by Erin Lyon
Except “mayday,” that is. This, Kate. This is why you told him you could not be friends with him. Nothing has changed. And I’ll be damned if my useless little attempt at distancing myself from him yesterday didn’t just make my stupid little heart even fonder. All bad. Okay. One night. After this, things will go back to the way they were and I won’t be hanging out with him. Or falling hopelessly in love with him. Or any of that stuff.
So just enjoy tonight, because who knows when you’ll see him again.
Then I realized he was looking at me. “So much for not overthinking this, huh?” he asked quietly.
“Not really a strength of mine,” I said.
“I have noticed that.”
“Sorry.”
“Don’t be. If people start apologizing for thinking, it could mean the downfall of our entire civilization.”
I laughed. “I don’t think I can handle that responsibility.”
He smiled. Then sighed. “So, you’re still determined that we can’t be friends?”
I held up our clasped hands between us. “More than ever.”
“Dammit, Kate,” he said softly, putting a finger and thumb to the bridge of his nose. “Can’t you just … not … fall in love with me?”
I laughed again. “And that seems like such a simple request, right?”
He smiled somberly. “It should be.”
“Have you met you?”
Now he laughed. “Have you met you? You could do way better.”
“Well, that’s probably true,” I said with a chuckle.
“Ouch.”
I leaned my head against the rest again and turned toward him. “So, I could do better, huh?”
He nodded.
“I’m not sure what ‘better’ looks like.”
“Someone who adores you.”
“Adam. Are you kidding me? You freaking adore me.”
“Shit. That is true. So how about someone who believes in commitment as much as you do.”
“Easier said than done,” I said, narrowing my eyes. “Or, you could just fall in love with me and then that would also solve our problem.”
He smiled at me in a way that knotted my insides. “If I was capable of falling in love, Kate, which I’m not, it would be with you.”
I frowned. “Oh. Well, that’s sweet … and depressing all at the same time.”
He let go of my hand and reached out to push-start the car’s ignition. “I’m not giving up on our friendship, though.”
Perfect. That should make my goals of self-preservation a piece of cake. I am so screwed. And not the Oh yay, sexy time kind.
CHAPTER 5
I walked into the conference room at 8:30 the next morning to meet with Jim Trainor prior to his ex and her attorney arriving. Jim was tall and bulky with the ruddy complexion that suggested he might be a heavy drinker. He stayed seated and watched me walk to the table, squinting at me like he was about to guess my wrestling weight class.
“Jim? I’m Kate Shaw. I’ll be working with Tony on your case.”
“You look a little young.”
“Looks can be deceiving.” Which was true. For all he knew, I could have been practicing for nine years already. Clearly I haven’t. But I could have.
“Fair enough.”
“So. I’ve reviewed your file and it seems like this thing sort of hinges on time line.”
“Yeah. Jennifer is trying to say that she only started fucking her coworker because she was terminating the contract, but she didn’t know she had grounds to terminate when they started hooking up.”
“And you’re sure of when they started?”
“Yeah. It was about the time she stopped having sex with me.”
“Did she admit it to you?”
“Of course not.”
“So do you have any proof of when it started?”
“She started working longer hours.”
“Well, probably still not definitive proof for us to use. So, since the contract has a provision allowing a partner to cancel the contract and receive damages if the other partner is convicted of a crime, she’s claiming that she only started sleeping with the other guy since she was canceling the contract based on your breach.”
“Obviously.”
“And you were convicted of driving under the influence?”
“No.”
Okay. Sarcasm. “Jim, I’m just reviewing the facts to make sure everything in the file is correct.”
“Fine. Yes. DUI.”
Gee, he’s pleasant. “So you didn’t tell Jennifer about it right away?”
“Fuck no. I’ve got five years left on this contract, and the damages are set for each year remaining. That’s a lot of fucking money.”
“So when did you tell her about it.”
“I didn’t. She went through my mail and saw a certificate of completion for the DUI course I had to take.”
“And then she confronted you?”
“Yeah.”
“When?”
“About six weeks ago.”
“Okay, so if she started cheating more than six weeks ago—”
“She did,” he interrupted.
“Right. As long as we can prove she started cheating more than six weeks ago, you’ll be in good shape.”
I heard Rita’s voice behind me.
“Kate, Jennifer Roma and her attorney are here. Shall I bring them back?”
“Yes. Thank you, Rita.”
The court reporter came in ahead of them and apologized for being late. She handed me her card and busied herself setting up her equipment.
Jennifer Roma walked into the room ahead of Rita, with Doug Simpson trailing behind her.
“Kate,” Doug said, extending his hand to me. “Good to see you again.”
“You, too.” Doug Simpson and I met for the first time when our clients went MIA at their court hearing (which pissed off the judge), and we found Rochelle and Dr. Pope making out against the courthouse building like horny teenagers. So, although Doug and I were opposing counsel, we obviously bonded over that fiasco. In team building, I believe they call that the “severity of initiation.”
