The jerk didn’t stop, though my feet slipped on the marble. I fell, mentally damning my shortness, my vanity, the four-inch Manolo Blahniks, and the entire legal profession.
At my side in an instant, the mysterious, amber-eyed stranger grabbed me before I hit the floor. He lifted me onto my feet with a gentleness at odds with his size, his strength, and the uncivilized gleam in his eyes.
Vision blurry, I blinked some more, eyeing the stranger, the retreating horde crowding onto the elevators, and AnnMarie, who approached but didn’t interrupt. Appreciating Ann’s tact, I decided that she would not be struck down by the general curse I cast on all other lawyers.
“Are you all right?”
The stranger’s pleasant bass had a slight, sexy southern accent, which turned me on even more. What was it about a southern accent? Something about it called up all my Clark Gable-Rhett Butler fantasies. I was a sucker for a southern accent.
He straightened my lapels without brushing my breasts, which tingled anyways. Embarrassed, I tugged at my jacket as he again gave me the once-over.
“You look fine,” he said, emphasizing fine, “but I’m afraid you’ve torn your stockings.”
I looked down. He wasn’t lying. One of the knees of my pantyhose had ripped. I sighed. “What else can go wrong today?”
He laughed. “It’s not so bad. Look at it this way. You aren’t paying someone a thousand dollars an hour to get screwed, are you?”
We shared a chuckle. “You’re right,” I said. Then I staggered a few steps away toward the women’s room before recalling my manners. “Umm, thank you for your help. I hate to seem rude, but I have a very important court appearance, and I can’t have a run in my hose.”
I hurried down the hall as fast as I could without risking another fall while digging in my satchel for the spare pair of pantyhose I hoped I had in there. As I moved along, I passed AnnMarie, who wore a broad smile. Why? She couldn’t be happy that I’d made a dork out of myself, could she?
“I’ll just be a minute, Ann.” Smacking the door of the women’s room with an outstretched palm, I skidded inside, hoping I hadn’t looked too much like all three stooges.
~*~
When I emerged, the hall was empty. Sweat broke out all over my body as I sprinted for the courtroom door. I scurried in as a bailiff was calling, “All rise!”
I found my seat next to AnnMarie as the judge, an older balding fellow, entered with a flutter of black robes. He thumped his gavel to begin the hearing as I looked down the long wooden counsel table.
Then I saw him. At the opposite end of the table. Oh, shit. Was the hottest of the hot my opponent? My opponent’s attorney?
I met his glance, then looked away, scrabbling for my glasses. I put them on, hoping to shore up the image of a serious businesswoman.
Yeah, that was me, all right. A serious businesswoman. I tried to look cool, calm, collected and in control, but the reality was that I was ruining my favorite blue suit with sweat rings because everything—everything—was on the line.
The bailiff announced the case, and a man sitting next to the hottie stood, buttoning the jacket of his navy pinstriped three-piece suit. “Michael Muckenmyer of Muckenmyer, Radcliffe and Soames, representing the plaintiffs, Fletcher Tool and Gear, Inc., and Fletcher Wolf, who is present.”
Fletcher Wolf. I should have known. I had the bad luck to have fallen instantly in lust with my enemy, a man who could tear apart my life and destroy every one of my dreams.
Brilliant. Absolutely brilliant. I recalled what I’d said to Wolf outside the courtroom. What else can go wrong today? Now I knew.
AnnMarie rose, bringing me back to the very unpleasant present. “AnnMarie Slye of Swift, Slye, Jonas and Crebbs for the defendant, Cara Fletcher Couture and its subsidiary, Fletcher’s Gear, and its owner, Cara Linda Fletcher, who is also here in court today, Your Honor.”
When our respective mouthpieces sat, the judge said, “Well! Obviously this is a very important hearing to you both. We rarely have the principals of business entities present in court.”
Wolf stood. “Excuse me, Your Honor—”
“Fletch! What the hell are you doing?” his attorney hissed. “Sit down and shut up. You’re not supposed to say anything.”
I shared the lawyer’s surprise. Ann had told me not to say or do anything, just show up to impress the court with the significance of the hearing. Otherwise, she’d explained, the judge might blow it off with an off-the-cuff, incorrect ruling.
