if she did it. Because I am the only one who could get her off.”
If it hadn’t been for what Kyle had said the other night, I might have taken his statement for boastfulness. But I had done some research on Asher over the weekend and it appeared that he wasn’t exaggerating, or at least not by much. He had been very successful on a number of high profile cases in the past couple of years. I wasn’t so much perturbed by his ego, that came with the job for most lawyers. What bothered me was his utter assurance that his, our, client was guilty. I had gone to law school to help people, but helping a murderer go free wasn’t what I had in mind.
I wanted to ask him more questions, to delve into how he justified defending the guilty to himself. Many defense attorneys ignored the question, focusing exclusively on the process and not worrying about the bigger picture. But Asher seemed quite clear on the client’s guilt and he didn’t seem to care. But I didn’t have time to say anything else. He reached under his desk and pressed a button, and in an instant, the door behind me opened and Rebecca sauntered in.
Asher glanced at her briefly before returning his attention to me.
“There are a number of things in our client’s past that I would prefer stay in the past. I’ll need you to prepare a motion in limine to exclude character evidence and prior bad acts. Rebecca?” He motioned to the buxom paralegal. She handed me a slim Surface tablet. “That is set up for you to access the necessary parts of our database. You will have a folder with some information about Ms. Warner as well as some sample motions. Now, I need you to write the motion and the points and authorities memorandum.”
Great. My first assignment is an evidence issue. Just my luck.
“Isn’t it premature to write the motion if they haven’t proffered any evidence?” I asked, trying to sound like I knew more than I did.
Punitive Damages Page 4