“This is Jennifer Roma.”
“Nice to meet you, Ms. Roma,” I said.
Once the court reporter gave us the go-ahead, I went through my checklist of admonitions. For good measure, I also told her that, given the nature of the conflict, I was going to have to ask some very personal questions and she was going to have to answer them truthfully.
Brad walked in and I introduced him around and he sat at the end of the table. His being here made me both more nervous and more calm. Nervous because I had an audience if I was going to look like an idiot, and calm because I’d have someone telling me during break which questions I missed and needed to ask. Let’s hear it for double-edged swords.
I took Jennifer through the standard history—her education, jobs, stuff like that—then got into the time line for the contract with Jim.
“So, Ms. Roma, when did you find out about Jim’s DUI conviction?”
“A couple of months ago.”
“So, March?”
“I don’t remember exactly.”
“Do you remember if it was before or after Easter?”
She seemed to think about it. “Before.”
“So … March?”
“Yes.”
“How did you find out?”
“I saw a receipt for a DUI class he took.”
“Was it this receipt?” I slid the paper across the table to her.
“Yes. That’s it.”
“Madame Reporter, please mark this as Exhibit A.” The court reporter took the receipt and affixed a sticker to it and logged it into her book. Once she was done, I passed it back to Jennifer.
“Okay, so this is the receipt you found that alerted you to Jim’s DUI?”
“I already said it was.”
“Could you read the course completion date at the top, please?”
Jennifer s
canned the document. Then her expression turned sour. “April eleventh.”
“So would you agree that this was probably mailed after that date?”
“Yes.”
“So you found out about Jim’s DUI sometime after April eleventh?”
“I guess so.”
“Well, you did say you found out based on this document, right?”
“Right.”
“So it would have had to have been after April eleventh, right?”
“Yes.” Yes! The elusive unequivocal yes (that you rarely ever get from deponents)! Okay, don’t get cocky.
“And, based on that, you determined that you were going to end the contract?”
“Yes.”
“Do you currently have a physical relationship with one of your coworkers?”
“You know I do.” Charming. Shame these two crazy kids couldn’t work it out, because they seem to deserve each other.
“I realize that, but I do need it on the record,” I said, politely, nodding toward the court reporter. “Who is that coworker?”
“His name is Anthony Muir.”
“How long have you worked with Anthony?”
“I don’t know.”
“You said that you have worked at the company for eight years, correct?”
“Yes.”
“Was Anthony there when you started?”
“Yes.” Asshole.
“So … again … how long have you worked with Anthony?”
“I guess about eight years.”
Don’t let her rile you. That’s her goal. I glanced at Doug, and he looked like he might doze off. Not exactly a rigorous advocate.
“When did your romantic relationship with Anthony begin?”
“I wouldn’t say it’s all that romantic.”
Mental sigh. “When did your sexual relationship with Anthony begin?”
“I don’t remember.” Of course you don’t.
“Which of you instigated the physical relationship?”
“I don’t remember.”
“Have you ever been signed before?”
“No.”
“Have you ever had boyfriends in the past?” I glanced at Doug to see if he was going to object to my little fishing expedition. Guess not.
“Yes.”
“Have you had sexual relationships with other men while you had a boyfriend?”
“Never.” Perfect. That was exactly the indignant response I was looking for.
“So this is the first time you’ve had a sexual relationship at the same time you were in a committed relationship?”
“Well, I knew my contract was over.”
“Had you told Jim your contract was over?”
“No, I don’t think so.”
“No? Or you don’t think so?”
“No.”
“So you really hadn’t ended your relationship with Jim when you started having sex with Anthony, correct?”
“Not really.”
“Did you feel guilty?”
She stared at me. “No. He breached first.”
Hm. Sticking with that story.
“Where were you the first time you kissed Anthony?”
She glanced over at Doug, but he just watched, expressionless.
“At the office.”
“And where were you the first time you had sex?”
“I don’t remember.” Oh, please. As if.
I raised my eyebrows. “Were you in a bed?”
“Yes.”
“Your bed?”
“No.”
“His bed?”
She pressed her lips together. I could see on her face that she was concerned she had just cornered herself.
“Ms. Roma, were you in Anthony’s bed?”
“No.”
“Were you at a hotel?”
“Yes.” There it was. Paper trail. That’s what she’s panicking about.
“Which hotel?”
“I don’t remember.” Naturally.
“Did you pay for the room?”
“No.”
“Did you drive there together?”
She frowned at me. She was unsure about giving away so many details. “I don’t remember.”
“You don’t remember if you met him there or drove with him?”
“No.”
“Did you plan to have sex once you got there?”
“No.”
“So, you were going to a hotel, but you didn’t think you would have sex with him once you were in the room?”
“I don’t know. I guess I knew it was a possibility.”