“She’s not Cara Fletcher,” Wolf said.
I picked my jaw up off the counsel table. It had dropped open an improbable degree. He’s a nutcase, I thought. A certifiable nutcase with money to burn.
I was dead meat, unless AnnMarie could protect me. She said, “This is as absurd as the rest of plaintiff’s case. This is most certainly Cara Fletcher.”
“I’m sorry, Your Honor.” Wolf sounded sure of himself, so sure that if I hadn’t a firm grasp on my identity, I would have believed him. “But Cara Fletcher bears no resemblance at all to this young woman.”
“What?” I squawked. Ann shushed me, and I glared at her.
She murmured, “This is perfect. Let him hang himself.”
I calmed down.
Wolf continued, “Cara Fletcher has green eyes and her hair is—her hair is—” He stopped and stuttered, and I grinned. Whatever he had on his mind, he sure was having trouble spitting it out.
“I have a, uh, what’s it called? An exhibit.” He waved a magazine in the air. “Cara Fletcher is somewhat, er, colorful. She has green eyes, and her hair is black on one side and red on the other. Quite unusual, unforgettable in fact. This lady has brown hair and brown eyes. She’s not Cara Fletcher.”
I lost it, and laughter burbled out of my mouth. I tried to shut myself up by burying my face in my hands and hoped I hadn’t screwed my case by losing my decorum in front of the judge. At least not as badly as Wolf had just screwed his.
“Red and black hair, Mr. Wolf?” The judge’s voice was frosty, but at least he wasn’t holding me in contempt for laughing in court.
“Yes, Your Honor,” Wolf said.
“Like, like, er, that Cruella de Vil in the Dalmatian movie my granddaughter likes?” the judge asked.
“Exactly, sir.”
“Except black and red?”
“Yes.” Wolf sounded satisfied, and I looked at him to see his smirk. He obviously thought he’d won a point. I heard him mutter to his attorney, “We’re a shoo-in.”
His attorney, however, didn’t look too pleased, while I could sense that Ann, still seated beside me, could barely contain her joy.
“This occasion when you saw the defendant, was it a cocktail party, perhaps? Had you imbibed a bit of the fruit of the vine, or perhaps some other tipple?” the judge asked.
Wolf’s jaw clenched, and he lost his smugness. “Absolutely not. I assure you Cara Fletcher wears her hair in a very unusual style. This isn’t Cara Fletcher.”
“I’m not impressed by your statement, Mr. Wolf, but I will ask the defendant to produce identification. If this is not Ms. Fletcher, she will be asked to sit behind rather than in front of the bar.”
“Your Honor, I would also request the court to consider the deception on the court as character evidence relating to the defendant in this proceeding.” Though visibly rattled, Wolf’s attorney jumped in with his two cents.
“This is ridiculous.” AnnMarie slapped the table in a phony show of righteous anger. “I’ve never been so insulted in my life!”
I didn’t want Ann going over the top, so I put my hand on hers to quiet her down before opening my satchel. It was jammed, as usual, and I had to dump a bunch of stuff onto the table in front of me.
I’ll admit I carry an assortment of interesting goods, but who knows when they could come in handy? Hankies to wipe drippy noses and to catch spills. I like them much more than paper tissues.
Condoms (flavored) and candles (scented). Though I hadn’t g
otten laid since Natalie came to live with me, hope sprang eternal, and who knew when I’d want to create a little atmosphere?
A collapsible umbrella. A compass, for when we went hiking upstate. A little toolkit, a really good one with screwdrivers, scissors, a corkscrew and a toothpick. For when we got lost while hiking.
String. I’m like Sam in the Lord of the Rings—the books, not the movie. He had an obsession with rope. Mine is with string. One can never tell when it will come in handy.
Pens and pencils, various colors, of course, for sketching. A tape measure and a drawing pad. Fabric swatches. Obviously important.
Feathered fishing lures stuck in a cork. Yes, odd, but last summer my father had given them to me for inspiration, and I had designed several outfits with feather trim. I couldn’t bear to throw out a special gift from my dad. Okay, I’m sentimental. So sue me.
On second thought, don’t. It’s already gotten me into enough trouble.
Finally I found my purple eelskin wallet and waved it in the air, telling Ann, “Knew I had it somewhere.”
I opened it and took out my driver’s license, which I handed to the bailiff. “My driver’s license, sir.” I kept my voice low and demure. Showing triumph might piss off the judge. My instincts told me that demure was better.
The bailiff compared the photograph to me and said, “This is Cara Fletcher, all right.” He gave the license back. I hoped I didn’t smirk as I put it away, but keeping a straight face was tough.
I couldn’t help checking out the Wolf, who looked like Wile E. Coyote after an anvil had dropped onto his head. He took out a handkerchief and mopped his forehead.
“Can we get on with this?” Ann asked. “Your Honor, the defendant has already asked for attorney’s fees and costs, and I request the court take this incident into account when making a determination in that regard.”
“I’m inclined to do just that.” The judge glared at Wolf. “I’ve read the pleadings submitted by the parties in this matter. Does either side have anything new to offer?”
“Submitted, Your Honor.” Wolf’s attorney played it safe. Ha.
“Submitted,” Ann said.
“Very well. I’m going to deny the request for a preliminary injunction. Ms. Fletcher has the right to use her own name. I’m reserving a ruling on the more difficult issue of confusion by the public due to the use of similar product names, and direct the parties to investigate and brief the issue. I will award attorney’s fees and costs to the defendant for this hearing and preparation. Ms. Slye, submit a fee and cost bill within seven days to the court and to opposing counsel.”
“Woo-hoo!” I high-fived Ann.
“One more thing. Ms. Fletcher!”
Oops. The fat lady hadn’t sung. I wiped the grin off my face and sat at attention.
The judge told me, “Just because you have won this round does not mean you will win the war. This kind of litigation is expensive and lengthy and generally benefits no one but the lawyers. I urge the parties to meet and confer with a view toward settlement. In fact, I order the parties to reappear in thirty days in this court. Between now and then, you shall exchange all relevant documents and meet for settlement on at least one occasion. Sanctions will be levied for disobedience.
“Prevailing party to prepare the order after hearing. Court adjourned!” Whacking the gavel down hard, the judge stepped off the bench.
In a more thoughtful mood, I stayed in my seat to repack my satchel, while Fletcher Wolf and his attorney left. I avoided staring at Wolf. If the judge and Ann were right, my adversary was still formidable. Shaming him by a victory dance wouldn’t help me in the long run.
“What now?” I asked AnnMarie.
“We have two choices. We wait for a settlement offer or their next salvo of litigation. Or, we plan a pre-emptive strike.”
“That sounds expensive,” I said. “I don’t want to put you to the trouble. Can’t we try to settle?”
“But we didn’t start this. The ball is really in their court, so to speak.”
“Okay, so we wait.” I jammed my umbrella back into the satchel and stood. “Let’s go.”
When I left the courtroom, there he was, with his strange topaz eyes glinting in the dimly lit hallway.
“So, Ms. Fletcher, we meet again.”
“Umm.” Rendered inarticulate by those eyes, I felt like a possum in the headlights of an oncoming Mack truck. I mentally shook myself, resolving to stay aware. Letting Fletcher Wolf know he could get to me would be suicidal.
“We have been ordered to meet and confer regarding settlement,” Wolf continued. “I suggest dinner between the principals.”
My traitorous heart bounced like a kid’s rubber ball, while my celibate body flushed with pleasure. At my side, AnnMarie stiffened. Muckenmyer, who accompanied his client, also looked tense.
“I don’t think that’s a very good idea,” AnnMarie said.
“Why not? Are you afraid I’ll give away the farm?” I eyed Wolf, whose mouth twitched in a small, ironic smile. I wanted to know what that smile meant. “Dinner will be fine. Where and when?”
Wolf whipped out a business card. “I expect to be in New York again next Tuesday. Have your secretary call mine with your address. I’ll pick you up at seven on the dot.” He turned and strode down the hall.
His attorney remained. “Ann, I’ll phone you after I’ve had an opportunity to confer with Mr. Wolf. Later, Ms. Fletcher.” With a nod in my direction, he hurried after his client.
As if by magic, an elevator opened for Wolf just as he approached it. He and his attorney disappeared from view when the doors slid closed with a soft snick.