“So when you were in the room, did you initiate the physical contact?”
“I don’t remember.”
“Then it could have been you who initiated the sex?”
“No. I mean, I don’t think so. I really don’t remember.”
“Did you kiss?”
“Yes.”
“And then did you take off your clothes or did he?”
She was back to frowning, trying to figure out where I was going with this. “I don’t remember.”
“So it may be that you stripped off your clothes after the kissing?”
She looked confused, but, as I’d hoped, she didn’t want to look like the aggressor in the scenario. It was basically irrelevant to her claims, but she didn’t know where I was going with it—only that I seemed to want her to be the aggressor, which made her want the exact opposite.
“No. In fact, he did. Now I remember, because he had trouble getting my boots off. And I had to help him with my shirt because it was a turtleneck and I was afraid he’d tear it.”
“Okay. So you were in a turtleneck and boots?”
Her face went blank.
“Ms. Roma? You’ve just said that you were wearing a turtleneck and boots that he took off of you. Is that correct?”
“I guess. I’m not sure.”
“Madame Reporter, could you read back her last statement?”
The court reporter started to read it, but Jennifer cut her off. “I know what I said. Yes. I think that is what I was wearing.”
“So perhaps you were dressed for winter?”
Jennifer stared daggers at me.
“Ms. Roma? It sounds as though you were dressed for winter weather. Was this perhaps back in January or February?”
“No.”
“No?”
“I don’t believe so.”
“You don’t believe so. So it could have been in January or February?”
“No.”
“It couldn’t have been?”
“No.”
“What are you wearing today, Ms. Roma?
She glanced down at her clothes. “A skirt and a tank top.”
“And your shoes?”
“Sandals.”
“Nice day today. It’s supposed to be about eighty-five degrees.”
She shrugged.
“Would you agree that we had an unseasonably warm spring this year?”
“I don’t know.”
I glanced at Doug to see if he’d object that I was asking her to speculate … or any of the several other objections that might have applied, since I was asking Jennifer to give a weather report. He was quiet. Thanks, Doug.
“But if we went back and looked, would you agree if the statistics showed that, since April eleventh, most days have been around eighty degrees?”
“I’m not the fucking Farmer’s Almanac.”
“Of course. That’s why I suggest that we actually refer to a record of the daily temperatures since April eleventh of this year.”
She was pissed. Her face looked flushed and I think she may have been breaking a sweat.
“Ms. Roma, is it possible that this encounter at the hotel where you and Anthony had sex was actually prior to April eleventh, when the weather was cooler?”
She glanced at Doug, who looked concerned but remained silent. She turned back to me and didn’t answer.
“Madame Reporter, could you repeat t
he question for Ms. Roma?”
The court reporter looked for the spot on the transcript, but, again, Jennifer cut her off before she could read the question aloud. “I heard the fucking question.”
“Answer, please.”
“It could have been.”
“It could have been what?”
“I may have met up with Anthony before April eleventh.”
“So you may have had sex with Anthony before you found out about Jim’s conviction?”
And if looks could kill, I’d be dead. “Maybe.”
“You’ve said that you don’t recall the name of the hotel?”
“No.”
“Was it in town?”
“I don’t recall.”
“You don’t recall if you drove out of town or not to have sex with a man who was not your partner?”
“I don’t have to answer these questions,” she seethed.
“Actually, you do. If you don’t, I’ll get a court order instructing you to answer.”
“I think it was in town.” She knew that we would be scouring all of the local hotels, looking for their check-in, and that, once we had it, we’d have proof that her affair started before she found out about Jim’s DUI. It wasn’t going to give Jim damages or anything, but when both partners breach, it means nobody gets damages. And that’s the win I was after.
* * *
Once we’d wrapped up the depo, I got a mumbled “Bitch” from Jennifer Roma and a begrudging “Attaboy” from Jim Trainor.
After everyone left, Brad wrapped me in a big, brotherly hug and pulled back to look at me. “Damn, slugger. You played her perfectly.”
“Thanks.”
We headed back to my office, and as we passed Tony’s office, Brad leaned into his doorway.
“Tony?”
Tony looked up from his papers, eyebrows raised.
“Kate just nailed Jim Trainor’s ex. It was awesome.”
Tony grinned at me. “Good job, Kate.”
Oh my god. Tony called me Kate. Not “girl” or his more typical “darling.” That in itself seemed like high praise. I felt like I just unilaterally helped advance the women’s movement.
“Thanks, Tony.”
Brad and I kept walking to my office door. “Thanks for your help, Brad. I really appreciate it.”
“My pleasure.”
I saw him stop at Mags’s desk to talk, so I turned my butt around and went into my office so that I wouldn’t overhear.
I dropped into my chair. Hell, yeah. So fun. I felt electric. Okay, so it was no “You can’t handle the truth!” moment, but it was still pretty freaking cool.