My breath whooshed out. I hadn’t realized I’d been holding it.
AnnMarie swung around to face me. “Why did you agree to dinner with him? Don’t you remember what I told you? Fletcher Wolf is a major player. He’ll have you and your little-bitty company for supper if you don’t watch out.”
“Oh, come on, Ann, it’s only a dinner date. He’s just a man, and a very fallible one.”
“What was he babbling about with the hair?”
“I’m not sure, but I wore my hair bi-colored for a photo spread in Bazaar. He was waving around a copy. Obviously they’ve done some investigating, just as we have.”
“He was staring at you in the hall before the hearing,” she said. “After you walked off.”
“He was?”
“He couldn’t take his eyes off your legs.”
“Really?” I grinned. Though clumsy, the Manolo Blahniks had done the trick. “Don’t worry about dinner. I’ll flirt a little, use the opportunity to pick his brains and find out what he wants.”
“All right, then.” AnnMarie sounded unconvinced. “But don’t say I didn’t warn you. Mark my words, there’s an ulterior motive behind this dinner invitation.”
Chapter 3
At 6:45 p.m. on Tuesday, I was as jumpy as a barefoot kid on summer asphalt. Standing in front of my dresser, I struggled to put together the right look for this dinner. My morning Xanax had worn off, but I didn’t want to risk another. I had to stay sharp for my encounter with Wolf.
Footsteps thumped up the stairs toward my loft bedroom. “You spend more time in front of a mirror than anyone else I know.” Natalie trotted into the room. A born athlete, Nat never walked if she could trot, stride, jump or dance. At least, when she was in a good mood.
“I’m a fashionista, baby.” I preened, fluffing my hair, newly bleached and tinted. “It comes with the territory.”
“You’re wearing that outfit? I don’t like it.”
“What’s wrong with it?” Made from the same silk Indian women used for their saris, my hot-pink Anna Sui was trimmed with gorgeous gold embroidery.
“It’s too short. He’s gonna think you want to shag him.”
“Where do you get ideas like that? Minis are very stylish. Besides, longer skirts make me look like a dwarf.” Using a brush, I smoothed the ends of my hair.
“
Are you wearing these shoes tonight?” High-heeled gold sandals dangled from Natalie’s fingers by the back straps. Their red soles marked them as Christian Louboutins, very chic. I loved them with a passion that sillier women devote to men.
“What’s wrong with them?”
“Kathy’s mom calls them fuck-me sandals.” She dropped them on the floor beside my bed.
“Natalie!” I flung my hairbrush onto her dresser with a clatter.
“I’m sorry, but that was what she said. What’s with this date? You’re acting funny.”
“It’s not a date, and I’m not acting funny.” If she noticed my nervousness, what would Fletcher Wolf think? Acting like a scared child in front of Wolf would be fatal. He’d be sure to take advantage of any weakness. “This is a business dinner.”
“You’re going to a business dinner in a minidress and, and, those shoes?” She picked up a lipstick from the dresser.
I gritted my teeth. “My legs and feet will be underneath the table. He won’t see them.” A total lie, or so I hoped. Wolf was clever and would notice everything. I was counting on that. I planned to dazzle him, though I knew he wouldn’t dazzle easily. Ann’s dossier had told me that he had more tricks than David Copperfield and more facets than the Hope diamond.
“And what’s with the blond hair? No one respects blondes. Take Miley Cyrus. Everyone thinks she’s an airhead slut.” Nat flicked at my blond bob.
What was it about twelve-year-olds? Had I been so difficult to satisfy? “He’s not going to think I’m like Miley Cyrus.” I batted her hand away. “Blonde is just a color. Besides, the blue and amber bars in the front make all the difference. The pink silk is so bright that if my hair were boring, the dress would wear me, and not the other way around.”
She continued to examine me with critical preteen eyes. “Yeah, you’re right. What lens color are you gonna choose?”
“I’m not sure.”
“How about turquoise or purple? Blonde looks good with turquoise or purple. Hey, you could have one eye in purple and the other in turquoise. That would be way cool.”
Book Boyfriends Cafe Summer Lovin' Anthology 2015 Page 152